March 16th, 2007


Pain to Bliss

I wish to write my pain. In this, reader, I am using you. I have no wish to hear of your pain at this moment, but rather seek to render my own visible, or rather existent. For, you see, reader, without my pain on the page it is nowhere, it is too amorphous to be as painful as it is. Therefore, let it manifest itself and be brought before you, reader, to share in my agony. Friends, Romans, Countrymen- I am in pain.
And of the most ludicrous reason, I find. For I am neither terminally ill, in any mode of socioeconomic depression or wanting of anything material for that matter. I am, however, in pain. A considerable amount of pain. For my love wants my love only as part of an ever-increasing circle of love. Love her, my friends, for she will smile and lie at your feet. Crude words, I realize, but none are more fitting.
For this is my pain, and this is how it manifests itself. In crude words. Were it beautiful , perhaps, we could spell or spill out a love sonnet. “one love have i- and she a dozen!” – no , that would still render the matter as melancholic and bitter as ever it were. Death, be not proud! My own favorite sonnet, and I know not quite why. Perhaps because its ostensible level of conviction portrays its lack of conviction. Perhaps because its self-delusive, as I am always. Pain, my friends, comes from lack of suspicion. I suspect my closest friends of immediate abandonment (reader, that includes you , if you haven’t abandoned me already!) and thus we are always happy, for they can leave and I will expect nothing else.
Last night a good , close friend of mine said : “keep on talking like she’s still your best friend and I’ll never talk to you again” – that same friend used to kill me with such threats, but now I am accustomed, regulated in the arts of abandonment. “Your threats offend me”, I mumbled, but painlessly, effortlessly. Too oft such an event occurred to be of any consequence. She got over herself, realizing as I how little these things mean. I have lost my best friend, because she wants to sleep around- does that make sense to anyone? to you, selfish, selfless reader?! “What lips my lips have kissed and where and why I have forgotten” – you all should read that sonnet, for the best minds of the world will learn its lesson on their open flesh. Who am I kidding? The one mind I held dear beyond all others has held me quite equal to any other. Love- hitherto known as selfless, let you be known for your true mask- Demand. Endless demand for understanding, acknowledgement, love, sex, favoritism, REJECTION of all others.
For I have loved, and I know that I have loved because I have demanded, hated, cared beyond any care I have ever dared presume possible- and wanted, and wanted and lacked and needed and became dependant and lost. Lost, lost, all is lost. Cliché’s run into one’s mind when one faces the pain of dissolving oneself. Pain , hitherto known as the selfish greed of the scorned lover. Nay, of the selfish demand thwarted. Her picture- lying, lying, asleep, awaken next to the man or men and women of her dreams- for several of those are required- forever without me, for I have demanded and could not understand. “ Have a nice life” I proclaimed in my anguish, hateful, disdainful, completely self-absorbed in my egocentric pain of infidelity – and she retorted, as best woman ever struck with her tongue- “you too, and I mean that!” – not without remorse, but rather without understanding.
For it is our ignorance, I find most, that makes life abominable to us through our worthy adversaries- our so called lovers! She, loving me more than ever I was loved by even my devoted readers, hurt me more than any of you can, were you to try with all the guns and kind knives at your disposal. My dad, loving me as ever father pretended to, spent his days deciding which nickname favored me most, with all the luxuries allotted him by the words “idiot” , “stupid beyond recognition”, “moron” and all variations of “worthless piece of crap” leaving him quite irresolute, though he did express partiality to “idiot” and “worthless” variants over the others. One of the only times Noah told me she loved me very much was when she wanted me to let her be with others, or at least understand her immense sacrifice at not doing so for me. One of the only times my dad told me he loved me was after beating the crap out of me for not putting the towels in their sacred place ( Here would be a good place to remark that the towels didn’t have a sacred place! Everybody put them just about everywhere, including him!) – When I told her she hurt me more than anyone else she said that was worse thing I could say. It was , but pain enables you all sorts of wicked exists.
Pain, I wail as would a baby, and as senseless as one. Paaaaaaaain. PAIN! Let it be known that I am in pain, worthy readers, for you must be worthy to survive thus far. And it’s a stupid and senseless pain, as was the pain of reminiscing over what my dad did to me all these years. Stupid and senseless and senseless and stupid. She said goodbye. I said goodbye. I now hate my best friend, the only person that made me feel like I’m one of a kind ended up making me feel like I’m nothing.
Our last conversation, a day after the all too painful breakup (getting tired of the word “pain”? TOUGH) which I initiated when too shamed by her repeated proposition that I let her be with others. I called no less than 30 times in a row, knowing she was screening me for the first time. Eventually, she could screen no more. “yes” – her most casual tone, for somewhere she knew casualness was the way to surely kill whatever was left. “ Hi” – me, almost crying. “Yes”- her repeating of the same word, tone getting a bit annoyed. “Just tell me if you’re with him” – “why should I”? – why should she have , indeed ? “because I need to know” – I needed to know if she already slept with one of the several guys she told me she really wanted to be with. “ what good will it do you”? – for some people do not understand the need for utter humiliation, though to me it comes completely naturally. “ I just, need … to know… please- I’m begging you. I won’t talk about my pain, it won’t hurt me anymore than it already has (a blatant lie) , I’m begging. Begging. Begging. Please. Please. “ – “Yes” – remorseless, ignorant, cruel. “Yes, you’re with him? “( in Hebrew the meaning is not as equivocal , though I don’t think it’s too equivocal in English either) “Yes” – cruelty, flatting out the rest of my ego, carving it up and serving it with some salad on the side. But I’m a true masochist, you know- and for those of you truly into humiliating yourself for god knows what reason, you’ll know the question that came next, the last question I’ll ever ask her.
“are you- happy…. With him? Are you… happy?” – the dots single a moaning tone, somewhere on the verge of tears but not quite there yet. “ What difference does it make?” – truly none, but abuse must go all the way. I begged again. And she, and she , and she said, easily really, because it is that easy to shape the air with your lips, as easy as it is to kiss another guy, as easy as it is to have sex with 5 different people, because it is so easy she said: “yes” – and that was the penultimate line of our 500 -books- long poem.
The last line you’ve already heard- read. “Well, have a good life” – “you too- I mean it”. The warmest tone would have been the deadliest here, and those of you broken into pieces by the very understanding of how terrible wonderful relationship can be- understand. To all the rest of you- May you never understand. I SAID I would get to bliss, but I didn’t. there is some sense of bliss somewhere- it is just lost on me writing all this pain now.
Had we but world enough and time,
Your coyness, mistress, were not a crime.
But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot drawing near.

O, How I long to never long again!