Relationships

This was a blog posted on MySpace. I read it and fell in love.. Get this: his display name is "666Fuck You666"

Being alone is empowering. Most couples never get shit done; they pour all their energies into each other and their relationship. And most are also obscenely square and boring. Think of all the talented people you know who haven't ever done anything worthwhile with their gifts, or who have some feeble, half-assed creative endeavor that barely exists or sucks, one that is a desultory adjunct to a completely conventional work-a-job life, and then think how many of those people are also married or in serious long-term relationships. Most, if not all.

When people couple up it gives them an excuse to be lame, an excuse not to push themselves, because they're too busy playing grown-up with their amazingly important grown-up relationship. This leads to other retarded, creativity-destroying grown-up activities like spawning filthy brats or having a square career or buying a late-model four-door car (aka "soul suicide") or getting serious about the quality of one's furniture. These people are dead. They are the walking dead, and like zombies in a zombie flick they may look and sound like the people they once were or could have been, but in fact are only ghastly sinister undead mockeries of their younger, more potential-having selves.

Take a moment or six hundred to contemplate the nearness and finality of your death. It's coming straight at you like a fucking rocket, roaring down from the sky at you with incalculable speed, homing in closer every tick of the second hand. It is completely unavoidable and the only truth common to human existence. Sooner or later the entire cosmos as you construe it, the entire world that you see and experience, will absolutely cease to be with an irrevocability and totality that your mind cannot conceive. It will be the most profound experience of your life, the terminal experience. And it will come whether or not you found true love.

Love is hiding from reality, from ourselves and from life, It's wonderful but it's meaningless. Love is a lie we tell ourselves. I have been reading Proust's "In Search of Lost Time," another activity that being in a relationship would definitely prevent (the time commitment), and old Marcel pretty much has it right when it comes to love, as well as many other things. We don't ever really love someone, we love the inaccurate, personally significant image we construct of that person, and the reciprocated love he or she feels for us is as false as our own. But you know what ISN'T false, ironically enough? What we create, what we build out of our own imaginations. I could go on for a few more paragraphs about that but I'll spare you. Anyway: Love is very nice, semi-divine even, but it distracts from the ultimate aloneness that is the core of human experience. Even if you're not shitting out babies or getting a mortgage, even if you're queer or in a relationship with a robot or a horse or whatever, you're still in some subliminated way acting out the biological so-called imperative. You're just being meat. And you already are meat, so why wallow in that? Why not use whatever tiny allotment of life remains to you to do something a little loftier?