WARNING: contains detailed adult themes and strong opinions.

Tuesday, 1 October 2013

12 The Business of Love

Do you see? Do you see it? I loved her. Not like you love anything, you're not quite capable of the same kind of love as I am. No, this kind of love is visible, it is rough, and it is loud. This love is the kind you see in the eyes of a man with a coffee mug full of vodka in one trembling hand, and a gun in the other, watching his bruised wife crawl away. This love is beaten into you.



Your grave is just a black slab, and true to its colour it absorbs all my anger and grief and pain and it doesn't give a shit.

I drive a taxi. Out of 10 people, 8 talk to me about their boring, miserable lives. "I've got 3 children, you see, and to be honest I haven't had time to even have a nap since Suzy was born! I'm just plain exhausted." Apparently the correct response to this is not: "Well, since you had 2 children already I would assume you knew what you were getting yourself into. Quite stupid of you, I'd say."
"My wife and I have had some problems lately. It's put our plans of having a family on hold, but we're working through it, for the sake of our marriage." When asked why for the sake of the marriage, the man looked at me as if I was out of line, "Because we made a commitment, a promise!" A promise? You're going to be with one person for the rest of your life, day in, day out, whether you really want to or not (and let's face it, since you're doubting it you don't really want to now do you?) because you made a PROMISE? For the REST OF YOUR LIFE?
They tell me I don't understand life.

As humans we are the only species who actively seeks others of the same species to kill, to hurt, sometimes for no real reason. Then we grieve them as if we didn't know it was possible. People die, that's what people do. Yet even I can't stop feeling like my world hasn't shifted. I'm a little boy again, stuck in that boiler.
I've melted my figurines, all of them, the Simpsons, a few Looney Tuners, and a handful of traditional green soldiers into one big clump of colourful plastic. It's beautiful in it's own way. I picked it up and burnt my hands, but the pain it caused was love, because it blinded me, and it was all I could feel. Now my pain was visible to all. The clump of plastic has hardened inside my microwave, the small bubbles of boiling plastic fossilised forever.

The man is made uncomfortable if he looks at himself in the mirror for too long. He cannot bear to see his soul.

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