Affectionately Yours

Hours after sunset fell my MSN rang with tones from Azerbaijan. We agreed on our respective problems and patched together opiate solutions. The ordeal ended in a treaty of listed rules and a date of reconciliation. A short stint of catching our breath in the air and a forgettable bus ride found us at a table in the refurbished Conestoga mall. I looked into her eyes and found the infatuation lost on self-induced mess. Complements and other niceties bridged our low expectations and high hopes. I (maybe we) prematurely fell into an ease and accordingly fell into lingering bad habits.
Her nitpicking and superficial criticisms moshed with my passive aggressive nature. I held my cruses under my breath and my resentment swelled. I internally ran through the list of my options and ended at weathering her storm(s) through a guise of playing dead. We skimmed through the next two hours by watching a kid’s movies (could have been better, could have been worse). I did, however, enjoy spending the time with her. I love catching glimpses of her smile, and hearing the ripples of her laughter.
We found our way back to her room via a cab. Splitting our time between youtube and pod casts, we; laughed, teased, and played beside each other in an informal embrace. We didn’t; fight, dramatize, or have ensnaring conversations about a proverbial “us.” Hours passed, I got bored. We were coexisting as friends but I dreaded the prospect of spending the next several hours in a similar fashion. Azerbaijan absolutely captivates me… spending several hours with little interpersonal interaction is less than an appealing notion. I would rather annoy an engagement out of her than be stuck in a holding pattern of platonic bliss. –never realized that- (Something I should defiantly work on…)
I lent a hand to the divide separating our affections; the ambassador was shot on sight. My heavy lids trailed thoughts of frustration and vows of never engaging with her again. An hour passed before she put her baby (I Mac) to bed and joined my attempts at sleep.
She remarked on how disturbing the movie was, she wanted to be held. Affection fallowed in degrees that caught me off guard (all PG sicko’s). I paralleled her shape and held the formation until aches in my shoulder blade taunted my aspirations of continuing to hold her. I dreaded it, but I eventually flipped over. To my surprise she fallowed suit, our enveloping darkness concealed a smile so unabashed it tickled the corners of my cheeks. This was beyond the woman I loved, it surprised me in the nicest of ways.
Her affection erased my pervious vows of estrangement. This is who I wanted, what I wanted, what had been missing, what I needed. Beyond having someone to hang out and sleep with on weekends, I want someone who is simply affectionately mine. I didn’t get that before. I have close friends. I have people who love me, like me, dislike, and hate me. There is only one person, however who I am overtly affectionate towards.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IUXL31oqXXY
Affectionately Yours,
John Darling.

This endless days are going up in a blaze

Yesterday I was broken up with. At the time, its visceral sting was numbed by a month of; fighting, obscene highs/lows, and embarrassment. We both poisoned the well with the worse parts of our nature. Both of us will be happier and more satisfied with the embrace of neutralizing lovers. I know this, this is my internal mantra. While I replay these notions to myself, this morning’s shower was followed by an unintentional thawing of my repressed separation anxiety. I remembered the cute smile she shined, the eye makeup she wore for a pirate party, the subtly of her accent. I quickly removed myself from these notions. I am an attractive, educated, and good hearted guy. I will have many chances to be with beautiful and intelligent women. I recited these lines to myself; they were as smooth as high school rendition of Shakespeare. I can and will be with beautiful women, but no matter how beautiful they are, they won’t be her. I tried to sabotage the memory of our relationship, replaying her transgressions and infidelities. I forced myself to remember that her longest relationship was four months long, and that’s how long I lasted. I think of myself as being one of 8. Not the first, certainly not the last, just one of a cast that traveled through the revolving doors of her fleeting passions (below the belt? Kinda the point (and pun very much intended)). Somehow, remembering my unimportance to her life soothes me. I try picturing every nice thing she said to me being said to everyone else she has ever been with. I even try to imagine the list of flaws she will highlight for the next guy. Thinking of myself as nothing to her helps put things in perspective. She was a girl that I dated for 4 months… nothing more. Again a mantra I unsuccessfully tried to internalize. “just a girl, many of them out there, just a girl, just a girl, a girl, a girl. 4 months, 4 months. Hare, Rama, Hare..”

In a Biblical Sense

I knew (and I mean that in a biblical sense, lol) an Azerbaijan woman who dabbled in a post secularized Buddhism. Through the experiential knowledge of an estranged foreigner in Canada, she stumbled on a philosophy that can only be encapsulated by the notion of “Gam zeh ya'avor.” She, like all people, has certain needs that can only be fulfilled through modes of social interaction. Our human nature simply demands a level of socialization after all, even the nakedness of apes needs to find his counter part in others. How and why we form our socially inspired canons differs drastically. Here is where her and my experience differ.
My parents/country made my life a stable one. I have only moved once (when I was two). I’ve grown up with the same group of people. Besides my four month African sabbatical, I’ve spent my life in Canada with Canadians. I have 3 close friends. One I met in grade 6, one I met in grade 10, and 1 I met 4 years ago. Life is full of variables and change, my upbringing has muted this reality. For better or worse and without fully realizing it, I have come to gospelize; long relationships, face to face contact with those relationship, and living in one place.
The woman mentioned above, from what I’ve seen, is not like that. She has made drastic moves throughout her life. Her upbringing spans the globe and transcends languages and cultural barriers. Beyond that, every move has further physically separated her from the stagnation, social security, and comforts of the stability Gospel.
I want to be a lasting part of her life; it’s a need I’ve been bred to have (like middle class eugenics). We do what we’ve been taught, and this is all I know. She knows something different though, of which the intricacies will elude all but the luckiest man (fucking bastard). We are different. At my core, I strive to find (and keep) a woman to build a life with and value her as my secular savor. The only way I know how to do that is to fallow the foot steps of my father. I won’t assume to know what she wants (after all assuming makes an ass out of you and me), but at the end of the day she knows a world and a life different than mine. While there may be a universality of a loving and caring family life, there isn’t a universal method of achieving that goal.


(“Let Me Rest in Peace-Spike”, “Walk Through The Fire-OMWF” and “I’ll Never Tell-OMWF”)