Innocence: There is No Special Pill
Last night at the Cheer's Equivalent, my once a week work engagement, an army's batillion could have shot Roman candle fireworks every which way without hitting a single soul. Luckily I'm always armed with protective eye gear saving me from blindness from such an occasion. Having to deal with an emergency, any emergency, would have been a welcome respite. I like to stay busy while clocked in.
My darling boss, Doyenne Kim, actually apologised to me for the restaurant's ocean of emptiness. There was no need for an apology. It's not like she'd told more people to get the fuck out her restaurant. That only happened one time, weeks ago. That was only one individual and one night only in her 20 year career. And that fella really did ask for it.
A brief conversation at the bar involved a national rag's restaurant review of the eatery next door which panned the food, but lauded the service.
Truism: Great service is completely subjective.
Thus spake Doyenne Kim.
Subtext: Bad food is universal.
Kim said this to disarmingly charming chef and writer Mark, Adjudicator 8 from several weeks past. Though he is part owner of the restaurant directly west of my once a week engagement, I haven't seen Mark since the evening of the tempestuous snowstorm that swirled us into a cyclonic mass joined at the mouth.
Oh, look! ... An emergency.
There must be those who learn valuable lessons gleaned solely from the oral teachings of masters or parents. Why else would there be professors? Why else would parents keep harping on us trying to dissuade any potential harm that may come to us from the greatest Master, Life? I, stupidly, don't learn this way. I have to dabble. To try. To just check things out. 90% of my life has been spent as an agent on reconnaissance missions.
After my second marriage failed my mother took me aside and said, "This marriage thing doesn't seem to be working out for you. Don't do it anymore." She gave me the green light go ahead to co-habitate with another man, but she is not an investor in the 3rd time's a charm philosophy.
But like the Little Engine That Could... what if
I think I can, I think I can?
Sipping a glass of Australian sauvignon blanc, Mark told me the inspiration of the thumb and index finger held at a 2" gap denoting life is only this short. Over a very short period of time 3 important figures in his life had recently died. All 3 went rather inexplicably and somewhat unceremoniously.
1. Aneurism
2. ? But he was Jewish so there couldn't be an autopsy.
3. Self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.
Mark is 33 years old. The Magic Year, in my opinion. The age Jesus was when he was nailed to the cross, dying for our sins. At 33 I promised myself I'd be a better person.
Mark was most affected by #3. Gunshot wound to the head. So many ways to end one's life. Why that way, he wondered. Apparently she'd asked an arms supplier of the film world for the last object she'd ever handle in her life. She said it was to be used as a prop for an upcoming photo shoot. Standard issue.
The Comrade: Was she on medication?
Mark: She was on the same stuff I'm on.
The Comrade: Why are you on anti-depressants?
Mark: I'm bi-polar. I need it.
The Comrade: Get off it. You don't need it.
Mark: No, I do. I could spend days in bed.
The Comrade: Maybe you're tired.
The Comrade: Do you feel anything?
Mark: No.
The Comrade: Do you feel you're missing anything?
Mark: Innocence.
Last week I drank a six pack of beer and pissed all over the idea that innocence is lost with too much wisdom. Innocence is something we all want to keep, but knowledge is something that rips the toenails off of that little creature. One by one. Last month, perched precariously on a thin gauge of vulnerability I succumbed to innocence in my dealings with Mark. He felt that innocence and was taken by it. Last night he wanted to relive it.
He asked to borrow a pen as he grabbed a stack of cocktail napkins.
He began scrawling genuine professions of want, need and desire, which all culminated into a severe case of like.
Like was the bottom line.
Words, he said, were just words.
Words, I said, were pure weight.
And why would I settle for like, as genuine as it was, when I succumb to love?
Something I have right now.
He still wanted to walk me home, he wrote.
He asked nicely, though had poor penmanship.
I agreed to his escort.
Mark: I am so attracted to you... and I feel you understand me so well.
The Comrade: I do understand you, Mark.
Mark: And I feel we have so much in common.
The Comrade: In many ways we not dissimilar.
Passing by the legendary strip club, Jilly's, Home of the C-section section, he said something that made me spew 50 "whoas", each louder and italicised with every fresh utterance.
Mark: What if you're the One?
I had to stop to catch my breath.
He said that what could happen between us would stay between us.
He said that no one needed to know.
He wanted desperately to explore my body.
My head asked my body what it wanted to do.
Both were in agreeance.
When I closed my eyes and imagined the sensation of a man's caress, I only wanted one.
Green light: Fatty
Red light: Mark
In the preceding years I have been unfaithful in relationships. I have dishonoured and have been dishonourable. I had justified my actions every step of the way. I don't want to be that person anymore. If things don't work out with Fatty, I want to be the one to state why, without having my body do my bidding elsewhere. I want to live more truthfully. I want to keep targeting the GPS at the destination Better Person, country code 33. In years past I could feel good about saying "no" to someone like Mark. I would feel as if I was being true to the person I was seeing at the time. This time, saying "no" to Mark was being true to me.
I really want to see where things go with Fatty and me. Though there have been no professed expectations of exclusivity, I am treating this relationship with the honour it deserves. It started as a kinship, which turned into a dear friendship, which turned into love.
And this time, unlike all the reconnaissance missions in the past, I didn't feel that saying "no" to Mark would be akin to missing out on something. Saying "yes" to Mark might entail me to be missing out on something much more. And I guess that's wisdom, something that brought me closer to innocence.
My darling boss, Doyenne Kim, actually apologised to me for the restaurant's ocean of emptiness. There was no need for an apology. It's not like she'd told more people to get the fuck out her restaurant. That only happened one time, weeks ago. That was only one individual and one night only in her 20 year career. And that fella really did ask for it.
A brief conversation at the bar involved a national rag's restaurant review of the eatery next door which panned the food, but lauded the service.
Truism: Great service is completely subjective.
Thus spake Doyenne Kim.
Subtext: Bad food is universal.
Kim said this to disarmingly charming chef and writer Mark, Adjudicator 8 from several weeks past. Though he is part owner of the restaurant directly west of my once a week engagement, I haven't seen Mark since the evening of the tempestuous snowstorm that swirled us into a cyclonic mass joined at the mouth.
Oh, look! ... An emergency.
There must be those who learn valuable lessons gleaned solely from the oral teachings of masters or parents. Why else would there be professors? Why else would parents keep harping on us trying to dissuade any potential harm that may come to us from the greatest Master, Life? I, stupidly, don't learn this way. I have to dabble. To try. To just check things out. 90% of my life has been spent as an agent on reconnaissance missions.
After my second marriage failed my mother took me aside and said, "This marriage thing doesn't seem to be working out for you. Don't do it anymore." She gave me the green light go ahead to co-habitate with another man, but she is not an investor in the 3rd time's a charm philosophy.
But like the Little Engine That Could... what if
I think I can, I think I can?
Sipping a glass of Australian sauvignon blanc, Mark told me the inspiration of the thumb and index finger held at a 2" gap denoting life is only this short. Over a very short period of time 3 important figures in his life had recently died. All 3 went rather inexplicably and somewhat unceremoniously.
1. Aneurism
2. ? But he was Jewish so there couldn't be an autopsy.
3. Self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.
Mark is 33 years old. The Magic Year, in my opinion. The age Jesus was when he was nailed to the cross, dying for our sins. At 33 I promised myself I'd be a better person.
Mark was most affected by #3. Gunshot wound to the head. So many ways to end one's life. Why that way, he wondered. Apparently she'd asked an arms supplier of the film world for the last object she'd ever handle in her life. She said it was to be used as a prop for an upcoming photo shoot. Standard issue.
The Comrade: Was she on medication?
Mark: She was on the same stuff I'm on.
The Comrade: Why are you on anti-depressants?
Mark: I'm bi-polar. I need it.
The Comrade: Get off it. You don't need it.
Mark: No, I do. I could spend days in bed.
The Comrade: Maybe you're tired.
The Comrade: Do you feel anything?
Mark: No.
The Comrade: Do you feel you're missing anything?
Mark: Innocence.
Last week I drank a six pack of beer and pissed all over the idea that innocence is lost with too much wisdom. Innocence is something we all want to keep, but knowledge is something that rips the toenails off of that little creature. One by one. Last month, perched precariously on a thin gauge of vulnerability I succumbed to innocence in my dealings with Mark. He felt that innocence and was taken by it. Last night he wanted to relive it.
He asked to borrow a pen as he grabbed a stack of cocktail napkins.
He began scrawling genuine professions of want, need and desire, which all culminated into a severe case of like.
Like was the bottom line.
Words, he said, were just words.
Words, I said, were pure weight.
And why would I settle for like, as genuine as it was, when I succumb to love?
Something I have right now.
He still wanted to walk me home, he wrote.
He asked nicely, though had poor penmanship.
I agreed to his escort.
Mark: I am so attracted to you... and I feel you understand me so well.
The Comrade: I do understand you, Mark.
Mark: And I feel we have so much in common.
The Comrade: In many ways we not dissimilar.
Passing by the legendary strip club, Jilly's, Home of the C-section section, he said something that made me spew 50 "whoas", each louder and italicised with every fresh utterance.
Mark: What if you're the One?
I had to stop to catch my breath.
He said that what could happen between us would stay between us.
He said that no one needed to know.
He wanted desperately to explore my body.
My head asked my body what it wanted to do.
Both were in agreeance.
When I closed my eyes and imagined the sensation of a man's caress, I only wanted one.
Green light: Fatty
Red light: Mark
In the preceding years I have been unfaithful in relationships. I have dishonoured and have been dishonourable. I had justified my actions every step of the way. I don't want to be that person anymore. If things don't work out with Fatty, I want to be the one to state why, without having my body do my bidding elsewhere. I want to live more truthfully. I want to keep targeting the GPS at the destination Better Person, country code 33. In years past I could feel good about saying "no" to someone like Mark. I would feel as if I was being true to the person I was seeing at the time. This time, saying "no" to Mark was being true to me.
I really want to see where things go with Fatty and me. Though there have been no professed expectations of exclusivity, I am treating this relationship with the honour it deserves. It started as a kinship, which turned into a dear friendship, which turned into love.
And this time, unlike all the reconnaissance missions in the past, I didn't feel that saying "no" to Mark would be akin to missing out on something. Saying "yes" to Mark might entail me to be missing out on something much more. And I guess that's wisdom, something that brought me closer to innocence.
posted by Comrade Chicken at
3:14 p.m.
2 Comments:
The best kind of exclusivity (I think) is the kind where you don't HAVE to be...but you WANT to be. If you think about it, that's probably where the idea of monogamy came from originally...people who just didn't want to be with anyone else. No rules...just desire.
By
Anonymous, at 9:30 a.m.
Been letting this post marinate in my head for a few days.
You obviously made a choice. No regrets and no recriminations.
Not that you asked for opinions, but I think it was the right move.
I wonder how I would have acted if I was in your or in Mark's place. See, its not just your view of the world in this blog. You have a wonderful talent for painting the entire tableau. You refrain from emoting a static perspective and that is a valuable asset to the reader.
By
Rye, at 8:15 p.m.
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