Endless Noose

FIRST NIGHT

I must say, every time a person tries to do something they realize the limitation in completing any action is from lack of knowing another person. Who that person is, or why you need to meet that person, is not necessarily important, but contingent on the idea being promoted. We sleep in beds designed for one or two. We need each other. Find me a sane man without a sane friend. Find me a man who sleeps through the night, without a woman to sleep and breathe in unity. Incredibly, the lonely are the craftiest type of person, they have special survival skills.! A man without love knows he has nothing to risk except for an even larger absence of love. Man says, one who is in love will take a bullet for their companion; I say Man will also take a bullet for the absence of a companion. But a much different kind of bullet; one straight through the head! Which alliance with Man and bullet is more out of Man’s free will? Man does not want to be a hero during a state of infatuation, Man is tied, shafted, noosed by the flighty obligations that the feeling and chaining that love drags with it. With such unwavering regularity, like the noon churchbell, or the drunken men running away from their soul, the Man in Love is humanity’s most elegant performance artist. He becomes so invested in his companionship where he feels anything less than death will be recognized by his comrades as a cowardly injustice on the woman he loves. Man will almost invariably jump in front of that bullet for his beloved, yet I am questioning if his jump is conscious, of his one meaningful gift from God, his will. Is that jump actually his martyr like need to be perceived valiantly in front of his peers, that need being stronger in his soul than the very experience of being alive? That I say is a flaw, of Man, and a flaw too of love. Man will jump in front of the bullet, but his soul, if uncovered knows he would die freer if he instead took a bullet to his head. At least the bullet to his head is chosen. At least the bullet to his head is reflection of one’s very consciousness! Love removes man’s capacity for consciousness. What is a loving sacrafice but an injunction on the acceptance of society’s rules placed upon man. Man is not fully conscious when jumping in front of the bullet. If Man makes the true choice of uniting with a bullet, he is the most alive he will ever be and has ever been right before his death. Those seconds, that second, that half second, where the choice of taking one’s life before Man’s total consciousness ceases, is the essence of freedom. Who says freedom is always peaceful? Love is a noose that has no end.


MORNING

My eyes open this morning and all I want to do is tell my mind of yesterday to hush! Oh, I was possessed by a demon, I swear. In the end, our thoughts are seasonal. But, dear reader, I am here to happily contradict myself of yesterday! I have met someone, not just met, I have touched love. Maybe I am speaking only in hyperbole, or maybe I am being too humble. But, boy, dear reader, it felt a certain way, and nobody can question that feeling. How did it occur? I have no idea, no recollection, only sensations that come back to me when I think of it. Well, wait a second, it was raining and this lady had no umbrella and she was walking towards me. Am I still a man if I were not to give her my umbrella in the pouring rain? That’s for another time, dear reader. The next few minutes are blank, black in my memory, but nevertheless burning in my heart. I recall her now holding my umbrella, with me passionately standing beside her in the rain; but I felt no water, only her radiance. I was trembling inside, yet I knew if all I was able to do was give her my umbrella, I would not feel worthy of living out the day. I had to overcome my trepidation, maybe it showed through, maybe quite a bit, regardless, she talked to me! “Why are you walking in the rain?” I think I asked that rather rapidly. “I am on my way home.” Her terseness did not bother me, it is common in a beautiful woman to be cold upon meeting a man. I must pause, this woman had her share of noticeable defects in her appearance, But these defects were by no means imperfections, no, only made me want to surrender my soul to her even farther. “You are far too beautiful to walk alone in the rain. Let alone, walking without an umbrella.” I now recall me stating, with an air of confidence suddenly appearing from somewhere I cannot pinpoint. “Too beautiful? Who are you to offer me your umbrella, and then mock me under the rain! You are a sick man, you are a man who gets pleasure from standing in the rain as the drops accumulate onto his skull, a man who finds a disgusting joy (is disgusting joy even possible in a sane man?) in making a mockery out of an unmistakably lonely, ugly woman merely trying to make her way home. Do you know how it feels for a man of your makeup (of my makeup!) to tell an ugly woman that she is beautiful when she feels anything but? Not only do I regret accepting your umbrella, I wish I became drenched in the rain, at least I will be closer with nature, closer with God!” I now recall feeling overwhelmed by her beauty, to a degree that I cannot express on pen. A woman as defenseless, yet, somehow at the same time, as defensive as possible as a woman could be towards a man, secretly revealed the pride this woman had in her very being. I am beginning to recall my reply: “Oh, surely you are mistaken in my intentions. I can plainly say I have never been more sincere. You are perfect, and there is no reason for God to have made you any other way. I don’t have many convictions, I lack an abundance of beliefs, but finding you along my path, beautiful woman, fate may actually exist with such palpability! Please I beg of you, I will get on one knee if that is what you want, forget your initial assessment of me, just speak and I am yours.” Those words did not come from me, they came from some other place I did not believe in prior to this experience. “I do not even know your name, no man has ever spoken to me in such a way. I know I am about to cry, please forgive me, please consider me as beautiful as you do now if I begin to cry.” I remember her begging me. “I will only find you more beautiful, I will love you with all of the energy I am able to wield, day after day, until death, no not until death, our souls will forever be united. That is a promise” I think she became uncontrollably silent so I continued. “Tell me, my new love, what brings you peace” I must have asked in earnest. “Peace? It is my writing. Bringing paper to pen. My words do not bear the weight of my deformed face. In the worlds I write, I create who I want and how they look.I escape the burden of living in this world, is there any bigger burden than not having a break from living?” Ah, she is intelligent and angelic. Fate is real. “You are right, my dear. If there is one flaw in God’s strategy, if we are allowed to call it that, is that we are not allowed pauses in our reality. Until now, I have thought of life as a man with a knife, stabbing me, never hard enough or deep enough to kill me, but always enough to make me bleed.” Those thoughts felt disgusting to me at the time. “Your experience sounds tragic yet heartfelt, and I think I am falling for you. Nevertheless, the rain is falling harder and I cannot bear to see you get this wet as I stand here under your umbrella.” I cannot share how much those words meant to me. “As you wish. I haven’t yet gotten your name.” “Wait! We should wait to exchange names. Do not sacrifice the fire of this moment for mere semantics! We must separate now. But you have brought a feeling in my heart that I doubted its existence, I must run home and write about it!” “Wonderful idea, we should meet again tomorrow in this same place, at the same time. Bring the umbrella tomorrow. Yes, it is in a dangerous area, adjacent to the street. But this is our area now, an area had never been so holy, has never been so protected by God.” “Oh, I think I have finally found love. We will meet here in exactly one day and we will exchange formalities, as I believe that is necessary. Until tomorrow, thank you, for tonight the tears that fall from my eyes will not be from my own torment, but the torment of now having these feelings and knowing so many decent humans have never felt them!” I do not remember the rest of our interaction, though I am confident I have captured its essence. How can I explain my feelings from yesterday, to now being just one nights sleep away from being reunited with my new love? Oh, but how silly to think I will sleep at all! Ha! Nothing will ever be as impossible. Perhaps love still is an endless noose, perhaps everything I said last night is true. Maybe I am drunk. Nevertheless, I am going to dive into it, and discover instead of philosophize. My beautiful writer is waiting, my noose is perfectly fastened and I am extremely eager.


DAY THREE

Abashed, fatigued, beaten down but bloodless, my heart is somewhere else, if it is anywhere at all. My angel did not return to our spot, oh what did I do? Please, God, redeem me, Make me worthy of her presence once again. Standing there in the cold rain, on the street waiting for the beautiful woman to come to me with my umbrella, how pathetic I must have looked to pedestrians. I was pathetic, I surrendered my soul and in return I obtained the pain of one hundred dying men. This is not real, it cannot be, do circumstances truly fluctuate as rapidly as mine? Alas, I must stay steadfast in my commitment to this woman. Till the day of my death, I will wait in our sacred spot beside the street, I will wait for this angel to come back. Oh, I have to believe she will come. she must! I can only imagine what must have passed through her head; ‘this man, do I actually love him?’ Yes, she must have been questioning it all, what women wouldn’t question their feelings during serendipity? Fate, I claimed only a night ago! Perhaps it was all a tragic accident. Oh, what she must have been thinking last night, I can only speculate: ‘I will make this man wait, I will stay in my house with his umbrella on my nightstand, I will test his loyalty. How much pain will he suffer for my love? If I see him on that street when I decide to return…oh what a man he must be! I will marry him that night.’ Oh yes, yes! She could be thinking those thoughts. Verbatim! If she is thinking those thoughts I will give the world for a few seconds of her embrace. I will figure out the truth behind love by standing up; no longer in my mind will I define its meaning, but in my heart and soul. I must believe that is how God wants it. Yet I cannot shake off the pure sting from her absence. Even if this woman, this perfection of woman, shows up tomorrow, her absence will always be in my mind forever, like a scar! I will never forget. No, I won’t forget!. Tomorrow, I will return to that spot, and put faith in the decisions of fate itself. I am worried I may not be in love with this woman, but am merely treating her love as an experiment. Hush! That is false! If only that thought never had existed in my mind. This woman is worth waiting for till my final days, I will go without bread if it means kissing her once. Yes, I will go to the spot tomorrow, and have faith I will see the woman with my umbrella.

THE FOURTH DAY

My mind and Will are fatiguing. My heart is beyond ill, though perhaps, it is still curable beyond all conceivability. Three days it has been, three visits to that street, three. Each time evokes the same sensations in me; if it possible at all to describe sensations with words. I feel as I am walking toward the spot on the road, that I, God willing, will see the faint markings of my umbrella held in the hand of this beauty, and the umbrella becomes more defined, so much so I see the dents, and the one hole that was made when it got caught on a tree branch many months ago. Oh, how I wish I had gotten that close to the umbrella. Not yet, maybe never. No, it is not the time to think in such absolutes, it is unsafe I tell you! My body will degrade, my flesh will rot before I give up on seeing my love again. That’s right, my love, I swear I have not lived until I gazed into her soul. What? You don’t believe that I will go to that street until my death! Who are you to question my unwavering faith, my tenacity. Love is an adventure, love is a war. There is pain, that sir, is inevitable. There may be death in love, but are there any higher stakes? Is love not holier than God Himself? He would not want it to be any other way, where would Humanity be without Adam and Eve. Hush! I am being overly-christian once again. I’m rationalizing my sick obsession for this woman I hardly know with piety. I disgust myself. Oh, but maybe that is the purest form of love. The paradox of being so unaware of so much but so very aware of the love. Yes, I am deciding right now, that is how I feel. Nobody can take that away from me. Perhaps now I will drink, and fall even deeper into my straits for this woman. She has changed me, my soul – but for good or bad? Good or bad, what does that duality truly mean. I can say with confidence Good and Bad (whatever that ends up to mean) has no relevancy in love. What did neitzche say, ah now I remember: “acts of love take place beyond good and evil”. I am to agree with nobody if I am not to agree at all.Love is beyond constructions, understandings and one’s and twos. He who tries to understand, to make sense of, to deconstruct love is a bastard! A disgusting, lonely bastard and that is something I will never resign myself to do. Or perhaps I am doing all of that as we (we?) speak? I am now feeling overwhelmed, with what feelings I can barely pinpoint. I believe I shall get drunk, how I wake up in the morning is neither here nor there; for if I see the angel with my umbrella, any possible physical ailment will be instantly cured! Enough of this, I am craving many shots of vodka. I am not a lonely man, I merely want to get drunk before I sleep.

THE ELEVENTH

Filth, I report to you dear reader, pure filth. That’s the core of the human heart! I want to meet the man who can prove to me otherwise. How has our species sustained for so long with such filth ingrained in us? How does man connect, and find meaning, when he knows his neighbor would rather burn his house down than rebuild it. Filth! Filth! I am ashamed to be a part of it, an integral part at that. It no longer seems sensibile to me for man to venture for love and companionship; all he will get in return is a mirror! And in that mirror he will see ugly, pure, filth. Is there a better indicator of truth than a mirror? If you look into one, you just see endless reflections of who you might be. Doubt me, call me a cynic, find me the evidence, I will reply, and you will cry when you agree with the truth. Ha! But, perhaps I will respect the man who is willing to cry, not just let a teardrop escape his eyes, but a full-fledged weep, because I say a man is incomplete if he is unwilling to dive headfirst into his emotions. Yes, and that’s what I am doing right now. I am a sick man, dear reader? I am mentally ill, a maniac, you say? I ask you to search, no, better yet, dig, dig into your mind, dig into your soul, and you will see the darkness of my thoughts as frighteningly familiar, frighteningly, dare I say comfortable. That’s right, dear reader, you too are a retched, primal, filthy man! The more you deny it, the more it holds true! Ha! A paradox confines you, my silly friend. I have now returned to that spot on the street where I have met my one love ten times, and I have yet to encounter her and my umbrella. But I am no cowardÍ when I make a commitment; the only threat of me breaking my word is death! What I am expecting, I expect nothing from life. I do not go to that street every afternoon expecting to see the beautiful woman holding my umbrella, I go knowing there will be a result, and I will react to it, that is all any human can truly admit is possible in life. What, is that dear reader, you say I am over-simplifying? I am trying to minimize the overwhelming filth of our species. We say we love, at best love is accepting another’s filth as tolerable. What is love and romance but an over-glorified symbiosis, a symbiosis involving the most disgusting species on this planet. Filth! Tomorrow afternoon I will go to the street, with the same enthusiasm I have had the past ten days, hoping to see the woman I love. She is quite a beautiful woman. I have nothing else to say.


THE FINAL DAY

Finally, the twelfth day, the woman returned to the street. She was more than I remembered her, she was beyond word- there was holiness all around her. As I walked closer to her on the street, one aspect of her positioning fascinated me. Instead of holding my umbrella, as I would expect out of courtesy, she had the wrapped umbrella rest on the ground by her feet, somehow the umbrella had an air of sadness to it, how to explain this I do not know. My enthusiasm slowly waned, not to say I wasn’t extremely eager to reunite with this woman despite the suspicious layout. This time around, I can say with confidence, dear reader, that I remember our conversation like there is a script in front of me. Let me attempt to recite it to you; excuse any potential pauses, as with anything emotionally taxing, extra wll is required to complete the task. “Hello, My Love. I am relieved to finally see you. Your beauty is refreshing!” I say, now I realize there was a small amount of desperation in my words. “It is nice to see you again as well (nice?). I must ask, you came here everyday looking for me, hoping, or possibly, expecting to see me?” She asked, possibly in a condescending tone. This was not the angel I remember encountering. “Yes, yes! And I am proud to admit it. I would be dead before I would quit coming here. Your love, your embrace, is worth my life.” Those words came from the blood of my soul, painful yet impossible not to utter. “You are a unique man. Ha, now I remember I do not even know your name…” “Leon!” I shout impulsively, oh how I must have looked in front of this woman! “Leon, you are a unique man, of a special character. I am not able to articulate it further than that. There is a part of me who is truly honored and flattered that such a man would be so dedicated to see me, to come to this street for twelve days in a row, without slowly questioning my faith more and more, day after day. Oh, I acknowledge that part of me exists, but a larger part of me, a more complete part of me, after these dozen or so days, realizes how pathetic you are. I cannot love you, at best, I will pity you.” This beautiful woman, where did this beautiful woman of twelve days ago run away to? “You are surprising me, my angel. That’s right, even in such unrequited times I will still acknowledge who you are- an angel. I am truly in shock, but I began having my suspicions as I noticed my umbrella laying alone on the ground. The magnitude of your lack of compassion ruins me, my beauty. Before we met, oh I will never forget that, I was nothing but a body, I was disgusted when another man would accuse me of being alive. Yes, that is true, I began questioning all basic principles. Began questioning, and deconstructing the basic understandings in society; love, God, brotherhood; ‘How true are those concepts?’ I asked myself. Yes that’s right, prior to encountering your radiance I referred to God as merely a basic concept. How will He forgive me? You said, at best you will pity me, at worst what will you deem of me?” I was entering delirium at this point. Who, that is not evil, will blame me? “At worst, Leon, and if I am being honest with you, this is more likely, the worst is that I will think nothing. I will forget your existence. You will be a small, ripped, dead leaf and the wind will blow and you will blow with it, with complete lack of direction. If I remember you at all, Leon, it will be solely to remind myself of the existence of such ugly human beings. The more probable outcome, Leon, is that you will turn into nothing more than an ordinary pedestrian just a few steps after we begin to walk away from each other. That is the least I could give you, Leon, and that is all you deserve, plainly nothing at all.” The tears were flooding down my eyes now, my poor eyes were working hard to push out such an amount of tears. Despite my state as she was lacerating my soul, I began to accept the situation, at least slightly. “If I am such a slug to you, why did you come back, albeit after eleven nights?” “To return your umbrella. I felt you needed something to help cover the constant rain that falls on your life. That is why, and that is only why; to retun your umbrella.” I had no words to this, nor should I have. I was in a fit, as if my soul was attempting to run away from my body. I fell to my knees, crying without break. I knelt next to my umbrella, and stared at it in great complexity. My tears began to fall more than ever, and they were now landing on the umbrella. ‘My poor umbrella!’ I remember thinking. I grabbed it and embraced it in my arms as if it were my own son. I layed there, on the ground, clenching the umbrella as tears escaped from my eyes. I was delirious and incoherent. Oh, humanity, why should I have ever expected anything else? The beautiful woman, I never ended up getting her name, began to walk away. I stopped her for one last moment. “One more moment, please.” She at least still had the respect to turn around and wait to hear my outcry. “ I will not lower the intensity of how you made me feel just now. You have murdered my will, my future, any sense of hope has blown away like the leaf. You, my beauty, have created a dead man in a functioning body. You have ruined any chance of attempts at connecting humanity- for now I know for sure, humanity is nothing but filth. Despite the consequences, I choose to see you as I did on this same street twelve days ago. You will forever be an angel to me. Forever be the woman who gave me a glimpse of love, that glimpse was maybe just a half second, but that half second was worth all of the torment of my life. I still see you as the purest beauty the world has to offer. You, my dearest woman, have killed me, but what better way to die than have my last sight be my angel? I ask one thing, one final thing from you. I ask you to walk away now, walk until there is no question I never see you again. And do not say anything as you walk away, I desire no type of reply to any of my outcries. My soul is ruined and as cleansed it ever will be. Oh, do walk away, do be silent. Farewell, my angel.” She did as I asked. I layed there crying, hugging my umbrella, until sunset. You may say I am an insane man. Well, dear reader, I am beginning to consider that there may be no insane men, only men who have ventured out to discover love, only to return lonelier than before. It is time for me to take a sip of vodka.


ACCEPTANCE AND MEANING

It has been four hours since my fatal interaction. Yet, time seems quite incoherent to me now. I admit, my reader, I am very drunk, but sober enough to conclude my words. I see no reason to fight for my belief in humanity, dear reader. I became vulnerable to that woman, I gambled my soul. The future is forever ruined, and disgusting, and oh I was right, filled with filth! Love is a noose with no end. But for me since my love is through, I will gladly tighten the noose and fall off the stool. No, I will not end my life, that is a weak and clichéd act of man in these situations. I took another drink of rum and concede I am struggling putting my words to paper, forgive me. Nevertheless, I no longer believe in humanity, save its blatant infatuation with filth. I will not die, I will not take a bullet to the head, no, I will be more unique than that with my misery, dear reader. For now on, I will embrace my hate of humanity as if it were my newborn child. Cowardly men are ashamed of their distaste for their fellow man; well, I am going to flaunt it, and make sure all men are aware of the filth they walk around with so proudly, albeit unconsciously. This is the only purpose remaining for me in life. Life, ha! God’s chief joke. It is beginning to seem more a possibility to me by the minute that the Devil is behind the markings of the human heart rather than God. Perhaps gathered the logs, but the Devil planted the fire. Yes, that is the only way it can be. After my interaction with that woman, my only remaining love, is my love for the glory of human filth. For, what truer duty of man than to embrace that which is most abundant? I feel freer than ever! Nothing has ever been so clear, is it possible to find splendor in filth? If it is, I am experiencing it first hand. I choose to hate until my soul escapes from my body. Maybe it is even right, even just, to hate man, if he is this ugly, there should be no other way but to hate. It is time for me to escape this torment with rum, if only for the night. Thank you, dear reader. Even though I hate you, I unquestionably love you.

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 13.07.2012

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