Before my eyes:
       "Machinal" by Sophie Treadwell
       "Tales of the City" by Armistead Maupin


       In my ears:
       "Million Miles from Home" - Keziah Jones
       "Eye to the Telescope" - KT Tunstall

Sunday, November 27, 2005

The subtle indifferences of feeling...

What happens when you run out of things to say to someone? After a few years, you've exhausted everything good to talk about, and all the things that you had in common seem to have been eviscerated by silence and repetition. That's the way relationships go, and the way friendships go, eventually, because if you're honest with yourself there will only ever be a small handful of such connections that will last for life. When I say "for life", I mean from the point that you meet until the end of life - the "forever" concept that finds meaning only in its utter negation.

It's like that one Chris Rock skit, the one called "Shut the fuck up", where he talks about not being able to take listening to the same shit over and over: "At some point you've heard everything this person has to say, and it makes you sick to your stomach!"

I think about all the people I ended up just losing to indifference and prolonged absence of common interest, and I feel... idiotic. I don't feel regret - it takes two, always, to make discussion. Sometimes it's just a loss of interest, kind of like those ill thought-out, short term relationships where after an explosive couple of weeks, be it through phonecalls or texts, or vigorous sex, or faded smiles, the thought of the other evolves beyond the wick of their existence. You become demanding, wanting them to be more than they are, because everything that they were that was special has been consumed, the mystery sated and the lifeblood of desire spent.

On a more immediate note, the air in London is crisp and cold, and as in every winter day I am enjoying the odd smoke in the evening hours. I am most certainly a seasonal smoker - the weather and the dimming light demand it. It gives me a chance to perch on my balcony, cigar in my gloved hand and thoughts on the prospects of change that lay before me, an array of pregnancies of which all or none, but hopefully some, will come to fruition. No news on any of my job opps, but a couple are still alive and merely unresolved.

1 Comments:

Blogger Wolfie said...

You demonstrate the shallowness of the age quite well. You get bored of your friends because you are boring yourslef - you are just blaming them for your inadequacy and many people do that. Its so much easier to move on than face this fact...

9:18 pm  

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