PROSE GROUP 1 Text 2 (Fragment): "Shouldn't Have Died Back Then" (Part 2)

2. Shouldn't Have Died Back Then (Part 2)

SHOULDN'T HAVE DIED BACK THEN

(PART TWO)

Somehow, something didn't quite feel right just now. Everything had faded away since that awful moment, that awfully stretched and prolonged moment that now more and more seemed like a slow and painful death, with some short but brief episodes offering some hope for recovery, only to be renounced the more forcefully with each time anew. Somehow, something had died within, hope, mostly. Yes, sure, you may think that's quite a cliché subject, and you're quite right, you couldn't be any more right. But still, that doesn't devalue the conflict, doesn't just wipe out all the things that contributed to making this such a dreadful and crucial moment. You may actually be inclined to joke about it, be ironical or cynical or otherwise dismissive of it, whatever, that doesn't change the individual experience. And sure, experience is such a wasteful term as well, being overdone and over-emphasized all over everywhere. But that's just how it goes. You just need to have those blasted human interest stories. Experience all over the place, decency gone down the drain, relevance and global context and perspective mattering not to the slightest degree. And what the heck, why should they. We're all just human beings, and if push comes to shove, it's just our very own private lives, publicized or not, which count. Don't say you really give a bleep about the global context when your heart is aching. Don't pretend you care about the worries of your umpteenth world neighbors once you're in the mood to listen to Greensleeves, or even country. True, it would be politically correct to uphold such pretension, but really, what's the point. And so, you see, once you get into the whole messy muddle of lover loves lovee, everything just goes down the drain.

There's a reason for stories like that of Romeo and Juliet and the rest of the tear-wrenching kind. And it's pretty much safe to say, those who get those stories, who truly understand their essence and meaning, they are sort of lucky. Not basically lucky in a happy kind of way, just sort of. Somehow even, they're to be pitied. For when is such a situation actually going to pay off? Isn't it rather a speedway to hell eternal? Seriously, when does this true love actually result in a reciprocal relationship? Can there be something like a symmetrical obsession? Or aren't we just doomed to arrive at one end of the equation, seeking desperately for something in return, but in all our desperation, even accepting the slightest sign for hope as adequate compensation for all our trials and tribulations?

Perhaps it'd be best to just give up looking for some sense and suit yourself with one of those shallow but efficient negotiated companionships. Trading loneliness for a roommate with an option for sex may not be the worst thing after all, especially if you retain the emergency exit door in form of an equally negotiable breakup or even divorce. Just settle for the quick fix, why wait for love. Maybe love's overrated anyway. It's overly discussed, that's for sure, and any new text about it can actually just be a derivative variation on the oldest of themes, nothing but yet another of those darn human interest stories, yet another personal perspective of the joyride that's life.

You see, somehow didn't and doesn't just feel right. It shouldn't be like that. This is not a perfect world, in neither case. The cruelest thing of all, however, is the avalanche of breakdowns that ensue once you're fundaments have been shaken. There are always ruptures in the fabric of personal reality, you just mightn't be aware of them. There's always something that doesn't quite fit in the state of your personal kingdom, and once you come to truly question one thing, everything soon will fall into place, or rather, out of it. Given enough time, everything will become relative, given even more time, everything will become shallow, then empty, then inimical, then irrelevant. And A leads to B leads to C, and you'll discover you're craving for a way out. That wouldn't even be suicide, it'd just be ending a coma, killing a vampire who's already dead anyway. For death is something occurring over a long period of time, starting at that very moment initially mentioned. It's a process that can be halted, maybe even reversed, the breakdowns, however, would remain, not as scars but as little revolutions of the spirit, if that's what you call it. You see, if something can be shaken successfully, there hasn't been enough substance to begin with. Why stick with rotten compromises for the mere sake of following convention. After all, it's your life.

Shouldn't have died back then. But was there an alternative? Isn't love built on the respect of the other's decision, isn't it being able to desist even if it means suffering? Or is it just what common culture has been saying, a game of constant bribing and violating and seducing and consequently destroying the impulse that could in fact create something that is genuine and requited. There's no solution to be found here, no insight to be gained. Maybe hope means that mistakes can be corrected, directions reversed, moments of despair and estrangement turned into their opposite, death turned into life. Or maybe, it's just a waste of time, and everything's just assumed to die anyway, and believing in love is the brainwashing, and disbelieving it leads to the truth. Maybe there's a little something that didn't die back then after all, for the last option just doesn't seem quite feasible, for if that would be the case, what would be the point? Ice cream and pizza?

September 17th, 2002