Tuesday, 12 May 2009

On the abrasion of love

Warning! This post contains touchy-feely language that some viewers might find offensive.
And swear words.

"Oh night, how you would please me -- without these stars
Whose light speaks a known language!
For I seek emptiness, and blackness, and nakedness!"
from Obsession by Charles Baudelaire

Sometimes I'm really lame and think of the whole "being in love" business in a profoundly derogatory way. Like, say, today.
Welcome to melancholic anonymous.
I haven't lost all my decency so I won't attempt to say something original on the subject. I agree that love is a positive psychosis provoked by a person of interest (much like a class A drug only with more side effects). It gets me high as a kite, there's good and bad trips and, of course, it's a bitch to come off of.
I can't control the beast. Cut off my supply and pretty soon I'm screaming into my head every few seconds. I crave a fix so bad that Morrissey suddenly sounds good again. All but the bitter taste buds fuck off and die. My skin itches and the only friends I talk to are coffee and the early morning hours. I want to read Baudelaire.
So there you have it. My frequent flyers: Doom, Gloom and Putrefication.
If you need me just listen out for The Smiths or Velvet Underground. I'll be huddled over a silent phone discovering my inner goth...

1 comment:

  1. ah, baudelaire, mmmmmmm X)
    if You want some, i've got quite a few his poems on my computer ;)

    [trying to brighten up the mood]
    I prize the memory of the naked ages
    when Apollo relished gilding marble limbs
    whose agile-fleshed originals achieved
    with neither ecstasy, fraud nor fear
    and was nursed by companionable sky,
    enjoying the health of a sublime machine.
    Cybele than, abundant in her yield,
    did not regard her sons as burdensome,
    but, tender-hearted she-wolf, graciously
    suckled the universe as her brown dugs.