Thursday, February 14, 2008

A Valentine's Day Card From my Own Twisted Subconscious Mind

OXFORD, Ohio (ZP) -- Four-thirty in the goddamn morning, and the streetlights are shining through the windows, photons from hell bouncing up off the ice and snow outside and down into my bloodshot eyes.

The ceiling bleeds artificial, fluorescent omnipotence, weeps its dirty blue rays down into my eyeballs, cries down silhouettes of ice-coated tree branches and swaying power lines.

One night, I'll learn to sleep with the blinds down. One night, I'll drop the veil of plastic venetian slats and kill off the witching hours, learn to pretend that twilight is some evil, sinister thing, like a normal human being.

Happy fucking goddamn bullshit Valentine's Day.

At four-thirty in the morning, I'm staring at the ceiling, thinking about the bullshit that is a holiday built around bow-wielding, flying midgets of love, thinking about those twisted little Cherubim who feel the need to come out once a goddamn year...

... Just to poke unsuspecting bachelors in the brain with heart-shaped cattle prods.

* * * *

I had a dream about falling in love. A nightmare, actually.

I'm blaming the whole thing on a late dinner, on whole wheat tortillas and chicken and hot sauce.

In the vision, a female friend and I were, yes, in a rather comfortable if not wholly awkward embrace when, suddenly, one of those little flying cherubic cocksuckers launched into his aerial attack, dive-bombed me like an angelic Enola Gay, full of Hiroshima-smashing mushiness, armed and vicious and... ugh! ... cute.

And in the dream, yes, I also had my grandfather's shotgun, an over-and-under twelve-gauge that, as a kid, I used to use to hunt flying squirrels, quail, and other airborne critters. I cocked, fired twice, and blew Cupid into tiny little crimson bits.

The friend, who I've really never thought of in any sort of romantic context, was horrified.

Don't you fall in love?
the Mindfuck Doppelganger asked. I think you're falling for me...

Of course not! I answered. A woman can have my dick, mouth, even my time, but my heart belongs to me!

Without warning, the Mindfuck Doppelganger shoved her fist into my chest. Like an Indiana Jones villain, she proceeded to painlessly remove my heart. Painless, yes, until she put the still beating sucker to her lips, bit down, and devoured every last chuck of that tough ol' symbolic love gizzard.

My eyes opened shortly after that. At least, well, I think they opened - the dream was so intense that I had to check my pulse.

* * * *

Blowing away a greeting-card cliché of an angel doesn't bother me, nor do the possible subconscious meanings associated with such mental images. But, well, fucking a friend in a dream and then, bluntly, admitting to that mental spectre that I just don't do the whole Falling in Love thing seemed just... just...

Just... so rude.

Cold, sure. I'm a rather cold human being most of the time, prone to only momentary bursts of emotion but not much else. A California ex was certain I faked emotional responses like some women fake orgasms. A girl in Baton Rouge told me that she only went home with me because I reminded her of Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. Another woman, an Ohioan, once compared our pillow talk conversations to Franz Kafka stories...

...But I still try to be polite, even when I'm my coldest.

I'm just not that affectionate of a guy, most of the time. Sure, I've been in love. But I've also spent about a decade living alone, meditating, finding my own inner-peace to the point of actually enjoying solitude. Over time, I've learned to show love differently than most folks - love is more than an emotional state for me, more of an ideal to be achieved than some silly feeling.

And sure, I think I understand the inner-workings of my own mind better than most - including the imagery of dreams, their possible esoteric meanings, and the fact that, well, logically, I didn't really bust a cap in ol' Cupid, I don't really hold any sort of ill will towards the concept of love, and, well, aside from the whole hot chick eating my heart in retaliation for not being a Drugstore Romantic thing...

Nope. It was my lack of manners that terrified me the most.

I may be a Tin Man, a Kafkaesque parody of a guy, but that's no reason to be rude to someone, even in a dream.

* * * *

In the nightmare, I could've warned the friend of my angelicidal instinct towards the destruction of all things Cupid-related and corporate-exploited, should've wrapped my emotional selfishness in some sort of euphemism.

My first thought upon regaining consciousness, in fact, was to call the very real female acquaintance, to apologize for my lack of decency - in a fucking dream. Thankfully, once fully awake, Dreamland died and that impulse dissipated like a dry fart, dignity and composure regained.

I stared up at that ceiling for a good half an hour.

Happy fucking goddamn bullshit Valentine's Day.

I really wish, some days, that I had it in me to simply learn to fake hate, too, but...


I just don't have it in me to give a shit.

I can't hate Valentine's Day or any other day. Waste of time and emotion. How one views certain holidays and remembrances, consciously or unconsciously, says more about how one views the self than anything else.

Certainly, dreams where my heart's devoured, where I'm going all Charles Bronson on a winged midget, did spark an introspective soul-search into meaning. But any sort of emotional reasoning would've been nothing more than a waste of a perfectly beautiful February morning.

* * * *

The ice outside, that great Mistress Frost dancing just beyond my windows in the early morning darkness, was just too seductive to cry over dead cherubs. I hopped out of bed, made coffee, and watched the sun paint the black night over in cool dawn cobalt through the kitchen window.

In silence. Perfect, wondrous silence. I watched as a lone cardinal nimbly danced atop an ice-covered branch, listened to the sound of the coffeepot's drip - drip - dribble - drip, felt the oxygen enter my lungs and the carbon dioxide exit.

Love manifests itself in many ways, but it is in the hope of an ideal, of something to be achieved internally, that one finds peace and wholeness within the cosmos. How, despite everything, I'm still in love with life, with the planet and universe and with everything that surrounds me!

And in that perfect enveloping solitary love, I wondered what good ol' Mr. Sandman had been trying to tell me about myself, behind the exploding midget angels, the shotgun blasts, the sex and lack of manners, the devoured heart.

I sipped my coffee and fell in love, once again, with the sunrise.

Happy fucking goddamn bullshit Valentine's Day.

- # # # -


Curiosity Killer said...

For someone who doesn't give a shit about Valentine, you sure a lot to say. ;)

You know, I find it harder to write honestly about how I feel about Valentine... so I took the easy way out and do the self-love thing. I don't have the energy to dig into my past and rethink of emotionally traumatic yet biggest high of my life. Being in love is a good thing... it's just how the relationship turns sour that kills us. Just don't forget what it's like - don't turn into stone.

Sometimes, you remind me of my best friend.


sassinak said...

i want to know if you think they're right, are they right these people that tell you you have no heart?

could it be rather that you have it buried under knox level shielding because once you open it up you do it all the way?

or maybe even both?

Anonymous said...

You have quite few readers... Some are academics, some of those are surely Ph.D's... Some of those must hold degrees in psychology. I'd love to hear a dream analysis from one of them.

Anonymous said...

Murg. My Vday began with an ex emailing me to wish me a happy "heart" day (whatever the hell that means), I guess she's giving the we-can-pretend-to-be-pals thing another try. I don't know.

What's stupid is the whole notion of this one day of the year where everyone shows their love in order to sell a few more cards. Everyone shows their love? Fuck the holiday, that should be every day, in every relationship, should it not? Why the hell do we need a special day for that, other than to rub it into the rest of us?

Oy ...

Cooper said...

Happy Belated Valentine's Day. LOL

That was cheery, but as usual fascinating.

zydeco fish said...

"Happy fucking goddamn bullshit Valentine's Day."

I'm hoping to see that on a greeting card next year.

The ZenFo Pro said...

Lol, there are probably way too many folks who think I turned into stone years ago :)


Actually, I think you may have something there... yeah, I'm very good at hiding my emotions, to the point where I don't even know what I'm feeling half the time ;P

Heh, I started to hit up dream dictionaries (I have probably a dozen out-of-print esoteric works in my apt.) until, well, I realized I was achy... just now getting over a cold. I usually have some really trippy dreams during the prodrome phase of an illness.

Lol, I'd be terrified to hear some of that analysis, actually.

Yeah, that's sorta my usual attitude towards the holiday. Whats the fucking point?

Um... cheery? :D

Heh. My new greeting card company will be called Hall-Fucking-Mark.