Twice The Fool

I've made a fool of myself. Unwittingly. Therein lies the sting. I have absolutely no qualms about making a fool of myself when it's all in jest & more importantly a deliberate act on my account. It's a different story when I unwittingly make a fool of myself; you become a tragic fool instead of a comedic fool; it's even more troubling when it dawns on you, while you're still in the act of making a fool of yourself, that you are actually making a HUMONGOUS fool of yourself. I accidentally made a tragic fool of myself. The scope of my acting like a tragic fool ensconced itself snugly in my mind when my eyes met the glassy and full-of-pity stares of my audience. I could have kicked myself if I weren't in a hurry to leave the scene of the crime. In the discomfiting process of making a quick exit, I suspect, I left my dignity and pride behind. I don't think they will be of any use any time soon anyhow.

I'm not going to pen down how I made a fool of myself. Why? There's no humour in it. You'll just have to be contented with the projections of your own fancy...

I've made a little mix of lovely music to dull the pain.

Glimmer

My heart beats faster than the wings of a dragon fly
There are things that, probably, beat faster
But I, a child of my mother, could not care less
About those faster things & what they signify
For all I know they could all spell 'DISASTER'!
Or, be a prelude to some compressed mess.

You know, sometimes I'm just a tad too emotional. Emotionality is not always a bad thing; it helps the artist find his/her tortured aspect or temperament. But, in view of my post yesterday - when I was riding the crest of a wave of emotionality - it seems a bit crass. Eloquent. But crass. Its crassness forced into a corset of words. Its bitterness forced down the rictus of reason. In short, I feel a bit foolish. Of course, things were said. Feelings were hurt. But I should be the better man. I hate having to deal with insecurities since they, in a perverted way, affect me, too. I morph into an oscillating sujet. And in this state of alternating between extremes my emotions swell and I spill grandiosities that, if they didn't carry the weight of pathos, could be construed as contemptibly silly.

I think I drifted into the waters of silliness and got my feet wet.

Oblivion

My mind is full of matter. My BF and I are going through one of those platitudinous rough patches. At some point during our relational stroll through couples' forest we wandered off the beaten track and ended up somewhere strikingly new to us. I do not know when it happened; I have an inkling how. The how is often much easier to ascertain than the when. To pinpoint a moment in time which instigated the atrophy of certain aspects of the relationship is nearly impossible. When? When he neglected my hurt feelings? Or the moment that came thereafter; when the sting of the hurt he had caused me finally materialized in my mind, and sprouted a myriad of hyphae, that corrupted every emotion they touched, that ultimately have ensnared me in this state of impasse?
I do not know when. How can I? I've mulled our situation over. I have debated whether to end it or to soldier on despite the realisation that hangs like a wraith in my mind. To be honest, I do not know. This state of not-knowing is killing me. I pride myself on being so very much in touch with my thoughts & feelings that this lack, this oblivion, sinks me deeper into a nothingness. Not knowing cuts like a dagger through my heart.

There's one thing, though. One simple truth that pierces, at intervals, through this mist. That I care deeply for my BF and that I do not want for it to end like this. In a state of oblivion.

Love is worse than a drug. Love is being reincarnated when you are still alive. I wish. I wish my lips could touch the waters of Lethe, and forget. Forget. Forget the things that have been said in carelessness.