People who NEED People....
Nov. 12th, 2007 08:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thoreauno actual Celine Dion albums (breathe ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bullchef!) nor vinyl copies of PEOPLE by Barbara Streisand were actually harmed in the writing of this LJ post. It's a creative writing exercise. there is no need for alarm.
One of the exercises many writing coaches will say - is to sketch things out - don't write thinking "Hey! I'm writing a novel! Look at me!" - just blather things out. (actuallydr_scott gave me that advice several times while writing House of Wolves)
that said - this little groupo'words came from just such an excercise - a 45 minute concentrated head-on-collision-style writing session.
People Who NEED people....
Think back to the first time that you ever fell in love. The first time his lips touched yours and made your heart melt. Remember one of your first dates. You and your new beau took in a movie at the Multiplex and after the movie, spent close to an hour making out in his car in the parking garage.
Ahhh...those were the days.
Needless to say, it is also permanently engraved in your mind the day when your world came crashing down around you. The day when Mr Adorable no longer wants to be in a relationship with you.
You are the one in the middle of the street with boxes of your shit at your ankles wondering - "Hoop-shirts and penny-loafers Batman! What am I going to do now?"
All of it led me to sitting on the corner reading the back of a self help book.
“Giving up doesn’t always mean that you are weak – it means that you are strong enough to let go.”
I felt like leaning back and letting out a Charlie Brown style AUUUUGH! And scream from the top of my lungs “FUCK YOU DR PHIL! FUCK YOU OPRAH! FUCK ALL YOU FUCKING FUCKERS”.
But – well – my reputation for being theatrical was already a little too, shall we say - well known? So - I set the book down with the neighborhood garage sale and set out my wares.
This was how I was going to get on with my life – selling anything in my life that reeked of love.
I know you know what I mean, too.
There was the stack of self help books – written by mostly well-meaning people with giant checking accounts and Mercedes Bens. Five cents apiece for some advice from someone in Greenwich, Connecticut churning out books like “What You Need Is a Big Cup of Love” and “Turkey Soup For The Pathetic Whiner.”
I was also finally freeing myself of all my CDs of love - - oh god – Toni Braxton and her “Breathe Again” – Honey, if you can’t breathe again because your boyfriend left you – isn’t it time you DIED ALREADY?
And of course, in my purging of all things romantic from my apartment – so had to go all of the Celine Dion albums. Every single song is a multi-octave orchestral tsunami of love - wiping out little gay SriLankas like me everytime her 'heart goes on' or she sings about the "power of love". Just watching her all happy with her Rene? (whom she just gushes about and gushes about?) makes me nauseas. Celine?! Kicked to the curb. Done! Out of here!
And anything even remotely related to Barbara Streisand. I’d owned that vinyl copy of “People” since it came out in September 1964. I was done with love – through! Finished with men and all they had ever meant to me. People who need people are the luckiest people in the world – no honey – in 2007 – people who NEED people are totally co-dependent. (snap!)
There I was in the park with my neighbors – selling and giving away my tomes to love. My therapist said breakups go in stages: shock and denial (What – you are breaking up with me? You bastard!); despair (What – you are breaking up with me? You bastard!); and detachment – my current phase – where I’m purging my life of everything that reminds me of my ex.
The bastard!
My therapist assured me that I’m making progress and eventually I’ll reach that nirvana of homosexuality called “emotional recovery” – and she says I’ll come to an acceptance of the loss and learn to “let go”, redefining myself as a single man again and feel more empowered to cultivate new experiences and opportunities for personal growth.
That’s when I told her to “get real, girlfriend” and fired her ass. Empowered is how I felt at THAT moment.
I can see you rolling your eyes – calling Miss Bitter. Bitterness? Table for one!? But lets be real – who really wants to ‘forgive’ their ex for being a bastard? Maybe someday I’ll bite into the York Peppermint Patty and wish for forgiveness but right now – I’m hoping the weather forecast in his neighborhood is for falling fucking houses.
If one more queen says to me “You should so be over him by now?!” With a trivial flip of the hand, your reality is fanned aside as you're told, "you'll be back at it in no time," as if that's the good, healthy thing to do. Next time that happens I’m just going to throw my drink in her face and watch her melt like the Wicked Witch of the West. And I’ll laugh – just like Dorothy would have – had Wizard of Oz been a rated PG movie.
After a couple of pints of ice cream and long nights of being a wall flower at the local gay dance club, you start to think about ways of changing yourself to become a better person. You look deep within yourself to find the things about you that you are ashamed of and dislike. You concoct broad and unrealistic ways of reinventing yourself so that the one that just asked for the keys to his apartment will take you back into his open arms.
This is usually followed by him opening the door half naked – with his new boyfriend’s briefs on backwards. “oh Hi…..” he’ll say nervously.
And you knew that was what happening – I did! But I knocked anyway – I needed to SEE him in the doorway with that other man’s underwear on. I knew they weren’t his – he wouldn’t be caught dead in Fruit of the Loom. It’s like only seeing yourboyfriend with someone else’s cum splattered on his face was going to make you realize – no honey, he’s not coming back to you.
That was a few months ago – that embarrassing – why didn’t I love myself more moment – realizing that I’d interrupted coital bliss at what used to be my home that I realized my relationship with Steve was over.
And all that has lead me here – six months later – selling my wares and giving up on love. (remember what I said about my penchant for the theatrical, it’ll make reading this little tome a little easier)
bullchef!) nor vinyl copies of PEOPLE by Barbara Streisand were actually harmed in the writing of this LJ post. It's a creative writing exercise. there is no need for alarm.One of the exercises many writing coaches will say - is to sketch things out - don't write thinking "Hey! I'm writing a novel! Look at me!" - just blather things out. (actually
dr_scott gave me that advice several times while writing House of Wolves) that said - this little groupo'words came from just such an excercise - a 45 minute concentrated head-on-collision-style writing session.
People Who NEED people....Think back to the first time that you ever fell in love. The first time his lips touched yours and made your heart melt. Remember one of your first dates. You and your new beau took in a movie at the Multiplex and after the movie, spent close to an hour making out in his car in the parking garage.
Ahhh...those were the days.
Needless to say, it is also permanently engraved in your mind the day when your world came crashing down around you. The day when Mr Adorable no longer wants to be in a relationship with you.
You are the one in the middle of the street with boxes of your shit at your ankles wondering - "Hoop-shirts and penny-loafers Batman! What am I going to do now?"
All of it led me to sitting on the corner reading the back of a self help book.
“Giving up doesn’t always mean that you are weak – it means that you are strong enough to let go.”
I felt like leaning back and letting out a Charlie Brown style AUUUUGH! And scream from the top of my lungs “FUCK YOU DR PHIL! FUCK YOU OPRAH! FUCK ALL YOU FUCKING FUCKERS”.
But – well – my reputation for being theatrical was already a little too, shall we say - well known? So - I set the book down with the neighborhood garage sale and set out my wares.
This was how I was going to get on with my life – selling anything in my life that reeked of love.
I know you know what I mean, too.
There was the stack of self help books – written by mostly well-meaning people with giant checking accounts and Mercedes Bens. Five cents apiece for some advice from someone in Greenwich, Connecticut churning out books like “What You Need Is a Big Cup of Love” and “Turkey Soup For The Pathetic Whiner.”
I was also finally freeing myself of all my CDs of love - - oh god – Toni Braxton and her “Breathe Again” – Honey, if you can’t breathe again because your boyfriend left you – isn’t it time you DIED ALREADY?
And of course, in my purging of all things romantic from my apartment – so had to go all of the Celine Dion albums. Every single song is a multi-octave orchestral tsunami of love - wiping out little gay SriLankas like me everytime her 'heart goes on' or she sings about the "power of love". Just watching her all happy with her Rene? (whom she just gushes about and gushes about?) makes me nauseas. Celine?! Kicked to the curb. Done! Out of here!
And anything even remotely related to Barbara Streisand. I’d owned that vinyl copy of “People” since it came out in September 1964. I was done with love – through! Finished with men and all they had ever meant to me. People who need people are the luckiest people in the world – no honey – in 2007 – people who NEED people are totally co-dependent. (snap!)
There I was in the park with my neighbors – selling and giving away my tomes to love. My therapist said breakups go in stages: shock and denial (What – you are breaking up with me? You bastard!); despair (What – you are breaking up with me? You bastard!); and detachment – my current phase – where I’m purging my life of everything that reminds me of my ex.
The bastard!
My therapist assured me that I’m making progress and eventually I’ll reach that nirvana of homosexuality called “emotional recovery” – and she says I’ll come to an acceptance of the loss and learn to “let go”, redefining myself as a single man again and feel more empowered to cultivate new experiences and opportunities for personal growth.
That’s when I told her to “get real, girlfriend” and fired her ass. Empowered is how I felt at THAT moment.
I can see you rolling your eyes – calling Miss Bitter. Bitterness? Table for one!? But lets be real – who really wants to ‘forgive’ their ex for being a bastard? Maybe someday I’ll bite into the York Peppermint Patty and wish for forgiveness but right now – I’m hoping the weather forecast in his neighborhood is for falling fucking houses.
If one more queen says to me “You should so be over him by now?!” With a trivial flip of the hand, your reality is fanned aside as you're told, "you'll be back at it in no time," as if that's the good, healthy thing to do. Next time that happens I’m just going to throw my drink in her face and watch her melt like the Wicked Witch of the West. And I’ll laugh – just like Dorothy would have – had Wizard of Oz been a rated PG movie.
After a couple of pints of ice cream and long nights of being a wall flower at the local gay dance club, you start to think about ways of changing yourself to become a better person. You look deep within yourself to find the things about you that you are ashamed of and dislike. You concoct broad and unrealistic ways of reinventing yourself so that the one that just asked for the keys to his apartment will take you back into his open arms.
This is usually followed by him opening the door half naked – with his new boyfriend’s briefs on backwards. “oh Hi…..” he’ll say nervously.
And you knew that was what happening – I did! But I knocked anyway – I needed to SEE him in the doorway with that other man’s underwear on. I knew they weren’t his – he wouldn’t be caught dead in Fruit of the Loom. It’s like only seeing your
That was a few months ago – that embarrassing – why didn’t I love myself more moment – realizing that I’d interrupted coital bliss at what used to be my home that I realized my relationship with Steve was over.
And all that has lead me here – six months later – selling my wares and giving up on love. (remember what I said about my penchant for the theatrical, it’ll make reading this little tome a little easier)
