cycles 2

i return to the scene of the crime. emotion. pure emotion. exhaustion settles in. exhaustion. it is time that you know that i fell in love yesterday with a dead man who was impotent when alive, and with another dead man who was homosexual. by now you know that the sex lives of dead men interest me more than the sex lives of living men. men, just men. it's a men's world, and i have never known another world. women are an invention for the weak, the coward and the spineless. women, like god, are dead from too much veneration and too much oppression. god, like women, is dead. it does not take a professed philosopher to make such a statement, it takes an ignoble ego concocted from frustration and repression to declare the death of all identity.

then there was last night, and again you flirted with that tormented and ignoble ego that i carry around. you make me feel that i am standing on the edge of that abyss of intimacy that you are promising me. you make me want to go again at the break of dawn for a walk along the river, to listen to the crows and smell the moon's whispers.

the warrior returns to details. the ego denies all.

when

when will this old fool learn?

just a while ago the old fool called in desperation, the kind of desperation that emotion untamed brings, the fool called a brother. that brother is a gentle soul, one of the many best of friends. a brother that gives a hug and the hug is just a hug and it means nothing more than just that the brother cares.

when will this old fool learn?

just yesterday the old fool walked along the lake on a sunny promise of spring and returned today to find itself so very touched by all of another, and so very tempted to get itself so very entangled in another. the fool feels safe when that another is in turn entangled elsewhere as then there is no danger of their own entanglement. another, that other, is another open book.

when will this old fool learn?

just now the fool took action about on a promise of a few days. the action was overdue like many actions in this fool's cabinet are overdue. then the fool is reminded that it always forgets. this fool forgets, and this fool does not promise.

when will the old fool learn?

just today the fool confessed that now that the loneliness is gone, the desire is to be alone. these are the choices of the fool. in the confessions the fool never confesses, not all, not even in fiction does the fool confess. the fool never confesses. the fool is greedy for its own thoughts and the fool does not share.

this fool does not know.

did you ever love like a fool?

did you?

do you love like a fool?

you can not imagine how very vulnerable i do feel in your presence!

vulnerable and strong, it is a paradox of those feelings whirled at me then.

what i long for is that absolute intimacy coming from freedom and from somewhere deep down. i wonder if you and i are indeed as alike as it appears to me now. i feel that you give and love with the whole generosity of your heart, i call this loving like a fool. it is loving in a way that is not calculating or manipulative, just like a simple fool that i am, i love. is this the kind of gentle fool with whom i have fallen in love with?

it would be easy to ignore the feelings, override the emotions by ratio, justify the actions and then disconnect from humanity and deny that which we seek. what is it that i seek and that i keep on denying myself?

but, what is your name?

oh! what great fools we are!

we are alive.