SO. Tis that time of year again. And this year, a lot of things are ending. But I never thought that things would be like this....I feel fucking nostalgic, and for what reason? I'm only going to be a junior next year. I have time. But this year was different.
I feel like I'm missing what everyone else is accepting as I sway in reminiscence. And that is the notion that I appreciate the beings I weld myself to much more than they appreciate me. So am I missing that paste- that gooey glue spooning two perfectly-cut graham crackers? Meh. Bad wording. But, seriously. Why is it that I love telling stories and constantly do impressions and make fucking movies of people? Why do I love my friends so much? Why do I incessantly reject the notion of tightening my already loose grip on reality? The answer, dear friend, I do not own.
But I do own something.
I read this book by Anthony deMello for a painful core class I took with a ton of lanyards (freshman). The class: sucked; the lanyards: neon "green." BUT, I did take something semi-substantial away from it because of da man deMello. Essentially, deMello theorizes that the people we love who we think we can’t live without, we actually are not attached to. At all. We are merely deluding ourselves into the belief that without these people, we will not be happy. HMM, deMello, hmm.
So, technically, ga ga gag-ful, "swimming through maple syrup" greeting cards and cheese-encrusted, ANTI-climatic movie climaxes that use words such as, (but not limited to), "die," "without," "you," and/or "make," "me," "sandwich" are full of shit. Love is built up in society to be this un-popped bubble of wonder and elitism, so is that why our relationships with others is, basically, set up for failure? How can we not compare what our mother/signif othurr/best frann does juxtaposed to society's love slander?
Although I am a big movie person and bookworm, I still feel like most people can identify with this: when someone nailed into your heart and happiness has declared some defining devotions towards you (or vice versa), instead of settling music swelling in the background (like in every movie) you find yourself, outside of yourself, wondering if you had heard that from an Austen novel (Yes, 'You pierce my soul' is not original) or from a t.v. soap series, because you're not happy like the movie characters, you don't embrace your devotee, you just feel "cliched" and unsettled.
Because unless you were (lucky enough) to live in the truly rural outbacks of the earth and have no mainstream media influence on your life, how can you claim your Mother's Day card and sentiments weren't fake? Grab your balls. They're fake.
Yeah, fuck. Does this mean that every sentimental love epic of your life was actually just a cheap rip-off of a Lifetime Original or (dear god) a "should really be in the adult section 'artsy' movie"? The answer, again, I do not own. Because, guess what, those could be rip-offs too.
