posted by dave on Wednesday, May 26, 2010 at 1:09 AM in category ramblings

This isn't going to work. But I guess I'll try. I said that I would, after all.

My brain is useless right now. Too much NABC Cone Smoker (6028). So I'll let my fingers do the writing. Such as it will probably be.

That last sentence made perfect sense to me, by the way.

I'm supposed to write about faith. This is, believe it or not, something with which I am intimately familiar.

Because I fucking have it.

Not in a supreme being, like too many of my friends. Not in karma, like a lot of my more hippiefied friends. And not even in myself, as I'm so often urged to do.

Fuck that. Who am I to deserve such consideration? Such faith?

I believe in one thing. I trust in one thing. I live for one thing. I have faith in one thing.


Weird, I know.

But it's never wavered, not even once, not even a little bit. Everything else stands on wobbly legs and sways dangerously and threatens to collapse and kill and maim, but love is a fucking rock. It's a rock shored up by other rocks, defended by more rocks, and camouflaged by even more rocks.

I know, that's a stupid series of metaphors. But it's about as true as my fingers can type right now.

People look at me, quite often, like I'm crazy. It used to bother me. But now, now I think they're just jealous.

Because, no matter how unwarranted or undeserved or unjustified or just plain silly and stupid this might be, it's still more real than anything most of those other people have ever experienced.

And it will continue. It will remain. It will last until, eventually, sooner or later, it will be my dying thought.

I have zero doubt about this. This will happen. I have faith in it.

So there.

comments (8)

David, David, David...remember, two great philosophers once said that learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all. And the love you get is equal to the love you give. As for "more real", have faith in ontological parity. Something is real or it isn't. Are you speaking only of romantic love? Because brudduh, you of all people should have realized by now, that particular specimen comes and goes. It waxes and wanes. And it requires an inordinate amount of Sissyphysian, trickles-of-perspiration-running-down-the-small-of-your-back labor. And the more arcane rules you impose upon it, the longer you make already long odds. Your worldview seems to vacillate between the first two descriptions of love from The Symposium. Especially the second, the "looking for your other half" version. Seek the third. Love is all around you. You are loved. Strive to return that love, and go easy on the cone-smoking.

As some little-known British band once said, "All you need is love." ;o)

Faith in love is one of the most precious things there is and too few people have it. No wonder they're all so jealous!

Yes, but unrequited love abounds all around and goes back to the begining of time.

Noone here seems to be "jealous". The points attempting to be made have to do with building ones life on and around unrequited love seems wasteful and unproductive.

. . . and if all you need is love, why then does the author of this blog seem so miserable? so full of anguish? where's the joy? where's the purpose? where's the fullness? where's the love?

Unreciprocated love is like a battery with only one post, either positive or negative. . . and like a battery, you need BOTH to produce energy which can then be used in a myraid of ways. Right now, Dave is the only post on this battery.

Okay, first of all, my comment was meant for my friend Dave, not to either of the two random people who can't seem to help but psychoanalyze the small bits of his life that he chooses to share here (does it ever occur to you that he tends to only write about the sad parts of his life and not the happy things, of which there may be just as many if not more? Lots of people do that, including myself). Also, I was not referencing you when I said, "No wonder they're all so jealous!". I was referencing a specific part of Dave's post about people in general: "People look at me, quite often, like I'm crazy. It used to bother me. But now, now I think they're just jealous." Unless, of course, that's your way of saying that you think he's crazy.

The joy and purpose and fullness of Dave's life are likely in the parts of his life that he doesn't particularly care to share with the anonymous, voyeuristic world of the internet. Some people like to keep their happiest moments to themselves. As for the love, it's poured all over this page and the love that he receives from those in his life isn't something that has to be detailed here for him to feel it or appreciate it. Just because he doesn't write it down here doesn't mean that it doesn't exist.

I think that's been the most frustrating thing about this blog for me. Most of the good things, even the great things in my life, I'm unable to mention here because of privacy concerns. It's also true that, when I'm in a sad mood, that's when I really want to write, so this whole blog gets dragged down.

Enough with the "bits of my life" already. Not for nothing, but after years and years of blogging a reader gets a pretty clear picture of you. You ain't curing cancer and taking your kids to Disneyworld then stumbling in at four a.m. to drunkenly ramble about the crowd at Rich O's.
IB is right. Hook up that other post, brother before you corrode. LIFE IS SHORT.
"People used to look at me like I'm crazy, but now I think they're jealous." I hope that is supposed to be a joke, because they're not jealous, THEY'RE CONCERNED. The great philosopher Jim Rockford once said "If ten people tell you you're drunk, maybe you better lay down."
BTW, this If I don't give of myself fully in a relationship than I can't get hurt idea is as old as the hills. So is coupling it with impossibly high and arcane standards. Jerry Seinfeld made a great living doing this schtick but that was a TV show. In real life it isn't funny, it's just tragic. True love isn't Fabio and Barbarella running on the beach naked. It's waking up every two hours to feed your kid and change her poopy diapers. REAL love is direct depositing your check into your wife's account and putting your loved ones first. It's foregoing buying big boy toys and buying life insurance instead. And not because you're supposed to, but because you want to. Once that kid enters the world the folly of your wasted years will hit you like a diamond bullet between the eyes and you will know love and fulfillment. Like the Men's Wearhouse guy, I guarantee it.

The first paragraph of this site reads, "This is my site. It's not yours. If it was yours, I probably wouldn't be writing in it. Or at least not as much. And you'd probably be the protagonist, not me."

I don't like sermons. And I loved my parents enough that I'm not looking to replace them. I'm just writing. It's a nice therapeutic release for me.

I don't want pity or analysis or preaching. Those of you constantly compelled to provide those things should probably just leave. And don't let the door hit you on the way out. Or do, because I don't fucking care.

Amen, Dave-o.

Psychobabble gets really old, really quickly especially when those dispensing it know so little about the man or events that they're "counseling".

I, too, have read Dave for years and have swapped quite literally a thousand emails with him. You know so little about who he really is and what he really feels outside of what he posts here that it would be laughable if it weren't so irritating.

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