Saturday, April 21, 2012

the fast track to soulmateism

          Not too long ago, a friend and I had an interesting conversation about soul mates and the notion of soulmateism. I asked if my friend had a soul mate and she replied that over all her lovers - those past and those present, the most important people, or the only ones she could think of as soul mates were her closest friends. That got me thinking, perhaps lovers really do make insubstantial soul mates. When you invest unhealthily into someone, the relationship takes on a life of its own - and won't stop until all its insecurities are quenched, which ultimately becomes a futile cycle of destruction because the very fact of the matter is that lovers do not long for their insecurities to be quenched. They always desire more than they have the capacity to reciprocate, they look for an elusive spark, a flame that eventually becomes an inextinguishable dependency. There is truth then in what Oscar Wilde is saying when he states that 'each man kills the thing he loves'. It is ironic then (the lovers would say tragic) that in the attempt at loving something, you always ultimately kill the thing you love.

          When posed the same question I paused for a substantial amount of time before telling her that I think I'm too young to have a soul mate. I told her she was much older than I am (much to her chagrin) and perhaps found herself in a better position to hand pick the different people that made a warm and lasting impact upon her life. When I think of soul mates I think of something eternal and mystic, and the world around me diminishes this sense of wonder as I am presented with many notions of fast-track or 'shotgun soulmateism'. Some of my favorite include: 



1) She likes the Smiths. You like the Smiths. You think that dying by her side would be the most heavenly way to die. Soul mates.


2) He likes Japanese food - more importantly he likes unagi on a bed of cold soba, your own personal favorite. Also, he is into Murakami but unlike most people his novel of choice is Hear the Wind Sing, which he considers the writer's magnum opus. That last part was really the deal breaker. Soul mates.


3) You are an architect and she is a writer. You spend your days having conversations about the impact of transgressive art upon society and the psychological effects of space allocation in cities. Within these conversations you create a bubble which is impermeable by the transient whims of an under-cultured world. No one will ever be as cool as the both of you right? Soul mates. 



          Within these common notions of soulmateism I fail to see anything which could be eternal and instead find that lonely people will always gravitate to one another when they see bits of themselves reflected in another person. What is left behind is not some cosmically important convergence of souls but instead a dependency which is rooted deep in personal inadequacy.

          Perhaps I am young, or it may be the fact that I've always fancied myself as a bit of a dreamer but I do not fully agree with Wilde's claim that you taint what you love. I think that there is no fast-track to soulmateism, you do not become soul mates through a shared cultural affinity nor do you become soul mates because you share a host of traits and dreams too important to be dismissed. There are far too many compatible people in this all too vast world to be considered for importance. The road to finding your soul mate is a process, and one that you have to be painfully patient with. Soulmateism in my opinion is something which is gradual, born into infancy, and like all infants must be taught and nurtured. You only kill the thing you love if you are careless, and if you are careless could it be said that you ever loved at all? Just to reiterate the fact (and perhaps to squeeze out another drop of self-serving comfort), I am young and I have much to learn about the world and people. We have our whole lives to be important to each other. Why stop here?

Monday, April 16, 2012

songs for samson

delilah is beautiful / she ties you to a chair

unhooks her gown and lets it fall while you stare

she breaks your will and she taints your pride

they cut your hair while you were sleeping by her side

in the morning you found your locks of gold all gone

and in the corner she was crying broken and forlorn

(my thoughts take me to some terrible places)

could your love have poisoned you as well?

you didn't taste it in the water, you drew it from her lips

naked next to you and traced intention on her bones

but you wouldn't let her leave the bed / you needed in despair

you couldn't see the temptress / only the flowers in her hair

still you couldn't break you couldn't hurt the face that you forgot

they ripped you from her and chained you to a rock

and the laughing faces jeered: look at samson tied up there

his love had poisoned him / his love had cut his hair

will he ever know, his love was really never there