find the love of my life

the beautiful shoulder of a law student,

recently

it was beautiful

I need to promote myself more emotionally

without destroying my sensibility

as immature as that sounds

my way of gauging has been weak as a way

of being conservative

this is about finding ‘my own person’

1. an empathic/ poetic bond, implying linguistic intelligence, e.g. distance via conventional formalities, if showing tenuousness, boredom, lack of feeling, shows that everything is wrong

2. appearance cannot outweigh availability—>major turnoff (availability concerns attachment and suggestion of intimate interest; while with unattractive women signs of attachment can be reassuring but dont make me attached, if a beautiful woman has a secret desire for me but acts aloof, there isn’t a way to make this work unless I feel I have some form of mastery)

3. few women I meet seem to share in a mutual happiness with environment or ambiance, suggesting that I’m chronically in the wrong zone of reality (I know there are many local women who are beautiful and capable of relating with men; that I don’t often have anything resembling a date is inexplicable, apart from the question of age and money, or determinations of special benefit)

I exchanged text messages with a young woman in an arts program I attended in high school, confirming my long dormant conviction that on some levels of socialization and or emotional intelligence I’ve fallen behind.

This isn’t the sort of confidence to project to the world, but even when women want a good story, I cave in and value my own honesty.

At this point I’m remembering her friend’s (very serious elder- teens) ice skating party as a romantic point, as inflated as my own notions of philosophical undertones might be. Indeed, its as though she taught me to skate, however my concern now is that our maturities could not mesh, or that in some fateful lapse, my mind would not grasp her own womanly intentions, since it is said, women are 4 years ahead of men in emotional development, leaving her only three years behind me.

There were points in our conversation where I might have keyed in and realized my insensitivity (e.g. what she says is indeed profound, but would I not speak this way myself as a child), however there is an insistence that she could not know how little I have developed, being male.

As beauty goes, it was an astounding realization that a woman of such form would take interest in me, and heartening in the extreme. Marking this point I took greater measures to secure contact, however foolishly. Importantly, I met with no trouble with the law, nor repremands directly from her father, although equally it wasn’t strictly romance, simply a continuation of the trend of fondnesses from years ago, or my own anticipation of some more certain fondness.

It was the nearest thing to love that I’ve found, and yet, knowing myself a fool in the situation, subset at once within her leaving-school surety and greater social prehension, as well as the greater mores of cliches and suppositions, there wasn’t much wiggle room I might manage without breaking my own (universal) boundaries, as well as risking something short (although not far short) of mortification, in the context of proving that I was committed in the slightest.

The clear notion that formed early on was: this is fate, no matter if anything happens. Too many instances have passed where I feel a connection and end up with green bruises. I’m not one to even spend time with women (or anyone) so as far as I was concerned it was something long in formation. Even last year I wouldn’t have anticipated the trouble I’ve been through, logical or a matter of beating sticks. What is just now, to a man oriented towards justice? Fingering a situation is a matter partly of fingering its injustice; essentially, the law that is not one’s own.

This is something clearly every other male has realized with great ease and aplomb by the age of 16, but which I give away freely, to those who don’t know, at 25.

this is a matter of keeping on top of a personal dynamic, however fleeting its full realization.

They say no one follows the Way for more than a month. The new age, by extension creative religion are also implicated. If not ideal in principle, not ideal in form. So much depends on ideas, or means that will travel with them.

Where I am, what I feel and think are variable however invariable the evidence in my life.

Character is not said to be a major trait of Americans, but love depends on character as a foundation.

The few changes I have sensed in my life indicate I cannot know my own desert; what I suspect as the nearest thing to character (however false) suggest that the truly human territory has remained untraveled, that I may not know the things that are dear to me, that may be dear to anyone.

So much waste and sacrifice; these may not even be the largest of human problems. Love should not be compensatory.

I talked to a beautiful young woman named Maia who shares many interests. She’s so much more of a person than many to whom I might speak.

There’s this impulse to think I’m just too calous to realize I have feelings for her, but in another way I feel as though the contact is important, and I would be at a loss to return to where I have been these past months or years.

I seriously need a means to speak to a woman in a way that would make an impression.

Blaming the world, feeling guilty for not being a better person, accumulating various works to supplement for a weak personality, feeling unresponsible, feeling too greedy for the good, feeling angry that it has to happen in a particular way, feeling incapable of allowing it to happen the way it should, writing “love notes” ala Mars & Venus, feeling a little too lustful to be socially incompetent, feeling a little too socially incompetent to fall in love, writing poetry, feeling blind to the future, dejection, self-berrating, knowing and blaming myself for forgiving her when I meet her, wondering if I really understand the situation at all, feeling like a victim, feeling that free-will is a deathtrap for those unworthy of fate, wanting to advertise without feeling stupid, wanting to belong without being obsquatulated into a morass of wrong-headed passions, thinking no one has it right not ascetics not don juans not madmen not doctors… wanting a life where secrets have meaning, wanting a life where I can love someone for being different from myself. Yet knowing I would lose myself.