The Love Machine
I’m a love junkie and frankly, it is an aspect of my personality that I despise. I want to be in love, no wait, I am already in love with many people out there, what I want is actualise the fantasy into reality, to hold hands with that someone special and do shit together and laugh and cuddle and look condescendingly upon our single friends while giving sagely advice about how to find that special someone. “Just like we did,” I would say as I gaze lovingly into her eyes and she lets out that unstoppable “awww,” at my undoubted sincerity which will melt the hearts of those observing the comedic farce.
Hear this now: FUCK THAT SHIT!
I know I’m a substance abuser. I get hooked on shit way too easily. And we’ve all heard it, love is a drug. But you can’t buy love with money. You can’t pay a hooker to love you; maybe to fake it, but you know deep down that it isn’t real because of the cash paid. So how do you pay for love?
Human sacrifice, that’s how baby.
You must sacrifice your own ambitions and drives because all these long term goals become meaningless when juxtaposed against the here and now of love. So slowly, to maintain the loving feeling you give of yourself, flagellate and prostrate to prove your undying devotion to her (or him). You spend time doing what they want, what they desire. You show your “soul mate” all the shinny things that you’ve discovered hoping vainly that they will see what you saw in the objects and rewards you for your insight by admiration and affection.
You nurture and grow this connection between you and another in blithe denial chanting the phrase “love lasts forever.” Then before you know what’s happened to your youth, you wake up in the middle of the night with the screeching of three brats echoing through the halls of your tomb. The once loving gaze you held towards your significant other turns into the reality of the bloated whale that used to resemble a fine tappable piece of ass before the ravages of childbirth tore it to shreds. Sure maybe she (or he) tried to return to a trim figure but with the growing kids sapping all spare energy like the parasitic life-forms that they are, is it at all surprising that any sane person would give up?!
Perhaps not, perhaps you keep going in blatant denial of reality until that one fateful day you turn a certain age and realise you hate your life and that you’re trapped in a prison of pure routine. Is it any wonder we cheat on our partners and look for new beginnings elsewhere?
Recently someone told me that I’d probably be somewhat naïve (or was it immature) inside a relationship because I’ve spent so many years single. And I’m uncertain as to whether I agree or disagree because I’ve been in a long term relationship (5 years) and watched myself unwittingly sacrifice my entire life in order to maintain the feeling. I fed the love machine my soul and when nothing remained, left the relationship before the final tatters that resembled what I once was as a person were unavoidably tossed away. I figured I was being pro-active, but honestly I was just facing up to the inevitability of the situation. How could anyone love someone who has no love for themselves, no prospects or no desire to becomes something greater?
So now, I’m left with the paradox of spending my life chasing dreams becoming more rigid and unyielding in my refusal to take another gamble with my soul against the love machine, but where will that lead? To end up a crotchety incontinent old man with no family dying alone with a million stories and no-one to give a shit about them? Fuck that.
I guess it comes down to a Great Gatsby situation. For all those who don’t know it, Gatsby once dated Daisy, a girl much higher on the social ladder than him. They would spend hours talking about all the great things he would do to earn his worth to her, yet doing none of it because they were too busy being in love. So he left her, became the “Great Gatsby” and a living legend. Yet none of that mattered to him because without Daisy, his life was without worth.