Monday, 15 February 2010

How can there be love in a deadpan world?

Love? Love is impossible. Love can't exist. Love is just a theory. Love works on paper, or in the lab, or in the mind, but it just can't live in the real world - especially a real world like this.

What kind of world is this? A world that looks upon us with a scientist's eye, ambivalent, unfeeling, uncaring, unmoved? How can love thrive in such an inhospitable environment?

Yesterday was love's big day. St Valentine dusted off his cloak, all crusty with the fluids of past loves, and dragged Cupid out of his bed, tearing him away from the latest deluded soul looking for something beautiful amongst the shit and wreckage of this knackered-in life.

All over the world, couples dragged themselves through the rituals one more time. Restaurants, chocolates, roses, oversized cards with cute bears and hearts on - all a distraction from the grim truth: love never existed, and never could have existed.

Personally, I went to Delilaz. In my pocket was an engagement ring, big and shiny and undeniable. In my other pocket, plane tickets to Paris. In my other pockets, my wallet, my keys, some change...the usual shit. That doesn't matter, actually. The ring and the plane tickets are the important bits.

Cutella, my...everything, had returned from visiting her father on death row in America. (He's a bit of a character, the old man, and apparently no stranger to acts of blind violence. While enjoying a peaceful family holiday in Florida some years ago, a misunderstanding in a restaurant over the correct way to pronounce Orlando (emphasis on 'lan' or 'do'?) very quickly escalated, causing the deaths of four waiters, three other diners and a chef - without a single gunshot being fired. He fled quickly, but was arrested in Texas.)

I hadn't seen my Cutella for some time. I felt a fluttering excitement I hadn't enjoyed since I was 14 as I looked for her, anxiously, walking in circles, not thinking straight, just wanting to see her, looking in the same place three times, losing my way, walking too fast, almost jogging, too keen, too happy. And then I found her.









She was in a booth.

With Rupert Abbott.

They were laughing as Rupert touched her shoulder gently.






I felt that touch, like the scrape of old metal on my skin, on my heart. I was crippled by it. I couldn't move, but I couldn't look away.

Behind me, not 4 feet away, Desdemonica and Virtunique performed a lesbian twosome based on the theme of double-ended dildoes in the age of the King Arthur. I didn't even turn my head. (Actually, I didn't dare - they're very liberal with the baby oil, those two, and last time I got a bit too involved, I got a squirt right in the eye. Explain that to A&E.)

I just turned and walked. I walked and walked and walked, but I remember nothing of the journey. That may be because I walked and walked and walked between the Frog & Arab, Bar Onion, the Horse & Hounds, Pandemic Bar & Club, the Royal British Legion, the Crab & Hat, the Spivot Hotel and McMuff's. Or it could be because with every step, with every echoing footfall, I saw nothing, heard nothing, but the word 'why?'

On the upside, the priapic boner I've had since God knows when has finally withered and died.




Romance is dead too. Love is lying in the gutter, all broken and hurt while the world - and you! - steps over it, on its way to some pointless romantic liaison that can only ever disappoint.

From this moment on, consider me off the market, ladies.

Why? Because I am heartbroken.

3 comments:

  1. the truth is what she did with that dipshit abbott is her job. maybe, just maybe, you were not really in love with cutella, but in love with love. love does exist. you feel it in your heart and realise it with your mind, love. you can have it for everyone. its beyond words. you dont have to feel it in your pants. even though thats probably the best thing ever. but just because you feel something in your pants doesnt mean its love.

    one thing is for sure, yesterday was definitely not the day of love. valentines day is a fucking stupid fiction created by you know who, and the love of money is the root of all evil. now stop being down and disappointed.

    one more thing, i am not stepping over love for fucks sake. and neither does the whole world. there are just some amazingly fucking stupid shitbrains out there who dont get it. x

    ps: beautifully written post dave

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  2. powerful powerful stuff. I shed a tear for you Dave

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  3. But you are the client: demand lunch! Cheers!

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