Romance And God

Just another Manic Lundi... When I say “manic”, I mean I have a cold and an aversion to life, but must push on.

Yesterday I went and saw a movie here in France, my first cinema in Paris, it was very exciting. It was Thor and it made me think that films have just begun using irony as an excuse to not actually write. I enjoyed the movie, I mean I laughed, but mostly it sucked... was really bad. There, that is the best job I could do at a critique because I am busy, too busy to criticize movies from Hollywood. What if I spent all the energy I had looking at what other people did “creatively” and pulled it apart, what would I come up with besides something defensive and uninspired? Maybe a career, but that’s not what I am talking about. I could die any minute and I would opt for it at any time because my most cherished belief is dying anyway.

Romance. People come to Paris to find love, but I came to forget it, it seems. Or find it in a more reliable source, myself. We are born alone and we die alone, unless you believe in God and then you can say “I was never alone.” However, God isn’t going to put a dick in you and tell you your skin is soft. You can’t ask God where he’s been and who’s this girl writing on his Facebook wall. So, God may as well not exist, right? Look, it doesn’t matter what I think or you think. If there is a God, our opinion has no bearing on it’s existence beyond our own lives. I doubt God is like Tinker Bell, and needs your applause to function. Just like I doubt that God would retaliate at the end of this life for your approval or disapproval. I imagine God would be terribly confident, being all knowing and such. Probably wouldn’t hold any patriotic favor or have a favorite celebrity. Most of all, God wouldn’t have a soul mate. God wouldn’t search the world for that one person who can complete God. God would just get a dog, because of all the fun they would have spelling their titles on paper “DOGGOD” (they laugh together).

I think God get’s talked about quite enough in one day without monopolizing a page in my book. Let’s talk about me and what I am soberly realizing. There is no one for me, but me. Le sigh. I don’t even want a dog. So, here I am, in the most beautiful and romantic country, thinking about how I better learn to date myself because the other option is mostly bullshit. I am not saying this bitterly, but just soberly (and a little bitterly).

The only thing enviable about people in relationships, is they still have hope that it’s a means to an end. Everything ends, sometimes quickly, other times in death. I am not saying I don’t think I wont fall in love again, I am saying that it doesn’t matter if I do or don’t. There is no destination to it, unless it opens you to your own truth. Sometimes the best way to open to your own truth is to be alone, with some calm peace of mind that has nothing to do with wondering what he’s thinking right now. I wish that I wanted this more than foreplay, but I see where I am heading and don’t know if it’s bleak or liberating.

I am going to need some time to let this dog die before I burn it and spread the ashes all over the fertile ground that will nourish me when I am burying myself in isolation. I wish that this realization could be paired with casual sex, vacations and couple photos. Why am I here? Who am I?