Mostpeople have these complex theories about sex. The Good Sex is done like this and like that. And you need three persons. And peanut butter. Chantilly. Dwarves. In some cases, two Dobermans and a stapler. I don’t know. I got a little funnyguy up there, but I’m not in the mood for that. I hope you got what I mean, though.
Mostpeople have complex theories about sex, but I don’t hear any complex theory about relationships and dating and love. Love is simple, you see... You need sharing, and caring, and loyalty, and... Love is like Santa Claus. Santa Claus is an old guy who gives presents away at Christmas. These cute inexistent things you keep talking about so you have that cute little block of thinking inside your brains, or your heart, or any other part of your body you’re not using at its best.
No need of complex theories for that.
Relationships, though, have been dignified with some consideration... But it’s a basic, stupid theory. It’s no state of the art, or anything. If relationships were football, the basic theory of those who have a theory would say: “Commit many faults and you’ll win”. It works generally because most people are not talented, and they are rarely exposed to any extraordinary – or even simply out of the ordinary events. So their plans can’t really be developed. Mostpeople can’t commit faults that well, so they just live along with a bad game.
But if you can take care of your business, in relationships, well, if you hurt all the other team, I hope you realize, there’s no more game to be played. If the other team can fight back, shit, I have to go rhetorical questioning now: Do you kiss when searching for love, or for a wrestling match?
Shit. No fighting is ok with me. I’m pretty good with that.
Mostguys have a complex theory about football, but they don’t really seem to have been watching the sky.
The sky is bigger than any girl, you see? I mean, not to me. I’m so small. I’m so small I can’t stare directly into the sun. I say this to people and they appear to take it as some kind of smart catch. I was through with smart catches shortly after I started taking words seriously. You can’t stare directly into the sun. Our sun isn’t even a big one. Some suns out there could fit four of our solar systems inside their circumference. You are 149 million kilometers from our sun – its light takes eight and a half minutes to reach you – and you can’t look directly into it.
There’s the whole universe out there, you understand? It’s not Santa Claus. It’s not this silly love you have wrapped in plastic. It’s out there. Everyday. Every night. It’s there. You can’t see it. It’s marvelous, and you can’t have it cause you’re so small.
When I see a girl in a certain way, I feel complete as a man. I feel like every part of me is working, every sense is awake – I feel I’m functioning completely.
When I look into the sky a certain way, I know all my senses are not enough. I’m weak, and dying. You are too. We all are – small and weak and dying. This is no smart catch. You never felt it? I feel it, when I look into the sky a certain way. And then I see a girl again, or a three, a dog, a blue, a green, or even that very sky – and things around me, at my smallness, get more beautiful than ever.
And more concrete. They’re here, and I can see them. And some of them I can get to really know. Some things like a girl, or even myself. Maybe I can get to really know then, sometimes, for an instant. And that moves me. I am dying – I will certainly end – but for now, somehow, I’m still breathing. And - though I have no idea how this happens, it really makes absolutely no sense at all - somehow it still hurts.
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