The Evil Nature of Virtual Love

Published by Iris in Memory Lane, People, Rant, Cathartic Writing,
Published on 07/24/07 at 02:54:10 pm using 606 words.

Losing someone you love is one thing. It hurts but since you know the person, since you’ve gotten to know the good as well as the bad, it is a real person you’re getting over, some of whom will be missed, some of whom you’ll be ecstatic not to have to deal with ever again. That’s the evil of virtual love. You “meet” someone who goes from being a stranger to being a loved one, who showers you with the most beautiful words, envelops you in poetry, makes you feel loved beyond anything you’ve ever known, is there for you day in and day out, someone whose voice you come to hear and love more than your favorite songs. And things change overnight (or over the weekend.) And where are the flaws that tell you there’s a good side to this… break-up? Can it even be called a break-up? What was it? How to define it?

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A C-inspired Blog

Published on 07/24/07 at 02:17:04 pm using 350 words.

distance between people

Some distances are bridgeable, other gaps are simply impossible to overcome.

Distance seems to establish itself between people, right at that one second your attention is elsewhere. So you’ll never be able to identify exactly who or what flipped the switch to crack the earth open dead between you. Once the distance is established, that’s the view you have. Period. A vague miniature outline in the far off distance - a sketch of someone who may have once been larger than life.

But every once in a while you do get a glimpse. An imaginary bridge comes to life before you for a brief second and at that, time stops and you’re able to connect the dots. To see a montage of what was and what is. That aberration of a moment that refuses to fit into a natural timeline allows for time defying confrontations between the former you and the current “whoever they may be” as well as the former “whoever they may be” and the current you. It’s like swimming effortlessly against the current to find a little pool of standing water where everything, past and present can float freely, safely and co-exist under the sun.

It’s a watery oasis, that little pool in the middle of the ocean. It’s the only place in all that vastness where swimming lessons are not required, because everything merges, nothing sinks and everything is seen in its totality, its completeness, its full splendor of uncensored good and bad.

We’ve all been children.

We’ve all known fear.

We’ve all felt distant.

We’ve all been partially blinded by that distance.

I wish you all that oasis of a pool, that imaginary bridge, that moment of rescue and redemption. I wish you all the discernment that they bestow.

C, may you always be as inspired as you are inspiring! XO

(Inspired by C’s poem Swimming Lessons)

Currently shattering window panes with a rendition of…
Counting Crows - A Long December/Recovering the Satellites

Life as a Tunnel

Published by Iris in Random Thoughts,
Published on 07/24/07 at 12:57:09 pm using 310 words.

Life as a tunnel

Every new day is a tunnel. But not just any tunnel. A tunnel you’ve never been through before, so it’s highly unlikely you’ll know where it leads until it gets you there. You may even have an inkling of recognition, a dejavu-ish impression… but it is an impression nonetheless. It has to do with the fact that they all look the same. The same basic structure, the same darkness, the same light at the end of them which starts off as a white dot and grows by leaps and bounds until it’s big enough to be your way out.

There are as many tunnels as there are days in a life.

The darkness of a tunnel can have a host of surprises in store. Two people can drive into the same tunnel in separate cars and come out the other side, as if by sheer magic, in the same vehicle, hands clasped (an unknown magic trick at the helm, just as the dark is unknown.)

The darkness of a tunnel can also work against unity; it can drive a wedge between people. And you never know which tunnel will do what. Much of life is learning how to live with the darkness of a tunnel, of learning to play the trust game in the dark, stretching out your arms and letting yourself fall back onto whatever may or may not be there to catch you; of learning how to do most things in the dark, learning to live blindly, instead of squinting to no avail, out of an instinctive need to try, driven by the illusion of control promised by sight and foresight.

The Inspiration - Photograph by Iris W. Hirideyo

Currently shattering window panes with a rendition of…
Radiohead - There There/Hail to the Thief

Nyah Avery

Published by Iris in Inspired by, Random Thoughts, People, Miscellaneous,
Published on 07/24/07 at 12:35:35 pm using 124 words.

I can see you with my eyes closed. With them open, it’s not so easy. There’s the light bill, the lesson plan, the cable guy, there are the phone calls and the text messages, the compositions, the groceries, the hands of the clock - marching away beyond patience and impatience, immutably aloof – there are the distances and the doubts… So many distractions. And only your likely raven hair to tip the balance your way.

I close my eyes often for you. I hold your hand and love you fiercely.

Currently shattering window panes with a rendition of…
Damien Rice - Dogs/9

The Beauty of Blank Pages

Published by Iris in Inspired by, The Written Word, Random Thoughts,
Published on 07/23/07 at 04:01:18 pm using 182 words.

One turns to writing when talking doesn’t hold enough promise. When the prospect of being understood or identified with is bleak. Under the threshold of such a realization, one tends to gamble – to aim for extremes in the quest for confidants. Something along the lines of: “The world or no one!”

blank lined pages with all their awesome and awfully infinite possibilities

Certain things when read, need to be kept – jotted down, xeroxed, memorized – somehow kept. Not so much because they hold a truth or essence in the rough like a diamond but because your intuition hints that they’ll come to be relevant (to reveal their origin, to explain their purpose) and ultimately fit into something of a jigsaw puzzle by contributing to the making of sense - by filling in some hole in the scheme of things, by fitting into a very specific place your understanding and experience may have yet to discover or explore.

Currently shattering window panes with a rendition of…
Damien Rice - Me, My Yoke and I/9