quinta-feira, junho 07, 2018

The croocked beauty withing honesty and self conscious love

Soon it will be two years. Not that I'm ortodox about dates, nor compulsively romantic, but it's just easier to keep track of life when you get those markers in check. The times of uncompromised pour outs and mindless passion is gone, enabling matured and empiric data based guidelines. Eventhough the acertiveness of it still resembles that of a blindfolded toddler, rather than an actual computer, it's been saving us from raging storms and deep waters. We are finally sailling back to warm weather. Back to safety. Back to a common ground.
Yeah... I know it sounds kinda dull, and most of us are just erotically inclined to wiggle up the orbits of our social systems to check on our influence power and to let our thoughts be disrupted at will by self-protective reflexes, on the tinniest sign of doubt or confrontation. We learn to expect constant reasurance and yearn to feel just right in the eyes of our peers as we truely are - once adaptations require energy that is barely ever at hand these days. These self-absorbed tacticts of preservation are great ways to make any relationship feel like a crappy summer camp tug of war, made out of pure tangible mental stress, hoping to be the first to fall in the mud pool in order to pitch in that long rehersed passive agressive move. Even the most generous expressions of altruism will very likely become empty if they fail to proove something to our magnificent secretly shivering in fetal position selves. I know this because I've been there.
I held onto so much pride, it took me a long time to spot the falacies in many of my refrigerated logical arguments. Love was held with a british condescending scorn.  I shamed the voluntary commodification of dating apps (and pretty much everything else after binging on Žižek memes). Engaging on a stable relationship felt like giving away a part of my freedom and identity in order to satisfy somebody elses demands. BUT... It's not like I had the option to resist those geek chic glasses and untamed forelocks framing his ridiculous marble carved bone structure. He knocked down my breaks and once more I dipped bare face into fresh cement pavement, denying my situation as my body gradually stuck for good in a block of metaphorical cement. "If anything, I also need protection in this fucking unpredictable city, right?". Always a trick under the sleeve to keep me from reavaluating my self criticism.
He is stubborn too, almost simmetricaly to me. He keeps his vulnerabilities protected with nails and teeth so fiercely, when caugh off guard, I can sometimes imagine him chewing off his own leg if that could release him from a verbal hostage situation. He learned it from his passt experiences. We all learn it to a certain extent. Nothing more than social animals who seeks out for more controlled environments to feel safe. But he has this energy inside of him, craving for something greater, that bursts out of nowhere and fills me with urgent desires. He longs for freedom too, and yet he naturally fears the consequences of it. "Furthermore, he fears some people's opinions more than he fears loosing his freedom", I would think, "so he wants to reintroduce himself among a very selective flock as some sort of sheep dog - leading his own path and inspiring respect from the guiltylessly opulent intelectuals, who pin their achievements with categoric prooves of success". I assumed he feared the pressure and shame of not getting it, because anything less would mean mediocrity. But I realised this was usually just 'me' trying to project my mind onto his, so I'd feel less pressured to change my posture as I judged him with very little property. I just secretly wish him to lead the way, because I see so much of me in him, and yet I'm so underachieved in comparison, that it's easier to undermine his personal reasons in order to put my own in their place.
Ok, I know, my smarts turn against me constantly under emotional bias. It's a hard journey towards self improovement, and I might be part of "humanity's greatest flunk towards common evolution" just as much as those people I try to despise due to my obstinate fear of failure. The pleasure of feeling better than others has been hard wired in our brains afterall, back at the time our ancestors, who managed to outrun their slower peers, experienced a sweet rush of pleasure and relieve, passing that marker onto generations to come. Being better means being able to tailor humanity's future. Spread the genes of success and savor a tinny taste of being larger than your life span. Success means a slice of deity with lots of impunity perks.
I used to be terrified about this idea. Haunted by the constant pressure of prooving myself worth of a place in nature's hall of fame, only through the scope of what humanity has become: an overly processed and obscure version of our "primitive" selves.
Oh well. He was married to a woman who is a prime exemples of success. That, ladies and gents, kept me very close to my insecurities throughout most of our relationship. Bittering my heart after every strategical social distance and crippling any further attempt of empathy for both sides. "He yearns it. He wants it. He needs it! How can somebody allow itself to be constantly castrated if it doesn't desire it more than anything? Even more than freedom?" I mean, come ON! Plenty of values and responsabilities are strong enough to bend us against our primal desires. Parenthood; carreer; social and economical stability; the whole Maslow shit if you so desire. It's the fucking base of civilized society Pâmela do céu!
Aloof the evident platitude, it jacked my reasoning mind, because I didn't want to give him credit! I lost my mojo and gave up my true nature in order to be something as close to my idea of success as I could, in my very limited ressources. Sounds familiar, right? I did this before. I did this under my own flawed scrutiny of the social context I was exploring. It took me so long to respect and apreciate his past as an essencial part of him and stop expecting emotional neglect for it. Gosh, I could never do this myself! I am pround and greatful for the best and worse in my past, and I want him to feel the same. I've grown tired of this no brainer insecurity. Fucking hell. I'm tired just to think of it.
He is so full of life. Nothing pays off the taste of freedom I get when it's all about us. I don't care about social validation, talking fancy nor being prised by public faces who know little about themselves besides their careers or whatever fits their fragmented concepts of the human psyche, served in verses full of flourishes and self indulgence along consumption patterns... Maybe a therapist who leads them towards the right ones.
Ok. I'm drunk... And condescending... And I just had some speed tablets. But it's consciously imposed. There is no need for compensation. No need for justifications. Just bliss. 
We are cooler than trendy glammour.
We are wiser than status.
We have the intensity and simplicity of starving predators, who want nothing but pleasure, under the least effort demanding means.
Fear us!
We are proudly wild underneath our civilized garments!
Being toguether doesn't imply drastic changes, as we learn to masterize divergent poles and balance whopping contrasts. Our sense of freedom navigates our choices beyond phylosophical implications. And listening to my guts, as they almost obsessively hunger for his company, is enough to convince me that he is part of me because I value who he is and so does he.
I am happy for it. Lionhearted to openly experience and improve my potential through his perspective and vice versa. I don't care what might come next, because right now I'm happily in love with this mind blowing lad - who's also into old school hip hop and "casual black leather".

(The familiar shiver running down your spine when your eyes are pierced by an imponent presence among the crowd, followed by the rush of excitement when you know he is comming towards you)