Love, Love, Love.

13 May

A Short Note About Love

I say fuck love all over the place. If you have a chance to ream Cupid, or, better, to scalp him while you’re reaming him, please do so in my name.

[Um…theoretically. Please don’t rape and murder any actual human being to make me feel good, because (I promise) that won’t help. Me at least. And it probably won’t help you.]

Maintaining a relationship on the road is difficult at best. Some folks make it work for a while, but most who continue to make it work get settled together fairly quickly. There are exceptions. A few in our community have transitioned well from long-distance relationships or committed polyamory to traditional coupling, or some permutation involving openness and talk and genuine expression. They’re few. The long-distance stats are hindered by the general openness of poets to flux and all the romance and sex that goes along with it, I’d guess. The poly stats? Hmmm… Being responsibly poly (imho) takes a lot of maturity and clarity, excellent communication and self-awareness from all parties. Which is, as you must know, my dears, rare. Gorgeous when you can find it. And I’m happy to say it exists! But it is, unfortunately, rare.

So: given your livelihood asks you hop from place to place regularly, who waits for you at home? Your blood, hopefully. The friends you know from way back when, hopefully. Your man/woman? Well. For many of us, that’s where hope stretches thin. We’re not a school that waits for ‘Dear John’ letters, and certainly not ‘Dear John’ emails. As performers, we’re accustomed to being makers and destroyers; even simply as purveyors of this new interwebz thing, we’re accustomed to creating and destroying on a whim – and relationships are no different. Better to negate than to wait for the hammer to fall.

Those of us who regularly experience the euphoria and crash that comes with performance, plus the stress and time-warp of travel, often look for love affairs to soothe us, or simply to put us back in time and place. To know that, by touching the back of a Midwestern woman who has to wake for work by noon, we actually exist in this place and time…that alone can be such a comfort…

Ha, I’ve talked to Kim Johnson about this, and the phenomenon is surely different for women, because we generally just don’t get groupies like that. But for men, the opportunity to find assurance in a lovely fan’s arms each night is very real.

*shrugs*

I don’t fuck groupies. I understand the impulse, but fucking for fucking’s sake is not where my joy lies. Idolatry makes me extremely uncomfortable, as well. The men and women I’ve loved best have been those with whom the god/goddess complex is less of an issue.

But I know men’s experience in the game is very different, and I think women who identify as mostly lesbian have a different story as well. I can’t speak to either, really. As a woman who’s mostly straight and almost absolutely committed to her work, when I need to be kissed, I try to seek out lovers who truly understand and support that, and all it comes with. They’re few.

So regardless of my self-imposed hype, I stay pretty single. The work is that important. Shit, so am I. My track record with men ain’t half bad (I have good taste), but nobody can love me well unless I can. Women (especially), please read A Room of Her Own, if you haven’t, and seriously feel Woolf on all of that.

This post was supposed to be about love. My heart got broken again, recently, just when I thought that was impossible. Miracle 1? I still really do know what love means, probably better than ever. Miracle 2? I’m still IN love. Miracle 3? I really wanted to tell you all about this. Now I have.

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2 Responses to “Love, Love, Love.”

  1. Seth Brown May 13, 2010 at 7:03 am #

    LOVE.

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