On love
There is a space of pure joy, in which two equally exciting and interesting human beings meet, fall in love, adventure. When you think, 'life will never be boring, nor unpleasant with this person'. The cooling breeze blows across the park on a summer's morning; you met at a quirky little coffee shop where they know your orders, and you found you are going to the same apartment for a party that evening, where you'll chat and find a mutual interest in drawing comic books, boyish haircuts, and subverting computer security. You're both ready to run pell-mell into life. Young, confident, creating in your own way; encouraging each other to greater projects.
That must be nice. But I realise now, as perhaps I always have, that this is not for me – for my type – for as soon as I am intimate with anyone, they become a burden, crushing the life out of me with their, even minor, requests. I have never needed anyone, nor felt the need to ask anything of anyone. I have known some emotional vampires in my time: people who only live by sucking someone else vicariously into their empty shell1. It is beyond me. But even the most basic levels of a relationship seem problematic to me.
I have had only two relationships (including my current) where my partner was so independent as to never feel like a burden. I appreciate this will be an anathema to those who love fiercely; who can only feel a deep sorrow to hear it, but, sweet gods, what freedom.
18 Mar 2024
Notes:
1 As the great Bill Burroughs once said: "If, after having been exposed to someone's presence, you feel as if you've lost a quart of plasma: avoid that presence. You need it like you need pernicious anemia." (Words of Advice for Young People, with Bill Laswell; 1993).