Max Davine's Blog - Posts Tagged "loneliness"
The Deprived
The First World is in peril. No, the threat does not come from terrorism, for these are conflicts which have always been thus and shall continue for a thousand years more, until there is no more human blood to be spilled. No, not economically, for thus is the nature of free enterprise; it rises and falls like the tides and we are but subjects to it's own ebb and flow. The bombs will not fall, we love our children too much, and can have their that so too do our opponents. The world, Gaia, she may be sick, but we are not so powerful as to leave a lasting mark on her body, or her soul. She may weep, but she will recover and forget us more quickly than we came. The peril I am speaking of is not guns, or insurgents, or the wrath of Mother Nature. The danger, the threat, the greatest enemy we and our children will face is one far more insidious, one far more powerful and one far more alive and immediate than the speed at which a nuclear weapon can be launched. Our enemy, our one true nemesis, lies within. Gaia may weep, but it is our souls which are being destroyed. The worst aspect of it is, we don't have an iota of a clue how, or why.
As a person existing in the real world, which I seldom do, I find that there are certain social constructs to which I am poorly accustomed. Small talk is as alien to me as would be riding side-saddle on an asteroid to you. I go out, drink my coffee or tea at the pub or at a house party, or event, or what else have you, and see people smiling, laughing and chatting away in a manner that I have no concept of. I see casual, soon-to-be one off lovers whispering to each other and can't fathom what they're saying. I see friends jabbering enthusiastically on subjects I don't understand. I am a loner, and accept myself thus. I'm happy.
Having said that, the privacy settings of my mind are virtually nil. My struggles, trials, thoughts and feelings are open book. So, that being the case, should anyone take the time to come talk to me at one of the aforementioned gatherings, they soon find themselves entangled in deep conversation. What they ask, I answer. Plainly and candidly. A man will know if I like his blazer. A woman will know she is attractive. If the conversation should veer into the arena of the deeply personal, I do not withhold answers. It can be as simple as asking me where my drink is. I'll tell them I don't have one, I'll tell them why. If they ask why I'm sitting by myself, I'll tell them.
The effect is not what might be expected. Sometimes they quickly lose interest, and retreat back into their preferred field of sweet nothingness. But often, and often is relative, they quickly open themselves to me.
I've seen tears begin to flow. I've seen eyes downcast as people talk. I've heard the tone of their voices drop as self-shame and regret begin to seize them. I know of their addictions, battles both fought and in progress, I know of their relationship traumas, their parents, their breakdowns. I then, more often than not, see them quickly escape back into themselves, and make for the nearest wine cask. Sometimes they avoid my instinctual reach for them, to comfort them, or to provide them with further conversation that, inadvertently, may ease their suffering. Sadly, it more often that not isn't long before I see them passed out, doubled over in their own sorrow or simply further galvanizing the walls in which they guard themselves.
The frequency of this occurrence is alarming. So frequent, in fact, that I can now barely look at a happy face without feeling some element of empathy for what may simply be a facade, a mask shielding great pain. I see a generation of financially secure and physically blessed people, lost and desperate, reaching out to shadows and mirages which offer them no solace. I see a generation in darkness.
We find outlets; some box, some dance, some act, some sing, some write...but ever the core of the pain is sheltered. Hidden for fear that someone might see it. What should be simply social groups converging over a mutual love for some practice becomes an angry clique, seeking out and attacking those who practice the same hobbies differently to vindicate themselves. We seem incapable of forming a group to work for the better of ourselves, without becoming a gang of thugs out to degrade another group who share our passion, albeit in a different light.
What is this fevered nightmare that bids to tear the beautiful people apart? What is this fear of exposure, when are lives are so easily shared and our pleas are so easily heard? We have all become addicted to being known about, but we are traumatized at the thought of being known. We treat connection as though it were poison. Love as though it were a toxin, or a cure upon which we invest too much of our own happiness. We fear showing ourselves, because we hate ourselves.
But why?
Rightly our compassion has swelled over the past few decades. We care now for the world's wellbeing than we ever have, we care more for those less fortunate now, and we fight for our beliefs. But too often we wage war on peaceful ground. We love everything except ourselves. Depression is anger turned inward, happiness is love turned inward. When we love ourselves, we give permission to others to love us.
So I can only deduce that this lack of permission we give to anyone to know us, comes from some deep-seeded pain and revulsion at our own selves. Only now has a woman ever reacted angrily to hearing she is thought of as beautiful. Only now has a man been outraged at a genuine show of friendship. These have been commonplace amongst the emotionally deprived in the past, but now, like an epidemic, it has poisoned us all.
We take great sympathy on the Third World, rightly so. We send them our cheques and we pray for their future. But we are the poorer. They are only trapped by poverty, dictatorship or close-quarter combat. We are trapped by ourselves.
From that, there is no escape.
As a person existing in the real world, which I seldom do, I find that there are certain social constructs to which I am poorly accustomed. Small talk is as alien to me as would be riding side-saddle on an asteroid to you. I go out, drink my coffee or tea at the pub or at a house party, or event, or what else have you, and see people smiling, laughing and chatting away in a manner that I have no concept of. I see casual, soon-to-be one off lovers whispering to each other and can't fathom what they're saying. I see friends jabbering enthusiastically on subjects I don't understand. I am a loner, and accept myself thus. I'm happy.
Having said that, the privacy settings of my mind are virtually nil. My struggles, trials, thoughts and feelings are open book. So, that being the case, should anyone take the time to come talk to me at one of the aforementioned gatherings, they soon find themselves entangled in deep conversation. What they ask, I answer. Plainly and candidly. A man will know if I like his blazer. A woman will know she is attractive. If the conversation should veer into the arena of the deeply personal, I do not withhold answers. It can be as simple as asking me where my drink is. I'll tell them I don't have one, I'll tell them why. If they ask why I'm sitting by myself, I'll tell them.
The effect is not what might be expected. Sometimes they quickly lose interest, and retreat back into their preferred field of sweet nothingness. But often, and often is relative, they quickly open themselves to me.
I've seen tears begin to flow. I've seen eyes downcast as people talk. I've heard the tone of their voices drop as self-shame and regret begin to seize them. I know of their addictions, battles both fought and in progress, I know of their relationship traumas, their parents, their breakdowns. I then, more often than not, see them quickly escape back into themselves, and make for the nearest wine cask. Sometimes they avoid my instinctual reach for them, to comfort them, or to provide them with further conversation that, inadvertently, may ease their suffering. Sadly, it more often that not isn't long before I see them passed out, doubled over in their own sorrow or simply further galvanizing the walls in which they guard themselves.
The frequency of this occurrence is alarming. So frequent, in fact, that I can now barely look at a happy face without feeling some element of empathy for what may simply be a facade, a mask shielding great pain. I see a generation of financially secure and physically blessed people, lost and desperate, reaching out to shadows and mirages which offer them no solace. I see a generation in darkness.
We find outlets; some box, some dance, some act, some sing, some write...but ever the core of the pain is sheltered. Hidden for fear that someone might see it. What should be simply social groups converging over a mutual love for some practice becomes an angry clique, seeking out and attacking those who practice the same hobbies differently to vindicate themselves. We seem incapable of forming a group to work for the better of ourselves, without becoming a gang of thugs out to degrade another group who share our passion, albeit in a different light.
What is this fevered nightmare that bids to tear the beautiful people apart? What is this fear of exposure, when are lives are so easily shared and our pleas are so easily heard? We have all become addicted to being known about, but we are traumatized at the thought of being known. We treat connection as though it were poison. Love as though it were a toxin, or a cure upon which we invest too much of our own happiness. We fear showing ourselves, because we hate ourselves.
But why?
Rightly our compassion has swelled over the past few decades. We care now for the world's wellbeing than we ever have, we care more for those less fortunate now, and we fight for our beliefs. But too often we wage war on peaceful ground. We love everything except ourselves. Depression is anger turned inward, happiness is love turned inward. When we love ourselves, we give permission to others to love us.
So I can only deduce that this lack of permission we give to anyone to know us, comes from some deep-seeded pain and revulsion at our own selves. Only now has a woman ever reacted angrily to hearing she is thought of as beautiful. Only now has a man been outraged at a genuine show of friendship. These have been commonplace amongst the emotionally deprived in the past, but now, like an epidemic, it has poisoned us all.
We take great sympathy on the Third World, rightly so. We send them our cheques and we pray for their future. But we are the poorer. They are only trapped by poverty, dictatorship or close-quarter combat. We are trapped by ourselves.
From that, there is no escape.
Where I am Someone
Every morning, I wake up alone,
Run some errands, all on my own.
Nobody knows me, nobody sees,
Nobody but me, to see to my needs.
Sometimes I venture, out to the street,
I smile at people, simple and sweet.
Though none of them know, my solitary ways,
That there’s nobody there, to fill up my days.
But evening comes, and to work I go,
I stay in my place, and start on the dough.
I prepare their toppings, anchovies and cheese,
Nobody sees me, says hello or please.
I stay quiet, working, just me,
But without all my work, where would they be?
Where would they eat, of an evening for fun?
These families so busy, they only get one!
Then I go back, to my cold little home,
Where I gave up on dreams, many years ago.
No more hopes, nowhere to run,
Only my job tomorrow, where I am someone.
Run some errands, all on my own.
Nobody knows me, nobody sees,
Nobody but me, to see to my needs.
Sometimes I venture, out to the street,
I smile at people, simple and sweet.
Though none of them know, my solitary ways,
That there’s nobody there, to fill up my days.
But evening comes, and to work I go,
I stay in my place, and start on the dough.
I prepare their toppings, anchovies and cheese,
Nobody sees me, says hello or please.
I stay quiet, working, just me,
But without all my work, where would they be?
Where would they eat, of an evening for fun?
These families so busy, they only get one!
Then I go back, to my cold little home,
Where I gave up on dreams, many years ago.
No more hopes, nowhere to run,
Only my job tomorrow, where I am someone.
The Joyful Crowd
This house is built for two,
A place for lovers, who bring others,
This is not a place for you.
We didn't think you'd come alone,
Like we said, ask a friend,
Why didn't you just stay home?
Why would you go out like this?
Your tongue's not tied, we thought you'd tried,
At least to find some loving bliss.
Don't you see, it's not the norm!
There is no homeliness, where there is loneliness,
And you've no shelter from the storm!
Go away, you're not allowed,
To another place, and show some haste!
You don't belong with the joyful crowd.
A place for lovers, who bring others,
This is not a place for you.
We didn't think you'd come alone,
Like we said, ask a friend,
Why didn't you just stay home?
Why would you go out like this?
Your tongue's not tied, we thought you'd tried,
At least to find some loving bliss.
Don't you see, it's not the norm!
There is no homeliness, where there is loneliness,
And you've no shelter from the storm!
Go away, you're not allowed,
To another place, and show some haste!
You don't belong with the joyful crowd.
The Ending Untold
Tonight I woke from the strangest dream,
I was lost in a place I'd never seen.
In a forest dark, I walked alone,
Yet some tranquil light guided me toward home.
I saw you then, my alighting guide,
Your voice was starlight calling out from the sky.
I journeyed on, you turned away,
Too far you flew and I knew I couldn't stay.
The world began to come undone,
But to my home I knew I had to run.
I fell into an ocean gray,
But I just swam because somehow I knew the way.
Then daylight came, I woke again,
The sun was cold and cruel and nothing had changed.
I didn't cry, though I wanted more,
This wasn't new to me, I'd been here before.
Sometimes at night, I feel your shine,
Somehow I know or wish I left something behind.
You are an island, but your heart's the sea,
In my darkest place still calling out to me.
I know it's there, beyond the night,
Through the valleys over hills and mountains high.
My silver light, my shining guide,
Somewhere calling from your castle in the sky.
But the night is long, I'm growing old,
Our story may yet leave it's ending untold.
Will my guide, fade from the sky?
Is it you calling or an illusion of the night?
I was lost in a place I'd never seen.
In a forest dark, I walked alone,
Yet some tranquil light guided me toward home.
I saw you then, my alighting guide,
Your voice was starlight calling out from the sky.
I journeyed on, you turned away,
Too far you flew and I knew I couldn't stay.
The world began to come undone,
But to my home I knew I had to run.
I fell into an ocean gray,
But I just swam because somehow I knew the way.
Then daylight came, I woke again,
The sun was cold and cruel and nothing had changed.
I didn't cry, though I wanted more,
This wasn't new to me, I'd been here before.
Sometimes at night, I feel your shine,
Somehow I know or wish I left something behind.
You are an island, but your heart's the sea,
In my darkest place still calling out to me.
I know it's there, beyond the night,
Through the valleys over hills and mountains high.
My silver light, my shining guide,
Somewhere calling from your castle in the sky.
But the night is long, I'm growing old,
Our story may yet leave it's ending untold.
Will my guide, fade from the sky?
Is it you calling or an illusion of the night?
Christmas Card
Oh, my, it’s a tough time of year for some of us. It’s those few weeks at the end there, when no matter how great your friends are, or how many you have, everyone’s got something more important to do. It sounds awful, but I know. You might have spent the year thinking, not this time, only for it to come full circle again, even just at the last minute. Of you might have already been in that state of resignation that readied you for the onslaught of happiness that does not require you. See, I may not know what it’s like to be out there, raising a child alone, or to have gone through a divorce, but I do know how it feels to have that shadow behind you, threatening to make you believe you’re as useless as everyone has inadvertently made you feel throughout the year, culminating at this point. Where is that sweetheart you gave your time and attention to? Where is that affection, that never came in all the passing months and seasons? Where is that voice telling you, it’s all worth it? Did they go away? Where they ever there? I know how it feels to be the only one you can draw strength from, when the only person who believes in your is yourself.
It’s especially hard for the creatives, in this situation. The aspiring, the rising, even the accomplished. You’re fighting an uphill battle to be heard and appreciated as it is, your every ounce of energy is spent on being the one who sees your potential, and fights, every day, to achieve it. Because nobody has your back, and your industry doesn’t want you. See, I know.
All I can say is, don’t fall into that trap. Even if it’s true. Who knows, maybe we’re not meant to do it alone. Maybe we’re all built for co-dependence. This time of year is a cold reminder: you can be as defiant, embittered, strong, tough, savvy and self-supportive as humanely possible, it doesn’t dull the sting that late December bears. But, you know what? It passes. It ends. You’ve got a-whole-nother run starting in a week’s time. And maybe you’ll never achieve the heights you dream of, but is that why you do this? You do it for the love, right? So, love the fight. Give them a fight. If it’s to be a failure, make it one that will give them scars to remember you by. Make a mark, somewhere along the way, if not at the top. Never stop fighting, until the fight is done. Then, when you have nothing left, keep working. Keep going. See how fucked you can get.
Just don’t give up. I won’t either.
It’s especially hard for the creatives, in this situation. The aspiring, the rising, even the accomplished. You’re fighting an uphill battle to be heard and appreciated as it is, your every ounce of energy is spent on being the one who sees your potential, and fights, every day, to achieve it. Because nobody has your back, and your industry doesn’t want you. See, I know.
All I can say is, don’t fall into that trap. Even if it’s true. Who knows, maybe we’re not meant to do it alone. Maybe we’re all built for co-dependence. This time of year is a cold reminder: you can be as defiant, embittered, strong, tough, savvy and self-supportive as humanely possible, it doesn’t dull the sting that late December bears. But, you know what? It passes. It ends. You’ve got a-whole-nother run starting in a week’s time. And maybe you’ll never achieve the heights you dream of, but is that why you do this? You do it for the love, right? So, love the fight. Give them a fight. If it’s to be a failure, make it one that will give them scars to remember you by. Make a mark, somewhere along the way, if not at the top. Never stop fighting, until the fight is done. Then, when you have nothing left, keep working. Keep going. See how fucked you can get.
Just don’t give up. I won’t either.
I Saw Her
A moment's warmth,
Now ice takes hold.
So afraid of night,
The sunlight's cold.
A moment's love,
Now she's alone.
So afraid of pain,
She's afraid of home.
There once was peace,
Now chaos reigns.
Almost let in,
but she's gone again.
I saw her face,
I saw her eyes,
I saw the place,
He stuck the knife.
Almost was free,
Captive again.
Afraid of me,
Her love is pain.
She hides her tears,
She will not cry,
She hides her fears,
Behind green eyes.
Runs from the dawn,
Hides in the night.
Runs from her own,
Her heart she'll fight.
I saw her smile,
I heard her cry,
I stayed a while,
She ran to hide.
Gone is hope,
Gone is her heart.
Gone is love,
Gone is my heart.
Now ice takes hold.
So afraid of night,
The sunlight's cold.
A moment's love,
Now she's alone.
So afraid of pain,
She's afraid of home.
There once was peace,
Now chaos reigns.
Almost let in,
but she's gone again.
I saw her face,
I saw her eyes,
I saw the place,
He stuck the knife.
Almost was free,
Captive again.
Afraid of me,
Her love is pain.
She hides her tears,
She will not cry,
She hides her fears,
Behind green eyes.
Runs from the dawn,
Hides in the night.
Runs from her own,
Her heart she'll fight.
I saw her smile,
I heard her cry,
I stayed a while,
She ran to hide.
Gone is hope,
Gone is her heart.
Gone is love,
Gone is my heart.
