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 Post subject: Happy Musings
PostPosted: Wed Feb 25, 2015 4:23 am 
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Joined: Thu Jun 10, 2004 11:57 pm
Posts: 402
Location: In the city of pigs
Dear Horatio,
how delightful I was when I received your letter. It has been months since I have felt the reassuring words from a loving voice. Now, more than ever, am I pleased to have the strength of your friendship abreast.

I have fallen ill with love. Yes, the same friend who has always mocked the very thought of it and protruded sardonic laughter upon my lips while bemusing myself of all the misgivings I saw in other poor chaps who became entrapped by the damning powers of such acerbic and futile emotions. That same friend now has been reduced to a shadow of his former self in light of Cupid’s wickedness.

I am in love. And I am dead! I am dead Horatio! Before I even took my first steps I was already destined to die. That is the fate of all those listless souls who have been stricken with this most inauspicious spell. You wander around the inner sea of turbulence and turmoil, desperately looking for a heaven rich with solace. But all is facile. There is no idyllic reprieve, no bucolic happy endings.

A soul like mine is seduced to the point of no return. The inner childhood longings pervert the grim realities of heartache with the severity of circumstances, which shamelessly utter to the whole world of my infectious undoing.

I used to preach about the guard one must carefully place around the vacillating nature of our hearts, of the hearts of all men. My own lessons that I diligently lay before others to frame their lives within have now failed to be adhered to by my own feelings. My own sentiments have become my undoing and my folly.

But if you could only see the world I view now in light of the love she brings to me. All the grey skies of weeks before have morphed into unending rainbows of pure bliss and undying hope. Each night, the same nights that I used to in the past give sway to slumber to transport me to better waters, are now a constant thorn at my very sight, for every moment spent sleeping is a moment wasted to talk to her. Every waking moment is a gift to me, which I seek to cherish and extend further. Without her I am nothing. And yet with her I am just as a hapless dimwit, who only can marshal the companionship of his fountain pen and paper. My majesty reaches only this acme, while my nadir proudly boasts its triumph over me.

This is why I always told you to abstain from life. It woos you in and misleads you. It prevaricates your good judgment and portrays the world as it is truly not. It lures to paradise, only to abandon you and leave you derelict half way through. It divests you of your pride and humility, and blesses you with torture and misery. Love is a perfidious mistress. The most tortuous and debased of all chimeras that roams the Earth!

If I cannot be with her, then I shall not be with anyone but my own invective vituperations and inconsolable frustrations, whose children I shall bury deep within the pierced echoes of my impaled chamber whose blood will stop flowing crimson gold, but instead bleed blemished blotches of disguised life!

The same foods that just last week gave me immeasurable pleasure and insatiable gratification, are now mysteriously tasteless and without much worth. The same sunrays that lit my eyes with the glistening peaks of self-control, are now unadulterated with the greediest desire for more love. All the whistles and truncated ennui that besmirched my perspectives and outlook on life that gave an air of pungent haughtiness are now sweat, composed of cathartic incantations of devout love. The coldness that permeated through my body and soul at the apex of my intellectual swiftness, and cavalier disregard of all things sentimental, are now transformed into a distend stream, whose spring waters encapsulates my every conscious moment for the clearest of all thoughts, rummaging my once torpid mind. The tepid valley that generated unfulfilling trivialities who robbed me of all senses of my own humanity is now replaced by an irritating promiscuous craving for more life!

The darkest of days are now the purest of all shrines of mother love! The fluke of melancholy is now a greater muse than Jove herself! Fragrances of pure lavender saturate the glacial lethargy and penetrate the once sere placid heart of mine, raising the cadence of my heart to its peak, nearing the breaking point!

Horatio, the joys that this love brings is only outmatched by the many perilous pangs it contrives to bring about. How can something so sweet yet be also so bitter and sour? Do first the butterflies come and then the rotting worms? How can the sweet aromas of impenitent ecstasy be also so traumatically soul crushing Cannot unrequited happiness be a distant myth to me?; instead of a loyal companion? Such friendships I do not hunger for nor yearn. My only delight is her! Her every words! Her every laughter! Her every breath that leaves her body enters my soul! With every beat of her heart and stroke of her clock, I breathe more of her into me, and lose more of myself into her genial soul!

If this is not love, then this is what the prophets spoke of as heaven! For while my torment of loving her is my hell, my consuming of her soul is also the purest bliss, one that I believe we call heaven on earth! My love for her is a parchment brush on fire, a canvas of pure snow!, a voice in the wilderness calling the lost tribe to life! It beckons me to life, it beckons me to her!

Horatio, I love her! I love her more than life itself! I shall offer my heart on a platter to her, so that at least this way I can be one with her. Such joy she brings to me that such words depart my lips for her. Horatio, I am in live love. I am in love!!

While I sit here and bemoan my unfortunate lot, she is strolling among the reveries of her own chary thoughts, indifferent to the torments my love for her spews on me. I wonder if she even shares tiny speckle of the unabashed feelings that I have developed for her in our nascent icy spring of love, a one sided love that distorts reality and hurls me from a menacing ivory tower to an ubiquitous burden that caustically grins at my complete and utter devotion to her.

I wonder whether she feels any yearning or loving for me, whether the same harrowing horrors that cause my gallantry to trod away, also stalk her conscious moments, or if my poetic resolve has completely transfixed my perception of reality nugatory. Am I indeed such a prodigal spendthrift that I have wasted all the reservoirs of charm and hope that at the hours every gleaming peek, I give myself freely to the continuous promiscuity of my juvenile incantations? Am I such a dry spell that my fleeting soul is even plotting to abandon me?

To regain sanity I must truculently truncate the hours upon which I envisage my beloved’s attention, cut the umbilical cord that is still fresh and procures an acrid smell upon my confused senses.

But Horatio, my dear Horatio, I am unable and unwilling to say goodbye. I cannot regain closure with her gone. At least with her near me, now as she is, I am already acquainted with a familiar devil. Why replace this known demon for an unknown woe that may yet prove far worse than the current plight? Maybe eternal sleep is its own reward, a valuable companion worthy of consideration, despite my initial hesitation to proceed onward with my grand plan to regain equanimity amidst such vitriolic self-doubt and self-loathing; blatant self-disgust.

Oh Horatio, my final hours are upon me. I know so much now that even if the stars were to reveal another path, I could not bring myself to go onward. My strength is failing me to remain courageous. I am in love.

There is no ending to this incessant malady. It is a reclusive and retarding potency that distills all prejudices in favor of sound reason for inane blissfulness that leaves you naked and alone. Your soul exposed and your malleable demeanor betrayed, the hopes you entertained dashed away by this enervating monster deep within your own soul, your spirit sapped of the vitality and fruits of all life; the vigorous and trenchant juice that begot your life, now taken away and fettered in chains. With the arrival of this spring, the bells of winter ascend upon me too. The deafening sirens of salacious harpies preying upon haps like me. Oh my beloved friend, there is no pause to this fulmination. Calamity has entered my house like a thief in the night and I do not know nor wish to rid myself from this most unwanted visitor.

I love her. I love her. I love her! And I know that this will not bear any joyous fruits, only germinate seeds of unending bitterness. Effrontery has replaced the audacious fastidiousness I once knew all about. Shall I be the next Christ? But my love does not resurrect, it only kills! Leaves corpses behind and laughter for those who watch this spectacle from a safe distance. Desolate pangs are transformed into vicarious joys.

My horrors allow me to only expatiate and proffer dilated fragments of spiritual crises my current position in life offers and provides. Now, shall I complain of my lot in life?, after I enjoyed so many moments in the limelight as a stalwart steward of artificial humanity? No Horatio, I am ripe for many delusions, but this one I cannot claim as my own. If I cannot be with her then I shall be with no one but my pen and paper, and your always loyal ears. All other companions have deprived me of their friendships; I dare hope not that you are a furtive brother of their coat of arms!

Horatio, I love her. Madly. Deeply. Uncompromising.

Horatio. I am dead before I even ever had the chance to succeed.

May my words be a full bearing upon the ominous melodies of a fool in love, and a testament to eschew the mellifluous lascivious musings of love.


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