Friday, 21 January 2011

We have “that connection”?

I recall a few slithers of time swerving down the existential helter-skelter, counterbalancing the more extreme slices, in particular, when the gap between me and another person was nothing more than membrane theorem.  Helped by the drugs and alcohol through the previous night for sure, but also, that ‘outlook space’ remained just as wispy the following morning, and the subsequent phone calls, and, during what I can only blog now as ‘open sensual tennis’.  The above recollection was spawned from a line in a friend’s album intro where he yearns from lovers, allies, and regular associates, what I’ll describe now as… ‘conversationalist’s dialogue’.  Since then I’ve pitched this demand - of which I also aspire - with a movie I saw, where, on his deathbed Marcus Aralias suggests to his jaded daughter, regarding life‘…But, I think you ask too much it’. 
Another claim to bring in here is of Vedic/Kemetic isolation: we are currently in Kali-Yuga… The age of Quarrel… permeating within and manifesting without, from lover, to household, to almost all so-called communications.  Give this some thought from the seclusion of your pillow, then, zooming out to a global snapshot, I think you’ll have no opposition to such an apparently accurate assertion, though, the next conversation on common, or even high-brow topics that you have, will, characteristically, be flooded with opposition, and upon completion, could not in retrospect be described as ‘synchronized viewpoints’ or even ‘relatively symbiotic perspectives’.
This personal admission hurts: We all find stress hormones whipping mini-frustration doing something as basic as explaining our standpoint on an urgent topic.  Therefore I accept the Vedic/Kemetic description - but armed with nothing but knowledge of my query would I accept yours?

The type of conversation I’m referring to yet unavailable to me (currently) I’ve heard on the train, and obscure radio, and now I understand why these exchanges are labeled from the outside as ’dry’, and also from without, mocked, insinuated, as being as such.  Perpetually intriguing to me, during these talks, I’ve witnessed observance of ‘precepts’ regarding for example, octave, volume, vocabulary:- signals enabling such a link register with only a few I’ve ever met (and unfortunately no longer associate with) who would not witness, compute-then-describe - from tone speed, and topic – such speech from individuals as merely ‘dry’ but rather ‘adhering to rules of engagement’ based upon focus, and not slipping into, or reacting like, one was personally attacked or disrespected, in so doing, resorting to rebuttal, defense, and trading open and swift navigation or exploration, for a pattern of communication which spawns a long-running line of mini-counter-objections, at least one per conversation, where standards dip, before recovery.

I’ll be juvenile and describe this conversationalism that I and a friend on his album seek as some ‘bushido shit’.

For days before this blog I played with nostalgia and familiar sentimentality, flashbacks, if you will, of romantic, platonic, and a few of my innumerable ‘exasperatingly combative’ experiences;  The more romantic memoirs I’ll homogenize to protect those (like myself) susceptible to frazzled jealousy:- Admit this silently then you’re an ‘intellectual similar’; but without prompting, publicly declare such susceptibility to jealous delusions - (“drama is dealing with your jealous impulses learning to hold it all in with no emotion; Can-I-Bus Mic Club album)  - then you are promoted further still, in my estimation, to where I love you, admire your tiny self-deprecation, and I’ll see you in heaven! – You get the drift). 

Ok homogeny begins. 

So, its 2am and you’re sitting outside a club getting some air after sub-love at first sight.  People are spilling out now due to some ruckus so you both stand…But, you’ve just witnessed the same thing the cynic within can’t believe, but then, a wave of appreciation comes next, and speaks to you…’Well, she is into folk music…said she does yoga too…plus this tree-hugging-outlook-shit…I’ve always dug it on principle?’  This club - in a small town on the coast - you’ve just preformed at - is closing.  Your crew is inside counting the till and box office with the manager and promoter. 
An hour flies and your drunk crew are still with her groupie friends; together, already intent on driving to their dormitory where not too far, sobering up and truthful, you’ve made love and are making gutsy confessions with a head full of waning drugs and adrenaline from the show. 
  Now you’ve cum you’re trying to shake this image of a city boy soaked in streetcorner politicization, by divulging you yearn for escape from all the concrete to views such as this.   But what’s even better is, because this mutual infatuation is only hours old, the projectiles thrust from the cannon of outlook are incurring responses seldom witnessed, so although all cards are on deck with this perfect stranger, including admissions of being eternally lost, feeling crunched by the mangle of urban conformity, and impressed mostly by words of spiritual trailblazers who – (when sufficient courage against perplexed insinuating ridicule has been cultivated) – you intend to follow, so, you share your plan, about the path apparently set, leading out from “ no human can tell me nothing” to “this select wisdom has descended through avataras through light years to me…so prepare for parenthood niggugh!”.  At the beginning of this sub-love such agreements seem easy, effortless, but already you consider if this pattern of total union, or, reflection of opinion, will unfold into the mid-to-long-term??

Above the salty sand where you lay, stars communicate with each other, and when you sit up for a while, these balls of gas also commune with the crown chakra, singing praises deemed due to Allah above any prophets, drawing outrage in a Christian country and vice versa. 

As if it were possible - coz she could be running streetcorner game -  (sorry…heightened sensitivity…wouldn’t be the first time) the ideological snugness on all fundamental issues tightens further: what separates opinions and theories now is reduced to a film of membrane, as she suddenly sits up, still looking at you with astonishment, a posture to what you only hoped, would be delivered in such a way as to witness this registry (that emotions and passions are the same thing): It blows any doubt away from your jaded intellect/intuition and somewhat startles you too!  “Wow...! That’s exactly what I think! Huh, I’ve been silently concluding that view to myself for years! Isn’t that something?”  You hear mackdaddy cynicism again, jumping around in your prefrontal lobe… ‘She’s lying…! Groupie bitch is trying to run game on you coz you’re in the guise of a rapper dressed as a criminal from the big smoke!’ but based on synergy of all-round expression so far, of course you pay him no mind.     

Weeks and months pass, and although hundreds of miles away - and in other cases countries apart - you meet a few times to complement the many phone calls and you realize; this person you share so much in common with - based on proximity amongst the spectrum of opinions you’ve heard all your life – is one of those people: these people you could count on one hand and this is a realization you play with, even when life, and pride, has taken you somewhere else in the sodden island that the unanimous majority call Britain. 

Hip hop beckons, which requires this re-pumping of your streetcorner ego/MC/mic-mutilating pride. 

So because of this pride, from the brink of marriage you pseudo-divorce and a decade on, the only time you witness a symbiosis on even a swathe of controversial questions is between dry speaking academics who, if opposing not complimenting, climb the sticky stairway to enforced opinion with aaaaa…..eeeerrrrmmm….graceful, at times concessional tone, which seems to point to acknowledgement of long-established lucid rules of engagement that no other section of society past the somewhat learned, the camera-hungry, or elements of the extremely aged seem to observe.

 It’s rare in the youth as far as I can tell, and I also, do have my periods - because of associations with this homogenized lover owning such apparently sophisticated hi-tech abilities. Male friends have revealed this ability too, and as far as I can tell, its display can be attributed to either age, or a sufficiently high plateau of innerstanding. 

But in all cases its especially beautiful to see in young girls who are otherwise universally labeled as ‘emotional beings’: a height of perspective transforming them from - at the time twenty something’s – for the most part still kids – to fully blossomed women, expressing with more frequency than myself, these mature(?) sophisticated(?)  hi-tec attributes(?) 

       Actually, my clandestine admiration for any woman is based upon this display.
 If she’s as physically fit as me(2nd), shares the same age bracket, frequency of immediate environment cleaning(3rd), diet, colour/counterculture-ish(4th)/politics(4th)/anti-establishment-ish outlook(4th), or at least smells as good as me(close2nd) (not kidding) then…

Well…I’ll stop it there…

But, these are not exactly recondite side issues, yet the earliest one - for want of a better description, a ‘dry conversationalist’(1st) - (because any other way is so elaborately reported above as exasperating) - is what my sentimental palace supported by ivory towers, reaches to the lofty clouds from –

In fact, in this regard, although many boxes are currently ticked, because of everyone’s ease of offense - born from the theory that one must frequently “not have it” or at least display objection with barely-controlled “passion” (due to lack of enlightenment techniques) - is one of the elements of my “total disillusionment, giving rise to a spirit of emergence” (but the western “unanimous majority” would call it bi-polar?)   

From this hallowed attribute, it would be possible to easily workout if her particularly rushed opinion on a subject - gravity of subject not necessarily to be rushed but done that way for the sport - sounded like the opinion expressed by a Conservative on mainstream radio, about, let’s say, cultural infringement (which always induces this kind of life-affirming bewilderment expressed earlier, that I, for the sake of entertainment in the mundane passion-realm, tend to relish, while still being repelled by such creatures).

 If she didn’t share my seemingly perennial view, then to hear a stereotyped emotional woman express her standpoint on cultural infringement and it be clearly envisioned leaping like others you’ve heard on the same topic, but differently, from such an aloof point – moment you’ve been waiting for all your life – in a ‘dry’, possibly even ‘trance-like tone’ or (let me try again) ‘almost, somewhat transcendental’, or (I’m trying!) ‘variable’ or with ‘plurality of perspective’ (?) it would induce sublime admiration, mixed with confusion, but not repulsion.

Here I’ll redirect my fundamental question regarding the opposite sex: is your deepest channels of sub-love restricted to people with standpoints similar to yours, not to those who are ‘naturally beautiful’, but those who tick above boxes, including this ability – unavailable in my world (currently) though my chest aches for it – to, initiate agreement to disagree over a moderately emotive subject, which inevitably brings slight frustration to ones consciousness, because it’s not transcendental enough, or realized as transcendental. 

In all cases due to this displayed ability regarding perspective-over-erratic-speaking, you would easily detect similar standpoints thereby removing the slight frustration for the above described person – otherwise tarnishing the alchemists breastplate of love – aka “that connection” - and enabling much deeper, dormant love in flux under ones ribcage, presently trapped under the pause button (underneath the aching chest, laying underneath the worn cloth of compliance…you get the drift…

Yea but if you don’t…Oh well…Whatever…Nevermind – (here we are now).

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