The Powerful Relations

Right if you win, wrong if you lose
Nobody listens when you're singin' the blues
Well something's the matter but nothing gets done
Oh everyone's waiting for a place in the sun

I feel a little lost in all these thoughts and furrowed wonders. Once more, I'm calling out to Supertramp for a little help. This time around, the constructivity and carefree pleasance emerges from listening to wise and "Famous last words", the brilliant last album of their original lineup and career, before the slight solo break and their more recent reunion comeback. Did I mention, this album is a finale with a big bara-boom bang; and it's beautiful? Also, it inspires me a lot. Essentially Supertramp, of course, but then again - that's what I love, need, and demand to be treated with, when I'm in a state of mood and need a bit of sunny happiness. Shine on me, California dreamin'. Love! And, also, some poetry therefrom; which was commenced this morning at the Uni, while having lunch with a friend. So, I owe her some thanks here! :) She got a sneak peek and her enthusiasm triggered my will to continue. Unfortunately, we had "The Odyssey" to deal with, first and foremost. Oh, the concentration. Sister lucid mindset, where art thou, where hideth thou from me? I've got issues; serious, disturbing lead-to-distraction issues. Seeing that I was so totally out of focus today, I rather ended up talking about "Hercules" and Wolfgang Petersen during our Homer-related class of course discussions, instead of assisting my friends in their...relatively more serious debate on whether Odysseus' fate was self-inflicted. Don't even ask how I got onto those topics. Something to do with "Poseidon" and Brad Pitt. And that's near the end of that story. Anyway: my teacher was getting slightly unamused. Well, technically, he was trying to prevent himself from bursting into fits of giggles. (At least, it certainly seemed so. And my friends were infected too; naturally.) Regardless, he made me compencate for lack of relevant answers by questioning me extremely thoroughly about the symbolism of Odysseus' troublesome journey. And the rest. I'm happy to say that I knew what an Aoide was before he did. Although, I'm not convinced I spelled it correctly. I'm not an academic, but I think I manage academia pretty well. For my own standards. I have my own and very personal style, that's for sure, but I'm not completely convinced my teachers approve. Actually, I know they don't. They're academics, they shouldn't. It's against their policy. The latter which I still, continuously and annoyingly enough, refuse to obey or live by.

However, this is not my subject of the moment, I'd much rather talk about poetic drabbles. And my poetry deals with severely different matters. Fortunately. It's related to my distractions and it's about Love. Of all things. Love and power. The power of Love. How the things we say and do affect other people, to pull yet another cliché. Love that. Just finished watching this week's episode of "Heroes"; they do it all the time - rewriting cliché dialogue and plotlines - and it works perfectly! I heart Peter Petrelli, especially when he's angry and wild and fears he'll blow up things. Adorable man. But, back to poetry; absent-mindedness impersonated, that's me; and I wanted to say something about the way we constantly attempt to manipulate each other - for the sake of own intentions and desires - and how we play silly games which we thereafter brand relationship techniques, coupling conflicts, ups and downs. Whatever. How we show no mercy. We dare to turn away and don't look back, and we stop believing in Pure Love. Love in its original form, lasting forever, binding people together for all eternity, where mutual interests are the main concern. And you want the best for your partner, the best for the both of you, because it's love; it's consideration and attention and worry and troubles, yeah, but it all comes down to the very deepest feeling of care for another human being. Which we lack today, I find. We think relationships are bound to grow cold, somehow, or at least start lacking passion along the way; we've misunderstood the foundations on which they should be built in the first place. We're off track when it comes to the basis of falling in love, I believe. It's the common beating of hearts, the exchange of glances, the strength and trust. That's my picture, and we don't share that anymore. We have these ideas, these complex roles to play. If we don't, we just settle with being discontent. Love fails. Pure Love doesn't exist, blah blah blah, and some would probably claim I'm being naïve. Admittedly, I reckon my views create the reasons as to why my relationshps tend to malfunction and never work out easily - usually, they go to Hell - because I crave too much and too little at the same time; because I'm there, but not enough, and I'm loving but I'm not living the traditions; acting against the principles, that's me. I believe in the Power of Pure, True, Pleasant LOVE. Capitol letters all the way. BUT: I crave this...particular sincerity. I don't need attention 24-7, too feel like the most important person in the Universe, nor do I need a Mr. No-Flaws; someone who never makes mistakes; I don't need utter handsomeness and constant presence, constant aid, an all-ears servant who complies my every wish, because I couldn't be that either, nowehere near it, but I do - nevertheless - require the willingness to offer something; to see and be seen, equally. Make demands, but state them, and give something in return. And care. I need a man who cares about me, honestly, deeply, for who I am and will stick by me, like I will stick by him. Faithfully, passionately. I need some fucking passion. To feel that I'm needed, on a certain and very basic level. To need this someone back, to depend on a Love, and we may co-exist in harmony; having our ugly conflicts, but never tire of each other due to commonplace bitterness and itsy bitsy picking. Listen to our hearts and base it on love, quite simply. Do it as lovers. I write this in a hurry, thoughts streaming, I hardly know what I'm trying to say anymore. Some apparent urge to get stuff(edness) off my chest. What I want; I want someone who wants me, passionately, but who doesn't wish to own me, and who doesn't wish for me to own him. Who challenges me, but supports me, and has his own visions, expectations, aspirations, his own life and a bright mind to go with it - and who lets me in on this. Oh, I just want a proper mate. To quote The Doctor. Last resorts, here. But let me elaborate a bit before I round off; I do think that when I find this someone, I won't have to explain anything. He'll know. That's how I believe in Love, I believe that when True Love finds you, both parties will know. Instantly. We'll know Love when it comes knocking. With absolute, outmost and passionate conviction. Soulmates, best mates, lovebirds, however you name it. But it's a belief. Keeps me going strong. And here's the poem, everyone:

"Subtle disputant" - for my dearest fiend
By Scaramouche, the Po(t)et, struggling in love - and with my every lover. But not just in a negative sense, this, I feel energy running through the system as well. Of a particular kind. This is all about how I get a load of my shoulders and breath freely again. No personal references involving aggression intended, though. Just...a manner of displaying thoughts.

You sit upon your throne, sublime,
the fairest wish must be your own
To wield from distanced certainty
and shun the looks of evidence
To revel in the betterness of doubt
and never grant the benefit of choice
Where do you draw the parallels
Your words do not demand a firm reply
but sweet consent to any statement;
resounding indisputable approval overall
hard to tell, most lovable a sinner
lead without the necessary trust
and follow with a never-blinking glaze
of hear no evil/see no goodness
Your given authenticity beheld
To sombre carelessness alone, you owe
allegiance and a thousand kisses
For protection with an abstract pistol
and you may soon become a reclused son
of laws you make and only you obey
then steadfast tread to your seclusion,
lover, each man for himself,
When you take hostages within captivity
of solemn silence, pull your defences down;
the purpose of another matters none
When do you draw the final line?
You sit upon your heavy chair, divine,
the final quest must be your own
Your discipline is fixed, apparent,
and you solicit candid recognition
You seek, perchance, but do not give,
my darling, you observe no fists of storm
But run indoors, you move along; away
All that is wrong, and you betrayed
what recapitulation will be offered -
behind the different say, the other skin
The truthfulness does not become of truth
and as I lay my last address to quiet rest
you'll bow and gain applause from someone new