Endless Noose - Jeff (ebook reader macos .txt) 📗

FIRST NIGHT

I must say, every time a person tries to do something they realize the limitation in completing any action is from lack of knowing another person. Who that person is, or why you need to meet that person, is not necessarily important, but contingent on the idea being promoted. We sleep in beds designed for one or two. We need each other. Find me a sane man without a sane friend. Find me a man who sleeps through the night, without a woman to sleep and breathe in unity. Incredibly, the lonely are the craftiest type of person, they have special survival skills.! A man without love knows he has nothing to risk except for an even larger absence of love. Man says, one who is in love will take a bullet for their companion; I say Man will also take a bullet for the absence of a companion. But a much different kind of bullet; one straight through the head! Which alliance with Man and bullet is more out of Man’s free will? Man does not want to be a hero during a state of infatuation, Man is tied, shafted, noosed by the flighty obligations that the feeling and chaining that love drags with it. With such unwavering regularity, like the noon churchbell, or the drunken men running away from their soul, the Man in Love is humanity’s most elegant performance artist. He becomes so invested in his companionship where he feels anything less than death will be recognized by his comrades as a cowardly injustice on the woman he loves. Man will almost invariably jump in front of that bullet for his beloved, yet I am questioning if his jump is conscious, of his one meaningful gift from God, his will. Is that jump actually his martyr like need to be perceived valiantly in front of his peers, that need being stronger in his soul than the very experience of being alive? That I say is a flaw, of Man, and a flaw too of love. Man will jump in front of the bullet, but his soul, if uncovered knows he would die freer if he instead took a bullet to his head. At least the bullet to his head is chosen. At least the bullet to his head is reflection of one’s very consciousness! Love removes man’s capacity for consciousness. What is a loving sacrafice but an injunction on the acceptance of society’s rules placed upon man. Man is not fully conscious when jumping in front of the bullet. If Man makes the true choice of uniting with a bullet, he is the most alive he will ever be and has ever been right before his death. Those seconds, that second, that half second, where the choice of taking one’s life before Man’s total consciousness ceases, is the essence of freedom. Who says freedom is always peaceful? Love is a noose that has no end.


MORNING

My eyes open this morning and all I want to do is tell my mind of yesterday to hush! Oh, I was possessed by a demon, I swear. In the end, our thoughts are seasonal. But, dear reader, I am here to happily contradict myself of yesterday! I have met someone, not just met, I have touched love. Maybe I am speaking only in hyperbole, or maybe I am being too humble. But, boy, dear reader, it felt a certain way, and nobody can question that feeling. How did it occur? I have no idea, no recollection, only sensations that come back to me when I think of it. Well, wait a second, it was raining and this lady had no umbrella and she was walking towards me. Am I still a man if I were not to give her my umbrella in the pouring rain? That’s for another time, dear reader. The next few minutes are blank, black in my memory, but nevertheless burning in my heart. I recall her now holding my umbrella, with me passionately standing beside her in the rain; but I felt no water, only her radiance. I was trembling inside, yet I knew if all I was able to do was give her my umbrella, I would not feel worthy of living out the day. I had to overcome my trepidation, maybe it showed through, maybe quite a bit, regardless, she talked to me! “Why are you walking in the rain?” I think I asked that rather rapidly. “I am on my way home.” Her terseness did not bother me, it is common in a beautiful woman to be cold upon meeting a man. I must pause, this woman had her share of noticeable defects in her appearance, But these defects were by no means imperfections, no, only made me want to surrender my soul to her even farther. “You are far too beautiful to walk alone in the rain. Let alone, walking without an umbrella.” I now recall me stating, with an air of confidence suddenly appearing from somewhere I cannot pinpoint. “Too beautiful? Who are you to offer me your umbrella, and then mock me under the rain! You are a sick man, you are a man who gets pleasure from standing in the rain as the drops accumulate onto his skull, a man who finds a disgusting joy (is disgusting joy even possible in a sane man?) in making a mockery out of an unmistakably lonely, ugly woman merely trying to make her way home. Do you know how it feels for a man of your makeup (of my makeup!) to tell an ugly woman that she is beautiful when she feels anything but? Not only do I regret accepting your umbrella, I wish I became drenched in the rain, at least I will be closer with nature, closer with God!” I now recall feeling overwhelmed by her beauty, to a degree that I cannot express on pen. A woman as defenseless, yet, somehow at the same time, as defensive as possible as a woman could be towards a man, secretly revealed the pride this woman had in her very being. I am beginning to recall my reply: “Oh, surely you are mistaken in my intentions. I can plainly say I have never been more sincere. You are perfect, and there is no reason for God to have made you any other way. I don’t have many convictions, I lack an abundance of beliefs, but finding you along my path, beautiful woman, fate may actually exist with such palpability! Please I beg of you, I will get on one knee if that is what you want, forget your initial assessment of me, just speak and I am yours.” Those words did not come from me, they came from some other place I did not believe in prior to this experience. “I do not even know your name, no man has ever spoken to me in such a way. I know I am about to cry, please forgive me, please consider me as beautiful as you do now if I begin to cry.” I remember her begging me. “I will only find you more beautiful, I will love you with all of the energy I am able to wield, day after day, until death, no not until death, our souls will forever be united. That is a promise” I think she became uncontrollably silent so I continued. “Tell me, my new love, what brings you peace” I must have asked in earnest. “Peace? It is my writing. Bringing paper to pen. My words do not bear the weight of my deformed face. In the worlds I write, I create who I want and how they look.I escape the burden of living in this world, is there any bigger burden than not having a break from living?” Ah, she is intelligent and angelic. Fate is real. “You are right, my dear. If there is one flaw in God’s strategy, if we are allowed to call it that, is that we are not allowed pauses in our reality. Until now, I have thought of life as a man with a knife, stabbing me, never hard enough or deep enough to kill me, but always enough to make me bleed.” Those thoughts felt disgusting to me at the time. “Your experience sounds tragic yet heartfelt, and I think I am falling for you. Nevertheless, the rain is falling harder and I cannot bear to see you get this wet as I stand here under your umbrella.” I cannot share how much those words meant to me. “As you wish. I haven’t yet gotten your name.” “Wait! We should wait to exchange names. Do not sacrifice the fire of this moment for mere semantics! We must separate now. But you have brought a feeling in my heart that I doubted its existence, I must run home and write about it!” “Wonderful idea, we should meet again tomorrow in this same place, at the same time. Bring the umbrella tomorrow. Yes, it is in a dangerous area, adjacent to the street. But this is our area now, an area had never been so holy, has never been so protected by God.” “Oh, I think I have finally found love. We will meet here in exactly one day and we will exchange formalities, as I believe that is necessary. Until tomorrow, thank you, for tonight the tears that fall from my eyes will not be from my own torment, but the torment of now having these feelings and knowing so many decent humans have never felt them!” I do not remember the rest of our interaction, though I am confident I have captured its essence. How can I explain my feelings from yesterday, to now being just one nights sleep away from being reunited with my new love? Oh, but how silly to think I will sleep at all! Ha! Nothing will ever be as impossible. Perhaps love still is an endless noose, perhaps everything I said last night is true. Maybe I am drunk. Nevertheless, I am going to dive into it, and discover instead of philosophize. My beautiful writer is waiting, my noose is perfectly fastened and I am extremely eager.


DAY THREE

Abashed, fatigued, beaten down but bloodless, my heart is somewhere else, if it is anywhere at all. My angel did not return to our spot, oh what did I do? Please, God, redeem me, Make me worthy of her presence once again. Standing there in the cold rain, on the street waiting for the beautiful woman to come to me with my umbrella, how pathetic I must have looked to pedestrians. I was pathetic, I surrendered my soul and in return I obtained the pain of one hundred dying men. This is not real, it cannot be, do circumstances truly fluctuate as rapidly as mine? Alas, I must stay steadfast in my commitment to this woman. Till the day of my death, I will wait in our sacred spot beside the street, I will wait for this angel to come back. Oh, I have to believe she will come. she must! I can only imagine what must have passed through her head; ‘this man, do I actually love him?’ Yes, she must have been questioning it all, what women wouldn’t question their feelings during serendipity? Fate, I claimed only a night ago! Perhaps it was all a tragic accident. Oh, what she must have been thinking last night, I can only speculate: ‘I will make this man wait, I will stay in my house with his umbrella on my nightstand, I will test his loyalty. How much pain will he suffer for my