All in Time Due ((Part 12))

LOVE.

Let me begin with a single word. This IS a word for the ENTIRE world. All of us, have felt and/or have been in love. Well, this is the point of this piece. What do I think love is, and how have I come to have such a perspective? In this way, in being both broad, general, and specific to an exact question, I feel that this THING MIGHT just make for decent reading. As such, let me begin, with my first love. As you know, this means Kelly. I have loved MANY women since, but this is where the whole thing begins. I do guess I loved my mother, at some point, but I cannot remember this, and so, I, will choose not to include it. That feeling I had for THAT Britney Spears album cover wasn’t love either, and so, once again, I’ll start with Kelly.

THOSE CANDY HEARTS

BUT MUCH, MUCH LARGER

TOO BIG

WHY DID THEY MAKE THESE?

You know SOME of our story, the parts where we ran away. Pieces 2 and 7 of this very series. Jokingly called All in Due Time in the last piece, Part 11. There, I made a joke that did not make any sense, due to my using the incorrect title, for the series. Something Something, dyslexia? What about just forgetting? Is that allowed too? Either way, and either unto one’s ways, I loved Kelly. We had so many good and bad times. But, this will not be a detailing of all that. This is a question, and Kelly is a precedent, if only in my life’s history of romance. She taught me that love was in things like loyalty, doing, and being there, when needed. Simple things, that children can understand. %%% Children understand love, too, but so as to not end up sounding like a genuine creep, let me move on.

A VAN PARKED

IN YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD

She was there when I needed her, as so many woman have been after her. She was loyal enough, up to understanding and time. AS, once again, and with several of the others. Not all, of course. I have a tendency to latch on to anxious narcissists, in friendships and love. And while unfortunate, something of a wild ride has taken place so far, and so I cannot go too far into the ways in which I regret any of it. I do not. Well, not most of it. There is this one later relationship, if I’m being totally honest, that shouldn’t have happened. There were TOO MANY differences, in TOO MANY WAYS. To wit, I have this comb analogy that should work quite well here. So, each person has a comb, whose, whatever the hell you call those parallel extensions. Well, they are of different lengths, by your very nature. Then, when you combine combs with another person, those things level out, or don’t. Well, in my case, the combs sucked ass when placed along each other’s path.

But, this is love. We are MEANT to make mistakes, if only to figure IT out.

IT

in SO MANY THINGS

inSERT LAUGHTER

So what. What is love exactly? Is it that scent you get from another place, somewhere you’ve never been but always thought about. Is it that? You know, the smell of Jean’s carpet, that heavy burgundy shag style, that my cousin and I played on, as children. Knowing not then, either, love. Perhaps he much better than I, but all in the same. Kind of like being poor. Well, is it? Or, maybe, instead, is love in the vision you have for another? THIS woman looks like my ex, and so a pattern is formed? Is THIS love? And if so, how can we be so normal? How can the weirdest people of all time have such bland patterns among their love cylinders? Who knows, but, wow, is this getting very poetic.

A PAUSE, RESEMBLING POETRY

Perhaps so because I have written so many songs, songs about love even, and often. But, as always, who knows. And that’s with rhetoric AND a period. EVERYTHING has a period. Love is no different than hate here. We can hate another, but eventually as the memories fade, so does SOME of the hate, and if enough, the hate altogether. Or so we could say. Now, I’m getting the sense that something very special is taking place, but I can’t pin it here and now. It’s too vague a song on the mind, too well written, and polished to prose. What was it before then? And is not love this way too? An incubation? Pure and before unpure. Sounding, like a philosopher. Please let this be the case, if so. Always, if so.

ACE OF BASE

IN REVERSE

BASE OF ACE

Someday, when I’m a heavy set of used to bees, someone will read this, name attributed to something or other, and weep with camaraderie. For they will know that someone else, even if not from their time, understands, or at least has opinions about, this very thing they still then concern. And, in case you’re daft, this is love. It’s ALWAYS love. So, when Kelly hung on to me like she needed me, I learned to love. I replaced some of the anxiety inside of me with how to love. And it was beautiful. Once again, we’re back to leaning. And now, writing. All of this is so accidental, the very words themselves flowing forth as though from another, let’s call it, dimension. But, don’t allow me to get too scientific here, not too far into the rather cultural whims of intuition and fiction. Is love IN the fiction? This, I guess, I could ask? Is it so? Is it not like beauty, too, and how barbie becomes a person? All dolls become people, if only in time due. I’ll keep doing that, so learn to deal with it.

THIS IS LIKE THE THIRD TIME

I’M NOT EXCITED ANYMORE

BUT I STILL ACKNOWLEDGE THE FACT

And with IT, are we not into dangerous waters? Can we not come to love, ANYTHING? I mean, you, you might love your favorite cap. What then, is of this love, TOO? How is it’s nature, the nature of love to a thing? Someday, robots will be the same. Robotic lovers, everywhere, and normal. And then what is love? Is not love for a thing also love? Person, place, thing. See, they ARE different. Otherwise, we wouldn’t say it that way. Now, as we do, can we not say that we CAN love a place? Is not home where the heart is, also not as a result, where the love is %% Is home NOT where the love is? I guess, having grown up in quite a lame setting, I can say, something, about sometimes, this love being outward, outside of the house. A love to get away into nature. A love to runaway in general. This, too, is love.

AN ICE-CREAM CONE

MAKING LOVE TO A HUNGRY FACE

IT’S ALWAYS POSSIBLE TO WATCH THE WORLD IN THE OTHER DIRECTION

All of it’s love. We feel this thing for so many things. Take it from me, I’m aware enough to know. Awareness is part of intelligence, even if it’s not perfect that way. We all have our blind-spots, and love is no different. We come to love the wrong people, like all the time. We come to misunderstand the simplest things. And, while not wrong, it DOES only really lend itself to annoyance and whatever the opposite of virtue is. Dangle. Here I am, interjecting reality’s flow, into myself. And this, in turn, is writing. I am writing now, without STOP. Without THINKING. And this is how we approach love. It makes us leap from thinking, in a way that some could refer to as stupid. And this is fine. We NEED a place like that, a place where the heart can sit, and relax, and be attached to. Our better sides, for example. If, OUR VIRTUES, and there’s that word again, could be laid out, would one very important ONE not be laid out into what we call love? Therefore, is not love a virtue?

A HEAVY BLOCK OF MARBLE

CARVED STRATEGICALLY

INTO A _THIN_ SLAB OF MAN

Then again, I only know what the women in my life have taught me. Many of THEM having taught me only to hate, and to envy. But, in CERTAIN WAYS, I can say that woman MUST know more of love, even if her night’s sheets are of another, every once in a while, and usually when something’s drastically wrong. Only when things are wrong, does something GO WRONG. Sometimes, things go wrong. Like it taking only some 20 minutes to type to THIS POINT, flies about, the heat beating me into a frenzy of honesty and philosophy. Now, as you know, I will be called pretentious. Pretentious for using the BIG WORDS I found lying around my books once. I will be called an asshole for the way I put some of these words together. And still, I will write. If only to annoy those who cannot understand. Which, unfortunately, is to say, too many. Reading, another thing that find’s love. Information, and perspective. It rises to the occasion of love being manageable. Whatever the fuck that means. It never means quite what the words are trying to get at, and so to continue on this line of random alignment, would be to type quickly about what precisely language is, and how that, language herself, could come to shape love. At least when it comes to definitions.

A MAN, HOLDING LANGUAGE

ALL OF IT

AND, SURPRISINGLY, IT’S NOT ALL THAT HEAVY

, MAN

Love does NOT always rely on definitions, however. Sometimes, like the actions of the illogical, love herself too is so. She can be illogical. And, in this, I am not to say solely the word. For love, the loving breathing, can be so too. She can take part in whim and fancy at levels meant for that which is outside of logic, and thinking. Outside of putting together parts and coming to a whole. Now, even in my own use words, I can feel something. I love words, and so we are here again, at language. If I were to move on, it would be to use language and then I would be back to her all the same. As such, I do not believe that there to exist love without language. Perhaps, because we must convey in order to love. The feeling itself is not enough. It takes telling-to, whether through story, or an image, or even a feeling, to convey. It ALWAYS takes so much to express love accurately. Even then, another could question your uses, how close you’ve gotten to what you’re actually trying to say. This, once again, makes love more than a word but based highly in the realm of words and sentences and other timeless qualities “of man.” It takes a woman to make a man. It takes the same to make love. And, no, I am not being anti-gay. For the feelings of a woman can be in anyone. The man in the truck. The guy in a dress, or the woman in the same. It is not what is outside, but what ventures inside, that makes a woman. And in knowing this, I know love. If only for being closer. To women.

HERE’S TO WOMEN

WITHOUT WHICH

LOVE WOULD JUST BE ALL

[OFFENSIVE IDEAS ABOUT TELEVISION]

Wow, what the hell am I going on about? I have not taken a single break, for I fear that if I do, the poetry may never return. And so easy. Sometimes, it’s not so easy. And this is love too. She is not always easy. And this does not say ANYTHING about how good that love IS. Some people NEED to fight. They are that way. And so they do. And this is THE very nature, and love. You come to know love wrongly in the eyes of another but perhaps lasting in yours. And this is never wrong, or anything but a learning experience. Hence, my lack of regrets about those soiled moments of my past with others. I will decline this feeling. Will keep my memories clean, and sustainable, stress-free, and all of the other things that allow us to access without ruin. For to pull from memory ALWAYS comes with a toll. Well, then to best remember should be to decrease this toll. And so too and once again of love. To make it nice, and free. To allow love to go where she will’s it.

SHE WILL’S IT

IN HER HEART

BUT MISSES THE OTHER WAY

Now, once again, what is the nature of love? If I were to bring it all to shapes, could not love take a form? And if so, what COULD be the form of this love? So far, people, places, and things. Words, and language. Could love not just be a shape, somewhere along the science fiction of what could be? I believe so, as I believe EVERYTHING to have a shape. Yes, like a geometric shape. Perhaps not the kind you learned, but geometry nonetheless. And this is love. Willed and learned into a form, an exact form, in archetype and leisure. Always and all the time. Now, take a moment to reflect on how “AI” could never write like this. Something immeasurable is taking place. Something that cannot be placed into a framework of mathematics exactly, notwithstanding my love for the discipline, or how close the above lends itself to HEIGHTENED hypocrisy.

A STOP SIGN

A BUSTED UP CAR

THE STOP SIGN IS FINE

Either way, I shall stop here, and hope that poetry is always with me, when it comes to writing of love. The winds are bad, and my make-shift tarp-tent is requiring all those parts of mind that it takes to write. Especially well. Also, the clouds and rains are to follow SOON. So, who knows when I’ll be back.

THE AUTHOR OF THIS SERIES

CAMPING, ENJOYING LIFE, HAVING EPIPHANIES

HAVING, A GOOD TIME

IN NATURE

I am back. Monster strange. Whatever that means. I am on a beautiful mountain top in Virginia. My state is much like that of THE writer’s past, and of THIS piece. As yet. So, if I can recall without reading the above, if only really for the randomness; there was language, and persons, places and things. Oh, and the ACTUAL SHAPE OF LOVE. Now, from there, I shouldn’t have too much to say, but as always, I do. Love is sharing. As I sit upon this VIRGIN HILL, she yells to me that I MUST seek to enjoy this experience with another. And that’s love. Love can be in the anticipation as well. I FEEL the love I WILL have for another not yet realized. I spake of this some, in Elegant Wood. And probably so in so many other songs that you’ve never heard too. And this reminds me, maybe even again, that music IS emotion and therefore in certain cases, love too. For certain emotions, better shared of course, bring us to love. And this, again is all in the anticipation of the thing. We love before we realize it. And in this way, love is known shyly to have an incubation period. What begins as a crush, and a few smiled tips, goes on, I hope, to be held hands, locked eyes, and whatever else love has to offer up to us, with this woman. She’s nice and that’s a good sign.

THEY BUSKING

FEELIN’ GOOD

PRETTY WOMEN PASSING BY

WITHOUT FULLY PASSING BY

And speaking directly of women, I have just met upon one in the wilderness, being parked next to the Appalachian Trail, in one of her segments, where lust meets the divine to make grassy fields and power lines and through%hikers. And sectionals too. But, this is not about trails. Or even TRAIL COUNTRY. It’s about how love is in the randomness. We sit, in places like this, knowing that we stand SOME possibility of falling in love here. View it like a Poisson Distribution Strewn About the Whole World, and in each place, you stand SOME chance. At times, all is zero unfortunately. And this is how love works too. She is in the lost moments. We resent ourselves for giving in so wholly to the whims of memory. We sit and think, if I had been this way or has said this thing, I could very well be in love RIGHT NOW. And this is true, but certainly no need to kick the donkey. There’s never any reason to kick a donkey.

LOVE AS A DONKEY

CAMERA ZOOMS

INTO THE EYES OF AN ASS

So, love seems to be everywhere, in so many things. And if one considers the fringes, we may very well get hypothetically close to what love really is. Now, thinking to cores and artifacts, there’s the love for the past, one that we all partake, so often. All, at some point, have begged history to bring back that which cannot be done so. And so there’s dreaming. But, in waking life, there’s what happens, and what happens again. When we open love’s box and think back to a beautiful moment, we add to it the stress and other feelings we harbor at the time, all without realizing it. So, when we open the box again, love has been lost, if not at all, then perhaps all in one. Completely lost, where to no one knows. This IS the mind, and writing, and other abstract things. And so we must be comfortable in dealing with everyday abstractions, like love. We USE the word and SOME don’t believe. And while this COULD be in all things, I cannot be certain. It could be that every single topic has fringes leading to its making? The true knowing. Could this not be? But, this is about love. And so its her fringes I shall chase.

A BEE CHASING TWO BEARS

EACH CHASING FOOD OF THEIR OWN

AND SO THE BEE CHASES SO MUCH

Now, to the future. What if LOVE could be bottled, and sold, and therefore abused? What of this? I believe that many would take the love, if only to feel happy. But, in doing so they would have obscured the path to true happiness, in things like ACTUAL LOVE. This is much like trying to avoid learning by having a machine learn for you. You’d never find love if you have it in a bottle. And so, I would advise to the counter, and continue to chase the love that humankind has known for whence. Since the beginning, I can imagine, one monkey held another monkeys’ hand, and so began the concepts that would become love. Did they feel love in those softer embraces? And if so, how is this love different from ours? I don’t know. I do know, however, that eventually, somewhere down the line, a poem was written, for the love of another, for the very first time. I ask, then, may I read this poem? And all such similar things? This is ONE way to feel love too. To think, of all of her milestones. To see it all as a pursuit, toward a goal, as all things eventually are. Now, lest this get too heady and/or heavy, let me focus back to that bottle of love.

A BOTTLE OF LOVE

SOLD USING SEX

AS WITH ALL THINGS THAT CAN

If she were available, at some of these earlier times, would the poem be written? And if so, would it be as good? What of that simian embrace? How would SHE change? And, as I look to the trees here, I wonder, just who has done the same. And are we not ALL in some SORT of LOVE WEB? Together, but separated in time, we stare at the same things and feel about the same things. The extras of our mind are different, but the whole thing is very much the same. Man, how am I ever gonna live up to writing THIS? Either way, I shall always continue. We read that same poem, and experience similar feelings of love. Once again, are we not then in love too? Love could be called an extreme connection in this way. And then I could ask, is love THE extreme connection, laying foundation to all and everything that moves, and knows? Could love be the connection between generations, between states, and aft, forefathers. From past to present, and back again. Now, we have love as time travel. And this CANNOT be wrong. Never can love as time travel be wrong. So, we feel what the Mayan farmer felt, give or take. We sense their love for the field and the ones they share it with. We EXPERIENCE the artifacts. And perhaps love IS this glue.

Still, I chase what love is.

And how to do this in under six single-spaced pages, if only to avoid the superfluous. And therefore, boredom, of the reader. Like a jazz song with too many choruses. Yeah, that could be too much. Keep, still, we keep traveling to persons, places, and things. Even when across time. Is it love some of us feel for the possible existence of LIFE elsewhere in the universe? Is not love then capable of great distances? Is she not stretched to like a perfect pie? Or is it, too, pi? LOL. I love laughter too, but this has been said. Of love, there’s time and space. Now, what if there’s some elements to love that we don’t yet know to think about? Someday, after like fifteen paradigm shifts, comes this technology that allows us to communicate with those in another MULTIVERSE, perhaps ourselves that actually HIT THAT TREE that one time, and so live VAST DIFFERENCES to us. Now there’s a thought. Communicating with yourself having a completely different life. One more successful, less so, and even one king of the world. Somehow, this would all be possible. We might, then, find ourselves experiencing love across DIMENSIONS, things we can;t yet describe and so I will not waste too much time attempting to describe them. I will leave it to the paradigm shifts to do the explaining. They, even in the form of SIMPLE CONCEPTS, are better at it than I.

A WOMAN

SURROUNDED BY CONCEPTS

ATTEMPTING TO MAKE SENSE

OF LOVE

This brings me to love for one’s self. This DOES exist, notwithstanding your potential for impostor syndrome. You ARE worth loving. There, I have said IT. You OWE me YOUR saying it, now. Because love is also in understanding. Understanding why she did this or that, and why love is important at all, outside of any one particular love’s interest. At this point, I could say LOVE IS THE UNIVERSE, but then I might sound high. I might sound like I’ve had and/or eaten too many bad potatoes. But, this is not madness, this is focused thought, on one topic. One that matters, to me. Perhaps we someday get to the bottom of that infinite succession of cells and atoms and so forth, only to find love’s smiling down there, at the bottom of infinity, dating things and making sure the world is allowed to keep moving. Love, once again, at the bottom of infinity. We find that, as the black hole swirls, there are love there, and within, to keep things churning along certain asymptotic descriptions. Forth and frothed by energy also known as love. Love COULD be the energy. THE energy. And while knowing this MAY OR MAY NOW help your dating life, especially in the absence of a bottle of said froth, it does provide hope that we may stop looking. Stop here and allow love to become what it may be. If it’s truly at the end of infinity, then we should leave it be.

We should LET love be.

PS — YOU ARE WORTHY OF LOVE

There, I said it again. You are NOT in a world where no one loves another. Quite the contrary. This place cannot help but love. Just like those women did to me, at times not so much, but did nonetheless. It’s ALWAYS possible to find love. In some ways, I love you for reading, no matter who you are, as this is what drives me to keep writing. If no one were reading this, I’d probably have the good sense to put it down, if only for the time being. But, for now, I write. I have written from this beautiful mountain in Virginia, and now must head to Boone, to busk near a major musical event, point as yet unknown. Perhaps I’ll find love on the way, in the course, or on SOME GRAVE STAGE. I COULD be subject to love at ANY moment. Love’s subject. And you know what:

I’m ready. I’m ready for love.

PSS — I have proofed this very quickly. Something like this should generally be left alone. Not too much polish, or the nails themselves might COME OFF. Now, starts that James Brown beat, in more than 100 forms. And this is OK.

Triples — I realized, in proofing this for a second time, that I made the point of opening memories multiple times. Perhaps love is in memories, above reading and all else, for it be not in memory, would we even recall love well enough to know her truly?

I HAVE asked a lot of questions here. But I’ve also made a lot of statements. As such, this has all been a bit like my classroom.

Here’s to learning, and-about-also love.

Here’s to falling, in one of the rarest of acceptable forms.

Here’s to falling, in love.