The Art of Suffocation (not what you're thinking..)

“How can the same s*%t happen to the same guy twice?” – John McClane, Die Hard 2


If there were any blog which I have written which I would hope to receive a broader audience, it is this one. John, you had it easy my friend.. With all due respect you had targets you could rationalise, manipulate and stop - with lethal force if necessary. Matters of the heart are intangible affairs and, unlike a man-made weapon, love is truly the most powerful of energies. You cannot force anyone to love you. It can’t be grown, you cannot truly lure it, build it or trade in it. Like Chuck Norris, it finds you – or not as the case may be. As I reflected on a little earlier in the day, heroin, hashish, cocaine, and all such substances are rightly or wrongly a personal lifestyle choice. By comparison emotions and love are something we are all lumbered with from birth. No one has any choice, the harsh element of “luck” as an active component exacerbates it, and it seems some people cope with its absence better than others. If there were a creator (and in this situation I am in I am seriously tempted to uphold it as proof of the non-existence of God) then why didn’t ‘it’ reconsider the consequences of giving us a heart before granting such a double-edged sword?

After my recent altercation with fate in Manila, I now find myself stumbling backwards into another undesired and painful experience which has forced me into the rather extreme measure of temporarily withdrawing my daily friendship with a rather attractive member of the opposite sex. Through no real fault of her own, and through circumstances which I choose not to elaborate on, I have developed unrequited emotions for this person (sourcing from an event further back than even the beginning of the Manila escapade), and in order to protect any long-term future friendship for us I have been forced to take a step back before I either make her uncomfortable to the point that she has to lose me as a friend, or I begin to subconsciously resent her for inevitably rejecting my affections. To have to now deal with another rejection where there is already too much personal chaos leaves me in a very hard place. Unfortunate though it is for me, I have the kind of personality which thrives on the promise of love and companionship. I would be the first to admit that though in the past I have managed on my own, I am now heartily sick of it. The thought of continuing another day without any returning affection in my life fills me with a sense of dread, and plants me in a vicious circle, which some would likely dispense with by ritual hari-kiri. I seem to have a general lack of enthusiasm for anything, or an ability to experience pleasure in achievement. This sounds pathetic (and it likely is) but in contradiction to my continuing habit of taking an absurd amount of joy from inconsequential experiences (a sunset, or some other abstract momentary thing), I genuinely don’t have any sense of real joy for anything more substantial which might engage me and bring me into contact with a soulmate. As an artist I suppose this too puts me at a disadvantage – when the core of my soul and philosophy revolves around emotion, and that source is disrupted by disharmony, the whole tends toward failure, like an engine left to run without oil. When this outlet of engagement and diversion is exhausted and all I have to look forward to is the monotonous grind of life between work, home and sleep (especially when you have no available expenses for anything you might describe as “fun” for the next four months as a consequence of the last relationship ‘faux pas’) where do you turn for comfort? When the medicine of love becomes a poison where the hell do you turn?


These are not rhetorical questions – I really have no answers this time, and I’m very open to suggestions.


I don’t consider myself a proud person stubbornly beyond the grace of a helping hand, but I don’t wish to burden my friends with any sofa-hogging imposition or tiresome pub scenes. They have lives and the last thing they need, even if they don’t want to admit it, is a miserable sod taking up space in their homely routines. I suspect it would ultimately do me no good anyway. In a savage twist of irony the one person who might best understand me (the ex) is now in another relationship of her own, and quite preoccupied – and rightfully so. I have to wonder how I managed to reach such a position of utter isolation. When did I begin to find society so painfully dull or un-accepting as to stop being able to make new friends? As I look about me, not just now but day-to-day generally, I feel as though people are somehow socially embarrassed to help another in trouble. When the hell did this attitude take root? Are people now so inept that they cannot expand beyond their circle of friends in a social environment and reach out to someone who looks as though they might need a friendly embrace? Am I envious of those who do have someone to hold, to the point of self-destructive thoughts and habits? Without a successful distraction of hobby or habit I suppose it is certainly possible, but what does that then say about me as a person and how do I resolve this before it inevitably overwhelms me? What does a tired atheist draw on to help them through the loneliness, which if I’m honest, could last anywhere from overnight to the rest of his life?

I will soldier on somehow. I suppose on reflection I have been here many times before now, but somehow it feels different this time, and I don’t mind admitting that for right now, I hurt.. and I am very scared.