Often.

Posted: July 23, 2012 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , ,

I’m not generally a sappy guy, though I love the fuck out of chick flicks. I’m not generally one to open my heart and let the world in, unprotected, though it’s what I’m the most careless with. I’m not one to tell others how to live, though I will voice my opinion loudly, often, and convincingly. I am generally none of these things. That said, I will probably not live by the following words, nor will I force them upon deaf ears or impervious hearts. I won’t rant and rave about how it should be or could be. I also won’t overlook any of the following as it is a road map for extreme ups and downs, with a level of depth and fulfillment I’ve not yet reached. At the end of this blog and at the end of the day, they’re just a collaboration of words. You decide what to do with them.

It is said that, far too often, “love” is used with an emptiness and meaningless that deteriorates its essence. It should only be used when absolutely certain of its breadth. Falling in love should be a once-in-a-lifetime feeling and you will know, with absolute certainty, that it is right and true. It’s been said that there is only one true love for each of us.
I say, fuck that.
I say, those words are vomited from the mouths of the soulless and blind – they are spoken with a lacking vindication of a past lover who left them for someone better, or worse; no matter, either way.
What matters, is that those words are themselves meaningless, false, and uncertain.

I say, love as many things as you possibly fucking can.
I mean, everything.
Love them often and with an uncertain certainty.
Or a certain uncertainty.
Love them wholly and unconditionally.
Love their error and flaws.
Love their beauty and awes.
Love everything you fucking see – animate, inanimate, the empirical and non-empirical.
Tangibility is worthless to the dynamic of love.
Love partially, fully, haphazardly and completely.
Love like it’s synonymous with breathing.
Love ugly trees like you love puppy breath.
Love interesting ugly people like you love aesthetically pleasing and boring people.
Love monsters and ghosts.
Love video games at 4am.
Love the smell of rain on pine trees in the fall.
Love chameleon’s creepy multi-directional eyeballs.
Love Fran Drescher’s voice because it’s unique.
Love Carrot Top, no matter how fucking ugly he is.
Love like music is the only form of communication.
Love comedians who aren’t funny.
Love fifteen minute lines at Starbucks at 7am.
Love religions that are nonsensical.
Love house arrest.
Love obnoxious bugs like they’re each one of your favorite songs.
Love sunrises and sunsets as you will never see one exactly the same, at that exact same time.
Love onions like those tears are for life’s lost and life’s birthed.
Love Ronald Reagan because he was the greatest president ever, and because I do.
Love people who talk to themselves as you pass. Their stories are probably more interesting than any other you’ll hear throughout your day.
Love walking.
Love rain clouds that look like angry dinosaurs.
Love the fact that there are 984,432,356,774,109,762,239,074,245,974,453,223,349,952,119,904 things in your state alone, to love.
Love obnoxious neighbors who ask obnoxious favors at inopportune times.
Love unwaveringly.
Love unabashedly.
Love without wit.
Love without instinct.
Love blindly with your 20/20 hindsight covered up.
Love knowing you’ll regret it.
Love without regret.
Love like you fucking mean it.
Love like you FUCKING mean it.
Love like you have absolutely no idea how to.
Love like you have no idea what it means to love.
Love with the mindset of a 5 year old.
Love your in-laws.
Love with your passion integrated.
Congregate love.
Love every last fucking thing you come across and look stupid doing it.
Love awkwardly.
Love with a calculation that equates to your heart being smashed inside out.
Love the idea of government rather than hating the reality of it.
Love like you have no obligations, to anyone, ever again.
Love like money does not exist.
Love like eyesight has never existed.
Love like you don’t understand any other feeling.
Love like you don’t know how to do anything else.
Love like you’ll never get the opportunity to again.
Love like no one else knows what or whom you love, or why or when or how.
Love like you’re the only human being in the universe.

All of this sounds cliche and sappy and redundant. Fuck you. It isn’t. I’ve spent the better part of 29 years sheltering myself from love as I thought it would leave me vulnerable and open to hurt. And it’s true, it does, and did. So what. So fucking what? I want that now. All of it. The pain, the let down, the struggle, and the ability to love every last fucking thing I come in contact with, unabashedly and worry free. I ventured to a city I knew I’d like and fell 10 steps further…I fell in love with it. I once bought a car I thought I might not be able to afford. I fell in love with it. I once bought a dog so it could be my protector, my guard dog. I fell in love with him. I once moved away from my family and everything I had grown up with. I fell in love with all of them a little bit more. I once had sex with a girl I hadn’t known for more than a night. I fell in love with her. And I meant it. I once fished a lake that ate up yards and yards of fishing line and countless lures. I fell in love with it. I once fought a kid while playing hockey because he ‘looked at me wrong.’ I loved him after I punched his face in. I once got beat up by someone two feet shorter than me. I loved him afterward. I once crashed while riding a bike – my first bike – my knees skinned, my optimism curbed. I later fell in love with that bike. I once voted for a governor that shat on my liberties, over and over again. I loved that governor, even afterward. I once jumped off a bridge and into the lake 50 feet below, just for the thrill. I loved that jump, after I pissed myself. I once found out Santa wasn’t real. I still love Santa, to this day. A hundred different times, I gave my heart to a girl who in return, threw it back at me, bruised and broken. I loved every single one of them.

I love the sound of the keys being slapped on my laptop. I love that technology allows me to spew my words from my fingertips. I love that I don’t have to be ashamed about a single word written. I love that I love each and every last fucking one of you. I love everything. I love, often.

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