(1)
I once said: "When I talk to someone - I mean, really talk to them - shaking them down for information, tunneling in their psyche in that practiced, callous manner of mine, I am seeking to know what it is like to live their life, to be them. I look into their eyes to see myself poured into their form."
So then all of my relations are social experiments used to push a pre-conceived hypothesis. This detachment is the ultimate source of domination.
(2)
I hesitate with difficulty, "He has the ability to make me feel both so incredibly good, and so incredibly bad. He is such a fucking drug rush. Not just coke or weed or e or whatever, but all of them dumped into my veins at the same time. With a come-down that's just as bad as the high was good." I pause and then start laughing. "He's my dealer in so many ways!"
Cathleen takes another drag and chuckles too, "Susie, we're so fuckin eerie. I've written the same about Keisuke."
And she starts to talk about her experiences.
(3)
I thought I would love him within minutes of meeting him. He was what I imagined I lacked. We would be good complements, able to slingshot each other into another little world of our own contrivance, that little world I've so craved. But who knew that the atmosphere was so thin, that it would become this suffocating?
He is the Capitalist, desiring knowledge for control and power. I am the Philosopher, desiring knowledge for truth and beauty. Deceiving opposites. According to Myer Briggs, I am ENTP and him ENTJ. Who thought that one little letter, dangling like a grace-note, could account for all of our differences?
"But later," I continue to Cathleen, "I put myself aside. I started being self-sacrificing, I acted on my empathy, and we changed."
Yes, we changed. He was no longer a well-crafted challenge, or the extra chemicals in my bloodstream.
So is this Love, at who's alter I've clandestinely worshipped, paid pitiful homage? So is this the soaring, abysmal depths of humanity?
(coda)
There are always different interpretations. There are different truths that one is willing to admit to themselves. These are hazy gradations of my vulnerability, my truthfulness to the Self.
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