"First of all, love is a joint experience between two persons — but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved. There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries. Often the beloved is only a stimulus for all the stored-up love which had lain quiet within the lover for a long time hitherto. And somehow every lover knows this. He feels in his soul that his love is a solitary thing. He comes to know a new, strange loneliness and it is this knowledge which makes him suffer. So there is only one thing for the lover to do. He must house his love within himself as best he can; he must create for himself a whole new inward world — a world intense and strange, complete in himself. Let it be added here that this lover about whom we speak need not necessarily be a young man saving for a wedding ring — this lover can be man, woman, child, or indeed any human creature on this earth. 

Now, the beloved can also be of any description. The most outlandish people can be the stimulus for love. A man may be a doddering great-grandfather and still love only a strange girl he saw in the streets of Cheehaw one afternoon two decades past. The preacher may love a fallen woman. The beloved may be treacherous, greasy-headed, and given to evil habits. Yes, and the lover may see this as clearly as anyone else — but that does not affect the evolution of his love one whit. A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lilies of the swamp. A good man may be the stimulus for a love both violent and debased, or a jabbering madman may bring about in the soul of someone a tender and simple idyll. Therefore, the value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself. 

It is for this reason that most of us would rather love than be loved. Almost everyone wants to be the lover. And the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many. The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved. The lover craves any possible relation with the beloved, even if this experience can cause him only pain." 

-Carson McCullers

A Letter About Nothing Important

This message is not in pursuit of you. It does not come running, gasping for air, breathing warmly into its cupped palm to make sure it doesn't smell of nicotine and caffeine. It is not a lightning bolt striking a metal rod with urgency and magnetic precision. It is not Harry meeting Sally, it is not Pablo Neruda. It is not holding a boombox outside of your window to treat selfish demands like an act of courage.

In the future, there will be people on the moon and if we hear them speak, the language will be so (d)evolved that we will pretend any generation before them was not only smarter, but simpler -- we will pretend the past is better. This is a lie.

In this future there will be a man living on the moon. He will not be any more or less lonely than anyone before or after him. It’s been so long since he went to earth that it is just this place that looks pretty from afar. He’s heard of Los Angeles, and Helsinki seems like a nice place but what’s interested him lately has been this quiet plot of grass he discovered no less than a week ago on the moon. In time it will be developed into housing. Soon after that it will develop into different people’s distant memories, of first loves mistaken as last loves, of restlessness mistaken as hopelessness. But for now, it is where he reads.

Last night he read about a pack of wolves: one was the alpha whom everyone followed. He received the largest portion of food, he would fuck the wolf most desirable to him. On the other end of the spectrum, there was the omega -- a wolf whose sole responsibility was to take the blame and punishment of the rest of the pack. He was the pack punching bag. The man felt for the omega wolf, not because he could relate, but because he felt no one should be relegated to just one perception their entire lives. The omega wolf had a very important function for the pack -- its use as a punching bag was to relieve tension for the rest of the wolves. Still, the concept of this hierarchy would sometimes drive omega wolves to become lone wolves. It didn’t sit well with him. He felt the same way about the other wolves, the alphas and the betas, but he didn’t feel sorry for them. He imagined the omega wolf wouldn’t want any sympathy as well, but he still felt they deserved a pat on the back.

In the moon, there were no wolves. There were at least 167 franchised coffee shops, but there were no wolves. If this man had seen a wolf, it would not know what to do. In fairness, if you or I saw a wolf, I’m sure we’d be the same. The man stopped reading for awhile. There was a huge transparent roof over his head. If the roof would somehow break, everyone living on the moon would be deprived of oxygen. Everyone would die. He looked beyond the transparent roof. It was perpetually night time. There were areas within the moon you can go to and have fake daytime. He would only go there for the sake of his sanity. How terrible it is to not only take the stars for granted but to tire of them.

From a distance, he could see the earth. And he imagined wolves there, not caring one bit about him but gnawing on the bones of their prey. All they were concerned about was what was in front of their noses. He did not want anything to end, but he did not think of endings.

I am looking into the future, at the moon. I am looking right at him, the man. I feel sorry for him, not because I relate, but because he can’t look at what was in front of his nose. You can't stop an ending, you can't even truly anticipate it. You can just savor what was there. And now that what was there is gone that is literally all I can do. Isn’t it sad how one can savor the anticipation, but it takes a real conscious effort to suck yourself into the present, the breathing of oxygen as means of celebration. I admired you as a human being, I admired it all so much I never thought I’d have to miss it so early. The white flag is up. The red, white and blue flag is at half-mast. This message is not in pursuit of you. It is not a pity party. It is the man, taking time to enjoy what is in front of him. And hoping when the story of the wolves are over -- happy or sad ending -- it will not be sayonaras, but see-you-soons.