Here comes a rant

Sometimes the instability of life is the only true constant. Funny that, too, coming from a guy who took a graduate course on the holocaust and learned all about the banality of evil, the dull grinding of trauma. I’ve felt the awesome oppressive power of the mundane, believed it to be king, truthfully. But life these last months—6 months I think—has been a total denial of this. Then again, I can’t say this analogous to a kind of evil, good things have happened, but at a cost, a high cost, one that has required a forward looking stance. I am beset by both fear and elation, mania, joy, relief, regret, and the demand for sacrifice. I’m being vague today. I don’t care. I’m exhausted with specificity right now.

I love Shannon and I love Mariann. Writing that is…creepy, and knowing I must now seal myself off from M is frightening. But I have to do it in order to be happy with S, so that M can heal, so that I can heal. Peace of Mind. Dunno if I’ve ever had it. Reckon it is like being fine and dandy at the same time. As Carlin once noted, he was only both fine AND dandy for an hour, but no one was around to ask him how he was doing. I live in a state far more extreme: I am great and terrible at the same time.

I am completely certain and uncertain. And let’s face it, I tend to be wholly uncertain by nature, so this certainty thing? Damn, haven’t felt that way since college, maybe high school. And for a while I was completely certain, with no signs of uncertainty. Now they both battle for dominance and I am trying desperately to embrace the certainty that I embraced, drunkenly for three months. (Forgive the ranting pace of this entry)

I am laughing one moment with S, and crying the next as I think about Mariann or recollect the life we had together. I’ve wondered to myself, half-seriously, if things would be better if the three of us were polyamorous, and formed a gloriously immoral unit of shared love and support. But even if that were true, Jesus, the shared trauma among us, the concentrated nature of our suffering, that radioactive taint of mistrust and violation, would be…atomic in explosive potential. Guess that is why fantasy is fantasy, you can dream about it, without considering the stark curving of the lines, the logic that would hold that fantasy together.

Damnit, I’m never going to get that Vegas hooker am I? I swear to god if I ever break up with S, I am jumping on a fucking plane and going right there and BUYING a damn threesome (but nooooooooooooo I had to confront my feelings about a crush and send the world off kilter, dang nabbit)