29 October 2008

Hail Satan!

"Besides heroin and sex, chess and the cinema appeared to be the greatest pleasures left to him"- George Pendle on Aleister Crowley from Pendle's  'Strange Angel: The otherworldly life of Rocket Scientist John Whiteside Parsons'.

There was a time when being an Occultist was a romanticized pursuit; when it was the past-time of the affluent bright young things who traveled the globe looking for new adventures and new experiences.  Secret Societies, "Orders" of this and that mixed with the new occult- science- to create hybrids that would be unthinkable today. People who shared a passion for exploring everything; the same people working to split the atom having clandestine sexual rituals in the dark attics of mansions in well to do neighborhoods, pushing Crowley's Thelema, Blavatsky's Theosophy and more seances than you could shake a ouija board at.

These days we have daytime talk shows and reality tv instead of anything of substance, any mystery.


04 October 2008

Cause I speak of the pompitus of love.

Today I went to see a matinee of  'Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist'. It was a cute movie; perhaps written for a slightly younger crowd than me but it still managed to set in motion thought processes that it would seem I need to exorcise in blog-form tonight.

I've been thinking a lot about my love for the RITUALS of love. The processes and the patterns. The consolidation of all of those abstracts into a whole entity that I call "love" suits my emotional disadvantages. My emotions at best are muted. It takes strong love or strong hate to make me really feel on a consistent basis, so I rely on the little things that make up a 'relationship' to fulfill me.

That doesn't demean those gestures- those flowers and doodles and notes. Not a bit. If anything they're proof that I do care about the process, lest I just let it dissolve and watch it turn into just another forgettable amount of time spent, no matter how small, with another person.

That pretty much holds true with most of the relationships I've had. And as I watched the movie I started thinking about past loves lost. One I hold in contempt. One in indifference. One amuses me. One I have nothing but fond feelings for (though I wish she'd sign the divorce papers) and one... well.. one is Diana.

Capital D at all times.  The one that got away. The one that I can't forget. If this were a romantic comedy she'd be the one all of my friends didn't mention for fear of me off and jumping on a plane heart in hand to Chicago. If she's even still in Chicago. If she even still thinks of me.

It's an odd feeling, feeling.  Not just intangible blips from time to time. But a persistent reminder- flowers, knitting, a smile- that you were actually happy once and that happiness, while amazing and subtle, came with a price too great.  

Emotion isn't all it's cracked up to be.