Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Craigslist, imagining you meant me... knowing you are not her

Of course there is no logical reason why this would have anything to do with me, I'd still like to respond. Call it a creative writing exercise... or an exercise in intentional, poetic narcissism. Pure romance and pure fiction...

You are a tease. I have decided to accecpt the fact that you are a tease, you have always been a tease, and you will always be a tease. You tease me when you let me get a glimpse of you, when you decide to say 'hi', when you make my dreams come true, but do everything possible to get me to think someonw else did it. You even teasse me by getting your friends to talk to me, yet they won't say anything about your personality (except that you are really sweet, and I already know that!).

I don't object to be called a tease, or being on called my being exactly that. I think you are being egotistical by imagining that I am teasing you, only you, or especially you. I tease everybody. See the Scorpion and Frog to understand that I can't help it, that I do it to everyone. But I do enjoy teasing you, and it is my mission to make your dreams come true. And I know that you have dreamt about me, and that your dream was more or less accurate, is accurate still today. I don't tease to be cruel, necessarily. It might be a challenge, an invite, a flashing sign that is both a cry for help and comfort as well as a simple statement of love, respect and interest.

I don't know that I could get my friends to talk to you. You are probably too beautiful, too intimidating, too fierce for anyone to really try. I don't think I can get anyone to do anything. I can only hint, and suggest, and persuade, but I don't call any shots, I don't have that kind of precision.

Saplike, syrupy sweet, and its the sugaring season, isn't it? A silly thing to say to a city girl who would not forsake your accustomed modes of transportation, refined tastes and umm, successful husband, to slog through the bogs or scramble up the slopes of volcanoes with me. Yet we are all going back there, aren't we, into the wild, or what is left of it. Where will you find lasting security? There are a thousand other girls who think the same thoughts, and you think I might choose you over some beautiful young bartender or a hardworking, black-skinned virgin who has got language and religion and proximity to the real jungles and pirate-filled seas of this world?

I swear that you are such a tease that you would never get laid unless some woman dragged you off to bed and did it to you before you had a chance to tease her mercilessly, as you have teased me for so long.

Spot on observation... I believe in female choice, not arranged marriages or Kazakh bride kidnapping, etc. So be bolder.

When are you going to stop teasing me so much and allow me to tease you by snuggling up to you and not letting you get into my pants? I think it would be fun. I would get to know you finally, and I really would like that.
[anonymous craigslist post - missed connections, w4m - tease!]

You might get to know me, but I honestly doubt that you would make any real effort
to "not let me into your pants". You need to have some pretext that you are not going to be seduced, that you are not going to end up begging for a contribution of germplasm, for the planted seed, for a permanent piece of me. That might cause problems unless you were really free and strong, and committed to keeping strange and hateful men, destructive habits, etc. out of your life while I was away. And there is that other problem. It is a problem for me, I have a rule about that now. Your second post:

I heard through the grapevine that you are single again. That gets me excited although I have no idea why being I am still married. I have no desire to get divorced and no desire for an affair, so why do I care you are now single? Why do I secretly hope to run into you while out and about? I don't even know what I would say if I DID run into you. Perhaps I am just remembering a past with you that I can never get out of my head. I guess I just wanted you to know that I still think about you.
[anonymous craigslist post - missed connections, w4m - Why do I care?]

I still think about you. Obviously. And I can tell that you still think about me, and I don't have any friends of yours that I could ask anything of, about you. But I know. I know that you hate me and fear me as much as you love me. The feeling is mutual, if less intense. The fact that I can't ask about you is fine and fair and what decorum requires. What if we got over ourselves, and just did the work we were supposed to do, and the whole world knew that we were secretly in love but perhaps unable to ever get together? Would it create a larger audience, more interest in the debates? Start a blog, I'll share my readers... but if we ran for senate, would you expect I would share my delegates? I can't command, only suggest.

Playboy model of the year (2005), Erica Campbell, would be so much better for me, a balancing complement. She is probably also married, and would never cheat on her landscape or her man. I don't need that, I am happy to tease her and make her dreams come true. I can only suggest that we share some common dreams, and that we might amplify those dreams by weaving a short episode or vignette, a quick little film with Erica Campbell, but even if that is not in the stars for us, I am happy to have made her number one, if only for a short time

I am able to entertain myself with my silly and sincere fantasy of saving the world, or some Narrow Corner of it.

Back to your dream. I am out there holding up a sign. You know what it said before, read it again. Whose name is there now? Mine? Yours? Erica's? Does it say something about rubber and nutmeg? Does it still say Senate? Supposing that you have 'the gift' as well, that you can change reality as ably as any other, you can hold your own sign, it can say what ever you want, just be fearless and on-time. You already are. I will try to be, too.

Dennis Kucinich has a new routine that some people love and that some people ridicule. It is the no strings thing. I think that, too, is sincere, and needed in a candidate for that office, finally...

Personally I prefer this exchange:

Steve: Look, Junior, I don't want you to take my shoes off, I don't want you to get me any breakfast, I don't want you to draw me a nice hot bath. I don't want you to..
Slim: Isn't there anything I can do, Steve?
Steve: Yes, get the...
Slim: You know, Mr. Morgan, you don't make me angry when you say that. (mockingly) I don't think I'll ever be angry again at anything you say. (She flutters her eyes at him) How am I doin', Steve? Does it work the second time?
Steve: You've been wantin' to do somethin' for me, haven't ya?...(She agrees)...Walk around me. Go ahead, walk around me. Clear around. (He gestures for her to circle around him, and she obeys.) Did you find anything?
Slim: No. No, Steve. There are no strings tied to you - not yet. (He grabs her to show her the door - then they stop and passionately kiss each other. She reacts with a purring voice.) I like that, except for the beard. Why don't you shave (she strokes his stubble and lightly and playfully slaps him) and we'll try it again.

I have been cutting strings and loosening knots and freeing myself from obligations, real and imagined lately. I am trying to be neutral, and play nice with the Vichy and control in all of its forms. If the people want slavery, I'll except that, as long as I can be free to putter around in a small boat on the fringes of civilization and do small little things for people who still like to live as if freedom is possible, as if small amounts of money were significant... on the other hand freedom here is still possible, if the masses woke up and took action down some new course not already pre-scripted by those with the technology for mass suggestion, for limiting the possible in the minds of the pre-selected professional political class.

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