Quixotic Quests

Admitted or denied we are all stitched to a universal yarn of common want.

We are redundantly seduced by dazzling physical exteriors, charming manners, covetous status, sexual prowess and the probability of bliss in the arms of someone who is plagued by the same illness we do: the chase of something superior than what we have now.

That’s why we flock en masse with raging devotion to our most ardent religion: fairytale, Hollywood, and the unattainable ideals articulated by Abercrombie & Fitch. They preach the convenient gospel; the probability of happiness within our grasp. So we steer clear of reality. Reality is a great spoiler in a cosmos populated with sought-after archetypes of driving towards sunset-soaked horizons, the happy ever afters, the gaunt-cheeked Titian-lipped poster boy in the centerfold of Calvin Klein’s underwear campaign. Our very hopefulness captured in glossy images, stirring us into epidemic daydreams and predictable discontent.

Our ache remains: finding someone who will nullify our carnal cravings. Someone who will extinguish our need for hopeless aspirations. Someone who will gently remind us who we are and in the process lead us back into the unseen beauty of our fractured, mortal selves.

Yet our tragedy is not because we want to have our hungers and fires smothered. Our misfortune lies in the fact that we quickly overlook authenticity because as humans we are cursed with embryonic gift for trivial pursuits.

We seek fondness in the cruelty of strange sandy beaches, crowded bars, aloof dance floors, failing to see love staring back at us in the simplicity of unlikely places. Love is the temperate adoring eyes we fail to take heed in a Laundromat. Tenderness is that gaze of a stranger in speeding trains. Affection is something we stumble upon and ignore in the maze of groceries and terminals.

So we revel, intoxicated in fairytales, Hollywood and underwear ads.

Love is just around the corner. It’s us who refuse to see.

This is our tragedy, our common yarn of perpetual want.

Our familiar blindness, our hedonistic sadness .

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Thank you boyd and antigonic for leaving comments in my warped journal, relieving me of the lingering paranoia that despite numerical evidence in my site counter there are other people stumbling into this blog aside from a loyal friend who keep on hitting the refresh button on the browser to raise the hit count and make me feel better.