06.09.06 7:22 pm

and now, to follow the broken middle aged pity party clusterfuck (bmappc) venting from two seconds ago, i will now post the following revelation that, once posted, i shall forthwith endeavor to have tattoo'd backwards on my forehead that i may see it and remember it every dawn of every day of the rest of my old decrepit pitiful so-called adult life.

and now, the clarity:

i am realizing a pattern.

the men who i truly fall for. they are more fucked up than any of the rest of them.

they see the world so clearly. they FEEL it. every motherloving bit of it.

and...

they suck ASS at turning that clarity on themselves.

which is where i come in.

i, savior hulaluna, am instantly attracted to their ability to see and feel. and instantly EMPOWERED with wanting to 'help' them know themselves. such synchronicity! imagine!

problem is: well first off, where do i get off? i mean, really. get over your damn self already. time to clip the fucking cape and tear off the war-torn tights. jesus.

well, miss jesus, to you.

but then also: these luminous soulful men. they are so caught up in their own pain and angst (the very pain and angst that i'm oh so melodramatically drawn to) that they are completely unable to do much at all in my direction. they love the luna. but they're not capable of doing much about that.

so i'm fucked.

the problem, as i see it, is that to have that kind of intuitive intensive clarity of the world and the human condition and every ounce of our human surroundings, to have the intellect to see and feel what is going on around us... it usually requires some sort of monumental tragedy in that person's life. to tear open and annihilate that wall, to be forced to see things the way they really are.

so yeah. everyone with that sight has been fucked up one way or another.

but most men, who are sensitive, whom the luna is drawn to, are weak sucks. humongously intelligent and vibrant and beautifully depressed, yes. but yeah, they dont bounce back too well from tragedy.

so. down to the nut of the problem: i can't really feel connected to someone else unless they have that particular tragic clarity.

hence, the inevitable conclusion: i'm fucked.

bad songs say as much.