Sometimes Good, Sometimes Bad
we romanticize everything from nature to art from life or death based on our particular fears our wisdom or ignorance we romanticize reason or emotion based on temperament and romanticize both past and the possibility of a more ideal future guided by fallible reason or emotion like falling in love with chrissy mostly for her big ass and titties instead of thelma with her bookish and nerdy ways that drive somebody else as much as chrissy's ass and titties drive the other's lust but neither arguing the merit of their choice relative to himself cause that's too benign rather the value of his choice relative to the greater good of all for if the choice of chrissy for her voluptuous tits and ass seems too shallow there's plenty more layers of her character or her biology to consider should you have the will and desire as you should to thoroughly consider the reasons for your own inferior choice see, we romanticize our potential our religions our tribes all as being better than the others' and in that romanticize ourselves too for being wise enough to make the better choice which is nothing more than the same choice as everyone else in one way or another but we also deglamorize ourselves our lowly selves the thing that unites us more than religions and tribes this unity of regard of ourselves as lowly in order to romanticize what we could be the necessary devaluation of what we are compared to our idealized romanticized selves we romanticize it all just as we romanticize romance by entangling ourselves investing emotionally in what it should be until we're so committed when the veil drops we don't know how else to live so we just commit cause to abandon leaves us empty handed so we commit holding to the hope that maybe we weren't wrong and this thing turned out to be something different than the ideal this thing sometimes good sometimes bad might improve or evolve into something unexpected unknown but at least better than what it is now committed to the idea of an idealized love that if chrissy with her big ass and titties wasn't the best choice then at least somewhere outside her with someone else lies the answer instead of the answer being found mostly within ourselves we romanticize reason and logic and clear thinking and clear understanding as the thing that will shape our adolescent selves into wizened elders while others romanticize faith as the road to true salvation for our adolescent selves with neither clan considering just how much salvation we might really need but it's all just romanticism i think cause we need some illusions to keep us striving to give us hope of something better better love better life better selves than what we got maybe it's these illusions that keep us from slitting even more throats from putting the hemlock to our lips when we come to understand there ought to be more to chrissy than her voluptuous ass and tits and all the asinine arguments justifications filling in the space between those and what she needs to be to fulfill the illusion of our idealized romanticized loves so we pretend that things more ideal than what we have might exist to give us hope which we need to keep on living keep on loving imperfectly and keep on hoping we need gods and messiahs and their messengers telling us assuring us we can be better more like all of them we can be something other than we are we need jesus the buddha we need brahma we need oracles we need swamis and l. ron hubbard we need priests and pastors and monks and yogis and gurus we need kierkegaard and his knight of faith or infinite resignation we need heroes like nietzsche's beyond-man we need freud and jung to kneed out our psyches into things far more sexy than they appear we need them telling us of the various pots of gold at the end of the rainbow golden potentials of self or lives in the here and now or even later and telling us even the rainbow is the embodiment of iris messenger between gods and men or the artists romanticizing it in poetry song or painting otherwise a rainbow's just reflections refractions and dispersions of light through the mist we romanticize everything piety sometimes even depravity we romanticize ourselves religion and art as recipes for making us better recipes that rarely make us better recipes more like stitches closing gaping wounds that don't change us much just allow us to keep on going on as before once the hemorrhage abates the entropy of the same old thing which is sometimes good and sometimes bad as all things are good or bad in their decision making or indifference but either way sometimes good and sometimes bad us and our lives a season mixed of equal amounts wins and losses perhaps as it must be while the hope of an eventual winning season which never will be the promise of a championship cup within reach of all in heaven or in love here on earth is that which prevents us from hanging up our cleats for good the idealist and his brother the romanticist will wail from atop their frosty mountains that are sadly for all of us only mountains no matter how they present them in word or form they will wail without some ideal there's no motivation to improve without it we devolve instead of evolve toward that ideal neglecting to consider how all those primates without ideal conceptions of themselves seem to do okay monkeys content to be monkeys instead of their cousins the great apes smarter than the holy man seeking absolution committed to faith and its better ways of being or one more fearful than the ape of living as he is meant to be both good and bad amid temptation rather than pious without it shunning and shaming what we are shunning the glamourlessness of being sometimes good sometimes bad like our god vengeful in his flood yet somehow still perfect in his vengeance unlike us so low in all our flaws not permitted to be anything less than perfect without shame by those peddling the romanticized versions of what we ought to be perhaps we need our illusions and just as some function by way or reason or primarily emotion so too we exist necessarily within the realm of illusions caught between the extremes of unattainable clarity and the lunacy of abject idealism and romanticism existing in the middle or at the extremes existing as the madmen at the precipice of utter delusion in illusions or the madmen existing beyond most illusions but that descriptor as madmen probably just romanticism too so what are we? if nothing more than just men sometimes good sometimes wise sometimes bad sometimes fools? just men standing at edges and middles? which means we're just men i guess
mrobins71 