languages of love unpublished

Po Boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

Survey Says

Or

Constant Stranger

February holidays come in all shapes and sizes. Groundhog Day, Super Bowl and of course Valentine’s Day. Punxsutawney Phil and those fine young warriors in tight suits and protective gear will dominate the first part of the month. Valentine’s hits on the ides of February and with it our version and vision of the languages of love. Who am I to set down this info? Me. The guy that’s loved not always wisely or well and compounded his experiences with twenty-twenty hindsight and an incredible sense of love’s illusions that he recalls. One might say… from both sides.

  Does love have its own languages?  Survey says: yes, and pundits may mention that the premiere language of real love is consideration and honesty. Consideration implies that you work to shield your lover from any (especially your) unpleasantries since you’ll want to do everything, anything to keep your lover sane and happy. It goes without saying that, as honesty should be the only policy, you’ll always be truthful. This is not as easy as it might sound. What you profess as truth at times can get delivered half-baked and become misinterpreted. And besides, who knows how much truth is truth-fully?

Now, I don’t mean to kick kitty litter into your cornflakes, but just because you’re providing eachother with havens of warmth and safety-- as lofty as that might sound—there is no guarantee that you’ll not one day wake up next to Mr. Edward Hyde and not Dr. Henry Jekyll. Is it possible to have a union that has it’s foundations in not accepting or revealing each other’s true natures? Survey says: it happens every day. The glimpses that you might glean by spending as much time together as is possible and comfortable for you both may help, but for a relationship to really work I’ve found that a degree of ambiguity-- not assuming you know the other person completely-- comes in handy when you find yourself in a ‘where the *#!%^&!* did that come from (?)’ moment.  Is it possible to fall in love with someone that you’ll never fully understand? Survey says: you can take that one to the bank.

It’s not implausible that a person cannot be a person and not love or have loved others, ergo, couples-- as a matter of courtesy-- avoid talking about other very personal experiences; however, past loves live inside ourselves forever, for good or ill. And future loves? Well…best NOT to consider them. Appreciate: no matter how well you think you know yourself-- how to please and to what degree your true feelings may be shared-- the fact is that there are apples and oranges (strangers) here; not only do you not ever fully know yourself; but, the other person, that you think you know, may not be who you think they are. Not surprisingly, they can change without your knowledge, warning or consent. Is it really important to remember that you are both unfinished bipeds and as such need time and room to grow? Yes. And it’s not out of the question that even after a time; one person may need more independence than the other wants them to have. It’s effortless to become attached to the person that you love and it’s also easy for each of us to find an attraction somewhere else. If someone limits themselves on the inside for the sake of appearances on the outside they’re surrendering their rights as a unique and multi-faceted individual; you should consider this (at length) pro and con. This is why clear and constant communication is the paramount consideration. You accomplish this by always hearing what your lover is saying, compassionately. Everyone will talk about themselves if there is someone listening to them and at times the person that listens will have to read between the lines to see what is being truly said; it might not be what you want to hear but possibly something that you should know. And I know it’s not easy to suspend judgment especially when the telling can hurt you, your status quo or mind set. I know.

Now let’s talk about a committed relationship or the institution of marriage: at best that can be a marriage relationship, at worst it can be committed to an institution, and all points in between. They’re never black or white, and require balance. Balance is never inert and you won’t maintain it except by constant reinvention.

            You do know that alternatively, this is all conjecture and has all the trappings of a load of bovine excretion. Each relationship is trial and error at best and all we pitiful humans can do is feel our way blindly through our lives and circumstances because “just when you’re thinking you finally got it made, bad news comes knocking at your garden gate”.

We all need to meditate on the nature of relationships, however, any of us that have even considered such a thing as ‘languages of love’ for any amount of time eventually come to the conclusion that they’re in morphemes, Braille and sign language.

In a perfect world a relationship of any type relies on a contract, spoken or not and spoken is best: be frank and upfront about what pleases you and what does not in your pairing,  from the beginning, and that, as a value, can only come from your experiences or the lessons learned from watching others succeed or fail. Know that love is a wonderful, fulfilling and fragile state of being and like a candle’s flame it needs tending, knowing when to cleave and when to let go. Love, any love is a supreme risk. How do I know? Survey says: there are more sad songs about love than happy ones.

           

More about New Years

Po Boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

Truly Tom Thumb

0r

Homey’s Humor

            January is the time for resolutions; but, Homey ain’t got time for that truck. Homey’s down on the corner of Anthony and Claude, pitching pennies with the boys, drinking breakfast from a bag. Homey’s thought about ‘gainful employment’ but Homey’s got bigger fish to fry, he know where the real action is. Homey ain’t no fool gonna mess around with no resolutions; Homey likes the way he is just fine. Gonna cop some lunch at Saint Joe’s, maybe hustle some over by The Court of Two Sisters; selling beads to the rubes and bumming butts from punks. Homey ain’t ready to change. Homey’s ready to clown; betcha he can tell you where you got dem shoes.

            January is the time for resolutions; but Clarence thinks he might pass this year. Clarence is busy. Clarence hasn’t had time to wipe his rear since the season started; pickin’ up shifts like a glass eyed mule pullin’ an eight seater. Makin’ it through the days and nights on caffeine, nicotine and alcohol. Clarence’s just tryin’ to catch up. Sleep is something he can do later; sleep is for people with no bills. After Jazz Fest, they cut his hours, first to four days a week and then to six hours a day. His Old lady ain’t never worked a day and he picked up a second job bustin’ suds at that jive café on the Square. Resolutions? How about this? Get those one percenters to give up some green to the guys at the bottom; get that fat cat that runs the café to cut loose with some health bennies; get some groceries to fall from the sky and the damn city to stop charging him for the water he uses to brush his remaining teeth? How about a resolution to hit the lottery and buy a chicken farm? “Hey! Who you lookin’ at?”

            January is the month for resolutions; but Samantha Marie’s having too good a time. Her Daddy’s rich, her Maman is good lookin’ (LOL!). The social season’s in full swing and Twelfth Night begins Carnival; all of her friends are planning parties, shopping for the perfect costumes for masquerading. Every day brings more invitations; she’s even going to a couple of Krewe balls! OMG! Christmas was simply awesome with ‘Santa’ bringing her everything that she asked for and more! Of course the holiday breaks will be broken up by the necessity of her furthering education, but school never did interfere with joie de vive, n’est pas? Sure college is, like, time consuming, but, won’t her sorority sisters make up for that? And how about that great looking crop of seniors? Really, she could throw the soiree to end all soirees and she’d invite them all, but, Mamere just had the floors refinished.

            January is the month for resolutions; and, boy, does Manny need to make some.

His life went into the toilet about ten months ago; it’s all he can do to keep his hand from flushing it. If everything hasn’t gone wrong in his life, well, then the only thing that is lacking would be a direct lightning strike to his cajones. But it’s his own doing, he knows it; it’s his own fault.

            Sure, his job wasn’t all that but he didn’t need to tell the boss to kiss his ass, did he? And then the drinking, turning himself into a fish; nights out at the saloon knocking back shots of Jameson with beer backs, chain smoking. Snappy comebacks and video crack. Those days away from home with women of dubious reputations; his wife leaving; his best buddy buying the farm and his slow descent, decline. Going down. Way down. Credit axed, living in van in someone’s back yard, doing temp work and finally sobering up for the holidays, missing the life that he wasn’t wise enough to cherish. She even took the dog.

January is the month for resolutions. And doesn’t Doris wish that she had that luxury. Back living with her Mama babysitting her unwed choice to deliver an eight pound baby girl just out of diapers; her Master’s Degree not worth the paper it was printed on. Knocked up by a guy who wouldn’t know how to pour water from a boot if the instructions were on the sole, one olive shy of a Greek salad and if his brains were dynamite wouldn’t have enough to blow his nose. But he was pretty though, boy was he pretty.

Student loans, frozen foods, too much worry and not enough sleep. Graveyard shift at the Waffle House and her body turning from lithe to lumpy. Getting into her uniform as Kelsey Grammer earns another million with his reruns of inanity.  Another load in the washer; her mother tells the same story for the hundredth time.

Alone with Senior Chardonnay on her night off with the house asleep she muses about what she would give up; tickets to Wimbledon? Going to the film festival in Cannes? Perhaps Vail for a sky holiday, water polo, her Jimmy Choos? Her Phillipe Patek?  For sure, she’d give up life’s wins and losses… she’d be satisfied to break even.

January’s for resolutions, eh?  If you’re gonna have them consider well: be careful what you promise yourself and be ready as a harsh task master. If you’re passing on the self improvement, then bless you; you’ve taken the easy way out and have nothing to lose. We all walk the walk, one way or another and we’ve got no choice but to wear our own shoes; nobody told us that it would be easy, we’re all doing the best that we can. That said, I say: sally forth into the sun, the rain or the fog and have a blessed New Year.

 

New Jeers Rolexations

Po Boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

A Hazy Shade Of Winter

Or

New Jeers Rolexations

            “Time is the longest distance between two places”: Tennessee Williams

It’s about time! It’s about friggin’ time! Yes, it’s about time that I catch up with my life and stopped spending so much time behind time wasting precious time. I’ll tell you a story if you can spare a minute.

            I have a theory. The theory is that there’s not enough time in our lives. Duh, huh? Sure we may save time, make, manage, invest and preserve time; but we also waste time, spend time and fritter our time away. We mark time. We sometimes treat time as a commodity; we get paid for our time getting things done in a ‘timely manner’. Sometimes for our sanity’s sake we treat ourselves to some time alone time off time away quality time with others. We may lavish our time on another person; take up their time or take our time doing things. And, if we get busted we may actually have to do time. The younger we are the more time we have ahead of us (not counting ‘time outs’); as we age we have less-- less time to get our missions accomplished. Time isn’t on our side; time’s a thief; time flies when you’re having fun; time passes quickly or time drags. Who hasn’t wished to be able to time travel especially when someone starts laying a trip beginning with: “when was the last time…?”

            Personally, there’s never enough time in my life; fact is, I could be three people and still not have enough time to get done everything, and now it’s the New Year and time has run out. What have I got to show for the time that I was given last year? Sure, there‘s were good times bad times; but did I really accomplished anything with my time last year?

            Have I written or even started my Great American Novel? Practiced more piano? Painted my masterpiece? Secured that retirement job in an exotic clime? Won the lottery struck it rich hit the big time? Had the time of my life? Or did I let time slip away? Well it’s about time that that changes.

            So here it is January and I am resolving to use my time henceforth both wisely and well. I lived 2013 like I was a three minute egg timer; herky-jerky like a marionette with a case of Sydenham’s Chorea (St. Vitus).  I’m coming into 2014 at double time a two timer old timer; it is my resolve to alter and illuminate myself to the next level; to use my time instead of my time using me.

            The sun always rises too soon and with it my day begins; time to wake up, time to go back to sleep. Time for coffee, fix a smoothie and some lunch to take with me. Time to feed the critters. Girlfriend is also up, cleaning, straightening, littler box duty, watering our little patch of greenery. Does the trash man come today? Recycling? Do we need to make groceries hardware store pet food? What’s for dinner? Ow, my back again. Remind me to call the vet mechanic neighbor sister chiropractor. Remind me that that bill needs paying, do we have time for more coffee, read the paper my book the mail, brush teeth shave shower shampoo? Make up the bed shake out the comforter and “who peed on the rug?” And we ain’t even out the friggin’ barn yet.

            Wave to the neighbors. Take the dogs to the park throw the balls pick up litter. Now it’s time for work. We work six to eight shifts a week each, work out at the gym swim go out for drinks watch the tellie do another load of laundry dinner dishes, the car needs gas oil shocks brake tag insurance. Bills bills bills. When’s the election? Can you believe what he said she said did told me is rumored to have gossiped? Time for bed.  Roll over let me spoon you good night have pleasant dreams. Tell me again, where did the time for romance go?

            I am supposed to be retired, only the only thing I am is tired. It was simpler when I was single, but I didn’t get much done. I left my bed undone, went out for coffee, slept in, stayed out and let the laundry pile up until I got to the bottom of my sock drawer; open the back door and let the dog out if the cat’s thirsty he should learn to drink out of the ……

            “Time time time, see what’s become of me.”  Talk talk talk. It seems I spend days on end talking to people. The only time the chatter stops is when I’m in my cups. Time out. Or, believe it or not, another time the voices stop is when I’m in my kitchen. Thyme in. A couple of weeks ago I went for a five hour walk, speaking to no one. Actually that’s not true; I set myself on a mission: I would see where they sold Lucky Strike unfiltered cigarettes; I found about twenty places that did not. Except in the French Quarter.

            The point is that at the pace that I’m going, I don’t have time for a quiet thought and I think it’s driving me crazy. Why when you’re with someone are you required to talk? When you go out, why is it required that someone talk sing share dance emote grab your attention? Is that why flirting is so satisfying—the eyes do the talking? I find that it’s at quiet time that I get to sort things out; I need to take the time to do that. And that’s my one resolution. Time.