Lovelost

I'm 31.  No longer a child.  I'm certain though, that I would be miserable with a mortgage and a lawn, children and the march into the meaninglessness of late model cars, office politics, and living like a modern american.  I have to be true to myself.  I can't lie to the girl I love.  I don't want that.  If I'm an old man and I'm alone with memories of so many magical romances, so many transcendental experiences, then I am not scared to die alone an old man.  They give you good drugs when you're dying anyway.

Perhaps when I'm 40 I'll feel that the earth is missing my progeny, my genes, and the torch of my soul.  As it stands, I can't see that or feel that way.  I get a life to live.  For me.  If I live it for someone else, maybe it is richer.  They say you get what you give.  I'm just not ready to give up magical thinking and travelling as an adventurer rather than a tourist.  I've been who I am since the defining moment at 14 when I left home forever.  I came back and stayed for periods of my teens, but I was a guest, a visitor in my mother's house, who was a tyrant of a mother, swayed by notions of special roles and pretenses to keep up.  She, I believe, inherited them from her parents and the 50s / 60s, but I am a product of now.  The world is mine now, and I don't want america or her dreams.

I don't want lawns to cut, neighborhoods to modestly brag about, or play any of that farce.  Women make magic, but only when they keep the girl inside them who trusts the universe and me.  They get rarer and rarer as I get older, but I would not starve for magic.  What the fuck do I know, anyway.  I don't have your diplomas, your mortgages, your children, or even a salary right now.  You know what the fuck I know?  There is nothing, NOTHING, more beautiful than moonlight on naked bodies in love.