Mandatory Thursday Malloy Truthseekers check in!! Happy Valentine's Day!!

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Thu Feb-14-08 09:04 PM
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Mandatory Thursday Malloy Truthseekers check in!! Happy Valentine's Day!!

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February 14, 2008

A friend writes:

TRUE LOVE COMES AND GOES

by John Knott

This is the tale of an encounter arranged by God, a
meeting with Mine Own True Love, my soulmate --

I was sipping a latte peacefully at the Temescal Cafe,
on Telegraph, in Oakland. Suddenly, an irresistable force jerked my head 180
degrees around and locked it there. There she was! Awaiting me,
on the sidewalk outside. I stared hard at her--she had a brilliant
pink aura, the aura of love. I stared harder, incredulous, - the
aura intensified and burned my right eyeball. True Love! Like
a jolt through my heart.

She turned to leave. I scurried as fast as I could, being
butt-first backwards, to try to catch her. She turned quickly and
looked at me. I glowed in the radiance of her recognition.
She spoke first -- her words wafted through the air like honeybees
on a breeze. "Excuse me, sir," she said, "but you're dribbling on
your beard, your right eye is burnt and smoking and your head is
screwed on ass-backwards."

She had recognized me! And initiated conversation!
O, Glorious Day! I answered her, "Well, thank you for the perceptions,
ma'am, and I apologize for the inconveniences, but they are as
pebbles in a landslide of emotion. You see, I am your angel and
you mine. Ours is a predestined love; we are soulmates and
this is Kismet."

She sighed and her breasts heaved softly like ripe peaches.
She squinted, "Well, you do look familiar, but I don't think
so, no. Hey, how many cups of that coffee have you had?"

Mi Amour was going to need a slight push, to waken her
karmic memory of me. "I can prove whereof I speak," I said.
"I know you well, in my heart of hearts." I put my hand over
my chest and began. "Your favorite color is lavender and you
love orchids." She smoothed over her lavender dress and adjusted
the flower in her hair.

I closed my eyes and continued, "You have kept a diary since you were ten.
You wrap it in a purple cloth. You have charcoal sketches of starving African
children on your refrigerator. You are terrified of butterflies. You have a collection
of Diego Rivera paintings on velvet and you become passionate on the beach."

I opened my eyes. She was attentive and intrigued -
amour had touched her. I closed my eyes again. "You dream of
moving to the countryside," I pronounced, "where you can
play Mahler, full volume, at midnight, while sipping Amaretto
in the nude. You read Anais Nin by candlelight. You like
spaghetti in the morning."

I opened my eyes again. She was incredulous. "You've
been talking to my ex, haven't you? That rat! I don't
know who YOU are, but tell him that his little scheme didn't
work." She, my soulmate, was opaque to the moment, the moment of a
lifetime.

I was obliterated. I stared down at the sidewalk.
The earth began to rumble, then roared and ruptured. Telephone
wires fell and sizzled fiendishly, sending their little
messages into hell. SHE DID NOT KNOW ME, HER OWN TRUE LOVE!
I looked up at the sky. The moon, loyal guardian of romance, was
unable to stand the strain of a tragedy so diametrically
opposed to it's essence. It stretched and stretched, becoming
oblong like an egg.

Elvis jumped down from the roof above us. He threw away
his half-finished jelly roll. "Don't be cruel," he warned
"to a heart that's true..." Mahatma Ghandi crawled up out of
a fissure in the earth, shrieking and wailing that there
would be NO world peace until our love was consummated.
The earth rumbled some more. Walt Whitman stormed down
Telegraph Avenue in a white-hot rage. This was a crime against
poetics! He set fire to a field of grass. An icy arctic wind
swirled around us, freezing my heart, slowing it to a
deliberate, solitary beat. Van Gogh emerged and and cut off
his other ear, placing it mournfully at her feet. . . she
remained opaque to everything.

I preached to her in desperation. "Now, see what
you've done," I lamented. "We can't argue with the logic
of the cosmos. There's such a delicate balance between
order and chaos. Our love is ordained. To contradict that
would be like spitting in the eye of God. Come with me,
we cannot dally. We have been travelling through eternity
together, but we are constantly running out of time. . ."

She leaned against the glass. Her eyes were kind.
Oh God, they were kind. She put out her cigarette and spoke.
"You're on medication, aren't you? And I'll bet that you
forgot to take your thorazine. You poor man, here!" She
reached into her purse and handed me a five-dollar bill.
"Have some tea, take a rest."

With that, she turned and left. She walked,
oblivious to the rumbling earth, oblivious to the icy wind,
oblivious to the sizzling telephone wires. She had ignored
Elvis, Ghandi, Walt Whitman and Vincent Van Gogh. In stunned
silence, I watched Mine Own True Love disappear.
Her ass swayed gracefully, like a palm tree in the wind.

I wanted to weep, but the oblong moon had sucked dry
all of my tears.

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