Thursday, April 05, 2012

E is for testicular Elephantiasis

Sorry about that. I just always wanted to work "testicular Elephantiasis" into a sentence and I've been waiting a long time so I figured this is might be the best I could do. And I confess, I thought it was called testicular Elephantitis until I looked it up on wikipedia but regardless, I have nothing to say on the matter. So... Start over!

E is for Embrace

And we shall now banish the word Embrace from the room and call it instead, Hugs.

Now... I don't really want to do this 'cause it's probably going to be embarrassing but I don't care because I'm a damn poet and I know very well what an illusion it is for anyone to think they can possibly know me or judge me so here goes:

I love hugs.

And depending who the huggee is, it's better than sex. Or at least a lot less work.

Now one could easily feel uncomfortable hearing a man talk like this, eh? Because it's kind of regarded as a feminine trait to prefer cuddling over squealing-and-rutting but I really do. So there. And I don't care who knows it.

And I like hugging friends too, you know, without the intimate overtones. It helps me communicate to them that I love them.

When someone is sad; upset, I feel compelled to hug them to demonstrate that I truly care about their suffering, and yet, I can't do virtual hugs. When an online acquaintance has some suffering to share, I can not bring myself to type *hugs* across the wires. It really feels wrong to me. It's too easy. There is just no way to demonstrate the sincerity of it. And I know that we live in a society where very little is as sincere as the shades of perception which we paint. Human beings are primarily puppeteers.

Throughout my life from high school forward I have now and then loved very very dearly to the point, you might say, of infatuation. And if you're inclined to say that infatuation is not love, well then, you can just head on out of here because that is an enormous pile of horseshit which I'm not inclined to tolerate just now. Love is like molecules. They are of a tremendous number of permutations. There are a multitude of possible connections from which love can be built. To judge some patterns of connections as illegitimate is to be an incredible ass.

Wow. That was a bitter little tangent.

What I wish to say about these occasional longings in my life is that when I have thought of my beloved - and these few individuals have ultimately related to me in different ways, by the way, from avoidance (in high school) to friendship to "very special friendship" to an affair of significant physical intimacy.

As I was saying, when I have, in moments of solitude, indulged in feelings of intense longing, it has always been thoughts of a warm hug that has moved me, and moved me to a point that I can probably not describe. It has on occasion been a desire so dear and overwhelming, it is a projection of bliss; of a heavenly state no godly offering could possibly eclipse in any afterlife reward.

Our widely-held superstition that love should only count if reciprocal is a mathematical nightmare and an occasional fascination to me, with shades of survivable torment.

To be permitted to hug my adored has at times been a yearning so deep it confounds and contradicts. On one hand how could a gift so easily given but worth so much to the receiver possibly be withheld? It is like a penny that turns into a billion dollars if freely given. So how could you not give it? But at the same time, how could I possibly deserve; how could anyone possibly deserve such a Utopian reward? And that is the reason I rarely make such a request.

Now... Look at this poor guy. Don't you just want to give him a big hug? As long as you could find a way to stand clear of his you-know-what?


Unknown said...

Hee hee, I gotta love a guy who can go from writing about vaginas and dining rooms, to Testicular Elephantiasis!

Francene Stanley said...

I was with you all along, empathizing with hugs and sharing your generous spirit--until I saw the picture. I didn't want to share that. Eeeek!