a phrase i coined in some supermarket queue, daydreaming, checking and doublechecking the faces around me, basket half-full apples, coffee, bread, cheese and questionable natural ingredients shampoo i probably only bought ‘cause it’s violet blue.
‘cause i woke up this morning wanting to weep for all the chances i’ve missed, all the everything i thought would be mine by right, that would follow inevitably, as night tunes into day. it’s safe to say my life has yet to live up to all my stupid childhood dreams, that most of my adolescent fantasies remain exactly that. i feel like a flower that budded into a fist, but stayed there – and now decays there.
i’ve failed to connect, to focus – i was a scared, conformist kid, i was institutionalised. a please-teacher machine, a little traitor. and since then, what seem like an endless string of identity crises, that at the time perhaps seemed dialectical, progressive. that now, i believe, may well have been circular. may have been entirely doomed attempts to break the orbit of the firstborn personality, a societal construct, a nitemare i can’t awaken from.
anyway – the point wasn’t supposed to be generalized angst, nor was it to be a careerist sob story. the plan here, the reason for this rumination, was last nite – an illustration of my lack of a love life – down at the discotheque.
in local cultural reviews, my readership will be left largely uninterested by the news ‘detournement’ has recovered from its reactionary slump and re-emerged into a better balance of electro and punk. we queued in the rain, slouched against shop front, edging toward the sound of peaches ‘lovertits’, wanting to dance, cursing. but once we were in, the whole thing came together. place was certainly busy, but not so packed meat as the last we attended – the music was back on track – and it was full of adorably adorable girls. i was falling in love ten times a minute. it was enough to give me a cardiac event, i swear.
at first i felt good. first time i’ve had cause for make-up in a month, and i made a lot of eye contact as i scoped around. everything was ok. better than. i felt all-conquering, in a blushing semi-introverted way.
i don't know...
i danced a lot. sometimes i danced with girls, sometimes one on one even. but always seemed to end in one or other of us spiralling away, or a friend arriving or – i don’t know, in this sitch, as i know only too well – there’s always an excuse. with me, flirting goes so far as to sight the border. and then, should events either demand a more visible effort, or, more embarrassingly, seem to draw an actual escalation – even the ghost of a response – it tends to send me into full retreat. and yes, it’s telling that i’m using military metaphors. partially a subconscious spectre of the terrifying India/Pakistan conflagaration, maybe more aboriginally a legacy from being a kid who witnessed the emotional fallout of divorce. three words: Mutual Assured Destruction.
i put it differently, perhaps better, in a mssngr conversation: “dunno - at the mo, any flirtation, signals etc - seem to drive me away like a startled faun. for real.”
which brings us to ‘negatosexual’. an amusing term for something that is not amusing me right now.