I am trying to write a song about love…but not the Platonic kind. And I’m trying to untangle the two in my mind.
I remember reading, as a kid, a cartoon in Playboy Magazine (I was snooping in my dad’s closet) that quipped “Love is just a misspelling of Lust.” Another favorite line I learned back then is: “Men use love to get sex; woman use sex to get love”. These sentiments sunk in because I had already decided that love was a myth. It was fairly obvious my parents hated each other. And I was convinced that nobody loved me.
All of which made for a fairly cynical viewpoint for a 15 year-old–who, unfortunately, it seems, was getting his wisdom on the subject from catch phrases and girly magazines.
Cynicism set in early on. Being 15 and horny, I was willing to do anything to get sex. Feigning love was certainly on the table. But, as it turned out, I fell in love with every woman who ever let me touch them. Usually before they let me touch them. I didn’t have to fake it. Because I probably needed love just as much–maybe more–than I needed sex; and to get love, one has to give it, right? Seems logical, even if it is only the workings of the unconscious mind bent on getting a little love and affection.
Perhaps Love is a chimera. Was I merely confusing love with lust, when I fell in love with these girls? Was my need for a physical imperative prompting my clever brain to trick me into thinking that I wanted to spend a life-time with this or that woman…Is it all just about getting laid?
There needs to be a third category. The love I feel for my kids–and for my wife–is far different from romantic love.
Now I’ve got that straight, let’s get back to sex.
On country music radio stations–any radio station, for that matter–90% of all songs are on the subject of love. Songs about sex are rarer. It is my self-appointed mission to write such a song, and make it original, truthful, and poignant.
So, sex. Wow. I don’t know where to begin. Actually, I do. Sex, in my view, as an animal act (like eating, and…uneating), brings us more in touch with that side of ourselves. And I, like many, am not comfortable with that side of myself. Hence, I am conflicted about sex. Very conflicted. I don’t like reading about it. I don’t like talking about it. I don’t even like thinking about it. Not very deeply, anyway.
(but I like having it)
Which is not to say ignorance is bliss. In my case it certainly isn’t. But it is a place to start. Socrates famously said he was the wisest man in the world because he knew nothing, but at least he KNEW he knew nothing. Perhaps I’m not the biggest sap out there. Start by stating your ignorance. Then you have nothing to lose.
I often wish that I was a different person than I turned out to be. Tough luck. We can’t change the past. I am a product of my environment, and I don’t know about you, but my father never pulled me aside and told me how to bring a woman to climax. My school chums never did either. I’m 51 years old, and my wife of 16 years is dissatisfied with my lovemaking. Always has been, it turns out. Ouch.
To my poly-amorous friends, and others, I have only to add that I believe in romantic love in the same way as I believe in love (the universal one) at all. As an article of faith.
Perhaps you’ve noticed, I haven’t really addressed the topic, but have only written around it. I am blown away by the raw power of sex, and I don’t know how to write about it. Perhaps another post. But I’ll share the dream I had last night, as dreams can be very revealing.
I lived in a house with three basements. I had several guests in the house, and for some reason I wanted to impress them with how mysterious my basements were. But the first two turned out mundane, and my guests were not impressed. When we went down to the third, the only thing in the room was a hot water heater, which wasn’t functioning properly. This was pointed out by the female among the group. I tried to fix it but was getting nowhere, until the woman stepped in. She seemed to have some special knowledge in this area, and between us I believe we got it working okay.
But turned out there was a basement under this third basement. I didn’t know much about what was down there, but I know there was a workbench and a door with a mirror. And lots of cobwebs. When my guests went down the stairs, I shut the door on them and locked it, intending to keep them and and the room’s secrets hidden forever.
So this shit goes deeper still.