Apropos of absolutely nothing, I was thinking about how I love crush death. What I mean by that is: I find realizing that a crush has passed quite heartening. While the experience of lustful infatuation, when I feel so very excited and covetous and almost possessive of that certain person(s) who crosses my path, is fun and invigorating, adding spice, intrigue, and obsession to the rainy or maudlin days; equally joyful to me is the moment when I look at the person (usually someone I barely know) for whom I've been longing over weeks, months or years, and realize that I just don't give a shit. I love that experience.
I think because it teaches me, without pain or harshness, about how things can change, how the energy and attachment and tension I feel so intensely over someone can relax, and how its perfectly ok and natural when that happens. It doesn't hurt them, they're generally oblivious to the crush in the first place, and it is contrary to the traits I usually attribute to myself. Usually I'd still be down if the crush in question suddenly decided they wanted to make out with me, but would not and nevermore change my trajectory just to catch a glimpse of their shining face or swoon over their memory. Letting go is generally not easy for me, so this small harmless practice, of noticing when I let go of something not terribly crucial without trying, warms and lightens my mushy heart.
I know we all know this by now, but a lovely lady brought up the topic of mojo recently, and while that's not my favorite term for it, I am reminded of how legitimately and surely the concept seems to operate out in the big, strange world. As far as I can tell, the theory of mojo, or continuous, auto-regenerating sexual appeal, is basically identical to Newton's first law. Once you are deemed hot by the universe's magic sex wand, a plethora of factors (possibly including heightened self-esteem, pheromones, less attachment to the outcome of flirting, power of advertising, etc.) conspire in your favor to keep that sexy fairy dust sparkling. I think the dust eventually settles for all of us, but it sure is nice when it's happening, and with some effort, luck, and a strong enough inner sexual pilot light, we tend to flame back into irresistible at some point, again.
It's no secret that everybody wants the wanted. I personally tend to want the underdogs of the wanted, those that obviously should be wanted, but aren't often noticed because everybody's got their heads up their asses. Though this method often eventually ends up working against me, I love being the bellows to that sexual pilot light, and yes, I will often just keep blowing and blowing until the fire is set to heavy boil and the kitchen in slight danger of incineration. But I've lost my point. The point is mojo is communicable, and creatable by the seemingly mojo-less. If it's sparked and fed, you never know when the sweaty, handsy, fire-persons are going to suddenly burst through the door.
An interesting update for me, now that I'm finished speaking conceptually, is that I'm encountering a funny by-product of writing and semi-advertising this blog. Remember, please, that I often forget that these words and pictures and revelations are actually out there, floating around like perverse pigeons, nesting and shitting in the big strange world. In much the same way I used to always be shocked, truly, shocked when I heard someone was talking about me when I wasn't actually around (don't worry, I got over it), I keep being surprised that anyone reads this stuff. So it always cracks me up when at least once a week (and often more) someone that I'm not terribly intimate with asks me: "So, have you found a wife yet?" As far as idle chat goes, "Have you found a wife yet?" is the new "What shows are you in?"
I love it.
I mean, mojo or not, I've been doing this for exactly one month and I think most quality wives are more hard-won than that. One of the foxiest wives I know took a good six weeks before she decided that 'she did', so give me at least until mid-January. But it's encouraging , none the less. And as we look down the barrel of a cocked and loaded new year, I can only hope for the best. I'm excited about '08. I'm foregoing my general 'hopeful pessimism' for balls-out optimism this time. Well, at least one ball out, I still have my actual Saturn Returns coming up in August, but I've got at least one, cheerfully jiggling ball out for '08.
As for '07, well you taught me much (originally typed as "mush", Dr. Freud.) Sometimes I get tired of learning, but I'm glad I get to take these lessons into the future. I feel like I'm actually getting practice changing a bunch of those old, no-longer-helpful patterns that seem dug into my back by rusty nails. I'm excited about that. I don't seem capable of stopping the whole loving process, and I think that's my gift as well as my curse. I accept it though, even when it's really annoying, because if I'm going to do anything in this life I'd really like to spend mine loving more. I just hope to keep getting better and smarter and truer at it.
So Happy New Years, folks. I wish you all much mojo and all the things you need most, as well as at least a few of the things you want most. I wish me a more comfortable and engaged relationship with self-love and art. And a hot righteous wife wouldn't hurt.