Life According to Mike: Stop the world and I will Mind-meld with you

STOP THE WORLD

AND

I WILL MELT WITH YOU

OR THAT OTHER GIRL IN THE CORNER

The world surrounds us and our societies are at war with our human natures and cultures and ethnicities...

and I am alone.

So what's new? Nothing so much as I am mournful and melancholic about the solitude I find myself in.

I did it to myself. I had to have standards, I had to "live" with my mother. I moved to TN timbucktwo. I see the irony of it all.

Writing about weddings has done me in, and then I had to go and get this song stuck in my head.

Well here I am playing my cello in the wilderness. which reminds me of another song thing.

After listening to that, my lovelorness has mellowed into something that makes me feel like this great painting by Lynn Noelle Rushton, (http://www.dallasartsrevue.com/members/R/LRush/Rushton.shtml) credit.


Imagine, if you will or must, what seeing a sculpture like this (yes actually this one- The Kiss by Rodin) does to a preteen boy who has just discovered girls.


Or one like this, same trip to Europe. Ruined for life is what it does.

Now take all that and mix it together with a picked on lonely and awkward boy with a largely absentee father who at times is very romantic with his mother, drop him in a coed boarding school in the middle of the Veldt in Africa and let him loose to began dreaming and experimenting with a bunch of rejected children also at the boarding school. I look back now and miss those blissful nightmarish days where I felt strong unbridled emotions and fumbled my way through learning to kiss and dream of touching girls. As it turned out in the end, in some ways the best and worst 2 years of my life. I "loved" 3 or 4 girls (and I remember their names).

Olyvya who was my first kiss (but only in complete privacy)- I botched it in classic style of a boy wanting to do an open mouth kiss. She gave me another chance later but while it was a more memorable closed mouth kiss. The awkward fumbling of that evening in the tiny school library will forever haunt my memory. Did I love her? Yes- I believed it back then. I love her now, but for almost completely different and thus inexplicable reasons.
Kim Spiller. She seemed to be forever ingrained in my memory and yet now I cannot really pull her to memory in focus anyway. I can still remember her holding me, the incredible excitement. I wanted to love her and eventually did. We had this one thing in common we both really wanted each others best friends. I guess I should have known and maybe I did. Bart Ridder was with Natasha Springett. She wanted Bart and I wanted Natasha and they wanted each other as much as 13-14 year-olds want anything. We pecked each other more than kissed at first and somewhere in our desires for others we found we desired each other (probably in our desire to be with someone else). I hope that if she should remember me, she thinks of me fondly instead of the 'we're breaking up' letters we exchanged frequently.
Natasha Springett, who had more troubles than any girl should ever have. I hope she found peace and her brother as well. She was a dark beauty and had a natural way of being appealing almost all the time, even when she was screaming at Bart. I wanted her and had no way to express it. I wrote her poetry for years and years before I knew she was the one who I was writing about. Natasha was all perception on my part. I remember a movie where the guy wants a girl and constantly dreams about her and then finally gets to talk to her and finds that she isn't anything like what he had thought. (Can't remember what that movie was). I touched the edge of what I thought Natasha was and then like all dreams she was gone.
Gillian. Poor Gillian, who was as plain in appearance and innocent of being everything she was accused of. How I wronged Gillian. I could burn in Hell for what I did to her and all for nothing. It was the first time in my life that I realized how much a few words could damage or damn someone. I loved her after a fashion. She probably was worthy of a deeper more forgiving love. I told her how I felt about her and she responded but some kids found out and I was made the butt of their sneering so I snubbed Gillian to save face (it's sad that I would be forced to relive it over and over again in movies and TV for all time). I later apologized but you really cannot take words back. If I could have I would have loved her just to make up for what I had done- which is of course all the wrong reasons for love.

A few years later, I fell for my fist American Girl and thus set in motion my wanting the one girl I had a snowball's chance in Hell of every getting any reciprocation from. Her name was Meshelle Houston, she was never even remotely mine, just the beginning of a long and fairly fatal string of girls and later women I would want and never have a shot with.
I missed Wendy Smith, apart from the fact she was coupled with a perfectly likable guy. But she haunts my dreams and imagination because she seemed genuinely interested in me.
So I dedicate this to her, not for what is or even what was- but rather for the promise of what could have been if I had been anything other than what I am.
What am I?