" 'Love in the Times of Lust'. Why choose such a theme for an art display?"
"Why not?"
"Explicit is easy fame. Isn't it?"
"As you would like to think. Ironically, the concern at hand is deep embedded and a recurring whooping cough of the system."
"Which is?"
"Don't you feel it? Do you not see it?"
"See what?"
"The divide."
"Sorry, but right now, your words aren't getting to me even tangentially."
"It's funny, isn't it?"
"Sorry again, but what exactly are you talking about?"
"I'm talking of a world pulled together, knit close and tight in imagined boxes and assumed strings. A world where the idea of conversation is virtual, where the lines are blurred and yet, the divide is real."
"And how does that connect to love or lust, be it as standalones, or in unison?"
"Everything is connected. All of it, pieces of one never-ending jigsaw puzzle."
"And how so?"
"Have you ever been in love?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever felt lust for someone whilst you were apparently with someone else?"
"I was attracted.. yes. I'm not sure I'd call it lust."
"Have you imagined a different man with you on the bed at the very moment another man was into the very insides of you?"
"Well... Umm... maybe."
"In either of the above incidents, the man who was your subject of fantasy, was ever made aware of your intentions?"
"Both of them happened to be friends. Friends I didn't want to lose."
"Because you are already too lonely. Aren't we all? Less loners and more lonely. The world has to come to such that people look for actual existences in a virtual world. Coming to your perspective now, who said two friends can't have sex without destroying the friendship or sowing seeds of a possible romantic alliance?"
"But...."
"But, you thought it would ruin the friendship. Well, it might have. But, what if it hadn't? We live life off assumptions. Assumptions that have no history, no background, no real reason to build on, and yet, they are there."
"But, having sex with someone when you are dating someone else accounts to cheating. Isn't it?"
"And when you masturbate to the silhouette of the same person in the dark corners of your house, what would you call that? Black and white make sense in theory. Life happens in the greys."
"So, there's no love? Just lust?"
"You know, I was once married. Three years into the marriage, things fell apart. And one busy evening, my wife walked out on me and the marriage, while I was away. When I returned to an empty, ransacked house later that evening, I was infuriated. I wanted her back at that very moment. Call it ego, call it madness. It took me a couple of days to get to terms with the fact that my wife had actually walked out on me. Over the next fortnight, I loathed in self-pity and alcohol. But, as time would have it, nothing got better, and alcohol wasn't quite turning out to be the solution. Over the next month or so, I got physically involved with women aplenty. Lust could address what alcohol couldn't, I thought to myself. I wouldn't lie, I had some great sex. But, everytime I returned to the empty walls and deafening silences of my house, I felt like throwing up my intestines. I felt like screaming my lungs out. If only things would get better.
Expectedly, they didn't.
At the end of it all, I realised something.
Love is a habit of the existence. Lust is a habit of the act. In time, they might or might not overlap. But, in singularity each holds their importance in the truth of their being."
That night, the artist didn't smear his canvas in crimson.
That night, the man fucked the woman.
For fuck's sake.
"Why not?"
"Explicit is easy fame. Isn't it?"
"As you would like to think. Ironically, the concern at hand is deep embedded and a recurring whooping cough of the system."
"Which is?"
"Don't you feel it? Do you not see it?"
"See what?"
"The divide."
"Sorry, but right now, your words aren't getting to me even tangentially."
"It's funny, isn't it?"
"Sorry again, but what exactly are you talking about?"
"I'm talking of a world pulled together, knit close and tight in imagined boxes and assumed strings. A world where the idea of conversation is virtual, where the lines are blurred and yet, the divide is real."
"And how does that connect to love or lust, be it as standalones, or in unison?"
"Everything is connected. All of it, pieces of one never-ending jigsaw puzzle."
"And how so?"
"Have you ever been in love?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever felt lust for someone whilst you were apparently with someone else?"
"I was attracted.. yes. I'm not sure I'd call it lust."
"Have you imagined a different man with you on the bed at the very moment another man was into the very insides of you?"
"Well... Umm... maybe."
"In either of the above incidents, the man who was your subject of fantasy, was ever made aware of your intentions?"
"Both of them happened to be friends. Friends I didn't want to lose."
"Because you are already too lonely. Aren't we all? Less loners and more lonely. The world has to come to such that people look for actual existences in a virtual world. Coming to your perspective now, who said two friends can't have sex without destroying the friendship or sowing seeds of a possible romantic alliance?"
"But...."
"But, you thought it would ruin the friendship. Well, it might have. But, what if it hadn't? We live life off assumptions. Assumptions that have no history, no background, no real reason to build on, and yet, they are there."
"But, having sex with someone when you are dating someone else accounts to cheating. Isn't it?"
"And when you masturbate to the silhouette of the same person in the dark corners of your house, what would you call that? Black and white make sense in theory. Life happens in the greys."
"So, there's no love? Just lust?"
"You know, I was once married. Three years into the marriage, things fell apart. And one busy evening, my wife walked out on me and the marriage, while I was away. When I returned to an empty, ransacked house later that evening, I was infuriated. I wanted her back at that very moment. Call it ego, call it madness. It took me a couple of days to get to terms with the fact that my wife had actually walked out on me. Over the next fortnight, I loathed in self-pity and alcohol. But, as time would have it, nothing got better, and alcohol wasn't quite turning out to be the solution. Over the next month or so, I got physically involved with women aplenty. Lust could address what alcohol couldn't, I thought to myself. I wouldn't lie, I had some great sex. But, everytime I returned to the empty walls and deafening silences of my house, I felt like throwing up my intestines. I felt like screaming my lungs out. If only things would get better.
Expectedly, they didn't.
At the end of it all, I realised something.
Love is a habit of the existence. Lust is a habit of the act. In time, they might or might not overlap. But, in singularity each holds their importance in the truth of their being."
That night, the artist didn't smear his canvas in crimson.
That night, the man fucked the woman.
For fuck's sake.
No comments:
Post a Comment