Loving Her Is Easy

New York City — Autumn 1998

For she, who will never know

Loving her is easy but she doesn’t seem to understand why. She has given you things that few people have been able to give. Simultaneously abstract and clear, tangible. Loving her is easy because these days a heart is something to scoff at, something to ridicule, something to impale on rotten stakes, an offering to the blind and the deaf to rejoice; a bloodletting, a viral drink in which the mad do their dances and pray to exalted rulers of the corpse. Death dances are easy today. You can learn the steps. The charts are everywhere.

Loving her is easy because while the world moves about in its catatonic state she is something of an anomaly. There is no room for those who seek happiness while the cyclone swirls dirt around you. There is no room for those who reach out for a little love and understanding. It’s not in the instruction manual, taken out of the book by editors who love to wield the knife and love to sleep on the cutting room floor.

Loving her is easy because there is a projector in the eyes which doesn’t show the scenes that would normally repulse an audience, does not show images of degeneration and eagerly paid for titillation force fed to the lowest common denominator. Loving her is easy because such softness ought to be cradled, caressed, and comforted, the arms refusing to let go even in times of tremendous upheaval.

Loving her is easy because the mind is often as sensuous as the heart, a soft touch from caring hand. Such minds need to be caressed, too, not desecrated by the rapists of the spirit who thrive on power. Such minds need to be worked with the fingers that simultaneously caress the face, lips and hair. Loving her is easy because tomorrow is something to be embraced, something to keep inside your bag and to remove it when today seems dark and uncertain.

Loving her is easy because the bonfires are getting higher with each new corpse the madmen continue to toss upon them. There is no room for the scavengers who thrive on digging in and tearing them up, gutting the bodies of the innocent who have not asked for such a pogrom. They were only thrown in its way by a society that ejaculates over such wholesome entertainment.

Loving her is easy because she simply is.