I wrote some more stuff. This is 817 words about relationships as an idea. It asks a lot of rhetorical questions and rambles on with clever (to me) references that only I’ll understand. Read it if you want.

I don’t think that we, collectively, as the human race, specifically those of us not classified as sociopaths, and more specifically, “us creative types,” will ever tire of creating works, be they art, literature, music, or what have you, based on the universal, everlasting concept of relationships. Nothing is more powerful and unpredictable than the interaction between two people. At any given moment, one person may brandish a weapon and murder the other, in cold blood, with an equal chance that the same person may fall madly in love with the other. Is it this risk, this chance, this gamble, this potential adventure that makes us crave social situations? Is it a genetic necessity, something carved in our DNA, which cranks the tiny gears in our heads, leading us to approach a cute girl at a party? Or are we so boring, just us alone, by ourselves, eating Wheat Thins and watching reruns of Seinfeld, that we need other people to save us from monotony?

Alone, we are forced to create entertainment, and, essentially, life for ourselves. We make our own decisions and our own choices, usually guided by our means and individual moral compasses, writing our stories and doing what many feel we were born to do: live. Life would be so safe, so easy, and perhaps dull, if we were all stuck on our own planets, doing whatever the hell we wanted to do. Cue other people.

We give up so much for the sake of others. Perfectly content people, people making lots of money, enjoying nice weather, and maybe even having lots of sex, will throw all of that away for a goddamn stranger. No matter how you look at it, we’re all strangers. You may know someone for an entire lifetime, but still never truly know them. At the time of this writing, it’s still impossible to read minds, and what is a person really but the content of his or her mind? We may become familiar with a person; know habits, pet peeves, favorite authors, best friends, birthdays, birth marks, beliefs, and on and on and on, but a part of them shall remain forever unexplored. What a mystery, these minds!

A mind can be seen as a beautiful thing, however, a mind may also be a deceitful bastard, full of tricks and tomfoolery, misleading you into an expedition that a completely sane and informed person would never take. When we meet other people, especially in the digital age, we come with a facade, a profile page if you will, of photos and information and ~**fAv BaNdz**~ that we want other people, all of these goddamn strangers, to see and to digest and bookmark. We’re allowed to appear prettier, smarter, more well-read, and more musically diverse than we actually are. We tell you what you want to hear. But, despite what they may say, Kid A is not everyone’s favorite Radiohead record.

One of my favorite topics of discussion is falling “in love” with the idea of someone; becoming infatuated with a caricature, sculpted by both ourselves and those we fall for. These caricatures are fantastic creatures, perfect in every way, with blemish-free skin, who don’t poop, and love The Royal Tenenbaums. These people don’t exist. We want them to, so we look for them and we create them in our little mental spaces. We write novels and records for them, calling out to them, baby baby feel the love. We find a person, cloak them in this caricature, and lay on blankets with them, watch movies with them, and kiss them sloppily while dancing awkwardly in the driveway. But for what?

I cannot fathom a reasonable person, a functional mind, disregarding any and all social conditioning, pissing away every ounce of dignity, vomiting every nugget of pride, and flushing it in favor of a chance to enjoy spending time with another human. There are six billion or so people out there, what makes us think that we’re going to make a meaningful connection — whatever that is — with the skinny blonde younger sister of a girl in your chemistry class? Is it a need? Is it a want? Is it a want so intense that it feels like a need? Is it science or just something that happens? Who the hell is going to answer these questions? Is my life just one big season of LOST? What is the smoke monster?

This has started to ramble. I’ve managed to find a few tangents that I hadn’t prepared for. I’m just trying to figure out why the only thing I can bring myself to write about is a girl who makes poor decisions regarding her hairstyles, drinks too much, and once upon a time drove me absolutely nuts. Why will that girl at the bar never approach me? Is it the patchy facial hair? I guess I’ll never know.