February 22, 2011
“Devil’s in the jukebox, jumping on the rhythm,
Kinfolk say you got to take what you’re given,”
‘Devil’s In The JukeBox’
I’ll live with it.
There have been cars that I really wanted to love. The small difference is, of course, not loved wholeheartedly, but wanted to love wholeheartedly. Come to think of it there have been very few cars, or almost none that I would sell my right leg to get just like that. It’s as much the astronomical prices they’re asking for an automobile in this little prick island as it is the fact that none could meet my standards. Standards might be the wrong word actually, I think ‘requirements’ is more accurate.
I do have this one car in mind, but I drove that thing six laps around Ascari Race Resort in the middle of Spain, and will never have one, at least on this little prick island. The BMW E30 M3, which was so complete and awesome in its brilliance it made me feel like I was 13 and Ayrton Senna, all at the same time, in a strange manner of speaking.
And it’s the same with women. You get into something and you got to weigh that balance everyday. Maybe some days you feel it and other days you don’t. You step into that door and it slams shut and you’re back in the cockpit once more, can’t find the damned switch again? Why’s the light on? Wish they didn’t put the goddamn handbrake there.
You know you’re onto something the less shit happens. But you go with that car, say the E-Class for two, three years, you want a new one. If not you’re stuck with it, then that Porsche starts to look like a good idea bucko.
What do I want in a woman? I’ve never actually put this idea down on paper. How I answered it was always, I know what I don’t want in a woman. I don’t want to be the sole source of someone’s happiness. I want to be the person who shares, grows, builds and causes some of it, but she’s got to bring her own stuff to the dinner party. Excitement, a lust for life, imagination, intelligence, that’s not too much to ask. Common sense? Not being a constant bitch? Being able to cook to save a refugee camp helps too.
There’s only so much garbage a man can take before he snaps. I’m no saint, but I’m not the Devil himself neither.
So we go back and forth and I chase you through the weeds. You turn back at me and laugh, I’m bleeding at the ankles. Ain’t no laughing matter when you’re fighting for something very much like life. Isn’t that why I feel like I’m dying when you’re not around? You ain’t been no good for me, all you’ve done is give me shit and bursts of happiness. Maybe if you pulled your own head out of the sand, or your arse, and stopped being so damn scared of everything you could talk to me properly and tell me just what the hell is going on in that lizard brain of yours. Never rationalise her actions, say the guru, but I got nothing left to do. Men and women there isn’t anything between them, but boys stroll onto the battlefield of love empty-handed, while women are locked and loaded. Lockheed Martin, McDonnell Douglas? Pah. Child’s play, compared to a woman’s wiles and intuition. When you learn about the Game, that revelation erupts before your eyes. But then comes escalation and mutually-assured confusion. I’ve shot myself in the foot more than once.