Friendship Lament (Rant)

I need someone to talk to.
I need someone to listen.
I need someone who wants to speak.
I need a friend.

A real honest to goodness, balls to the wall, now and forever, “I understand you” and “This is what I think” . . . friend. And I'm not talking about the kind of people that you can count on, the kind that you can laugh with, the kind that will be with you when you are alone. I have plenty of those. I have many beautiful people who fill the spaces of my life, but I have no one that talks to me.

Really talks to me.

No one listens to the concerns of my soul, they don’t communicate to the higher functions of my cerebral cortex, and they don’t giggle at the absurdities of considering the spiritual components of my physical heart.

“I am Corey’s medulla oblongata and I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”

I want to translate binary code into its original Greek and transcribe the subtext into basic HTML but the mere proposals of those kinds of conversations are quickly shut down. And I allow it. I go without. I argue on their behalf that perhaps they are topics that have no interest for them; that perhaps their world is designed to not need to know such things; that perhaps they are fundamentally incapable of comprehending certain ideas; or perhaps that I'm just all-and-out wrong, and have an unhealthy preoccupation with overly complicated concepts (Now THAT I don’t believe for a second . . . but it’s possible). So to keep the peace, and appease the masses, and reduce the awkward silences; mostly I swallow my need and continue to talk about the mundanity of our lives; about Television and Celebrities, and Clothing and Food, and how much we love each other (or other overly emotional interpersonal clichés) . . . while the things that are (most) important to me go ignored.

I feel shunned . . . abjured . . . lobotomized . . . and locked away.

I'm standing in a crowded room full of color and life, with loved ones and strangers moving about me as I bleed. . . they know I'm starving, they know I need, they hear how loudly I scream, they see the flesh pulling from my skin . . . but they will not look at me. They will not engage; because no one wants to get involved. . . (Okay so maybe that’s a little dramatic but it’s the first image that came to mind.) Basically my needs are not being met.

Our relationships are so one sided that I do not miss them when they are gone.

I saw Vashon’s mom the other day and my heart hurt at his absence. I remembered the conversations into the early morning about God (or the Theory of God) and Einstein’s perspective on the matter; about the legalities of a fundamental right, and the miscommunication of truth; about sexuality and identity, and the malleability of the two (And how we would laugh together through the most intense oppositions.). . . And I yearned for that again. And then I thought of her. . . The one who made me understand the complex dichotomy of beauty and social perspective, and how grace and introspection where intertwined; the one who could dance like tribal drums, cast spells in Cuban tongues, and softly whisper universal edicts while tears streamed down her face showing the authentic fragility of power.

I miss her.
I miss him.
I miss that.

I don’t have that anymore. No one holds my hand as I try to find order in the oblivion of chaos . . . no one collaborates with me, no one plays with me, no one deciphers with me the pattern of the anti-matter to matter ration equation while balancing the unknown factors of the Jesus Predicament when compared to the Old Testament’s Job Scenario (Over French fries and a milkshake). I have no friend. I have no equal. I have no balance. I have no person to run to when I come across a frayed edge of existentialism that I can’t quite wrap my brain around. Those that I would call they shut down; they get bored; or they look at me like “Please not again!” So I shut up. I turn it off, and I wait until I'm alone.

“I love no more. (end of line)”

I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of it being me against the world. I'm tired of using kiddies’ gloves. I'm tired of making excuses for them; of offering altruism to a situation that feeds no selfish need. Why do I have to be your friend if you are unwilling to be mine?

Oh wait! Is that a question too complicated? Is the premise too personal to touch? Am I pushing the boundary of our relationship? Do you still have nothing to say?

Well Fuck You! I'm tired of going without!!

I need a friend who will listen to me when things bother me, who will talk to me when things go wrong, who will follow me on my obtuse thought tangents and help me align the foci without batting an eye.

Because that’s what friends do:
They listen to each other.
They talk to each other.
And they understand what the other has to say.