You bastard.

Well, I know we really are supposed to be civilized about these matters, part as friends, etc. And we did. Oh yes, last April–was it April? it was such a blur with you then, for so long then that so little made sense–I thought we did, at least when I realized that you had broken up with me. But these things were rather vague, were they not? Your exaggerated insistence that I should fly, fly, little dragonfly? Such drama I knew well enough. And then we parted for good, not perhaps as friends, but as mutual admirers, realizing that we were just hurting one another by continuing the relationship in any way. Right?


You hurt my friend now.. hurt her by your silences, your lack of initiative, your lack of attention. You hurt her by your insistence of some fantasy world.. your desire for a casting director more than for a lover and a community. You hurt her by your sense of entitlement. Oh yes, yes, you deny that, but really. Really. Your needs were always paramount. And I do not think you even understand why she is so angry with you over all this. Or why I am. Well, there is the “been there, done that” aspect to it all. I see it all unraveling again as you set out with one yet younger… the pattern is so predictable–oh but perhaps irresistible. But damn it! you hurt someone I care about.


This, my friends, is the price of loving a genius. I would like to say that this little excursion to the height–nay, the depths–of human experience that I endured earlier this year were an experience I did not already know.

I do get myself into these things every quarter century or so.. and I can only hope that another twenty-five years down the road, I will be happily fucked and enjoyably distracted enough that the siren song will be rendered completely inaudible.

It all starts innocently enough, though. A glance, and then that blindsiding glimmer into the sublime when encountering the work… Well, that’s how it was with me. So taken with it all, I was. And then, it followed that I believed that anyone who could create such beauty must be beautiful himself. Right?

No. I don’t suppose I ever held such illusions. I knew that these men were creators of their own realities, knew all those things right from the start. We all create our own realities, after all. But the bewitching quality of life with a genius is not to be understated. I staggered through my ordinary world, in tears over the beauty of Aida, in awe of the sorcery of language, astounded once more by things I had completely forgotten in the grind of an ordinary life with extraordinary complications. The extraordinary was right there, right there for the taking, for the making, and the world by golly could rearrange itself around all of this. Right? Right?

Well, actually, that part is right. I do rearrange my life around the things that matter most to me. Love, beauty, wonder. But more than that, I arrange everything because of the people I love most in this world. I am lucky to have a life that is rich and wonderful. And so do all the women who loved him.

And actually, that is the true gift of the women who have loved my two genius lovers, which is why it is so hard–the generosity of spirit, the passion, the love they all wanted to share… With the exception of the two scary scorned lovers, the ex-wives and girlfriends have been remarkable women in themselves, some of whom have become my friends. It is this that brings me to this page now.

Would I relive that year differently? Oh, no. It would mean the reordering of a world that has given me so much, so much wonder and fun in the last several months–and then, I would not give up the things I did then, the people I met because of it all, or during it all. Much ado about… well, something. About this: to know true beauty is so rare, and not without its thorns. Is it possible to be great and to remain grounded? I do not know, have heard of genius and good nature co-existing in the same heart. But surely there are always sacrifices.

But sometimes, sometimes.. oh! a genius of such acclaim can be a real jerk: thoughtless, awful, and perhaps not even understanding why. He will survive–reacting to life, not seeking to act–creating his world still–are we so entrenched in the bourgeois existence to walk away? we ask we ask–in his strange, unhappy ways. In his self-serving ways. And others will continue to look to that amazing mind and be enchanted for brief moments as we were.

And so we survive, too, in our smart-enough, spunky, happier lives. Better now to love life, to live it fully with people who can love and live fully, too–with people who can care and who can accept love fully. Creating this, creating this love, this life is a genius in itself, if genius matters. And my girlfriend, you will be happy again soon. But you know this.

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