HOME | DD

Description
A Solipsist's Musings Alloyed With Romanticism, Perhaps

"I think there is nothing in this world lonelier than lying next to someone you love who also just happens to love you back"

Have you ever been in that mundane situation? Indolent in each other's arms, two lovers lying thoughtless and unaware of whatever idealized enchantment falsely enamored poets rant about. There is resonating comfort there, a contrasting silence from the cacophony of archetypal passion. It is insipid fervency.

The lovers in my study are a lanky pair. Baudelaire verses elude the dainty, drooping hands of an Eve supined on a stack of pillows that match an infantine stars-and-spaceships bedspread. Not that she has noticed though, for her gaze peers in the opposite direction and out the window into nothingness as she contemplates the lack of poetic moments in her life. The Adam, likewise apathetic to the perceivably tedious yet conceptually enthralling moment, half-listens to the fusion of epic classical and progressive alternative rock stylings of the British band Muse from dollar-store headphones. His face, too, is donned with a blank stare as he scrutinizes every note of his most recent composition from the page in his head.
At a glimpse, these paramours are committing a heinous crime: ignoring the immediate reality of the proximity of each other's being. In conscious pedestrian existence, minds are trapped within their own world; moments like these are the opportunity to step outside the individual cage and flutter about in unison in a sort of metaphorical dog walk around the neighborhood--minus the master. Upon further perlustration however, the two lovers are engulfed in the emanated essence of one another. The subdued galvanism produced by their overlapping limbs--Juliet's left leg lolled over Romeo's right leg and his right hand obliviously toying with her tresses at lengthy intervals--nevertheless ensures a constant flow of energy between this dichotomous entity as they epitomize a languid symbiosis.

In this lackadaisical stupor, there is an underlying yet overwhelming feeling of forsakenness. Even if in a small room with a closed door, a few footsteps away from other human contact, Tristan and Isolde are the last people on Earth. Stranded in their moment, they are alone together.

Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy experienced this.
Lancelot and Guinevere experienced this.
Anthony and Cleopatra experienced this.

Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler experienced this and because they did this brooding moment of Hollywood blockbuster proportions deserves a sweeping 360-degree aerial view with special effects simulating the intensity of their voltage with a color scheme reflecting the impact of their magnetism.

--------

This is how the falsely enamored modern poet appraises the moment. The subtle dynamics of these listless seconds are a malevolent abomination excogitated by these same falsely enamored poets. Forgive them, for their intentions were not malicious. Whatever the atrocious aftermath of inputting these suspirations into the aspirations of open hearts may be, keep in mind reality is a little less horrendous because of their silly musings.

Description
A Solipsist's Musings Alloyed With Romanticism, Perhaps

"I think there is nothing in this world lonelier than lying next to someone you love who also just happens to love you back"

Have you ever been in that mundane situation? Indolent in each other's arms, two lovers lying thoughtless and unaware of whatever idealized enchantment falsely enamored poets rant about. There is resonating comfort there, a contrasting silence from the cacophony of archetypal passion. It is insipid fervency.

The lovers in my study are a lanky pair. Baudelaire verses elude the dainty, drooping hands of an Eve supined on a stack of pillows that match an infantine stars-and-spaceships bedspread. Not that she has noticed though, for her gaze peers in the opposite direction and out the window into nothingness as she contemplates the lack of poetic moments in her life. The Adam, likewise apathetic to the perceivably tedious yet conceptually enthralling moment, half-listens to the fusion of epic classical and progressive alternative rock stylings of the British band Muse from dollar-store headphones. His face, too, is donned with a blank stare as he scrutinizes every note of his most recent composition from the page in his head.
At a glimpse, these paramours are committing a heinous crime: ignoring the immediate reality of the proximity of each other's being. In conscious pedestrian existence, minds are trapped within their own world; moments like these are the opportunity to step outside the individual cage and flutter about in unison in a sort of metaphorical dog walk around the neighborhood--minus the master. Upon further perlustration however, the two lovers are engulfed in the emanated essence of one another. The subdued galvanism produced by their overlapping limbs--Juliet's left leg lolled over Romeo's right leg and his right hand obliviously toying with her tresses at lengthy intervals--nevertheless ensures a constant flow of energy between this dichotomous entity as they epitomize a languid symbiosis.

In this lackadaisical stupor, there is an underlying yet overwhelming feeling of forsakenness. Even if in a small room with a closed door, a few footsteps away from other human contact, Tristan and Isolde are the last people on Earth. Stranded in their moment, they are alone together.

Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy experienced this.
Lancelot and Guinevere experienced this.
Anthony and Cleopatra experienced this.

Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler experienced this and because they did this brooding moment of Hollywood blockbuster proportions deserves a sweeping 360-degree aerial view with special effects simulating the intensity of their voltage with a color scheme reflecting the impact of their magnetism.

--------

This is how the falsely enamored modern poet appraises the moment. The subtle dynamics of these listless seconds are a malevolent abomination excogitated by these same falsely enamored poets. Forgive them, for their intentions were not malicious. Whatever the atrocious aftermath of inputting these suspirations into the aspirations of open hearts may be, keep in mind reality is a little less horrendous because of their silly musings.