A man and a woman (and the reality of art, love and sex)

Imagine there were two people: a man and a woman.  They’d sunk into quiet despair, unable to separate the past from the future.  Neither did living in the present, ever so ugly, improve their ability to recover even a semblance of glories, once wondered but now forgotten (and glories, it had to be said, once divinely expected too).

And imagine there were many people, around these two people.  And they judged that in order to save the one from the other, they needed to home in on the man who was able, and this they’d demonstrated, to curiously understand quite beyond the woman’s limited perceptions of experience.  (Not that her intelligence was limited in any way.  But her ability to ignore information in order not to suffer the implications of noticing stuff was highly developed – certainly compared to him.)

And so those around the two thought to themselves: let’s use this man; let’s turn him back into the man the woman fell in love with.  And maybe if we could achieve this, we could save a couple.  And if we could save a couple, that’d be an of course minor but nevertheless relevant bit of the world improved.

But since there’s no way he’d do it for her any more – being as so many unhappy things had been done and said; unsaid and undone – let’s make him think the love of his life, another woman quite different in absolutely all respects, was really wanting to renew her acquaintance with him, and in some significant and truly miraculous way renew the love they had lost long ago to time.

In truth it was a piece of magick: a game of smoke and mirrors they cruelly decided to play on him; maybe on both; maybe on all three.  But for a while, at least until he began to suspect, it produced the results they were aiming for.

He slimmed down quite well; he started to take constitutional walks; he looked forward to work; his demeanour became ever so much more attractive.

He held his head mostly high; he moved with greater speed.

All in all, they cleverly controlled and impulsed his growth.

But one thing, however hard they tried, they could not effect: and that was the real underlying outcomes they were looking for.  To make him again – to turn him back into – that political being they’d rejected for decades, and ignored and zeroed and essentially destroyed through a lack of connecting and nurturing: a political being of intelligence and wisdom; a political being who, through considerable intellectual unselfishness, had lived broadly for the interests of those he saw around him.

And as his intelligence was wide-ranging, and as his abilities to learn were major, he gravitated quite quickly away from any further thoughts of politics into far more creative arenas – arenas which would take him away from hearth and home; maybe even make him forget (though as yet this had clearly not happened) the second woman, love and only reason for the life he had led having been at all bearable and still worth putting up with.

So the outcomes they looked for – political obedience on the one hand; emotional obedience on the other – were so ultimately unattractive where art, culture, and love & sex intervened, there was simply no way he could ever return to being the unloved mild and simple political geek whom nobody cared to read.

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