Tag: love

a woman on a rock among the stormy waves raises her hands to a whale jumping out of the sea

Love actually

Published on by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

For love, we do crazy things. For love, we change the world—or at least try to.
All that for something we cannot even clearly define, despite millennia of effort
and a plethora of adjectives added to it. The brutal truth is that Romeo and Juliet
were nothing more than oxytocin junkies (to be accurate, it is a whole cocktail
of chemicals, but you get the picture). So excuse me, but if you asked for my take
on the subject, I would say, love is the white whale in an ocean of chemically
induced despair. And yet, for one more shot at it, I will give up anything,
or something like that.

in the rain, a man hugs a woman holding a cat

My somewhat mundane reason for writing poetry

Published on by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

It all starts with a word or a phrase that turns into a paragraph,
and only then is it divided into verses and stanzas, if needed.
At least, that is my approach to writing a poem. The particulars
for sure vary from one author to another, but the whole process
has one thing in common: it is a trial-and-error-ridden fight
for immortality—pointless if you ask me, although I still take
part in this rite anyway, mostly in the hope of a breakfast
at Tiffany’s.

two men meet in a crowd

I will save it to show you

Published on by Maciej Modzelewski5 Comments

I chipped a plate today, and as insignificant as it might seem, it somehow saddened me.
I have had it for sixteen years, and it has survived in mint condition through daily use,
three home moves, and a breakup. And yet, one moment of inattention was all it took.
So I guess it may no longer be of use to serve my guests, but I will save it to show you
that having a past does not rule out a future—one day, when we meet.

Nosferatu leans over the woman

Surrogates

Published on by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

One never sleeps with a corpse, maybe except for one’s own spouse
after twenty years of trite upheavals in the castle. But what got me there,
one might ask? That always-at-hand cliché of the great loves of my life,
I suppose: Audrey Hepburn, Marcello Mastroianni, Max Schreck—all
as dead as the celluloid that keeps them alive. At least I can still be a little
adventurous from time to time, although each film marathon eventually
becomes nothing more than an inconvenience. Probably like everything
else in life after a while. Perhaps that is why humanity’s greatest torment
is, in fact, boredom. No wonder that one has recently switched to voice
couching. Coital vocalisations are the latest challenge. Maybe unethical,
but how fulfilling! At least for now.