Wednesday, June 20, 2012

I feel better because Jack White's heart has been broken, too

  I listened to a superb episode of Marc Maron's WTF podcast with guest Jack White yesterday. He writes very original, profound lyrics. Maron asked him if he'd ever had his heart broken. He answered that he had and that the pain of someone you love leaving you is a special kind of pain. The true blues.
It's true and I knew he wasn't bullshitting. Oddly, I felt better. I'm in a special group of blues with Jack White. How can a talented, handsome man like him be left by someone?! Luckily, I've gotten to a place where I can ask the same thing about myself. Well, minus the talented and handsome part. I guess the grass is always greener to someone. The saying is true- for every beautiful woman there is a man who is sick of her. It has nothing to do with your beauty or worth or how great you are as a person. It has more to do with what that other person is lacking in themselves to do that to you. Once you realize that, you can move on. I'm not bitter or angry like I was. The hurt has subsided. Jack White also said a very true and brilliant statement that it's that sense of urgency that does you in. When you feel that heartache, you want it to end immediately. You can wait for time to heal the wounds. You want it healed NOW. It takes such a long time. It changes you. I feel I'm a lot different than I was six months ago. But, I accept it and embrace it. I learned tremendously from it. I still have the Jim Carey feelings like in Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind. Part of me wishes I'd never fallen in love, but another part would miss those memories. I really don't know if it's true that it's better to have love and lost than never to have loved at all. I think that's subjective. Once again referring to White, he has a line on his new album about people taking a part of you with them. It's true, you're never the same. You also carry them with you forever. You have your piece of them. I would like to think some men have fond memories and pieces of me. At times, I feel like a Picasso painting of my exes and a shadow of myself. It becomes more of a haunting, but one cannot give into the melancholy. I sweep the heartache under the rug and take away the ways they have all blessed me. I might call their new girlfriends "whores" but that's to be expected.