Who's the Goose?

The luckiest man in the world is the one with the saddest story. The strongest man on earth is the one who has been hurt the most. Try and kill this motherfucker, he was praying for death before he could even get a hard on. A broken man is a dangerous and beautiful thing, but not until he finds the key. For me, its been a grueling journey, and I don’t want to meet a man who is sadder. Pain can be dangerous when it meets itself in rage. Peace is preferable. See, love is the drug. All you need is love, love, and a broken heart. I come broken. I told a disappearing blond that recently. Bye bye. I think something amazing has happened. The darkest darkness leads to the void. Have to pick up the nothing matters chip before the dawn. Is it actually possible, even necessary, to love oneself more than the love of our lives, our chalice or our blade, ladies and gentlemen? My first love was a girl named Jennifer Pico. She was blond and I think I was in First Grade. The love that broke me was another Jennifer. A dark haired goddess holds my heart in a fortress on the moon. She is my defeater. But I emerge victorious. They say that if you love someone you should let them go. More importantly, secure your oxygen mask first. I never understood love thyself. I defined my whole reality on the reality of a lifetime of a crushed heart. Stupid. Do I finally love myself more than the love of my universe? The whole universe within us? Infinite love of self, infinite love for all our brothers and sisters, the human race, iwatchupa? But I won’t stop loving Jenn. I believe that my heart might stop beating if I did that. I just have to let her go. More tears. May the lord strike me down if I won’t go on loving her for as long as my body and my soul are together, and maybe beyond. Why not? My love for the people who have hurt me is my guiding light. Living in the pain of lost love has carried me through, and if it wasn’t for my broken heart, I never would have found the elusive God inside. Self-love, that’s the key. Only now do broken dreams roll off me like warm summer rain. Dreams are unnecessary in wakefulness. I just don’t care anymore. I want my #1 Jew to be happy. Wherever she is, whoever she is. Get the memo young lady. I don’t need you. I just love you. Unconditionally, like everybody else. I have a Jenn to thank. My favorite four letter word. She gave me a gift, and it’s a dandy. It works like this: live with a broken heart, live in the absence of your love and meditate on the fact that it will never happen, spend 10 years trying to convince yourself that you are crazy, that she does not want you, that you are alone, that you have always been alone, and are destined to be alone, to live in the absence of the greatest love you ever found. You live in that sadness. It convinces you that the pain of your broken family is fundamental. But the whole time, see, you love your friends, and your friends love you. Find love, and give it all away, as Mr. Derby said. Somewhere along the way, if you don’t kill yourself, or someone else first, if you can just keep weathering the pain, the sickness, the overwhelming darkness of the infinite void, you begin to love yourself. This begins to happen because you have given up on God, because you have given up on those around you, because you are empty. This is being already dead. God is whole and man is broken. To live in the lie that we are separate is breaking the heart of God. We are all the same eyes. I love you.