Daniel Kitson wrote a lovely liner note on the 2006 limited edition EP of A Hiccup In Your Happiness by The Lucksmiths.
A Kitson-esque musing on love. Or evidence of a really bad year. Or both. Might make you feel better on this "holiday." Or worse. No guarantees here at MBM.
The world is too big for love to be real. There are too many
people in the world to ever know, beyond everything, that you are with
the right person. That your heart is as swollen as it can be. Think of
all the people in China. It is unlikely anyone will ever meet all of
them. How can we know for certain, for absolute certain, that trapped
inside a foreign language and thumping in a foreign heart there isn’t a
love that is meant for us. The infinite possibility of existence, its limitless potential, is the proof we need that love is nothing more than
an imagination, a human folly, friendship swollen with self-importance,
a final retreat from the storm of possibility. The love of our life
could so easily have been someone else. It is random and accidental,
haphazard and unsystematic. That which we feel for one person, clinging
on to the delusion of destiny, could so easily be felt for a million
people should the timing and the meetings and the mutual readiness have
coalesced at some other time in some other place. Should someone else
have accepted us or rejected us then everything would have been
different. And once we know this, we know that all love is a lie. Not
honesty but deception. Not heroism but cowardice. An unspoken agreement
of mutual consolidation and compromise, a shield from possibility and a
bed in which to sleep, nothing more than that.
But I do still miss her. --Daniel Kitson
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| Sometimes your heart is trapped in Lucite. With birds. |
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