Some more on the subject...

Just as I was writing a poem about friendship (for instance, just now, Maria called me back: we agreed to meet late tomorrow) in which Oscar, my friend from Jersey who not so recently moved with his brand new first wife to Miami, had not answered my call. I had written already the line of his absence and readying to publish it on line at www.poetry.com when he called me back. He had taken longer than he had said he would and he was not to make good to his word of meeting this past Thursday. But he had proven me wrong about friends and pretty much wrong about life in general. We never know how things are going to turn out but we must try to influence the balance to move in our favor. I once was asked what was it that made me so lucky with the ladies. First, was my response, I don’t think I am. Secondly, if I do get lucky, it probably has to do with the fact that I don’t rely on luck. It’s still a bit more complicated than that. I don’t exclude “luck” (whatever notion is understood by it); I don’t dispose of it. I treat the whole thing like with surgical mentality: in the operating room, I am putting my big bet on the skills and expertise of the doctor but a prayer from a family member wouldn’t hurt, would it? Yes, I know is a bit cynical but if I am not ready to apply all of my strength and the weapons I possess in this venture we came to call “love”. As the saying goes, “In war as in love, all is fair.” But I guess is that we don’t know exactly what we refer to when we say “love”. It takes so many shapes and it hides so much ugliness at times, that it’s somewhat tainted, flawed, and equivocal. I guess that the more you instruct yourself in the subject with other’s experiences and your own as well, and if you’re “lucky” enough in the intellect department, then love should come naturally. You shouldn’t stress it, though, because the more you aim at it the more it seems to evade you. And the less you want it, at times, the more it demands of you. It’s not easy to love. So, also, let’s start with us. Before this manuscript turns to oblivion on a thousand times foreboded subject and it all turns boring, I should stop… right about now!