false heart 8

What is it about us ever-so complicated and self-contradictory humans that makes us almost instantly desire that which we can’t have? And conversely, often at least, we suddenly, mysteriously find that we no longer want what we wanted the second we actually get it?

Like dogs stealing each others’ toys, we envy the things that others have, and we become disinterested in the things we have.

Welcome to affluenza. Welcome to cheating spouses.

Welcome to boredom and ennui and the grass perpetually having a suspiciously verdant hue just the other side of the railing.

The forbidden and the unknown hold a certain allure, of course, simply because they are that. But I think it may have more to do with our rich fantasy lives. We think this one thing or person will be the key to make us happy forever and ever. We imagine in our verdant, fertile, loamy minds that there HAS to something out there that will take away all of our angst and unhappiness forever and ever. That’s why we invented god, that’s why we invented marriage. We like to believe that there can be one simple solution to the complicated mess that makes us humans.

So we place a ridiculous amount of importance on something that can obviously not deliver on such a promise. Of course we are going to end up being disappointed. In fact, I would go so far as to say that life itself, at least our weird-ass human lives--as opposed to that of animals, who seem, from the outside at least, to have a great deal more contentment than we do, or at least a longer-lasting version of it--can be defined as disappointment. Nothing ever delivers on its promise because in our imaginations we place each new thing or person on such a pedestal that they are bound to topple once we grasp the reality of them.

It’s built into what we are: dissatisfaction. I guess there are good things that come of this drive: art, music, literature, love, however temporary.

On the other hand, what a retarded and useless life, should we become enraptured with shallow grasping for that next thing without ever realizing that there is nothing, not a single goddamn thing or person in this world will ever fully satisfy.

Not for long anyway.

This is saudade: “an inexplicable longing of the soul,” as defined by Nick Cave, who knows a thing or two about longing. If you can find "The Secret Life of the Love Song," a combination of music and spoken word performances by Cave, buy it, download it, steal it if you have to. Brilliant stuff.