Nov. 18th, 2006

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I sometimes end letters with the same word repeated: love love. Repeated because then, it then has two meanings, which I like; that is, it has a double meaning. It is a command, a call to arms! Love love! One must love love! Love it. Il faut. There's no real way to say I love you in French. That's fine. There are two ways to say it in sign language, technically the sign for love is like a hug you give yourself, arms barred across your chest, fists on shoulders. Then there's the informal love handshape that everybody knows, everybody knows it. Thumb, index, and little fingers outstretched, middle and ring hunched over to the palm. But it doesn't really mean love. It means 'I love you.' Its meaning is a phrase, with direction. It is identical in shape to the sign for airplane.

The second reason I like to say love love is that I don't know what it means. It is like a worry rock; it is a balm to me and a reminder. Remember! Love love. There are many ways to intone this phrase. All of them, at times, feel right to me. I like it very much. It is my own idiosyncrasy, nobody gave it to me, and I didn't start doing it because I saw it somewhere else, or to impress someone, or to give anyone a misleading idea of what kind of person I am, which I am embarrassed of having done. There's no need, love love.

However, I do need this: the other members of my family will please stop wearing articles of my clothing. Mom, you may not wear my black pants, tell me that "they are so much more comfortable" than your own pair. Brother, you may not take my socks, shirts, underwear, none of it. They are mine. Love love, ok.

Being maudlin is automatically bad, it is the worst to me, always. Just that word starts prejudice, hate. It makes me want to peel out of my own skin. The things we dislike in others... The point is my enormous love: what to do with it, how to feel about it. It is loving constructively. It is a lens. It's not something to be embarassed about, and it's not having anything to lose. When I was reading my brother's college application essay, I said something like "Be careful not to be maudlin," he said Ok, then later,
"What does maudlin mean?"
"Ummm...It's like sentimental, overly sentimental." What I really meant was it's like saying what your real feelings are, no critical remove, no word scaffolds, without indifference. He said:
"Yeah but was there a person who was Maude?" He always wins.

So then today I came home from my friend's house, sat. Dad says "You look nice." "Thanks" "Were you out on a da...were you out somewhere?" "No" "I was just wondering why you're wearing a white shirt." "It's not white." "What?" "It's pink."

So maybe maudlin is just lack of constructiveness, pity without progress. If they want my clothes, they may have them. But only to borrow. They become you, but are meant for me, you know? They are always mine. As long as they promise, while wearing them, to happen in love. Uniform of the love army; know our battle cry.

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