The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit or sense…
quoted by Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Jane, darling, I hear you loud and clear. Not much has changed in regard to human nature since that was written back in the late 1700’s. Sometimes, it is so painful to observe life play out in all it’s drama. Watching as functional children are born into a dysfunctional lot. Bearing witness to the cruelty toward others by a single person’s indifference.
When I was younger, I used to hold myself to a certain yardstick. Well, at least I’m not Glenn Close from Fatal Attraction. I mean at least I have my dignity. I certainly don’t have any prospects for a life but I’m not insane YET. Maybe ol Glenn wasn’t really insane after all, maybe her chakras were just blocked. I don’t know. The reason I bring up my former yardstick for success is that “Fatal Attraction” also introduced me to something else, the opera, Madame Butterfly. I’m not as savage as one might think. I do so enjoy a good opera. Oh, Brava, Brava, the audience calls to the diva in a huge dress and powder galore all over her face.
Ah, the diva, to be so utterly in love with one’s self is beyond a doubt the most boring facet of life I could possibly comprehend. Yet the world is overrun with narcissists these days. Regard for nothing more than looking appealing on the outside. Work on one’s character is not even secondary to looking hot, it is non-existent.
How does, Jane Austen, Fatal Attraction, Madame Butterfly, and narcissists all relate? To me it’s very evident but I have the luxury of living in my own head. I submit the human causes of tragedy, a player in the play of life, the user. The one user in art that sets me off into a fiery rage the most is Pinkerton, in particular, from Madame Butterfly. Anyway, I wrote a poem about it in an effort to quell my rage…
PINKERTON MUST DIE!
Awaiting the first note in utter darkness
The stage is set, lovely sights and sounds
I plead unfamiliarity with the opera unfolding before me
Becoming unsettled as the opera plays out
Mulling over the story during intermission, I become livid
The self-serving and self-indulgent Pinkerton and the foolish Madame Butterfly
that loves him.
She gives up everything for him, family, beliefs and country for that jack ass
who is only interested in getting his ya yas for a month or two and then
he’s back off to America
Am I suppose to feel something different from rage by the end?
am seething in my seat
Poser, self-indulgent, undeserving, self-serving, low life, four flusher
I will edit the opera in my mind, adding the last scene, I, charging the stage
with a knife and filleting him. Gut him like in that scene in the Godfather Two,
a fitting end to a user of people.
Take a savage to the opera and there could be bloodshed. It is not in my DNA to acquiesce in the face of destruction. I can’t turn to my lover and say, “Gee, that’s a shame!” and then fall fast asleep. I become unsettled and my instincts make me want to act out.“Dis charging knife I see as positively phallic. So, you vish you had a penis or vat?”