I’m supposed to be doing a play analysis of the opera “Elektra” but it’s just not in me! Instead I’m reading and writing and cutting and pasting and NOT analyzing.
So…Rob Caisely told me about some play or something he’d read that talked about the idea of hell being a love triangle consisting of two women and one man. He loves her, but she is in love with the other woman, and that woman is in love with him. No one’s love is ever returned. It is cruel and piercing. But it’s true, isn’t it?
I think about him and wonder if he’ll ever think of me that way. While he thinks of her and she’s already gone with another him. (Or he’s already with another him. Whatever the case may be.)
This is hell. Knowing that his empty and my empty can’t ever cancel each other out.
I wish they could.
“And every occasion when a mask was torn off, an ideal broken, was preceded by this hateful vacancy and stillness, this deathly constriction and loneliness and unrelatedness, this waste and empty hell of lovelessness and despair, such as I had known it.”