This is going to be my most painful blog post ever.
I believe that the primary reason I’m not married is because of flaws in my character.
* My lack of regard for others. I’m so intent on doing my own thing and on imposing my will on the world that I think too little about the feelings and welfare of others. I’m not married for this same reason that I was not invited to my classmate Gavin Brown’s birthday party in second grade and I was not invited to the Sabbath home of any of my classmates at Pacific Union College until a mother forced her son Andy to invite me midway through eighth grade.
* My 12 years writing on the porn industry combined with my conversion to Orthodox Judaism. Both choices severely restrict the pool of available wives.
* My poverty (primarily a reflection of my lack of character rather than a reflection of circumstance).
* My tendencies to isolate myself from whatever community I join.
* My narcissism and my fantasies of grandiosity. “I’d hate to see you lose your life in delusion,” said my therapist. My constant attention seeking. My need for mirroring. My history of exhausting people and pushing their boundaries.
* My fears of abandonment and of commitment. My inability to hold on to myself when in relationship with those I value aka my lack of differentiation.
* My low-grade chronic depression.
* My sex and love addictions. My overwhelming shame. The hole in my soul that I’ve tried to fill with excitement rather than intimacy, intensity rather than connection. It’s hard to stay on the Torah farm when you’ve seen Paris.
* My betrayals.
Khunrum emails: “Do you really need 45 reasons to explain why you’re not married Luke? I’d say that “poverty” reason is enough, NO? I mean what kind of woman wants to get hitched to a broke guy living in a shoebox? But hey, when that Alexander cash comes rolling in things might change.”
Gavin Brown emails:
If you mean painful to read for its sheer banality, you’re right about that, mate!
Always the fair-dinkum whinger. Cry me a bloody river!
“Boo-hoo. I didn’t get invited to Gavin Brown’s birthday party.” I recall that you DID end up there — much to the dismay of all the children in attendance — thanks to Wayne Cherry’s mum pleading on your behalf to my mum.
And then a similar intercession occurred when you were in 8th grade.
You’re a boring, dishonest, useless little cunt, mate, and normal people don’t want you around.
The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know. Stop complaining that you suffered a lifelong hurt being snubbed at my party. Have you ever considered that I — and the other children — suffered even more because we had to countenance your presence?
You were a pathetic little creep then, and, apparently, you haven’t changed.
No wonder nobody wants you around. I’d suggest you go out and get a sheila, but they’re too smart for that. Who — except a therapist who’s paid to listen to your swill — wants to put up with your rot?
I throw quite the wing-ding every year on my birthday, mate. You’ll never see the likes of it … BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT INVITED!!!!!
Greg Leake emails:
you know, my friend, there is another way to look at this.
All you have done is bypass the first couple of divorces. And had you participated in those divorces, you would still be as poverty-stricken as you may be now.
Had you been married earlier in life, her foibles and your foibles would have inevitably led to a breakup. Whereupon she would have taken you for most of what you had accumulated thus far. This would have caused you and probably some woman to connect on the rebound (you’re supposed to wait at least 3 years after a divorce before getting into a serious relationship). The rebound effect would have, of course, set up the billiards shot for the next divorce.
I know a number of guys who once were very successful and on top of their game. Married, kids, house in the suburbs. Well, after the missus finished with them, they lived in some garage apartment, essentially work to pay alimony and child support, and maybe own a couple of nice suits that are beginning to fray around the cuffs. Their lives look bleaker than yours.
So actually I think you should be patting yourself on the back, and breathing great sighs of relief, because where so many of your colleagues in La-La Land are living under the specter of being divested of all their assets, you’re still working hard at getting yourself emotionally put together so that when you do hook up with a suitable woman you may just have the requisite maturity between the two of you to make a nice go of it.
And by the way, if that is really your friend from Australia, and he still has such powerful feelings surrounding something from your teenage years, he has more problems than you do.
I remember you from adult. In fact, I admired
you as a reporter. And you made the erotic
industry exciting with all your exposes, your
historical research and your gossip. In effect,
you became the Walter Winchell of X. Much
has gone on since you left. The entire biz
has been bootlegged by a monolithic cyber-
space entity and everything is now a freebie.
X needed you. Why did you leave to become
an unhappy self loathing Jew? For shame.
When you realized that you couldn’t juggle X
and religiosity, two diametrically opposed
worlds that make you a character unlike any
other in the land of fruits and nuts, you gave
it all up to adopt this phony self righteous
persona. Your readers don’t buy or click on
ads. Your life is an ad. Sell it. Sell yourself.
You are a typical Gemini who lives in your
head, is in love with words but can’t take
action to join the real world. And your self
deprecating rants are either a put on or a
subtle comedy act. You should have your
own reality show or a docudrama. But you
won’t get it since you would make Jews look
bad and have to star as yourself in your
life story—Fear And Loathing In Judaism.
I see you’ve come full circle. You’re now
Woodie Allen in a beard and Orthodox
habit. Wake up. Life is short. Blogs are
not immortal. Love, family and offspring
are. Being a semi someone without any-
one special is no excuse. I retired long
ago. And without a dime to my name I
found a rare good woman. It was like
hitting the love lottery. With nothing to
give other than your heart, mind and
soul—aka the only things that count.
Stop making light entertainment out
of your faults and do something about
them. The literary therapy act is getting
way old. Find a lady who cares about
you in the here and now, not your past
or future. It’s never too late. Trust me.
I been there. And it’s not fame, fortune
or faith that redeems us. IT IS LOVE!
East Porn Valley, CA
Falling Western Rome