Love Conquers All If You Need it To

Amor vincit omnia is a moth-eaten saying that has led generation after generation on an endless journey to find that one person who turns their head into a thick cloud of quixotic visions. For those not acquainted with the saying it is Latin for, "Love conquers all." And while I have succumbed to its allure on more times than I am willing to admit, it has struck again. Recently, I was riding a Gravitron of fatuous hopes with a gal who seemed too good to be true, and in the end turned out to be just that. But after severe reflection, alcohol consumption, reading, and staring at walls in search of answers I realized she was merely what I wanted but not what I needed. Love conquers all is a misleading phrase that creates the illusion of love in the idyllic form of a relationship between two people, but we can love all sorts of things.

For instance, I love music, writing, reading, adventure, a good movie, good food, watching the dregs of society get theirs, making a sad person happy, and other examples, which I just can't seem to think of at this point in time. You know when you love something as it will bring a smile to your face and a warm feeling to your stomach. And I love throwing handheld objects at random targets. In my youth such targets were cars, but after becoming a vehicle owner, I realized what a vile and idiotic endeavor I was taking part in. Throwing objects at targets produces the same joy that comes with shooting a gun or throwing a dart and getting what is commonly referred to as a bull's-eye. Part of my reflectionary period included the odd task of gathering whatever fruit I had and heading up the street to the baseball field to do just that.

At the top parking lot sits an aqua blue water tower, which is surrounded by barbed wire fencing. For as long as I have lived in this town I have wanted to climb the tower, sit on top, and stare out across the lake-Hopatcong's claim to fame aside from scummy people and a police force who hates kids and would like nothing more than to put an entire generation on probation. But with gin in my system and rotten thoughts dancing awkwardly across my mind, I figured it was time to man up and do something I had wanted to do for the past nine years. Throwing the fruit over the fence, I began climbing the heavily fortified barricade. Barbed wire is easy to cut if you have the right tool, but all I had was a small pocket knife-similar to the kind MacGyver would have-and the tiny scissor failed at breaking through the menacing barrier.

I had no choice but to climb cautiously, flinging myself clear of the razor sharp barbs that would surely leave me with a wretched wound that would certainly diminish the pleasure of achieving a nine year old dream. Thankfully, my motor skills were not too severely hindered as I cleared the barbs, landing painfully on one of the apples I had taken with me. The apple was disfigured, but would still serve as a solid projectile. I gathered the scattered fruit, made a sack with the bottom of my shirt, and began my ascent up the water tower ladder. The view from the top was more than I could've hoped for. Here I was, sitting alone on a cool summer night, in a spot that enabled me to see the entire town from whatever angle I chose to view it from. But it was the lake that I focused my attention on. The occasional boat, with a blinking blue bow, would skim by and then disappear into one of the many coves.

Along with the fruit, I had carried my iPod with me for the walk that was meant to clear my head, gain some understanding as to why the antiquated Latin saying keeps sending me down Dead End roads, and simply enjoy the pleasant summer night. With my headphones securely in place, I made a short On-The-Go playlist of two CDs that I had recently acquired: The Dear Hunter - Act II: The Meaning Of, & All Things Regarding Ms. Leading and The Snake the Cross the Crown - Cotton Teeth. Both proved to be well-written albums that I enjoyed immensely during my time on top of the town; and if you enjoy relaxing modern/alternative rock music it would be in your best interest to pick up both CDs.

Nevertheless, I had fruit to throw, and with only houses as my long range targets, I opted for the road below and the many street signs that lined it. The apple that I had taken a chunk out of, as a result of falling on it, would serve as my warm up toss. I narrowly missed a Slow Children sign, but the first time is often never a charm. In fact, a charm-according to Dictionary.com-is a power of pleasing or attracting, as through personality or beauty. While fruit splattering against a metal sign is a beautiful sight, I wouldn't consider it a charm. Instead I would consider it highly entertaining. But after a few more throws with lemons, cherry tomatoes (which are quite difficult to throw), and oranges I was finding myself deadly accurate, as anything I aimed for would find itself on the receiving end of fresh produce.

This was definitely a charming experience, but like all good things it would come to an end. With my iPod on full blast, and my mind focused on coating street signs in the juice of fruits, I completely blocked out any automobiles traveling down the road. With bad luck on my side, a cop car was coasting down the street at low speed as I was in the process of winding up. My eyes were fixated on the Slow Children sign, which escaped the wrath of my crippled apple before. The lemon exited my hand at speed, flying past the sign, smacking loudly into the windshield of the cop car. I knew I was fucked. There was nowhere to run and the police officer would not rest until the bastard responsible for pelting his car with fruit was in custody.

My best bet was to lay flat on the top of the water tower. Climbing down and trying to scale the barbed wire fence would be a noisy mess of frantic motions sure to get me arrested. Not only that, but the flustered escape would be guaranteed to leave me with the very wound I did not want to receive. So I sat and waited. The cop had slammed on the brakes immediately after impact. I could hear him moving around below, angrily muttering, "Come out now, you son of bitch! I know you're there! You're mine! You have some balls, kid!" I didn't even mean to hit the irate assclown. Hell. I didn't even know he was coming up the road. I was too busy being stuck in my own head.

Surprisingly, the officer hung around for quite some time, probably thinking the perp was hiding in a bush, quietly giggling to themselves as he watched the cop parade around like a dog that got its head stuck in a trash bin. Instead, the perp-me-was lying on a water tower, hoping he would leave so I could get the hell out off that tower and back to my house. The cop was determined as he drove his car down the street, eventually creeping back on foot hoping to catch the evil fruit thrower fleeing the scene. But I was not going anywhere until I was sure he had given up. This would not come until twenty minutes later, when a call for assistance in regards to a traffic stop (probably drug-related) came over the radio. Whoever got arrested that night is owed a friendly, "thank you," from me as it allowed me to get off that tower and back home.

In the end I learned another valuable lesson. There are things we want and things we need. I wanted to climb that tower and throw fruit at assorted targets, but I did not need to do it. And I wanted to make a mate out of that girl, but I did not need to succeed in doing so. Both were distractions, and kept me away from the one thing I need to do, which is write and make money from doing so. I need to write so I can get better at it because choosing to pursue a career in this field is like trying to climb Mt. Everest using climbing gear from the 1920s. Two men plan to attempt such a feat, but it will be extremely difficult and they could very well die in the process. I plan to make a living writing, and in the end I might die a horrible failure just like those two hubris-stricken men. But failure is probably the best teacher of all, and I have learned a lot from it. So long as I love something enough to fail horribly at it, love will conquer all-and I love writing nonsense in the wee hours of the morning. Oh yes, my friend. It is a charming feeling indeed.

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