is there any philosophical literature on this topic that any of you can think of? i’ll take random quotes, etc. or perhaps your own thoughts on the subject.

i’ve just begun thinking of this as my girlfriend has left for three weeks… and since she’ll be off on an island in maine taking an art class, i can’t contact her (except by snail mail). i was bummed because we didn’t get to hang out as much as i would have liked to prior to her leaving. i’m totally pining over this. this is a call to arms, friends …help me get out of this rut!

If you miss having a girl by your side, then get a cat. I’m a fighter not a lover, can’t help you too much. hohoho

I assume that is the problem, perhaps hang out with some guy friends more, ask others for ideas to keep yourself busy perhaps. Mario brothers heals all wounds. (super smash brothers too)

I always raid poetry and lyrics when I’m in one of those ruts.

Emily Dickinson


I gave myself to him,
And took himself for pay.
The solemn contract of a life
Was ratified this way

The value might disappoint,
Myself a poorer prove
Than this my purchaser suspect,
The daily own of Love

Depreciates the sight;
But, 'til the merchant buy,
Still fabled, in the isles of spice
The subtle cargoes lie.

At least, 'tis mutual risk,—
Some found it mutual gain;
Sweet debt of Life,—each night to owe,
Insolvent, every noon.

James Whitcomb Riley

The Lost Thrill

I grow so weary, someway, of all things
That love and loving have vouchsafed to me,
Since now all dreamed-of sweets of ecstasy
Am I possessed of: The caress that clings—
The lips that mix with mine with murmurings
No language may interpret, and the free,
Unfettered brood of kisses, hungrily
Feasting in swarms on honeyed blossomings
Of passion’s fullest flower—For yet I miss
The essence that alone makes love divine—
The subtle flavoring no tang of this
Weak wine of melody may here define:—
A something found and lost in the first kiss
A lover ever poured through lips of mine.

Francis William Bourdillon

The Night Has a Thousand Eyes

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

Gregory Corso


Should I get married? Should I be good?
Astound the girl next door with my velvet suit and faustus hood?
Don’t take her to movies but to cemeteries
tell all about werewolf bathtubs and forked clarinets
then desire her and kiss her and all the preliminaries
and she going just so far and I understanding why
not getting angry saying You must feel! It’s beautiful to feel!
Instead take her in my arms lean against an old crooked tombstone
and woo her the entire night the constellations in the sky-

When she introduces me to her parents
back straightened, hair finally combed, strangled by a tie,
should I sit with my knees together on their 3rd degree sofa
and not ask Where’s the bathroom?
How else to feel other than I am,
often thinking Flash Gordon soap-
O how terrible it must be for a young man
seated before a family and the family thinking
We never saw him before! He wants our Mary Lou!
After tea and homemade cookies they ask What do you do for a living?

Should I tell them? Would they like me then?
Say All right get married, we’re losing a daughter
but we’re gaining a son-
And should I then ask Where’s the bathroom?
O God, and the wedding! All her family and her friends
and only a handful of mine all scroungy and bearded
just wait to get at the drinks and food-
And the priest! he looking at me as if I masturbated
asking me Do you take this woman for your lawful wedded wife?
And I trembling what to say say Pie Glue!
I kiss the bride all those corny men slapping me on the back
She’s all yours, boy! Ha-ha-ha!
And in their eyes you could see some obscene honeymoon going on-
Then all that absurd rice and clanky cans and shoes
Niagara Falls! Hordes of us! Husbands! Wives! Flowers! Chocolates!
All streaming into cozy hotels
All going to do the same thing tonight

The indifferent clerk he knowing what was going to happen
The lobby zombies they knowing what
The whistling elevator man he knowing
The winking bellboy knowing
Everybody knowing! I’d almost be inclined not to do anything!
Stay up all night! Stare that hotel clerk in the eye!
Screaming: I deny honeymoon! I deny honeymoon!
running rampant into those almost climactic suites
yelling Radio belly! Cat shovel!
O I’d live in Niagara forever! in a dark cave beneath the Falls
I’d sit there the Mad Honeymooner
devising ways to break marriages, a scourge of bigamy
a saint of divorce-

But I should get married I should be good
How nice it’d be to come home to her
and sit by the fireplace and she in the kitchen
aproned young and lovely wanting my baby
and so happy about me she burns the roast beef
and comes crying to me and I get up from my big papa chair
saying Christmas teeth! Radiant brains! Apple deaf!
God what a husband I’d make! Yes, I should get married!
So much to do! Like sneaking into Mr Jones’ house late at night
and cover his golf clubs with 1920 Norwegian books
Like hanging a picture of Rimbaud on the lawnmower
like pasting Tannu Tuva postage stamps all over the picket fence
like when Mrs Kindhead comes to collect for the Community Chest
grab her and tell her There are unfavorable omens in the sky!
And when the mayor comes to get my vote tell him
When are you going to stop people killing whales!
And when the milkman comes leave him a note in the bottle
Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust-

Yes if I should get married and it’s Connecticut and snow
and she gives birth to a child and I am sleepless, worn,
up for nights, head bowed against a quiet window, the past behind me,
finding myself in the most common of situations a trembling man
knowledged with responsibility not twig-smear nor Roman coin soup-
O what would that be like!
Surely I’d give it for a nipple a rubber Tacitus
For a rattle a bag of broken Bach records
Tack Della Francesca all over its crib
Sew the Greek alphabet on its bib
And build for its playpen a roofless Parthenon

No, I doubt I’d be that kind of father
Not rural not snow no quiet window
but hot smelly tight New York City
seven flights up, roaches and rats in the walls
a fat Reichian wife screeching over potatoes Get a job!
And five nose running brats in love with Batman
And the neighbors all toothless and dry haired
like those hag masses of the 18th century
all wanting to come in and watch TV

The landlord wants his rent
Grocery store Blue Cross Gas & Electric Knights of Columbus
impossible to lie back and dream Telephone snow, ghost parking-
No! I should not get married! I should never get married!
But-imagine if I were married to a beautiful sophisticated woman
tall and pale wearing an elegant black dress and long black gloves
holding a cigarette holder in one hand and a highball in the other
and we lived high up in a penthouse with a huge window
from which we could see all of New York and even farther on clearer days
No, can’t imagine myself married to that pleasant prison dream-
O but what about love? I forget love
not that I am incapable of love
It’s just that I see love as odd as wearing shoes-
I never wanted to marry a girl who was like my mother
And Ingrid Bergman was always impossible
And there’s maybe a girl now but she’s already married
And I don’t like men and-
But there’s got to be somebody!
Because what if I’m 60 years old and not married,
all alone in a furnished room with pee stains on my underwear
and everybody else is married! All the universe married but me!

Ah, yet well I know that were a woman possible as I am possible
then marriage would be possible-
Like SHE in her lonely alien gaud waiting her Egyptian lover
so i wait-bereft of 2,000 years and the bath of life.

John Keats

When I Have Fears

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charact’ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen’d grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face,
Huge cloudy symbols of high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love! – then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.

Pink Floyd

Coming Back to Life / Division Bell

Where were you when I was burned and broken
While the days slipped by from my window watching
Where were you when I was hurt and I was helpless
Because the things you say and the things you do surround me
While you were hanging yourself on someone else’s words
Dying to believe in what you heard
I was staring straight into the shining sun

Lost in thought and lost in time
While the seeds of life and the seeds of change were planted
Outside the rain fell dark and slow
While I pondered on this dangerous but irresistible pastime

I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life

I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the waiting had begun
And headed straight…into the shining sun

White Stripes

Youve Got Her In Your Pocket

Youve got her in your pocket
and theres no way out now
put it in the safe and lock it
cause its home sweet home
Nobody ever told you that it was the wrong way
to trick a woman, make her feel she did it her way
and youll be there if she ever feels blue
and youll be there when she finds someone new
what to do
well you know
You keep her in your pocket
where theres no way out now
put it in the safe and lock it
cause its home sweet home
The smile on your face made her think
she had the right one
then she thought she was sure
by the way you two could have fun
but now youre scared
you think shes running away
you search in your hand for something clever to say
dont go away
cause I want
To keep you in my pocket
where theres no way out now
put it in the safe and lock it
cause its home sweet home
And in your own mind
you know youre lucky just to know her
and in the beginning all you wanted
was to show her
but now she might leave
like shes threatened before
grab hold of her fast
before her feet leave the floor
and shes out the door
cause you want
To keep her in your pocket

lovesick ain’t a category for philosophy my friend. Alcohol, the Doors, and lots and lots of Muddy Waters songs are lovesick literature

There is a potency to your suffering Dark Magus. You should find a creative outlet for it, and just go to work. Find out how much you love this girl. If that sounds presumptive I apologise in advance.

You could also go the route of the romantic, and visit her. Maine cant be more than a 10 hour drive from New Hampshire (or can it)

Wanna bet Hermes, wanna bet? Lovesickness is at the heart of all foundation of philosophy.

Hey! She,

It was so nice to read all those poems. You just made my day :smiley:


glad to hear that. in a way, i was hoping that H3M was wrong, because i’d already busted out my old t-bone walker records and have been smoking and drinking away the pain. it wasn’t working at first, but now i think i’m feeling better as time goes on. still, i could use some good reading that deals with this subject in its various forms…if it exists!

DM, “this sickness is not a sickness unto death…” – S. Kierk.

Kerouac lots of Kerouac. Also Blood on the Tracks is a good album for lovesickness.

To properly diagnose, are you missing this girl? You’re still together, but she’s several states away? I guess you could read Cioran and compare yourself to him. You’ll come away happy that you aren’t that guy!

yeah, this is a case of missing her but with the added component of …being in the “new” stages of the whole thing (hanging out only since mid april) and having to take this kind of blow. it throws off the progression/flow/etc… making me a bit shaky and unsure. deep down i know it will be good though. just a bit of a freak-out. what book is this that i should read, H3M?

I recommend C.S. Lewis’ Book: “The Four Loves”

The Four Loves he describes are:
Eros (Erotic Love)
and Charity (or Love for God)

“In words which can still bring tears to the eyes, St. Augustine describes the desolation into which the death of his friend Nebridius plunged him (Confessions IV, I0). Then he draws a moral. This is what comes, he says, of giving one’s heart to anything but God. All human beings pass away. Do not let your happiness depend on something you may lose. If love is to be a blessing, not a misery, it must be for the only Beloved who will never pass away.”

“There is no escapealong the lines St. Augustine suggests. Nor along any other lines. There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket–safe, dark, motionless, airless–it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.”

excerpts from “The Four Loves” - C.S. Lewis (Chapter to Charity)

Quoting the back cover of this edition: “Lewis also considers the questions of sex, possessiveness, jealousy, pride, false sentimentality, good and bad manners in loving, and the need for more laughter between lovers.”

I know Lewis is a writer, and a Christian as well, but I still believe that he makes excellent points throughout his book. Hope this helps.

No, I was kidding. DON’T read Cioran. you’ll throw yourself into a river. I never have found philosophy much good for relieving the pain of matters of the heart. Literature always does it for me, the reminder that I’m not the only person that’s travelled down this road before really helps. As does reading about alternative models of life. Honestly Dark, If I were you, I’d be playing drums.

i think its true, literature is best at curing this ailment. along with beer, pot, video games, and listening to/playing music. you just need something to pass the time.

though i did learn, from saint augustine, that my emotional state shouldn’t depend on things that are potentially lost. i don’t agree that god is the answer here, but i do agree that there should be a level of happiness or contentment that isn’t dependent on any external source.

Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs: “food, water, and shelter …safety and security, then belonging or love, self-esteem, and finally, personal fulfillment”

Burton’s “emergent collection of human development essentials” – “safety/security, belongingness/love, self-esteem, personal fulfillment, identity, cultural security, freedom, distributive justice, participation”

Not one of those needs can be met without help from external sources. … maslow.htm

Without pain, there would be no pleasure. That’s one positive way to look at it, in a horribly cheesy, makes-ya-wanna-puke sort of way.

You could try Stendhals book “On Love” or “The Natural Philosophy of Love” by Remy de Gourmont

i think wut ur looking for is something like goethe’s ‘‘the sorrows of young werther’’, ever read it?

ehm, ‘he’ who bears the unbearable?