I may be wrong in my central thesis. I have had another one of those days where I feel like that Beetlejuice fellow, my head spinning on its acts as though something important is going one, but no nothing really important just a dozen things the details of which overlap, wag into each other, and then disperse, leaving just a touch of sewer gas. (Is the toilet leaking? How? When? Who to fix it? Is it really leaking? What is that brown stuff?)
The day didn't center around any one thing, but one thing it centered around was a gig -- "we'll just play 6-8, maybe 8:30. In Brenham. near Brenham." I like Brenham. The gig was further east, in Chappell Hill TX, a Really Charming small town. The fancy nice people threw a party in a cold barn using only small candles as space heaters in 40 degree F weather. Not f'in. Just F. Finally over.
And on the way home, after loading in EARLY, and playing 7:30 - 10 (how did that happen, my head was turned, well spinning). I drove the Civic home, having forgotten nothing, not even my Stetson. Podner. The whole show was computer driven. I had to wear head-phones (really hard with a spinning head) and play air fiddle, air piano, and air cello. Million Vanillion. I nearly left the highway a dozen times, my body experimenting with napping while travelling west at 73 mph, a particularly soporific speed.
Someone who says I Don't love you has loved
or has been thought to love you, though he/she loved you, thinks he/she really does/might.
saw at the very least that you were highly lovable (would, in odor words find a replacement for him/her in the time it takes my head to make half a rotation)
My personal use of the phrase ( if I ever used it) would be the result of years of pain in love.
There may be a very few people on Earth with us who just say what they mean (Hey, pass me the 3/8 inch socket) all the time. And of course there are troubled or sick people who don't know how to say what they mean EVER. They don't know what they mean. They may be thought to mean nothing. Sociopaths, and the otherwise mentally ill. Drug addicts. Some people I love may fall in or near the tree of this category, the mean nothing category. Doctors, for instance.
I'm talking here about utterances as performative in an odd way. The utterance which is uttered in order to elicit a response and then (important) study it! How does that idea look out in the world? Hmmm. Wow. Weird. Uh oh.
Because "I Don't Love You" elicits some bad stuff. It hurts. Even I can't turn it into a fun thing to hear like for an instance -- that turquoise color looks AWESOME on you, MADE for you.
Not really turquoise. A strange blue. You should have a shirt made out of that!
So, the performative as exploratory. "I Don't love you" would denote "I do love you, I am confused about it, I feel negative stuff too, and sometimes I just don't seem to FEEL it, and it's hard to love you (you are an animal! in a bad way). Or, maybe you're NOT an animal in a good way. But kids, it ALWAYS means I do or have and expect again to love you. It's a dance move that twists your arm hard behind your back. And hurts.
It's a song. You always hate the one you love. Oh wait (then check the Spike Jones famous rendition....
You always hurt the one you love,
The one you shouldn't hurt at all.
You always take the sweetest rose,
And crush it till the petals fall.
You always break the kindest heart,
With a hasty word you can't recall.
So, if I broke your heart last night,
It's because I love you most of all.
Unfortunately one good turn (of the head) deserves another.
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