Resurrection

Chapter 5 : High Fidelity and the Infinite Sadness

The English poet John Donne not only coined the phrase "For whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee" (A Para-phrase Metallica fans have been honouring ever since) but also "No man is an Island": A mantra that most of society tries to embrace as part of our biological need to belong. City-life and travelling have always made this appear like an optical illusion, as we can't help but envision a regular person floating in a sea of strangers: They bob up for air occasionally, though the undercurrent of anonymity and cynicism continues to drag them under, into a strangely comforting world of isolation and surface anxiety.

I often felt this lack of a gravitational pull in my cultural quest throughout Europe and parts of Australia. Even on tours with fellow Australians, I had given up my nostalgic attachment to the Australian accent and deliberately separated myself from the rest of the pack, just to get deliberately lost in cities like Berlin. Clad in Vertical Edge cold weather gear, the inevitable aroma of tourist hung thick over my persona. Sounds of Vangelis' Love theme from Blade Runner would broadcast my loving embrace with loneliness. Each step I took would be a pandering gaze at this wondrously tragic place. Carbonised bullet holes in the Reichstag could only undermine the bold dedication of Dem Deutschen Volke (To the German People). This was all in spite of the renovations. A well preserved Brandenburg gate was overshadowed by the Hotel Adlon, a place notorious for the Michael Jackson media stunt of hanging Blanket over the balcony with hundreds of jaw-gaping journalistic onlookers quietly judging.

In spite of this preconception with being a fringe dweller, I've kept a few friends and some direct family attached as my lifeline in times of need, though I still remain a semi-detached dwelling of loneliness. This is especially true of my relationships with women.

You would think that after several interludes with the opposite sex and a few mid-term relationships, I would have become more enlightened with the constitution of women; however, they still continue to remain an anomaly cloaked in a thick shroud of mystery.

It's hard to point out exactly where this originates, though a curious attachment to films where the Damsel in distress needed to be constantly rescued was probably a good start. Culture seemed to have evolved into a need for the reimagining of the ideal guy.

Once we may have projected a Cary Grant-like charm and a need for action that justified our strong silence; we soon evolved into the sensitive new aged guy. This image also went the way of the dodo as women evolved to embrace their sexuality to the point of needing no justification. Of course, I was speaking in gargantuan generalisations which reflected certain types of men and women. However, if that's the only experience you have had, it's difficult not to become jaded, confused and frustrated.

Another failed romance and the immortal words...." But you're such a nice guy" made me emit the sigh that was reminiscent of Jeff Buckley's rendition of Hallelujah. That final note encapsulated the last breath of a dying soul. I made that sigh and the shoulders slumped, allowing an inner voice to cry out:

Why do you keep doing this? Just give up already.

So when it was time to ready myself for a date with Amy, the phrase: 'a little anxious' was possibly an understatement. I ventured back into the bathroom of borderline mediocrity and gave myself the usual inspection before throwing on a hint of Aqua De Gio: Not enough to die by asphyxiation or to replace a dose of chloroform but certainly enough to get attention. Clad in Jeans, a black V-neck and a suede jacket, it was the best I could conjure up for my night of pre-determined anxiety and romantic interview questions.

I decided to meet Amy by the Riverside, a bustling part of the Oracle that was host to a variety of wine bars, cafe's, tapas bars and the odd Nando's just to remind us that it was still a commercial site. In the midst of the crowd of Hipsters, IT programmers, sales reps and retail zombies was Amy, hopefully waiting patiently.