Meditation upon love
MOTTO: I love the love you bring
It takes more than ten years of our petty infant life to realize that we were born alone. From this moment on, the search is vivid. We dodge dicks and pussies, we dodge hookers and freebies, we dodge the dreams and desires of others, we dodge the snow and the rain, the storm of emotions for that one thing that makes us human. Our desire to be left alone with that one person that makes a difference in our loneliness. The person in whose soul “I love you”s never dig up the void, but rather make it of a creamy consistent flavour, so that you can eat the void with a soup spoon. That someone that ripples our sinapses and makes silence confortable.
We see people come and go, all fearing the same loneliness, desperately trying to swallow a moment of eachother’s time, to swallow an act, not a feeling, to swallow facts and not ideas, hoping that the flow of everyday events will eventually lead to their dissolvation into a higher sense of beloning. We see the same people hating eachother when they should only hate their expectations, their tendency to beautify and objectify a thing that’s never been more than a sacred concept: love. So next time you hold a hand in its grace, and next time you glance over a curly and ethereal sleeping body, fearing the flicker of time, just give love some thought. It’s easier to keep feelings categorised on a shelf, drowned in clichees and safe spots, advertised by glowing neon sighs and endless hallucinations. And it’s much easier to accept the cross of loneliness in a world of crowded madmen and arbitrary encounters, when the search for the truth and the perfect blend of feathers and doom is never nothing else but an endless rickety labyrinth into your own, demonic, self.