I can’t really get behind Valentine’s Day. I’m not much for celebrating much of anything in the way of holidays. Sure, I like to make a fuss over people, on occasion. The fact that there is a day that is designated for such a thing is ridiculous. Actually, it’s gross. I say tell someone you love them every day. Buy someone something (or not) on Saturday for no reason whatsoever. Furthermore, to hell with Hallmark and the disgusting, chalky candy hearts.
I would also like to take a moment to publicly congratulate Dooce and Blurbomat, two of my favorite online people, on their engagement.
2 thoughts on “I Love”
Here we go: Those on the West coast probably did not feel it, but when I rose from my glory in unconscious thought this morning the Earth beneath my feet burned, the voice of my departed lust snapped the small bones in my ears, and my mind was flooded with dopamine…Valentines Day. This day, as a writer, a son, a lover, is plain inhuman. For those under 13 years and frequently having their genitals fiddled with by others, this day is for you…suck it dry with dyed flowers and bad excuses. I’m not bitter. I’m simply looking out for the people who don’t have the pleasure of being exclusively loved outside their family, if they are lucky. I watched a number of faces today lag and sigh, even the ones that tried not to give a fuck. These people don’t deserve this. Me, I’ve never had a girlfriend worth mentioning in a sentence without the word “blow-job.” Has it fucked me royally, yes. Does it make for amazing literary adventures into self-denial, pity, obsession, and the occaisonal voyeuristic binge, yes, yes, and yes. For all those men walking down my campus streets today buying flowers from the mini-vans and the vendors, you are…(who needs a word, it should be self-evident) The expression of love for any living and conscious being is a part of being human, just like jealously, deceit, and a general sense of repression by the MAN. If you all out there need a special day for your supposed hearts, to inflate, to fuck, to whatever, I need a bonghit and some Sunny Delight…I equate those needs linearly. Mr. Barrish was being nice…let me tell you. And to be completely intertextual with this entry I’m bringing Leonard Cohen back into the deal. I can bet my manhood that Mr. Cohen is far from this day, probably well fortified in his now peaceful Zen. This man has been to the edge of women and back. He’s in no need of a declaration with limpid carnations and a tepid box of refined sugar and slave-labor chocolate.
Valentines day is good for your mother and the women in your family, if you are lucky enough to have them still around. St. Valentine, yes, he was a saint, and St. Nicolas must be laughing their canonized heads off in Heaven. What fools we are to worship them and pay so little attention to our prophets…Christ, Muhammad, etc. I’m sure that there are millions of rants flying around the Web today. I support those rants. And for the kiddies and the tiny paper nonsense that either makes you feel like the school lunch or Harry Potter, wait a couple years..it’ll burn even more. As I said, I’m not bitter. I am loved, I have loved, and I will keep doing it because it feels good. I don’t usually end my rant with a quotation, but this event deserves better than my own words in conclusion.
“True, we love life, not because we are used to living, but because we are used to loving. There is always some madness in love, but there is also always some reason in madness.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche
“I read homosexual writers today. Kept them close. Fear not the reckless steps into St. Valentine. We will shield you from repression. We will bed you with the city. Stay below the gothic beam, “stay with me under these waves tonight.” I am not jovial.”
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