Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Here comes the...rant.

Has there ever been anything as banal as love? It is the ultimate cliché, a Hollywood fallback that 4th rate hack writers revert to over the Valentine’s season to put bums in seats, replete with violins and a teary Kate Hudson. This cynical society, it of the speed date, 3 minute meal and instant gratification, is as overtly weary of love as a bearded man is of airport security at La Guardia. Approaching it with shoes in hand and arms over face for fear of being simultaneously stripped and maced. And yet…

And yet, we crave that cliché, we yen to yearn and prostate ourselves to perpetual pining in the hopes that we shall be plucked by the hand of happiness from the depths of disbelief onto the dizzying dreamweave of Dionysusian deliverance. Love is the saviour, love is the end all to all end, love is, well, love.

I, for one, hate love. I despise the fact that it is so intangible, deplore the pervasiveness of it, abhor the way it populates your every pore and dictates your every existential moment. I am, sadly, in love. When I say that I am in love, I don’t mean that I just fell into it like the proverbial mother goosish character descending suddenly off a hill. I have been sinking, gradually but steadily into it for a number of months. Like quicksand, the more you struggle, the more entombed you are likely to become, and believe me; I thrashed about for all my life was worth.

I will not bore you with the details, save to say that I have truly met my match, in every sense except the obvious (you can see that in the picture) and that I have surrendered, against my cynical will to this, most confusing of emotions.


To those of you unaware, I have asked Karen to marry me, and she has, unwisely agreed.

Your blessings can be addressed to me and your pities to her.

May your bowls be eternally curved.

Malice