It is love and pain that reminds you that you are yet alive. Without either, you are nothing but a whisp of carbon.

So love.

Live.
chris | Email | Homepage | 10.30.03 – 11:03 pm | #

I could imagine growing tired of remembering I was yet alive, in her shoes. From time to time anyway.
Travis | Email | Homepage | 10.31.03 – 12:26 am | #

Even as there is no way I can fully comprehend your rather unique perspective, I would contend here that there is little chance that you, being who you are, could really understand the depth of the honor that you bestow on me with the mere implication that my thoughts on the topic would be worth discussion. I have noticed that you do not suffer fools lightly. That you should address me at all makes me feel somewhat less the fool.

If I may be permitted to prattle a bit further, though, I would say this. As the gourmet feast and fine wine are to simple nourishment, so is romantic Love to the simple form of love that is the natural state of Man. It would certainly lead to various unpleasantries, including a number of life-threatening health issues, if I were to feast in Dionysian splendour over a lifetime, but there are equal dangers to the more spartan diet.

As with the sustinence of the bosy, so is it with the sustinence of the soul. It is unseemly, even self-destructive, that one’s heart should be ever-ripe for the harvest, in constant state of flame after one with pretty face, or the other with sweet words. But to deprive one’s self of that richest of fare, the utter abandonment of senses and self-preservation to one who would do the same, even under the promise of inevitible suffering, is to condemn the soul to oat porridge. Can one such as yourself, having tasted, make that condemnation, even with a soldier’s dicipline, a master’s logic, and an incomparable intellect?

I should hope for more than that for you, who have inspired so many, including my meek and humble self.

E.

As for your proposed “madness”, even were I to concede that one cannot recognize one’s own madness, surely it must be clear that one so lucid, so clearly communicated, as yourself can not be pronounced anything but sound.
Mr. E. | Email | Homepage | 10.31.03 – 6:23 am | #