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We might as well call our bodies video tapes or CDs. These chemical-organic constructs we ride around in are merely the media. Who we are is the message.
They say that love is merely one’s brain recognizing strong immunity compatibility in another person’s pheromones. The chemicals that follow, the release of serotonin, the release of phenylalanine, the release of endorphins, these are all merely triggers. They let us know, quite beyond our will, that this bilaterally symmetrical healthy organism standing close to us will make for healthy disease-resistant children.
That is what the scientists say to themselves like nervous Catholics fingering rosaries in shaking hands, when the obvious incompatibility between themselves and the object of their affection is beating the shit out of reason in the back alley of their constrained rain-soaked hearts.
It doesn’t change the reaction that people have to the people they love. Love is all there is. The denial of it, the acceptance of it, the hatred of it, the surrender to it. There is nothing else.
When we stand before our loves, all of our defenses disappear like a combover in a windstorm.
If the syllables of their names are the only things they own that we can hold in our mouth, then we are blackened. Go ahead, punch us in heart and watch us turn into poker chips.
Some people walk through a forest of affection. It gets in their way, blinds them, trips them, and obscures their view. Accidental sorcerers casting spells by accident, starting love stories by walking into rooms.
When you was born, you were a fish hook. I go to kite-flying contests and throw up land mines. We always get things wrong.
When men are a hundred per cent open, they're showing their vagina. Some women want more cock.
So now we package up the present, throw it as hard as we can forward, and call it the future.
tags
They say that love is merely one’s brain recognizing strong immunity compatibility in another person’s pheromones. The chemicals that follow, the release of serotonin, the release of phenylalanine, the release of endorphins, these are all merely triggers. They let us know, quite beyond our will, that this bilaterally symmetrical healthy organism standing close to us will make for healthy disease-resistant children.
That is what the scientists say to themselves like nervous Catholics fingering rosaries in shaking hands, when the obvious incompatibility between themselves and the object of their affection is beating the shit out of reason in the back alley of their constrained rain-soaked hearts.
It doesn’t change the reaction that people have to the people they love. Love is all there is. The denial of it, the acceptance of it, the hatred of it, the surrender to it. There is nothing else.
When we stand before our loves, all of our defenses disappear like a combover in a windstorm.
If the syllables of their names are the only things they own that we can hold in our mouth, then we are blackened. Go ahead, punch us in heart and watch us turn into poker chips.
Some people walk through a forest of affection. It gets in their way, blinds them, trips them, and obscures their view. Accidental sorcerers casting spells by accident, starting love stories by walking into rooms.
When you was born, you were a fish hook. I go to kite-flying contests and throw up land mines. We always get things wrong.
When men are a hundred per cent open, they're showing their vagina. Some women want more cock.
So now we package up the present, throw it as hard as we can forward, and call it the future.
tags