The Art Of Love

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:wink:

to the happiness of the beloved

A simple, five minute phone call.

Playfulness.

A good, sweaty wrestling match.

Sharing…it…all.

In the longing for closeness.

A two sentences text.

By never disappearing.

By grooming another.

Morality isn’t so easily pidgeon holed, it isn’t a different issue, this lies at the foundation of ethics. Morality is part and parcel to this. No clever, intellectually forced, self defeating nihilist argument around it.

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oeph_eX_pVw[/youtube]

Acts of kindness.

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E92-WOMbvEM[/youtube]

More…love.

m.youtube.com/watch?v=pKnFLXZzulY

My French is rusty. Translation?

Fuck woman, don’t you know how to Google?

Compare this to Sting’s Internalized Understanding of life in “The Book of my Life” with this sing exploring the effort to incorporate sensory experiences in moments with love. Both approach it from mystical none understanding, a schism in a schema, of knowing and unknowing, of memories swirling around a abyss of instinct poorly understood yet cognizant of at the same time, defying of expression beyond skeptic poetic bards. The search for the self is the search if the other. That’s what texts like the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili are about.

Isn’t that self evident?

m.youtube.com/watch?v=hSLqkYxYxD0

Time, Individuality, Necessity. Of self, of presumptions of Another, the cominging of existence and erethral doubt, unconditioned by the poundings throngs of desire and remembrance.

It is sad, for most, the person we love more than anyone is ourselves, first and foremost. Only when the instincts push us to self sacrifice can we learn aspects of love the mind can’t otherwise comprehend. It defies all logic, makes all logic possible, is the most logical, all other thoughts, are but a commentary that misses the essential, the bigger binding picture. A divided man cannot love, but loves the most. A broken heart mends in forgetting, and rediscovering. What is cherished becomes the ways and means, and everything reminds you. Lost is a great remembering. Death is a great awakening.

Wow Steve. If I’d have Googled, would I have gotten all that? Thank-you.

Btw, you’re still on my shit list!

You put a Turd on a Shitlist?

Would you ever not be on a shitlist? Don’t worry, you remain #1, but Fixed Cross’ crossness is moving him into a competitive position. He hates me too.

The art of Love, in my book, is finding a woman who will make me breakfast in the morning making me pancakes with delicious waffles and syrup.

Then when I am in bed, without being prompted, enters the room riding on top of me putting her pelvis on my pelvis and dominating me sexually.

I don’t like it when you get a pillow princess who makes you do all the work. I want a woman who has a sexuality. I don’t want a woman where I have to tell her what to do, but inherently knows what I want and what to do about it.

Through tough love for the self-destructive.