Joe Chip, you are such a child, you hide your feelings by joking about them, you cannot even write the word “LOVE” – there, was that so hard?  Now, I want you to really chow down, there, get stuck into it, a great big plate of love.  There is going to be a lot of work in this taste test, Joe.  You have to work your way through a kilometre (1) of chocolate before you even get to the cardboard of pulped cards.  There are so many layers to this planet.  I know no human should have to eat roses, but Joe, it is for science, you cannot let a few mouthfuls of thorns get in your way.  Stuffed animals and inedible poem after inedible poem.  I know Joe, I feel your pain.  Here is a hard bit – you are going to fall a great distance through a void.  Your guts are going to flip, they will flop, your hormones will go astray, yes, even though you are a boy.  It won’t seem empty for a while, there are giga-years of trite and awful songs to accompany you, the god-awful soundtrack to your descent (2).

Are you in the darkness Joe?  Do you feel the pressure of the vacuum?  How rarefied the air, here in the middle.  How lonely you are!  But I want you to persist.  You are too far for the lights of distant galaxies to penetrate.  You are going to have to do this by touch.  You will need to trust that you still have senses, and that there is something to detect.

Feel them?  The rocks?  The weathered crusts, the wrinkles?  There is no air blowing down here, Joe.  If anything is smooth, it is because it is worn by years.  Don’t bite Joe, it will break your teeth.  There are no soft centres here.  There are no soft exteriors.  Not down in the pit of love.  This love is ugly, Joe.  This love is ancient couples, sculpted by years.  This love sits quietly next to a shell that memory has deserted.  This love feeds a child that can never love back.  This love is dribbling, Joe.  This love has forgotten its dreams and turns up to work each day.  Its nails are broken, its fingers blue.  None of this love is what it was, Joe.  None of it is what it thought it would be.  It is spastic, it is crippled, it is overweight, it is anaemic, it is windblown and time torn, years shrunk and care worn.  This love endured, Joe.  It is ugly.  It is beautiful.

Yes Joe, I know it is hard to taste with that crass red rayon teddy caught between your teeth (3).  I wish you could have skipped that level, or taken a more expensive route at least (4).   The things you do for science (5).

 

(1)  Science is metric.

(2) ha ha, he is falling in love.

(3) cheap lingerie, the scabby gifts men buy for themselves but pretend even to themselves that it is for someone else.  French maids outfit, anyone?  Sexy nurse, perhaps?

(4) such is the level of our funding.

(5) Happy Valentine’s Day, scientists.  Your mate loves youse all!

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Comments
  1. I think you’ll find it’s spelt “wuv” – and thanks for visiting my page. Kisses and teddies and cheap pants. 😉

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