Evil thoughts on "love" (cringe)...

Some say that love is even more precious than the air we breathe, than the force of gravity, than the wind that pulls the leaves from the trees in the fall, than the illusions that we foster.  More precious than a gold and platinum crown, chased with oak leaves and fern tracings, with multifaceted diamonds, blood red rubies, and glowing green emeralds. 
Some say love is even more precious than a safe filled with stock certificates, platinum bars, bags of rare coins and uncut gems, old master portraits, and deeds to vast parcels of land. 

Some say love is definitely more exquisite than a Chateau Fontanac 1908, deep, fruity, a mysterious, somewhat presumptuous, but with guarded humor, its sarcasm muted by years of quiet maturation.  It laughs at itself and is yet not self depreciative.  Simply, a confident wine tempered with a touch of vulnerability.

Some say love is a nurse in a starched white uniform, holding a bag of plasma over your head, kissing you on the mouth, her free hand sliding beneath the covers and running along your inner thigh, exciting the hairs on your inner leg.

But I say, love is like being run over by a street car in 1928, losing your leg, becoming Edward Teller, inventing the atom bomb, and pretending not to be angry.

Love is a happy clown that commits hari kari with a letter opener, fresh from a "Dear Clown" letter just received from a harlequin wearing a black and white checkered tutu holding an opera mask with a stalk in her bejeweled left hand.  "My darling clown, stay away from my trailer, do not come to the stage door, and do not send me a letter, a flower, any article of clothing or baked goods.  If you do, I will slap you and hit you with my purses and if you dare touch me, or speak to me, or write me a note, I will have you gagged with rare earth."

When two person joins, it creates a natural chain reaction that leads to fission, releasing energy culminating in a vast explosion, the result of which is total a devastation, wiping away of all cities, crumbling away of continents, the destruction of mountain ranges, the melting of glaciers, the boiling away of oceans, the cracking of the planet, the collapse of the solar system, the galaxy folded in upon itself… the universe… gone.  Just because two people got involved.

Love is standing in a hallway with a belt tied around your upper arm and clapped between your teeth, pulling the blood in and out of a syringe not caring for anything else, except that you need it… you just got to have it.

Love is washing dishes in the tropical fish tank in the Sheraton hotel in the lobby in Osaka, Japan… and you look own to see a miniature diver with a helmet with bubbles coming out of it encrusted with algae and barnacles working at the bottom of the tank, repairing the telephone lines.

So, why love?  Why walk that road? Climb that flight of steps? Stand in that wind? 

I have 2 loves, westie and siaobiao and if I need another one, I will get a hamster. Hamsters are nice. They're very affectionate.  All you need is some shredded paper, a water bottle, some pellets and a cage… and they're fine. They stand up on their hind legs and hold a nut in their paws… and, they're very cute. You can watch television with a hamster in your lap. Who needs love?  All the trouble, the heartache, the expense, the posturing, the catering, the shame of it all. 
 
The calamity that always occurs from the concussion of man and woman.