The Cupid’s Curse

Not loving anyone is the greatest gift that makes you invincible, because not loving anyone, you are deprived of the most terrible pain.

– Adolf Hitler

Sometimes, I sit back in my chair and close my eyes in a vain attempt to capture a blissful moment,  where I could be happy or satisfied at least. But all of that just ends up in a matter of false expectations. It looks like, as if Fortuna herself is holding all the cards.

Truly said is the quote I’ve given above. For no  feeling other than Love can twist the knife into someone’s heart as deep as She. Oh, be blessed the one, who can withstand such pernicious sufferings that dazzle mind and contort the soul!

I often assumed that Love is a fortunate feeling that only through a great effort brings a true sense of delight. However, as the Roman God of time, Saturn, has shown me, “love” is a very  delusional concept.

This “delusion” comes not from the author himself, but from the childish expectations, which Venus’ henchmen preach at every cafe, garden or town. The little kids naively believe that nowadays the Medieval “purity” is of any value. Well, let me prove them otherwise.

We live in a bustling world of fast-moving neon colors, where every street corner offers you something, whether it be a new high-tech phone, a pack of sweet cigarettes, a bottle of bitter but pleasant alcohol or a gram of governmentally-sacrilegious drug (cocaine). Such “happiness” is a matter of financial gain or emotional loss, for anyone with a sufficient number of digits on their bank account can acquire it, and for anyone with a sufficient brain capacity to solve a puzzle can reject it. One can simply “buy” the satisfactions on which some waste numerous years of tedious waiting, and thus in such an ironic twist of events, no happiness can be rightfully categorised as a matter of true desires, but rather a competitive sports car racing match, where all of the participants are tinting their windows to the extent of creating an artificial effect of the solar eclipse, so that they can hide their hideous faces behind the dimmed light of the truth, and yet the worst of all in this foul situation of such competitive racing is that even the lowest of the sorts will inevitably receive a chocolate medal to choke on and after having snorted cocaine, they will go happily home only to end up in some reeking dumper with their pockets turned out, and who the following day will start whining all day long how disgracefully they’d been mistreated and insulted, so now that deviously sweet cake they had bought themselves a day earlier is all rotten and corrupted both inside and outside.
What a delirium of nonsense.

Why one must crave for love, if that “love” can be bought at some local nightclub club for only $10? – That is the type of question many prefer to rule out yet nonetheless consider it.

I consider it. I actually do.

And why should I feel ashamed of it? For what reason? I see no reason. No reason whatsoever. Alcohol has always been a method of relaxation, though with some accompanying consequences. 

Love isn’t simply making us blind (God pardon my soul for such a disgraceful cliché!), but it poisons our souls with verminous seeds, which we spread onto other people. For our most dearest readers, I will continue narrating and expanding such a hegemonic statement, while also finishing such an ambrosial cup of ground coffee.

Firstly, we meet people. Secondly, we like them. And thirdly as a result of our love we want to assimilate with them. We start sharing the same habits, movements, expressions and etc. The danger arises when we are trying to project them onto other people. It is an ultimate danger, as it tends to eradicate other people’s identities and personalities in the name of one person’s delight. It is a repetitive cycle of self-destruction that sees no end.

I assure you, my dearest reader, that I am in no way depressed or lost right now, and the words that my erring lips have just dared to utter in writing are under no influence of personal sorrow.

It is just happens to be so that I have found myself in the state of a rare yet vivid misfortune by allowing my improvident mind to suffer from the actions of whom I have only myself to blame, and thus the dicta I have engraved within this binomial code are the proof of words of a sarcastic character, yet which nonetheless embrace the truth that I have so evidently presented here, though considering the level of my unusual vulgarity I have included here as well within this binomial code, I have committed a palpable mistake, the presence of which is indisputably immoral on all layers of both ethical and behavioural consideration, which in turn nurtured such an inappropriate linguistic brothel that I am very much successfully running here.

My deepest apologies are directed towards my dearest and wholeheartedly cherished readers, who have bothered to spend several minutes of their precious lives by reading all my ravings inspired by an equally raving beauty.