No really, I’m not a robot

Automation: There forms a natural hierarchy of all possible mates designated by personal and physical qualities and oddities, a flip of the hair, the un-conscience drop of ‘dude’ and ‘like’ and it becomes not who could you love the most or who the most could love you, but it becomes what is the best possible that you can get, It is the way it is. All physical actions devoted to the appearance of the body are either to attract a mate, keep a mate, or arrange for security financial and otherwise for you, your mate, or your offspring. You do not dress in a particular way to express yourself, which feels good, it feels good for the same reason that sex feels good, nature has designed it to feel good so that you will do so regardless of your disposition on such matters so that you will form a pair bond, homo or heterosexual, which through eons of evolution has been found to be almost essential to the survival of the species. KEEPING ALL THIS IN MIND…

I love you,

You make me feel good,

I, am aware of my actions,

Needless to say, I can’t leave my behavior,

Map of my mind, leave me some movement,

Automation, you make me feel good,

I am just watching my mind make it’s moves.

Love is a goddamn problem. Love is a hatch blown in the sub. Love is a sacrament of holy stupidity. Love is a cheese itch in my armpit. Love is a pallid plain full of limpid fucks whaling about sports cars and perfume. Love is the tax of death. Love is an excuse for pink, love is the lackey advertisement of Sugar, love is the ultimate yes man for fucking, Love is the Johnny on the spot for lack of Thought, love or lack there of is The Only Reason that actually exists, love of life love of power love money love of self love of security love of laughter love of sex love of what the fuck ever it gets back down to you sure as hell love something or you’re on Prozac cause that is the Only Reason for getting out of the bed in the morning. The afternoon, the sky. But mostly what we love and the beasts that are in us are revealed by this mostly what we love and our cerebellum gray matter’s kissing connection to our real mammalian selves presents it’s musky snout in this Mostly what we love, is the. Absence. Of . Pain. More on that in a minute.

Now on to some romantic imagery.

Let’s dispense with clouds and dew and the playfulness of light and rainbows and flower petals drifting onto soft snow in the setting sun of a pollution colored sky. Let’s pass up on the softness of breasts, the complexity and depth of complexions, the burbling laughs and playful and sensitive touches. Let’s just skip over the intertwining sensual touches of two hearts finding iridescent glory in an indescribable intermixture of intimacy and universally recognizable sexual glows. Let’s not even consider the harrowing and oft counted moments of partition, the tender living meat of quivering last kisses, or the utter specialness in its complete forget ability of those last milliseconds of fingertips caressing before a long goodbye.

Let us instead consider Diamonds!

Let us consider Roses!

Let us consider Chocolates!

Let us consider Hallmark Cards!

Read this as worthless shiny stones overpriced by global monopolies and served up by penniless suffering third world desperates.

Read this as genetically modified and farmed and artificially colored pesticide coated plants that have more to do with the color of a horny cunt than real emotion.

Read this as another excuse to consume sugar and fat and continue the exuberant gluttony of a society in majority obese.

Read this as a prefabricated expression of the most personal and individual things you will ever have a chance to say to somebody. More on that later.

I love you. You are the ripples which break apart my eyes into myriad shattered reflections of nothing but shape, color, and line. You are the softening breath on each cheek bringing the suppleness that doesn’t decay. You are the subtle movement and dance of my abdomen releasing a sigh of relief at the end of the interminable conversation of nothingness. You are the feather that makes me want to fucking Puke.

Today. Love is a sales pitch, an Excuse to fuck, or a pain Trap.

St. Valentine didn’t even fucking exist. Happy day.

No, no wait I’m sorry, you’re so beautiful, so sensual No, No, beauty in a human is just a better means to an orgasm.

I’m sorry. You’re so sensitive, you understand me, I can relate to you, you make me feel so much better when you are around But I don’t want another fucking mother, or do I?

What I’m saying is Go the fuck Stay

Go the fuck Stay, Go the fuck Stay, That’s what love is Go the fuck Stay,

For me anyways, maybe for you too, you know like when she says no but she really means yes that’s a go the fuck stay I’m just like that so that’s what I want to say Happy go the fuck stay day, Happy Go the fuck Stay day!

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