So. Love. I think I'm going to write a blog about love.
Yep, part of my
motivation to do so is because most of what is written about love isn't very
good (and so I don't need to come up with any great ideas), but people (that's
you, dear reader) still read about it because they are so infatuated with it.
So, really, I am leaning on the great and grand meta-literature that has come
before me. As google scholar itself writes "Stand On the Shoulders of
Giants".
Figuratively, not
literally, that is.
I love a lot of
people. I love Swirl, Grooble, Bub. I also love calling these people their
nicknames, partly because they don't love these names. But I am not in
love with them (for those unknowing readers, I am related by blood, to Swirl, Grooble and Bub, so if I were in love with them, that would be incest).
But I AM in love with Stuck With It Now. Not the
blog, though. The person who writes the blog. This lovely boy has a whole
lot of cool nicknames, some of which I may suffer dire consequences if I
mention, actually most of which. I don't think he will be too grumpy if I call
him "Lovely" (as a noun, not an adjective).
I also grew up, as an unknowing, gullible little girl, watching those kinds of movies where love is
depicted. Now, you might be thinking, depicted as what? Well, I am now of the
opinion that any depiction of love is going to be utterly different and
inherently misleading if it doesn't depict the exact experience of love one has
with their partner(s) at any one point in their lifetime. How can a movie correctly inform me of "love" if it misses the essences of what my love for Lovely (see what I did there?)
will grow to be? It can't. A movie can't anticipate what my personal experience of love is and so therefore any depiction of love anywhere is inherently flawed.
Now I'm not
talking about the kind of love we all know is wrong: the Bridget Jones' Diary
kind of love; the Jane Austen kind of love; the Jane Austen Book Club kind of
love. We know all that is a fake, sensationalised, a lie because it has been
written to entertain, to strum the heart strings, to make people feel involved
by appealing to their sensitive emotions. I'm talking about the French movie
kind of love. I'm talking about those rare moments when a film actually gets it
right and makes you remember a boy/ girl in primary school named Travis that
you had a crush on and you loved and your belly went into butterfly overdrive whenever
you saw him - um, or her. Yep, even that is a load of shit (not the crush, the movie that made you remember the crush).
People are just
really good at displaying a love that creates the meta-literature of love
that in no fucking way resembles what love really is. Don't get me started on Disney.
So. At this point,
you've read my rant and you're thinking to yourselves: "Ok, guru, tell me
what love really is".
Well, if I did
that, then I'd be a hypocrite, wouldn't I? If I told you my version of love to inform you of what love really is, then I, too, would be depicting a love that you won't experience.
Love to you all.
As swirl would know, I do love talking about my
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