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Love Sickness
Nothing all that dramatic. No thing at all, actually.
A sickness unto death. Psychological cramping. A permeating, soul-rotting infection. Marrow-draining, will-weakening, cancerous growth.
Awaken the Void! Get acquainted with the presence of absence. Experience the fear of loss! The illusion of having had! The march of time! Prepare for the ride of a lifetime!
Infect thyself willingly with that which poisons all else with lack. Shake hands and smile at otherness while it crawls up your sleeve, under your skin, into a vein, flooding the system with its own special brand of consciousness-altering nutrients, vitamins, minerals, and nausea.
Listen to the sound of the whole world saying your name with a sigh:
You are the one! Your are what it has all been leading to! This is the moment! History hath evolved, hath crawled, trudged, fought, fucked and eaten toward this very instant! And all for you! All for this! You are here, whole, and in Love!
In the grip of a feeling, the face turns sour. A grimace. The eyes squint. Too much light. Heat emanates from behind the eyes. A scratching, a stone, a scraping pain on the cornea. Piercing headaches. Rashes. Dry skin. Itching. Restlessness. Sleeplessness.
When sleep does come – nightmares! Hot nights, sticking sheets, sweat and too much presence. Worry. What if, what is, and why? Doubts. Dreams of infidelity, of death, of heartbreak. A hundred forms of fear and pain.
How can one accept such a gift?
Thou hast seen thine own innards and thy blackest deeds. Thy knowest the coward that ye truly be. Thy knowest how unworthy of any love other than that of the all-merciful Lord thou art. Thy poverty is complete.
A heightened sense of smell, sight, hearing, time passing, distances. Every gesture takes on new meanings. Complex symbologies. Signalings. Irritability. The constant presence of imminent weeping. A crumbling threshold of restraint. Weakness. Thoughtlessness. Blank mind. No thing, only feeling. A stupidity reigns. An idiocy. A retardation. De-evolution. Evaporation of personality, spontaneity, risk-taking, ideas, words, impulses, self.
How does it feel to be other than -- another -- him -- her -- that which is at the end of ones own finger? Why oh why oh why can there be no assurances? No guarantees? Why are the most fleeting things so precious and so pleasurable? How on earth to endure the humiliations of a fall from grace, as love, in the presence of love? Is there any pain greater than love itself with a broken heart? Love in fear of itself? Love held outside of Love?
A dull pain in the gut. A sinking feeling. Doom. Failure. Morbidity. Melancholy atheism. Faithlessness. The inevitable tragedy. The future of tears and a living death, full of emptiness.
This is the moment you’ve been waiting for!
You are in love again!





Tis Much better than to never have felt it at all.
If one should strike lucky and Not loose, Bliss!
Unknowing..is Emptyness, beyond description...though some will argue that never knowing a thing, one can not miss it if it is never felt.
But...They Do, They Do.
In an unfathomable, unexplicable longing that threatens to consume them.
Nay, ignorance is Never bliss.
Though Safer,We are not the richer for it.
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