The task this week reads:
"Write a love letter nice and long"
indeed ... if we do not think anyone else ...
with you already incipit is difficult. Any "Dear" or "Dearest" would refer you to the advertising coop, I would think that the ambiguity of the term economic and affirm with peremptory angrily that "twenty-five Euros for a blowjob is a price to Mr. clearances for staff activities"
And the problem with this explanation incipit we passed - we must always go to the metadiscourse level, right? Rejoice in making life difficult for others or what? - But I have to write to you A love letter, and beautiful to boot. Write to you on the door alerts the unwary suitors rose with a note: "That still called" love "is nothing more than the fetish tied to a particular commodity: the human merchandise." Misanthropic fury and snooty.
No, you do not want love. The pampering rituals are neither hot nor lips neck, fans are not biting on the nipples or be intertwined on a bed smelling. I know that this is only the indispensable condition sine qua non erotic. That's why I love you, drawn to the sensuality that emanates, the sensuality of a white square on white . Every gesture is the result of a combinatorial of formal elements in which each signifier is treated as the words from which extract polysemies unforeseen, unexpected influences, ghosts. The love for you is a language game, an exercise in style, a story waiting to be transformed into myth. On this ground it myself - I / you - are not able to win and achieve, but the more torn a smirk.
This love letter is getting a letter from a desperate looks in the mirror with anguished irony. Nay: are you so perverse as to prevent the anxiety arises, that the drama takes place, that there will be some kind of catharsis. Your intellectual satisfaction deformed his face with a sardonic mask. The sadistic and masochistic continue to meet and exchange their roles. Dizziness and ethical abyss of wickedness. That's why I love you because you are a trifle multiplied and distorted in a thousand ways to fill outer space and subatomic interstices. Uncontrollable is in the direction that the infinitely small to the infinitely large, lacks a sense of proportion. Give it up: you are not a myth. You are not even able to write you a love letter. What does it take to rattle off all your encyclopedic qualities, to exalt them poetically, thereafter declining skill in the garbage saying that love and to praise the virtues are but then all good - and citeresti Rilke - is enamored of the defects that? What is a love letter if not yet a wise combination of minimum combined hand until they take effect, giving the illusion of giving something back to the reader? Just another literary product ... No, this is not what will warm your heart.
If I were a pessimist would say that it beats them redundant. The humorist in you would say no, because the heart beats repetita Juvante. The analysts observe that systole and diastole are simply un'endiadi. But no, you can combine in a simploche, and so retorizzando ... This is the flaw I love you, to the detriment of all your word games can not you say that those are all attempts to tear him away to give it to someone. You have to be yourself to sympathize with the tragedy and heroism of that. That's why you gave up love, because basically you're not a communicator.
Now, however, please do not cry do not make a fuss
pathetic
repetitive
remember
which is a gift that you could not live even if there were
this ethical tension in you to turn everything into a giant exchange
gifts and hearts and not think about
Mauss LéviStrauss Malinowski
SanValentino Bourdieu was I could give you the opportunity for this reflection. Crumpled a bit 'eyes, smile a little' less sardonically. I love you.
God will be grateful and who knows, you might even finirci embroiled in a strange story. Among other things, God almighty broom. Trust me.
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