Love in the Year 2013

LOVE IN THE YEAR 2013… when everybody is pixellated and blurry and our hearts are offline, decoded, can’t communicate with their hosts; and we don’t write love letters anymore — or any letters for what it’s worth, we just type I LUV U so we don’t waste characters, which we treat like venerable sacred texts — and we keep each others’ photos in electronic folders next to those amaaaazing boots we saw on our friend’s Pinterest Page and that chicken tikka masala from so-and-so’s birthday dinner; and SEX is all tattoos and sloppy kisses and awkward post-coital trips to the fridge for water, bare feet on cold linoleum, no ice cubes. We learn about Love, capital L love, from diamond commercials and re-runs of Seinfeld episodes, from Craigslist strangers longing for connection, from pop songs and movie trailers. LOVE IN THE YEAR 2013 is a road map with no names, a GPS on the fritz. If we’re lucky, we find somebody that makes us want to take three hours to read the Sunday Times and walk aimlessly through fallen leaves and make smelly diapers, not because all of our friends have updated their statuses with toddlers and little BABY NUGGETS, but because when we stare into their eyes we feel an overwhelming urge to duplicate that BEAUTY, and images of beings that look like him or her are downloaded into our brains like a good kind of computer virus, making our hearts crash, a good kind of crash… It’s a Lotto winner’s luck to find LOVE IN THE YEAR 2013 among all the clones and background actors and throbbing simulacra, like finding a poet at The Grove or a rose bush on the freeway, but when you find it you better treat it like a black & white photo, frame it, PRESERVE IT, dust it, polish it, put it on your mantle, because you can screw it up as many ways as there are Levi jeans, with a stock market ticker counting your mistakes, and our wide open SOUL-PORTALS sucking in air, defenseless against the dust the toxic breeze blows in, and the wolves with their White-Strip© teeth ready to take your place at his or her side, you better build a FIREWALL around that love, put it on an external hard drive, seal it up in a frozen Ziploc, and tell him or her daily that holding their hand makes you feel like you just licked a snow cone of MDMA, promise them the tide will never reach your sand castle, and that you’ll write every love letter out by hand and spell every word completely, sincerely, passionately, because LOVE IN THE YEAR 2013 is easy to #hashtag but damn difficult to CAPTCHA.



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