As if the intellectual class needed anymore distractions, here is a holiday, a celebration of art, music, and culture which annually gathers, cult-like around this fantastical priestcraft of Eros and Cupid. What a waste of the Muses! Erotic love is an opiate, and brotherly love a facade. The only true love is a feeling you are born with- the result of the Fates' concil and random proceses. The poet loves poetry not because he is a poet, he is a poet because he loves poetry.
Indeed, poetry and similar, high arts, are the only loves an intellectual can wish to own. For filial love and erotic, heterosexual, love are both altruistic natures, a backwards vestige of muddled evolutionary processes. Self-preservation is biologically the measure of success, and thus celebrated love is a stumbling block.
I speak not, understandably, of the higher "loves" of language, drama, music, and visual art. These are vertical loves, superceding the human mind and connecting it with something greater.
Of course, if a woman is in love with a man, we cannot blame her, for she does not posses the intellectual faculties to love above her plane of vision. Likewise with countrymen, farmers, and fishermen- their lot is decided, and it would be foolery to convince such a people that their human, and thus futile, attempts at fraternal and familial bonding are backwards. It is better to understand that in the long run, these kinds of our species will contribute ultimately to the refining of the human gene collective.
I expect a hiatus approaches my genius. beware of stagnation, but let the tea cool!
Love,
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