You’ve Got A Valentine From Mark! (Shoot it up your ass, Cupid)


So have you found that one who completes you yet, your “soulmate”? According to all pop music and Hollywood movies, this should be the defining purpose of my life. I sure wouldn’t mind finding some chick that somehow resolves all the inner and outer dilemmas of my existence. But from all my experiences thus far, women only complicate things. I’m about ready to throw in the towel on the quest for the Holy Girl. Not that I was really stressing myself out looking for her, or anything. Not that I ever really even tried, in fact. But still, just feeling the possibility of any such a thing existing exerts some kind of unnecessary pressure on my brain. It’s like if you think Santa Claus or Satan exists–you have to craft all sorts of confusing tangential myths simply to address the movement of getting out of bed in the morning. Let’s be blunt and to the point here. Basically, if you do not “possess” someone, if you do not have “someone to love,” then in this society you should be fundamentally ashamed, there is something wrong with you, you should desperately seek to find someone to claim and you should post an ad on Yahoo Personals or something. I mean, it’s almost like if you don’t got nobody, then you can go to the supermarket or the club or the bar or the Personals and buy someone and try them out. Me: I’m smart and funny and rich and I like to lick perineums. You: Bovine and well-endowed and can type up to 80 words per minute. In other words, based on things completely unrelated to anything having to do with divine intervention, you strive to formulate a bond based upon the ideal of simply being claimed. Because once you are claimed, then there’s no more need to stress out about being “one of the losers.” Who wants to be alone, unhappy, unpurchased? Buy me, buy me, buy me!

Who is my soulmate? Who will buy me and use me forever and recycle my soul? Who will complete my fragmented, insufficient self? Who will take my useless days and give them meaning? Who will understand what I can never say? Who will endure my stacatto farts? Who will look beyond my heart-stopping good looks?

Guess I’d better just devote the rest of my time to Allah . . .

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Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

1 thought on “You’ve Got A Valentine From Mark! (Shoot it up your ass, Cupid)”

  1. That’s so true. You’ve pretty much mapped out existence.
    Before I move to consume my bazarre meal of stewed lamb, I wish to drop a few words, poetically to a poet.

    It is true that the love market is about consumerism, and once a lamb is bought, it is consumed, until it is no more.

    We spend only a short, miserable amount of time on this planet. Can’t change existence for one’s self, other than submit to another person. A man. A woman submits to a man. Of all things, disgusting or not. A man.

    A woman convinces herself of the beauty possible in a man. The more dirt-covered, pig-like, and unpoetic he is, the supposedly more masculine, thus more appealing to a woman, in his differentiation from these so called “women.”

    Yet, call me strange, that I find a poet more pleasing,
    for when his body fails,
    his tongue and lips still work, as he writes poems.

    May you have no boundaries to your mind.
    Keep seeking and you shall find
    A friend or two in life.

    -Anonymous

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