It was the meanness of yesterday's thin-sliced bread, waved at the butter and scrapped with marmite. There's not a smile in the world that can hide what it really is.
Beneath a crying sky, with icy rain seeping into my marrow, his last goodbye was spoken as easily as ordering a pizza.
"Be careful of the meanness mask," said Ben. "It has a habit of becoming the real face, of forcing kindness to become the mask."
His face solidified into a tightness as if he wore a concrete mask. With eyes the grey of steel knives, and a mouth just as sharp, the order was given. They say he was once a man, that long ago those eyes were blue and sunlit ponds, but a half century casual meanness had thickened into a well tailored cruelty.
"It's fifty shades of polygamy out there," said Maurice. "I keep hoping that rumours of the death of longterm monogamy are greatly exaggerated... But all I hear is the funeral march. What happened to love? What happened to true romance?"
Thank you for logging into "Honest Dating."
Please select from the following two options.
I want:
(a) A cheap fling with an elevated risk of venereal disease.
(b) I want a long term monogamous relationships with integrity and fidelity.
Yes, there are only two real options. Don't argue. Pick one. Yes these are the same options as on every other dating website. Yes they are. Don't argue. Pick one. Depending on your answer you will either be directed to the pool of disease group or the clean group. Is that offensive? We don't care. It's honest and scientifically provable.
Once you have selected an option, press continue.
Thank you for logging into "Honest Dating."
Please select from the following two options.
I want:
(a) A cheap fling with an elevated risk of venereal disease.
(b) I want a long term monogamous relationships with integrity and fidelity.
Yes, there are only two real options. Don't argue. Pick one. Yes these are the same options as on every other dating website. Yes they are. Don't argue. Pick one. Depending on your answer you will either be directed to the pool of disease group or the clean group. Is that offensive? We don't care. It's honest and scientifically provable.
Once you have selected an option, press continue.
Finally, a dating app translator!
ENM: - polygamy without the hassle of paperwork or any responsibilty.
Poly: See above.
"Just seeing who's out there:" I'm a better disease vector than mosquitos.
"I'm here for a good time not a long time:" See above.
"Let's see how it goes:" See above.
"Looking for new friends:" See above.
FWB: See above.
"I'm not sure what I want yet" is (a) I'm young and still figuring things out. (b) I've worked way to hard in the gym to only date one person (see above).
Short term monogamy: Surely you have the picture by now? If not, see above.
Monogamy and LTR: Alright, this one actually wants a relationship, go for it.
Danny went on, "Probably the largest single factor in building a strong civilisation is monogamy. Online dating, dating apps, encourage all forms of polygamy. Their AI run algorithms favour it. So, call it ENM or whatever you want, it's polygamy without the legal paperwork or any safeguards (especially for women). Once upon a time monogamy was assumed, it was the default setting of our culture. We should be getting back to that, not embracing the merge of Pokemon and STDs - "Gotta catch 'em all."
As bears from hibernation mode we shed the layers of the winter chill, for summer had arrived with total confidence. No more curling within our den, no more hiding in semi-darkness. Bright lit days of adventure, of forest paths and sweet berries were calling.
There was a happiness to her, not the kind that is loud and obvious, but more as early morning birdsong.
There is more to kindness than a smile, no matter its warmth. Though smiles are appreciated. There is more to kindness than an embrace, no matter its strength. Though hugs are medicine. Real kindness, you see, can't be a thing skin deep. It must be a part of our atoms, an essential element of our souls. For life is not only the good times, yet the times of challenge too. And when else do we need kindness most, but then?
My soul, you see, is a pretty poem on paper scrunched and charred. In time, with care, she will unfold again and the words will be as beautiful as they ever were.
My hope, it sat upon a butterfly of painted wing, drinking deeply of the aroma of flowers. And of its steed, she flew on in bonny fashion, rising and falling only to rise again; without insulation for the winter, nor experience of icy blasts. My hope and her were blessed companions, for one cannot sense the cold and the other requires recovery without it.
My hope, it sat upon a butterfly of painted wing, drinking deeply of the aroma of flowers. And of its steed, she flew on in bonny fashion, rising and falling only to rise again; without insulation for the winter, nor experience of icy blasts. My hope and her were blessed companions, for one cannot sense the cold and the other requires recovery without it.
Rooted in the giving earth, petals in bonny sway, the flowers grew ever more pretty in the sheltered bay of the grand oak.
The clouds that day were blue, as if I were in a cartoon world or, perhaps, as if all the oceans were up there and the sea beds were quite dry.
I wonder if the roof tiles miss the rain on these long summer days. I wonder if they miss making their together song. Or perhaps they await the tickle of bird feet and a hearth-warm breeze. Or maybe it is the variation that makes these seasons special.
It was a bonny path that chattered day and night, the free leaves upon it and their twig-attached brethren in seasonal conversation.
I won't say I love the cold rain. I won't say I love being soaked to the skin. I won't say I'm alright with how long it takes for my boots to dry. But I will say it enlivens me and awakens a part of me that slumbers in the warm and sunny weather. I will say that jumping in puddles is fun and that I'm far too old to be enjoying such things. I will say that a part of me finds a beauty in wondering how many raindrops there are and listening for them in the meditative pitter patter.
In that artistry of wool, within a fabric that told of patient hours of tip-tapping knitting needles, we dwelled within a castle within our home.
Killing innocents kills innocence and all that remains is guilt; war is not a 'catch all' excuse.
"Aha!" said the Prime Monister, "we will have the poor scrap with the destitute for scraps! We can't lose!"
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