sometimes a story inspires a moment of timeless reflection as if I was there at the time� and I write as if I witnessed the events, even moreso, experienced the events, knew the people, even if they were all long gone before I was born� and sometimes the story is a song that gives me such timeless inspiration� Sgt. Pepper was like that� when I first heard it I said wow, I'll be singing that song in twenty years�

especially the line it was twenty years ago today�

and I wonder� did anybody actually sing that in the late eighties when it would have been precisely twenty years after the first time the song was sung?� only three Beatles were left alive at that point� I wonder what they were thinking on that day� if they were thinking of the prophetic line they sang twenty years before at all�

and then�

and now, in keeping with the irreverence of classic films like, And Now For Something Completely Different, we pause this entry for an informal, but nonetheless noteworthy author-type note (queue the sound of serious throat clearing): the centered verses immediately above this author-type note are not The Beatles Sgt. Pepper even though the paragraph preceding the centered verses immediately above this author-type note mentioned The Beatles in reference to the line above that paragraph preceding the centered verses above this author-type note (and those centered verses below this author-type note are not from either of the songs (one being the date) above referenced above this author-type note) in case you didn't know that� those words centered immediately above and below this author-type note are from the theme to the film Love Story, which started out in life as an instrumental (the theme, not the film), but had words added by a lyricist after the film was well through it's release, probably because love means never having to say you're sorry, or perhaps because the music was popular enough to have many singers of the day wishing to sing it and it is not an easy task for most singers to sing a song that does not have lyrics, so words were written)�

and we shall pause that song there and let the chills well up inside for anyone who knows the story� for meanwhile, in spite of that ever so author-like distraction, my thought stream still returns to the line it was twenty years ago today��

I recall as if it was only yesterday (when all my troubles seemed so far away and since I threw my sadness away� two other songs, got 'em?) being so very intrigued by the concept of reminiscing in lyrical parlay� it seemed prophetic, those words, as it would take twenty years for the line to actually be valid for the song and in anyone's reality actual reality (and of course, as I do with most songs and other arts, I personalize and modify to my own egocentric tastes)� and I was so young, relatively speaking, when I first heard it� a mere whist of a lad� and still that child listening to that lyric was fascinated by the magical mystery tour that would be coming around again in twenty years from that first moment, like an old friend, bookend�

anniversaries bring me back to that thought�

and I've always believed that time does not matter when it comes to the truest feeling of the heart (in fact, the more timeless the feeling, the truer the feeling� I believe that promises made in the heart are eternal, even if they are not kept for one reason or another in the physical world� even if some appear to be able to deny them so well that they turn love into ambivalence, apathy, or hate� and nothing is more true in me than the eternal nature of my feelings of love�

so we come to the point of this entry, the date, the first of May� or perhaps not point, but the thread running through the thoughts that are forming this entry (or are they coalescing into this entry?� there's always hope) is about to unravel (or perhaps be woven into a tapestry)� shhhh, let's not over-analyze the metaphors and just savor the moment and just let it happen, ok?�

the first kiss that mattered more than any kiss that ever came before or after happened on a first of May and that egocentric part of me that is so much the spark of my creativity (so he's not all bad, even if he is usually quite delusional) always thought that the BeeGees song was written to commemorate my personal experience whether the brothers Gibb knew it or not�

of course the fact that the song was written and song before I experienced that kiss makes no nevermind as time is relative, you know�

my first actual sensual kiss, that is, a kiss inspired by and continued inspiring more hormones (or whatever might be happening in a body prior to puberty), rather than family sort of kisses, was rather early on in this life for me� perhaps it was due to the fact that I was allowed to suck on a pacifier until I was three years old and I was virtually never without that oral stimulation�

filling in the backwash, or story as the case may be, as a third birthday present, or so I sarcastically recall it, that treasured pacifier was ripped from my mouth (and it took some ripping to do it) and thrown in the trash� I kicked over a few garbage cans in my desperate attempt to find it before I was scooped up by large hands and tossed into the back of the car and driven home� it was quite the traumatic experience, I assure you�

so maybe it shouldn't come as too much of a surprise that my first mouth on mouth face-sucking came shortly after losing my oral friend, dear pacifier (which was called, since you are so fascinated by the details of this unwinding story, doodkey, accent sort of on the second syllable, though not completely), in fact, not much more than a year later�

some of you already know about my promiscuous nursery school experiences (perhaps you recall the near riot that ensued here in these very pages when I stated in my terse and irreverent way that I was a child pedophile� yes, I mean a child who loved other children� I was a child lover, quite sensually, at the ripe old age of four� and I am still to this day very much a child lover, though I clarify for the authorities and the paranoid that I refer to the inner child, the innocent heart that some of us who've made it well past puberty can still feel and share�

oy, have I set forth a can of worms once again?�

well, if you knew more about the nature of my work, you might understand why I can be as irreverent about sex as I am regarding any subject� this is always such a delicate subject in our culture that I expect questions and assumptions when I bring it up, so if my brief explanation of my meaning isn't clear, feel free to probe deeper and do try to leave any fears or assumptions out of it, fair enough?)�

anyway (can we come back to the point or do we really need to pause for reflection and/or interrogation?� if you are not amused, please let me know in comment or any way you like� if you are amused, do as you please� I simply wish to know how many of you actually understand me and how many of you want to, but aren't sure� and how many of you merely tolerate me because you're bored)�

yes, so as I was anywaying, I turned four on a cool April day and realized that a year without my dear friend, my pacifier, my doodkey, was not easy for my mouth and much to my great joy, there happened to be a young lady (I believe she was a month or few older than me at the time� and I suppose she still is, what with time being relatively constant for our lives as far as we know, but that's besides the point) in my nursery school who was experiencing a similar dilemma� empty-mouth syndrome, the texts may someday call it� and it was right around the first of May that we discovered how to remedy the instinctive longing for something to suck on by putting our lips together, hers and mine, that is, and, well, doing what came quite naturally�

and yes, I do wonder where she is today�

but that first one was not the single greatest kiss that mattered more than any kiss that ever came before or after, you know, the one by which all others are measured� though it was for a while� it is not as if I was a juvenile Don Juan giving lip-service to every Joan, Jane, or Mary who came along all through grade school� no, I went through the awkward stages of secret crushes and embarrassed flushes and not knowing what to say� I pined for fiords, lusted quietly, and stared dreamily at far off places that appeared before my eyes as I happened to be looking at girls who drove straight through my eyes into my heart and libido without any roadblocks or detours� some did not even have to pass go, in fact�

and though and I masturbated from afar (and often not too far at all, but that's another story I'll leave hanging just tease those of you who've not read the archives) as well, I was, however, not quite so bold as to simply kiss girls, even those few willing, in those awkward years that followed the psychological trauma of being discovered and analyzed and judged by the adults (including doctors called in the deal with the problem� that was the first time I learned for sure that love was a problem for grown-ups� apparently our lustful divergence from the usual nap time activities {which, of all things, seemed to be sleeping according to the grown-ups} was considered sexual deviancy worth a bit of looking into by some head shrinkers� unfortunately for them, mine just would not shrink, so they gave up and put a few other labels on me and said something like be careful with that boy� sad, huh?)�

besides, the opportunity (for juvenile lip-locking) seldom presented itself� after all, or at least after nursery school, nap-time proximity with girls was reduced to nil� I really think they ought to have nap time as part of a work day, but then, you may notice by now that I tend to have rather odd or even radical ideas about some things� and I also discovered germs, being into sciences, and took the risk of cooties seriously for a few years�

so that kiss was the single greatest moment for my mouth for quite a while�

it was some thirteen years later that the kiss that rearranged the universe was shared and there was even more magic, however superficial time may be, to be found in the fact that it was to the day, the first of May� and while that first kiss had as much passion behind it as four-year-olds can muster, there was much more romance and depth to this new most uninhibited greatest kiss the universe has ever known, probably because I had read many more fairy tales and other reference materials in the ensuing years since that first nap time bliss�

and to keep from overwhelming you with unbridled passion that might be inappropriate for reading at work or in mixed company (what?� you're not crying yet?� how insensitive), we pause once again for another sorta-author note (poignant throat clearing, of course): that (and the previous five centered stanzas intermingled with long and short paragraphs of prose) belong to The BeeGees song First of May since you were wondering so intently� the song is one of a few ultimate songs for my memory banks (along with First Episode at Hienton by Elton John and Bernie Taupin and Till Tomorrow by Don McLean), especially when it comes to my romantic heart's memories� and now that you're lust for the musical reality show behind this story has been momentarily satiated, the story of romance and adventure continues�

for I myself have written a rhyme or few each first of May to commemorate the experience of those kisses, especially that crucial kiss I always remember when I ask myself why I continue walking on through the wind and rain, the lip-locking experience that shook the stars and comes back fresh as ever whenever I am ready to give up on love (or living and breathing, for that matter) when I was seventeen and learned the truth�

however you accept what I am writing today, it is my truth and of all the things I am sure of in this life, this is the one thing that I have the least doubt about� I live for that kiss, to remember, to honor, and to hope it may one day return (and having proven it can be even better with the second person, who knows how amazing it might be with the third)�

it is at times like these that I wish I had the gift of great poets, that I wish I was not a cheap Dr. Seuss imitator who is so content with silly rhyming irreverence and happy simple lyrical words�

it is for occasions like this, the celebration of the wonder of the merging of true love and pure lust, that I wish I could write something epic, something classic, something that would stop each reader in their tracks and remove the defenses of adulthood and strip away the formalities and facades we learn to wear in our culture so the eyes can see in the words the trueness of the love in the heart and the innocence of the passion that love can inspire�

instead, this year, I wrote as if you need a clue�

and it was a little later that I lamented for the passion lost (blaming, of course, the hard cold world� or is that the cold, cruel world)� but isn't it true that the romance reserved for fairy tales and story books and often laughed at� rarely taken seriously, pure romance stories (we are so much more into romantic comedies, if we must explore romance today), are not even as popular as the proverbial 'chick flick'.�

I think that purity, innocence, and true love are not taken seriously by our modern culture these days because most of our beliefs and ethics and concepts are fear-based (as opposed to love-based)� sure, we will violently protect children from sex� though probably as much out of guilt for our own carnal lusts for nearly naked kids in our arts as any genuine moral or ethical fiber (but let's not explore our cultural confusions about our bodies, or sharing them, just now)�

my point is - sure we claim we are protecting children, but what are we actually teaching them?� our fear� and how do we teach them love?� no less true love� the kind of love that is not based on a few one night stands� the kind of love that is not a piece of paper too easily torn to shreds� the kind of love that does not turn into a nightmare of hostile divorce and children into pawns in way too high a percentage of families� the kind of love that is not such a compromise that active focus on lust for others remains�

love is sex in our culture in so many ways� and it is kept superficial, supposedly safe� I think that is because we are a superficial culture in so many ways� we can ignore so much pain� we can deny so much harm� we can justify so much cruelty� we can revel in so much hate and waste� we can glorify violence� a story of pure unconditional love must be presented as an adventure or comedy or tragedy or all three for it to be enjoyable in our current collective consciousness�

love for humanity must provide the ultimate sacrifice as shown in Terminator 2�

unconditional love must overcome all obstacles as shown in The Princess Bride�

we are set up to believe that true love, the love that really matters, must be ridiculously dramatic and nearly impossible (if not completely impossible)� as in Casablanca, Wuthering Heights, Random Harvest, Tale of Two Cities, Love Story, Moulin Rouge, Titanic, and even in the most sexless of levels, ET, Peter Pan, The Wizard of Oz, Man of La Mancha, The Shawshank Redemption, love must end, go away, die�

or even when it works as in Gone With The Wind, Sleepless in Seattle, You've Got Mail it seems it's only worth it, only real and true love, if amazing obstacles are overcome or miracles happen like Miracle on 34th Street or It's a Wonderful Life�

and there must be humor� we can not take it too seriously� unless we put it to music as in Les Miserables� or Miss Saigon� or Jesus Christ Superstar� The Passion of the Christ was way to real, too real for kids, or so those who would say they believe in the story most were saying at the time� I wonder - what would you say was the most epic, most profoundly real, deepest love story you've ever seen or read?�

perhaps I am a bit more cynical than I'd like� or more likely I am pandering too much to the masses� after all, I just called it the passion divine� of course divine does not necessarily have to have anything to do with any currently popular system of belief, moral code, or religion, but who might see it that way, I wonder�

I believe that if you claim to have loved and claim to no longer love that person you claimed to have loved, then you never knew love at all� but then, words are defined in many different ways and we can agree to different definitions as long as we're not getting too close to depending on those words to build our shared reality upon�

perhaps I am just angry with myself for buying into the ridiculous notion that true love can only be experienced for sure by overcoming unbelievable obstacles, by surviving impossible trials, by dying and coming back to life�

jesus christ how gullible (and self-deceptive) have I been, aye?�

that line sounded funnier in my head than it looks in print�

so I've self-sacrificed and set all manner of obstacles in my way and overcame them and practically hung from a cross and came back to life and what?� nobody noticed� my partners in the ridiculous scheme to actualize pure true unconditional love all bailed and left me for dead�

and here I sit laughing at myself and all the tears I've cried�

I love being a hopelessly hopeful romantic� I love being hopelessly insatiably unequivocally hopeful that true love is real and can happen in this world� and maybe, just maybe, it doesn't require a nation falling or a cataclysmic disaster or a miracle to actually happen� maybe next time we won't have to overcome impossible odds and risk our lives� maybe it'll just be real because it is real, without needing magic or brass bands or thousands cheering� without needing any proof�

and that'll be the best greatest most ultimate kiss of all�

. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
(just let me know you were here)