Inanimate, room temperature, plastic or perhaps some coated metal alloy objects seem to turn in hand to better lovers than the human across of you in the humming of an overburdened bus, where night lamps on the street invade harmlessly through, light coating seamlessly his or her semi attractive features in forgiving light.  She however skips through muscly buIlt or petite men in her instagram, biting slightly her lower lip, as her mind fills with lustful thoughts of later tonight where she will ravage sweetly herself to primitive urges, perhaps over a bottle of some dry red wine made in Australia. The man across seems puzzled jaw clinched, brow tight lost in complete and utter thought trying to figure out the name of the YouPorn video from the night before, something about the features of the actress in the video remind him of a once lost flame that was never kindled, he winces in exasperation feeling it slip from his mind, it’s hopeless he whispers, forgetting the name is like losing her again, a lonely tear, drops on the phone screen where her picture shines in the darkness, the bus hits a bump, the phone falls, fade to black.

Now you can exchange the parts of the man or woman if you so choose, I don’t mind. For me love is as dead as my dreams, it’s all about “getting off”  and if the “work” put in the relationship is equal to the pleasure you receive you might just kick about with each other for a few years. Perhaps love is there, it’s just not what we are taught it to be, perhaps it’s like the line “reach for you dreams” bullshit we are crafted to expect then these misshaped objects we become are pushed into holes in which they don’t fit, breaking, splintering, torn until we finally give in and drop into our cavernous future. Perhaps some of us turn insane because we go against our programming, our nature, our more than troublesome urges. If an alien spaceship with a taste for chaos, could float above earths atmosphere, release a toxin that would wipe out all our memories would we learn to love again or would it become utter chaos, I lean to the ladder, I believe co-dependence would arise and then we would later give it a fancy name like Love. I sometimes wish we could live in a monotonous world where we labor during the day, where I could stare at a woman as I do a man, we could become friends, watch tv shows over a few beers and I would never have a thought to the contrary that it could perhaps become something more. In that world you would have to write daily blogs of your life and the things you felt and if these became filled with words like beauty, supple, luscious or it is as if I am drowning in her almond milky eyes, you would post-haste become fertiliser for the next crop, in this world they realised love is pain. Perhaps judgement day is on the horizon for all the narcissist in the form of sex bots “cue in terminator music”. Perhaps when these machines become as common as porn, we will finally go back to the merits of the mind not of the looks, harmony on earth.