“Well, well who is under his spell Is paying the devil his due…”

 

 

 

 

 

The following is an excerpt from one of (now) Heartiste’s most popular posts:

“I once lost a girl I loved.  The rush of pain was so intense even a fight club pummeling couldn’t have distracted me from it.  But I didn’t stoically shrug it off.  I threw glasses at the wall.  I broke things.  I smashed up my apartment.

If you aren’t smashing stuff after losing a lover you don’t know the pleasure of relinquishing everything for love.”

 

 

I want to share those words with you for one, very important reason.

 

That reason?

 

I’m trying to save you this particular “pleasure”.

 

 

 

See, cocaine is a pleasure.

 

Heroin is a pleasure.

 

Excessive drinking is a pleasure.

 

And those little slices of dubious joy, such as the one the quoted text describes, are all best avoided.

 

 

 

Now, the immediate counter-statement is:

 

“Those are not comparable!”

 

Au contraire.

 

 

 

What difference is it if I hand my source of meaning, of happiness, of purpose to a girlfriend or a pusher?

 

A babe or a bartender?

 

A sex kitten or a kingpin?

 

None.

 

None at all.

 

The keys to my kingdom are no longer in hand, regardless.

 

 

 

 

Plus, no one respects a junkie.

 

[As I’ve pointed out previously, female love for males is little more than what men call “respect”. 

 

Only its expression differs

 

 

 

Love (if you wish), of course.

 

It certainly is an experience worth having.

 

But do so judiciously.

 

And always with the understanding that, like an evening cocktail—

 

It’s best savored in moderation.

 

 

 

 

 

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