We All Become What We Pretend To

I Have Heard What Poets Write About Women. They Rhyme And Rhapsodize And Lie. I Have Watched Sailors On The Shore Stare Mutely At The Slow-rolling Swell Of The Sea. I Have Watched Old Soldiers With Hearts Like Leather Grow Teary-eyed At Their King's Colors Stretched Against The Wind. Listen To Me: These Men Know Nothing Of Love. You Will Not Find It In The Words Of Poets Or The Longing Eyes Of Sailors. If You Want To Know Of Love, Look To A Trouper's Hands As He Makes His Music. A Trouper Knows.

You Do Not Know The First Note Of The Music That Moves Me.

However, While Being Able To Think About Two Things At The Same Time Is A Terribly Convenient, The Training It Takes To Get There Is Frustrating At Best, And At Other Times Rather Disturbing. I Remember One Time I Looked For The Stone For Almost An Hour Before I Consented To Ask The Other Half Of Me Where I'd Hidden It, Only To Find I Hadn't Hidden The Stone At All. I Had Merely Been Waiting To See How Long I Would Look Before Giving Up. Have You Ever Been Annoyed And Amused With Yourself At The Same Time? It's An Interesting Feeling, To Say The Very Least.

You Lack The Requisite Spine And Testicular Fortitude To Study Under Me.

I Spoke It Soft, But Close Enough To Brush Against Her Lips. I Spoke It Quiet, But Near Enough So That The Sound Of It Went Twining Through Her Hair. I Spoke It Hard And Firm And Dark And Sweet.