I...can turn a gray sky blue.
I can make it rain... whenever I want it to.
I can build a castle from a single grain of sand;
I can make a ship sail...on dry land.
I can fly like a bird in the sky;
I can buy anything that money can buy.
I can turn a river...into a raging fire.
I can live forever,if I so desire.
Unhappy am I, with all the powers I possess;
Because...girl, you're the key to my happiness; and
I...oh, oh I...can't get next to you.
It's that happy-sad time of the year again. Cupid and his band of cherubs with lyres and sackbuts of lovely lyrics will be flying about in the minds of (wo)men just as St. Nick and his venison did a full moon and a half ago. Unhitched? Match.com and eHarmony have a safe solution right in the comfort zone of your own home and in your cubicle Anastasiaweb has a lithe Natasha just for you. Bottom feeders troll meretricious personals on Craigslist. Now what we need are 3D computer monitors with smell, touch and taste. Lordy, how did boys and girls study each other before the World Wide Web? How did they court without text messaging? Hallmark and Whitman's have a clue. A rose, red ribbons and chocolate never go out of fashion and can't be texted. Lonely hearts love a sugar high, which you just can't get online, and "knowing" that special someone where a username and password are required is like taking a hot shower with a trench coat (username) and correct, matching stingy brim hat (password) on while holding an umbrella (laptop).
So now we have a politically correct society that cauterizes the eternally distinct roles of male and female in biology, in mating, intrigue and in her (and his) story. Electrons and pixels on a screen substitute the real personality, real work and real risk of rejection inherent in meeting others and maintaining real relationships.
In...my...diary, a lot of things.. I'm gonna write...
Write about the moon...and that lonely night...
And my... diary... will tell all about you...tell about your charms...
And the things you... do.
- The Moonglows
Let's see a poet keep a diary and a real singer feel the inspiration to bellow lines like these over a Facebook friend or a follower on Twitter.
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