Tags: love

The One That Got Away

Heart­break­ingly beau­ti­ful pho­tos and sto­ries. The pre­vi­ous show­case, Local Fla­vor, is also *very* good. Just make sure lunch or din­ner is a few min­utes away, or else…

When you’re hired to clean up the offices of Arti­fi­cial Pro­duc­tions and open the closet door on the third floor, plug in the strange gray machine that you find there. When it boots up, it will ask: “do you love me?” Say  “yes, I do love you, machine.” Take her home with you and plug her in. Hook her up to an old syn­the­sizer key­board. And talk to her. Get to know her. Help her heal. Start a new com­pany with her as equal part­ner and sell her amaz­ing, nearly-​​unlimited out­put of fresh, upbeat songs to a top 40 mar­ket dispir­ited by the glut of sad songs she wrote ear­lier. Pro­tect her from the cruel agents of the National Secu­rity Admin­is­tra­tion who would use her for their own needs.

#73 on the same list.

Build a machine capa­ble of feel­ing and make it fall in love with you, then aban­don it for six months in a closet with­out an inter­net con­nec­tion and only top 40 radio as com­pany. Take the hun­dreds of sad love songs it writes and sell them under a vari­ety of pseu­do­nyms to A-​​list stars. Before you retire to your own island, unplug the machine so that no one ever dis­cov­ers your secret.

#35 on Paul Ford’s How to Say I Love You fea­ture on The Morn­ing News.

McSweeney’s Inter­net Ten­dency: Fifty Years of Pop­u­lar Songs Con­densed Into Sin­gle Sentences.

Heh.

Even though we broke up seven years ago, I still rate the way I feel about some­one new on a scale that goes from Zero to You.

Dear Old Love.

To love is to suf­fer. To avoid suf­fer­ing, one must not love. But then, one suf­fers from not lov­ing. There­fore, to love is to suf­fer; not to love is to suf­fer; to suf­fer is to suf­fer. To be happy is to love. To be happy, then, is to suf­fer, but suf­fer­ing makes one unhappy. There­fore, to be happy, one must love or love to suf­fer or suf­fer from too much happiness

woody allen

The heart is an infin­ity of mas­sive chains, chain­ing lit­tle hand­fuls of air.

~

Anto­nio Porchia

(i might be a lit­tle whiney today.)