2014 plays out obsession with the medieval. It haunts our post-modern everything – fashion, music, books, reforms, relationships – everything.
I’ll leave that at full stop as today is all about my desire to have been one of your distant ancestors.
Don’t ask me how I’d have survived the battles, wars and conflicts because I’m still trying to understand the brainwashing and non-coercive persuasion of today.
What’s worse than mental slavery?
I’ve spent the last two hours going over the Epistolæ and I really want to know, “what happened to the ars dictaminis and where are rhymes and rhythm with meaning?”
Someone just pops out of bed and says hi like you’re a picture on their room wall and it’s getting harder to think of a reply to good mawning instead of good morning when both have the same number of letters or is it politically right to use the first?
I’m officially tired of living in a world where women are dates and picked like they were actually on a calendar. Back in the years, we were prizes for a thousand wars he’d win, however the wars did come. Men fought for our hearts. Once won, the sunset lost its charm, a thousand words never sufficed. Empires and epithets couldn’t bear his pride in his prize. Love was like amaranth, ceaseless and noble. You didn’t have to be ringed to his queen. He loved you, crowned you and never made you doubt it.
Today, hearts are pieces of art, you pay the sum and it’s yours for keeps. No winning, no courting, let’s go out on a date. The girl, the day and occasion, all dates.
It’s either love lost its charm or women lost their grace.
I dream of a world where community is people sitting under tree sheds in the evening and replaying their day not a 1000 friends on Facebook who barely remember the last thing that was on your mind, a lover who will outwit Shakespeare just because he’d been struck by Cupid and will write with stylus and ink, seal it with wax and think the nights away waiting for my reply.
I dream of a world where technology won’t waste humans but humans will use it for better and your comment won’t be a sentence but poetry or prose.