Posted by: Dr Churchill | December 31, 2013

Falling in Love isn’t real – it was invented to sell nylons by the Mad Men of Advertising

Falling in Love isn’t real – it was invented to sell nylons.

Am so sorry…

So Sorry to break the news to you darlings.
Nasty habit of mine — just mere hours before the end of the year, and the promise of a new one.

It was all a dream folks.

A cruel dream indeed.

A pathetic dream that deprived you of true Love — small and beautiful. Love none the less.
Deprived You of the Real humane love in it’s many incantations…

It was a nightmare masquerading as a sweet romance. A nasty selfish dream cooked up on Madison Avenue to sell nylon stockings to the office girls playing away at their typewriters and day dreaming of princes and horses — not necessarily in that order.

It was a dream to make money out of the gullible souls buying silky shill things to feel loved.

And it was all red and dressed up in frilly hazy things.

And now in time for the New year am shredding it apart along with your annual cascades of promises for eternal love, ever changing resolutions, sloppy french kisses, anxious romances, bedding down with strangers for a loveless romp in the hay, or the Great Expectations New Years fuck in your lusty red sexy undies, or just the Grand celebration of Bj — fellatio for the prudes amongst you — and washing it all down with some fizzled-out bubbly in the morning.

So Sorry darlings…

But do take my word for it because if I learned anything through my loves, and in my love lives, it’s that love — the overwhelming, this-is-the-one kind, the love that makes you weak in the knees, if not slightly duller in the head — isn’t real.

Oh, it exists for sure but only on TV and in the soupy soapy movies like Breakfast at Tiffany’s and a Walk in the park, and all those clit-movies out there. It surely wets the eyes and other parts of the female anatomy but it isn’t going to be found in the earthly domain of your existence.

So don’t bother looking for it too long because it simply doesn’t exist. Well — scratch that, because it maybe exist outside of reality, in a world devoid of pain, hurt, labour, murders, savagery, barbaric neediness, money, greed, hunger, lack of wisdom, and plain stupidity. Sure it exists in all the wrong places like internet porn, and health/wealth ads, right alongside calorie reducing teas, coffee pills, fat free diets, and all things magic.

Yeah – listen to Beatles and sure love is ALL…

And falling in Love is wicked, but the truth is it doesn’t blow your mind and it doesn’t suck at the same time.
Something else does that and if you want to find it read a couple of paragraphs earlier about the joys of felatial love 😉

Yeah — I’ll be the first one to admit that falling is fun, for a while.

But big love is just that … XL, oversized, and oversold. Overstated and overfilled with impossible expectations.

Maybe You’ll marry and maybe You will not. But either way save the last laugh for yourself. Because You’ll fall eventually and usually with the wrong person, for the wrong reason, and in the wrong moment. And for that it rocks. Yet, I for one don’t want to fall into that kind of love again because it lacks timing, gentleness, substance, and culture. But hey — you go for it…

I know better and now prefer the little everyday varieties of love. The small loves. Le petite amour.

Remembering my daughter running around the kitchen chanting, “It’s all love, unicorns, and rainbows,” over and over again. That’s Love.

Feeling the love the wag of a dog’s tail speaks of, when you pet the chin, feel his tummy, or scratch the permanent itch behind the ears.

I prefer feeling the Love from small acts of kindness to strangers.

I like the neglected nuances, of gentleman’s polite behaviour and the subtle sincerity of quiet strength.

The gracefulness of a Lady inviting a man in her boudoir… without a hint of distaste and impropriety.

That’s where love lives.

Love lives in a jumbled pile of emotions akin to your bag of unmatched socks, whose twin was stolen by aliens in the laundry room.

Love sits and waits for you, next to the panhandler to see if you are generous to a fault…

Love nests in your heart every time you feel forgiveness. Love ravishes your heart and gnaws at your being when death is near.

And yes there are trying times. Not so much because of loved ones loss but because of the sad behaviours of the People left behind… and there is Love there too.

Love is kindness and kindness is love.

Little compassion goes a long way in the small yet awesome Love department too.

Love sits overlooked in the department store windows next to vacant eyed mannequins — like so many models in the runway frolicking their bodies.
Seen, wished upon, lusted after, and yet fully under-appreciated as human beings…

Little Love is real. Real, flawed, and unappreciated. Not like the girls that hang out in the coffee-shops of the Avenue of the Americas where all the modeling agencies are in loveless New york city.

Love is flawed, beautiful even when it’s ugly and hurtful. Love is gnarled like nature’s bonsai — trees left untended for centuries weathering the elements. Love is trusting, filial, and complex. Love is small and beautiful, yet sturdy. Love is funky, frustrating, and frank.

But it’s never a groove…

Never is a steady same stream of happiness or sadness.

Whatever it is – wait – if you don’t like it. It will change…

True Love is a beautiful mess of sadness, egoless hope, and forgetfulness.

Forget small things and bitter moment. Forget the fights and the errors of judgement. Forget blood diamond engagement rings, candlelight dinners, and moonlit walks on the beach in Tahiti.

Forget death — as if that’s possible.

Think children… think love.

Give Love before you expect to receive.

Even if it’s lost in the great ocean we call life — memories remain.

Remember the pain, the sorrow, the loss.

Real Love hurts because that’s the only way to tell it’s true.

And YES — it still sells nylons.




So to have a Happy New Year’s this season, pack it all in.

Box your gifts of past loves away along with the children’s things…

Go out and start fresh each year, each season, each and every day, because you ought it to yourself.

Go out now and don’t forget to get some loving out there tonight. But you got to give it first.

Give whatever.

Give the little you have to give…

Give Your love. Even if it is the incomplete and imperfect type.

No worries, it’s human — like we all are….

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