Thoughts on love in general

With Valentines Day upon us again, I have had the time and opportunity to observe and reflect on this great ongoing experiment we call human relationships. The media is again trying to coerce us into spending the balance of our post-Christmas funds on teddy bears and heart-shaped chocolates for that somebody/some-bodies special. And if you don’t have anyone special, shame on you! As with al memes everyone takes their queue from the person directly to their left or right and before long it has spread like a slightly tamed wild fire. Blink your eyes and you have a themed work party for which you have to fabricate an excuse not to attend.

I paid a visit to one of the local nocturnal entertainment facilities that harboured an ample supply of attractive creatures. After a while the dance floor filled with thrusting and jerking bodies clad in skin tight wrappings. Maybe it’s only a regional phenomenon, but women always seem to be the first to dare an inebriated form of synchronised public exhibition. The men initially take a position on the perimeter to scout the talent and measure up the opposition. It takes a little more Dutch courage for them to venture out on the platform, but once they’re there… oh boy, there’s no stopping them. The dance then commences. Some furtively and others boldly penetrate the dancing circles of potential mates. They pair up and get down. The competition for a woman’s affection is at first always understated, but as the night wears on and self-control wears down the base motivations come to the fore. Where at first they would only glare defensively to protect their territory, after a while of drinking they would openly get physical and tell other contenders to “back the fuck off”. The dance then takes a lowly second place to the more pressing issue of getting between the sheets.

I have only a very rudimentary grasp of Freud’s work, but as I understand it he basically said that sexual desire underpins most of our subconscious motivations. Sexual desire is in turn, according to Dawkins, an incessant evolutionary trait aimed to ensure our continual and successful procreation. Even though procreation is mostly not the intent of the individual, as evidenced by the use of prophylactics, the enjoyment of the act is nothing more than our genes’ trickery in order to selfishly survive and replicate. We ascribe a metaphysical importance to this enjoyment surrounding procreation and call it love. The Greeks even invented gods its name. You believe that someone truly and exclusively loves you – your unique collection of genes – when in actual fact any old genome with a penis would do. No doubt that the by-products of “love” can be beneficial. Like when the lustre has gone and you have to get on with raising children and meeting house payments. Or when you’re old and need someone to change your diaper and call the ambulance when you’re dying.

So why keep up the pretence of it meaning more than it does? Why lose yourself in the process? Why despair? I say forget all the bullshit. See the dance for what it is. Stick it in so many holes as possible for so long as possible. Happy Valentines Day.