Love, Conquest, Death?

Kofi Fosu Forson

Life is much the milk to death as chocolate. In existence one singularly reforms as that of molasses or chocolate milk.

In aspirations, we proceed par the course unlimitedly by the notion of love. It's not only grand. It propels grandeur. This then forms a balance with romance and etiquette.

Do we love in the total human condition of self and others or are we party to tit and tongue for merriment or furthering a rather sexual existence? Do we not approach this vantage point with a soliloquy of our very own? Is it not possible to exist per authored script based on ones desires, love/hate, life/death?

Do I choose to love for its sake or do I love based on the idea of love? I love therefore I'm a prick. Such is the ego's trick. I love therefore I exist. It can then be rendered in completion with a human accord. Love is a spirit of voluminous proportions. It lengthens the life/death march all the way to its end. Sex, a form of communicative expression derived from love is at first physical. It grants pleasure. In postmodernist soceity sex is the chocolate cake. That is if we agree life to be milk to death's chocolate.

Love is not free to exist. It knows damage, death and intellect. Gradually we are reborn. Peter Greenaway, British filmmaker, treats love as death within a chamber of culinary, aesthetique delights in his film Cook, Wife, Thief, Lover.

Intellect and sex is a notion marginalized due to its relevance to neurosis. Such is the playground found in virtual reality.

Pornography is no longer hard copy. It has been dismissed as virtual behavior, force fitting into everyday culture, from mind-crime prime-time television to governmental politics. Love knows no brand and like Coca Cola it reaches its point of marketing where we are soon to want and ask for Diet Love to go with our Organic Sex.