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Tomorrow I go to the glorious country retreat where I am spending christmas, without internet access. The horror, the horror. No, I'm serious. Anyway...
...here's a RAGING CONTROVERSY for you to embroil yourselves in. What is love? Here's the opinion of my good friend soap-box:
Well, I bet you can see why that had me apoplectic with rage. Just because I'm incapable of making any sort of commitment, doesn't mean I'm incapable of love! So I wrote a powerful response, to which she responded, all of which can be found hither:
So, it's in your hands, people! Your homework: write, either in your diary or in my guestbook or my notes of soap-box's guestbook or wherever, some thoughts about what you think love is. It would be nice if your response in some way touched on the disagreement between me and soap-box, but it's not essential. When I return I expect to find a flourishing debate! Well, actually I don't, but that would be nice. I'll make some kind of response to soap-box's response when I return, but not tonight, it's kind of late...
"I asked my daddy when I was fifteen
Daddy can you tell me what love really means?
His eyes went glassy and his face turned red
He pulled another beer not a word was said
I asked my mother, she acted the same
She never looked up, she seemed so ashamed
I asked my teacher he reached for the cane
He said 'don't mention that subject again'
So I read about love, read it in a magazine
Read about love, Cosmo and Seventeen
Read about love in the back of a Hustler..." - Richard Thompson
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