((Once more, feel free to consider these as IC writings)) Nothing is quite as droll as marriage, and the worst offenders are monogamists. How pretentious they are to declare everlasting love, as if nothing should ever change, but the common rhetoric is that marriage changes people; it is common enough to be fact. The initial, primal, intoxicating love of a relationship changes as soon as one is engaged, and further as one is married; the beginning of a decline. There are three people of this world, my friend, my foe, my nemesis, and they are the lovers and the seducers and the deceivers, and the unfortunate lot fall to the latter. The lovers of the world, the few they may be, are the truest; they have no cruelty to them, no malice, no deception, because there is no room for it. We know this to be true: those struck by love do not think, they are enraptured and enthralled by it, the thoughts and sense, the deceptions run away. A lover has no need for words, nor plans, nor thought, only music. Music beautifully encapsulates the lover, but to discover it, we must understand the pitiful lot. The seducers and deceivers are plagued with one flaw, being their mind. They are not genius, as they’d have you believe, my clever fellow, my astute peer, my gullible acquaintance. Their minds are not captured by beauty, but thought; the moment slips from their mind, and begins to plan. The seducer plans in the moment, so close to the lover, yet their grasp of their love is lost as they then think, snappily responding to lead themselves to a glory they think will be their salvation. A seducer we know, the quick-witted one by the bar that flirts, the snappy response of a fiancé, the boisterous wiles of a bachelor; they seek a temporary prize, one they know in their short-sighted plans, and improvise to get there. There is then the deceiver, further down the rabbit hole. The deceiver is blind to the beauty and love entirely, absorbed in the plan. They seek to acquire their goods through planning, listening, waiting; they are spies, assassins, choosing their time to strike and plan well ahead. They are lost to the moment, the passion, instead they pour all their effort into assessing the past, planning and preparing for the future. The lover, then, is the truest of all, as they are absorbed completely by their love, their desire. The past, the future, the consequence, the benefit, none of this concerns the lover, as the moment is their life in entirety. They are awestruck, enraptured, no words can be spoken that would give justice to the passion they feel; music is their medium. Like music, there is nothing to reflect upon, nothing to plan ahead for, because music only exists while it is heard, and once it stops the sensation is gone, until it is heard again. The very key, the very essence, of the lover is a musical, one without words, without plot, without rhythm, without need, only sensation and desire. The married fail, as they focus too much upon furthering what they had in the moment that they lost, as if time would flare the passion rather than dwindle it. One does not stoke a lover’s fire by playing a single note. The Bearer of Symphony, Evad
