Love, with a Taste for Coffee (PART 2)
"Of course I was going to attend such a wedding,” answered Cupid to my question, “in my years of providing my valuable service, this has got to be the most outrageous couple I ever got the pleasure to introduce!” He continued explaining, “in fact, it was a matter of chance. It happens every other century or so. I’ve got outstanding aim as you can see from the scar I left on Krad’s heart.” He pointed at the mystical scar we all bare from Cupid’s arrows, and that now lay plainly on Krad’s heart. Cupid and I have the capacity of seeing those wounds doctors and psychologists always miss. But don’t blame them, they work on the empirical realm, we work on the spiritual - all our souls have a heart. Doctors, psychologists and you are still capable of sensing what we openly see. Ever heard someone say that they no longer seek love out of fear they might be hurt again? Those are what Cupid calls, “the chronically heart-scared people, or CHSP for short.”
Cupid went on with his reasoning for attending the Krad and Coffee Machine 3000 FA wedding. “In my trade, I’ve seen everything. Do not, by any means, think I see the world through rose-coloured glasses. I am like a police officer or a paramedic, I see the shit people are,” he said and paused at my puzzled face expression. “Dear friend,” he continued, “I see people for what they are, but I love them nonetheless.” He then cracked at the redundancy of Cupid loving something. I understood the joke immediately. “Krad and Coffee Machine 3000 FA, or Coffee Maker like she likes to be called, are a breath of fresh air for me, and believe me when I say this: I have never considered a mistake of mine a good thing.” He again paused to analyze why I had a confused expression. I did not know what he thought was his mistake. When he caught on, he added, “dear me! Didn’t you know? I got Krad in the heart alright, but I released the arrow a bit too soon. You see, I wanted him to fall in love with the girl at the register, but his eyes fell on Ms. 3000 FA,” he saw I understood and said, “by the way, did you know FA stands for Fast and Aromatic? What a cheap marketing that company had.”
Indeed this wedding was different, but I doubted it would be a breath of fresh air, as Cupid put it. Poor love sprite, that Cupid. His trade has changed; he works for the money and art of his profession. I see the vulgar marks this change has caused in this sprite’s body. His physique went from that of a Michelangelo to that of any average Canadian man. He still had muscle; those arrows take skill and strength, but he had developed somewhat of a gut. The most affected areas where his legs and wing muscles. Ever since he got a car, and especially since he drives a Hummer, he has forgotten how to fly. He no longer takes those fast sprints, speedy as sun-light, that would gather the air he needed to take flight. He no longer beats his wings fast and hard in hopes of striking the right person at the right time.
Oh I remember those days when Cupid arrived a millisecond late, when two people perfect for each other walked by without noticing their compatibility. Those were the days the world went love crazed. Cupid, in his fury at the failed opportunity, would just fly around striking anyone. The world would be so love high it became hilarious to watch, sometimes. I had to intervene to stop him back in the sixties when his arrows were causing more harm than amusement.
I would consider Britney Spears' blitz wedding the culmination of Cupid’s hope for the true use of his love potion. That woman rolled over Cupid’s sensibilities like a tank over the Maginot line. that wedding also made me realize how badly people treated the concept of love. Ironically, I felt they needed it more than ever. Cupid attended that wedding, knowing full-well it meant the clearest picture of how low his trade had gone. I’ve never seen the poor fellow so drunk. He cried like a desperate whore whose baby boy just got lost in another pimp’s territory. My sympathy for him was great. He said to me, “Love’s butterflies have turned into maggots and its diamond-like endurance rots like a bloody corpse in the tropics.” Yes, his once respectable job, the spreading of love, has become the making and collecting of putrefaction.
That day he probably put on a few kilos and developed a prominent beer gut. Cupid was still drunk when the famous couple filed for divorce, and nursing a hangover when the tabloids were printing the ‘news’ for the fourth day on a row. I admire Cupid. In spite of that bitch-slap he received from Mrs. Spears, he has developed a good humor to deal with his problems. I just hope I stop finding bottles of scotch in his apartment.
Cupid went on with his reasoning for attending the Krad and Coffee Machine 3000 FA wedding. “In my trade, I’ve seen everything. Do not, by any means, think I see the world through rose-coloured glasses. I am like a police officer or a paramedic, I see the shit people are,” he said and paused at my puzzled face expression. “Dear friend,” he continued, “I see people for what they are, but I love them nonetheless.” He then cracked at the redundancy of Cupid loving something. I understood the joke immediately. “Krad and Coffee Machine 3000 FA, or Coffee Maker like she likes to be called, are a breath of fresh air for me, and believe me when I say this: I have never considered a mistake of mine a good thing.” He again paused to analyze why I had a confused expression. I did not know what he thought was his mistake. When he caught on, he added, “dear me! Didn’t you know? I got Krad in the heart alright, but I released the arrow a bit too soon. You see, I wanted him to fall in love with the girl at the register, but his eyes fell on Ms. 3000 FA,” he saw I understood and said, “by the way, did you know FA stands for Fast and Aromatic? What a cheap marketing that company had.”
Indeed this wedding was different, but I doubted it would be a breath of fresh air, as Cupid put it. Poor love sprite, that Cupid. His trade has changed; he works for the money and art of his profession. I see the vulgar marks this change has caused in this sprite’s body. His physique went from that of a Michelangelo to that of any average Canadian man. He still had muscle; those arrows take skill and strength, but he had developed somewhat of a gut. The most affected areas where his legs and wing muscles. Ever since he got a car, and especially since he drives a Hummer, he has forgotten how to fly. He no longer takes those fast sprints, speedy as sun-light, that would gather the air he needed to take flight. He no longer beats his wings fast and hard in hopes of striking the right person at the right time.
Oh I remember those days when Cupid arrived a millisecond late, when two people perfect for each other walked by without noticing their compatibility. Those were the days the world went love crazed. Cupid, in his fury at the failed opportunity, would just fly around striking anyone. The world would be so love high it became hilarious to watch, sometimes. I had to intervene to stop him back in the sixties when his arrows were causing more harm than amusement.
I would consider Britney Spears' blitz wedding the culmination of Cupid’s hope for the true use of his love potion. That woman rolled over Cupid’s sensibilities like a tank over the Maginot line. that wedding also made me realize how badly people treated the concept of love. Ironically, I felt they needed it more than ever. Cupid attended that wedding, knowing full-well it meant the clearest picture of how low his trade had gone. I’ve never seen the poor fellow so drunk. He cried like a desperate whore whose baby boy just got lost in another pimp’s territory. My sympathy for him was great. He said to me, “Love’s butterflies have turned into maggots and its diamond-like endurance rots like a bloody corpse in the tropics.” Yes, his once respectable job, the spreading of love, has become the making and collecting of putrefaction.
That day he probably put on a few kilos and developed a prominent beer gut. Cupid was still drunk when the famous couple filed for divorce, and nursing a hangover when the tabloids were printing the ‘news’ for the fourth day on a row. I admire Cupid. In spite of that bitch-slap he received from Mrs. Spears, he has developed a good humor to deal with his problems. I just hope I stop finding bottles of scotch in his apartment.