2501: In Praise of Folly

Stendhal spoke of love as a crystallization.  It is also hard work.  At first, the mad euphoria, the lighter than air mania, of it, is amazing - the blood is afire with zesty, biting potentiality, and the idea of the loved one is fixed in the imagination, making all else in life dull and secondary or tertiary in comparison; soon enough, reality rears its ugly head - and love, to be realised must be based on more solid plinths.  It needs a rock.  Blogs are like that too.  Eyewear reached quite a peak a few seconds ago, with its 2,500th post.  Over time, the initial love-stage, the infatuation, has worn off.  Disillusionment set in.  Hard work ensued.  Here I am, faced with this corpus of digital ephemera, read by thousands each day.  I do not exactly look on this work and despair, but nor do I swoon.  How I miss the happy glad days of folly, of mad love.  What a high!

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