Oh thou Pineapple of my eye, how i Pine for thee!!!!

Broken hearts are apparently a big deal.  Not just people who have lost something, justifying for their loss by making up some vague consoling notion of having gained experience, life lessons, zen, deeper meaning, stared into cleansing flames and what have yous.  And none of that better to have loved and lost than to have not been such a schmuck/chump in the first place etc.  Naah, there seems to be some genuine gain there.  Somehow its like someone having ridden space mountain at disneyland.  You go to disneyland, you gotta try that.


   And so of course, its a great tragedy that I have never experienced love, let alone ill fated love.  Or its supposed to be.  How can I be creative.  How can I have musings without a muse.  So much for art.  Art is built in pain and loss.  And it has to be the pain of loss of love.  Nothing else will do.  Love is supposed to make you a better person and open up your horizons and instill acceptance and trust and stuff.  Its supposed to build character I daresay.  Or maybe that you deserved to be loved or had the capacity to love is supposed to speak volumes (not necessarily coherent volumes..for all you know they could be James Joyce ramblings) about you.   


   And then it hit me.  Pineapple.  Yes, a pineapple.  That green, ridiculous looking, crown wearing lump of yellow, juicy goodness.  I love pineapple.  I am apparently allergic to it.  Everytime i eat it, i get some itchy rashes on the roof of my mouth.  But then I forget the feel of the rashes, and the taste lingers as a faint phantom memory.  And so I eat again.  And then rashes.  And on and on it goes, this danse macabre.  So you see - Pineapple and I.  We are star crossed lovers.  There.  I have my epic tragedy in place.  So there.