A celebration of martyrdom.

Possibly the only day of the terrestrial cycle that each and every man on earth gets to throw off their mundane shackles, bite a blood red rose and with all risibility, attempt to play Romeo for the day.

Alas, perverted by man’s innate lust for wealth; Valentine’s Day has been commercialised to the point that romance is nothing more than a violet box of Swedish chocolate wrapped with golden lace, bundled together with an exanimate display of colours comprising of culled flowers, made to smile with impeccable grooming.

Purchased with a combination of two things, a month’s allowance and a trip to the mall.

I am not entirely cynical. I do believe that some still manage to hold true to the paragons of Valentine’s Day, looking beyond the romanticised theorem that business enthusiasts without hearts wish to sell to the callow multitude. These people alone endure the sickness that is contemporary Valentine’s Day and they will continue to resist the vile out selling of the quixotic season.

And what do I think is the meaning of Valentine’s? Why, it is of course a violet box of Swedish chocolate wrapped with golden lace, bundled together with an exanimate display of colours comprising of culled flowers, made to smile with impeccable grooming.

Purchased with a combination of two things, love and desire.

Further elaboration is only necessary for the business enthusiasts (without hearts).

~ by cryhavok on February 14, 2008.