Wednesday, May 2, 2007

Is it the East?... (A Bittersweet Interlude)

Dear readers, I will postpone my quest for one day to tell you some magical news. I, Herbert Sebastian Crotch, do believe I am IN LOVE. She arrived tonight in choir. Her brilliant green eyes could pierce miles of masculine flesh to puncture the noblest and guarded hearts. Oh sweet Esmeralda!

But soft! I must keep my distance. I mustn’t break her heart. I am a tempestuous soul. One who cannot be tamed or resisted. A Byron on the mast of a great ship called fate. A lion, too proud for a Pride. My Pirates heart would only taunt her and she deserves more than this Don Quixote can give. I am a bitter, winter wind and she a window flower.

You dear reader will not know, from the limited posts, how rare this actually is… To prove the anomaly of mon amour, I will venture one more confession to authenticate… For a brief moment, while passing a bar filled with those that succumb to every vice known to man, I found myself almost enjoying what Stravinsky called “the musical equivalent of masturbation”… Jazz. I blush at the confession and crude choice of words but nothing else but love could explain my delight in a sound that would normally have made me walk faster and hum Bach inventions loudly to drown out the aural and moral assault.

I also missed my cue four times tonight at choir practice. To which the “Minister” began to grit his teeth and say my name amid angry glare. But what would HE know of love but for his Toupee collection and polyester? I grow more and more weary of he that shall be henceforth named “Loki.” (The irony being “low-key”) Yes, I thought it cute as well.

Oh heart, let us go to the living room organ and improvise choral fantasies while reading passages aloud from my beloved Augustine Confessions. But first I think, an emergency trip to Dunkin Donuts...

H. S. C.
Appolo

8 comments:

Flannery Alden said...

You do have a way with words. I'm practically swooning.

Mz Jackson said...

Whist, Herbert, what is it I hear? Can this be love?

Big Orange said...

Forsooth! Methinks this situation doth require a great deal of mental churning.

Good sir, I am put in mind of a poster tacked 'pon the wall of a friend of mine wherein the vivacious curves of a young nymph scantily clad in 2 pieces of bathing textiles scarcely large enough to be dubbed a "garment" could be examined at will. Upon this illustration was the following caption:

No matter how good she looks, someone, somewhere, is tired of putting up with her shit."

Sir, I urge you to contemplate upon this matter from THAT angle as well, and to keep us all posted.

(oh, and she's right, Flannery practically drools over the High Speech, so you've got one Constant Reader right there on the end o' your line, as it were).

The Boob Lady said...

Lovely post kind sir. I do hope that you'll keep us updated on your romantic musings.

The Cachinnator said...

Bravo, sir. Bravo.

While I heartily approve of the way you stick it to Loki, (very well done with that name, by the way), I must decry your cowardice at taking down your noble name interlude. Shame, sir. Shame.

Herbert S. Crotch said...

Big Orange, I do appreciate the warning, but I have already made up my mind about My Sweet Siren.

She shall remain at a distance...

Cachinator, I am confused. What do you mean?

Please tell me!!!!

The Cachinnator said...

My Google Reader picked up a post about the origins of your noble name, but your website features it not.

Herbert S. Crotch said...

Mystery solved! It is there friend. Just scroll down to the 27th post...