American NonFiction Literary Online Magazine

Heartbreak is a tiny city square, one stop up from my local buss stop, and every Sunday I take the trip up to Heartbreak, where my friend runs a coffee shop and I read on the over sized furniture while sipping Lattes or which ever drink best represents the right mood for the intended literature. Which is to say Life, as binary, is a repeating series of on and off switches.

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It’s a good night for Pandora endorsed “Avant Garde Jazz”. A keyboard with 26 letters and a host of other marks to place upon the screen. The day on the calender says “February 14th” a manufactured holiday to celebrate the love we share for other human beings but, to be more to the point, a date manufactured to show the love we have for one targeted human being. Not the general shared love for all man kind that would seem to be a good idea.

We concern ourselves with the singular. Offspring of the Me generation, we have given over to our own selfish way to love and kneel before the alter of our own misconception. Who wrote the tomb of love? We can never uncover the sources, but know him / her to be a savage masochist. A being of midnight black self loathing. Not a skin tone but the color of a missing soul and utter lack of humanity.

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