Love letters to Anhedonia

Dear Anhedonia,

Please understand that my desire for our relationship to end in this last letter I write you is not dictated by my own passion that you have slowly and coldly sucked into what defines you and your friends of the DSM jargon. You have inspired in me a sense of satire that has eventually ridiculed my own thoughts to embrace ones of nihilism paired with a desperate search for the impossible.

Not that this really matters, but I have never betrayed you with your cousin, Dysthymia. You both come from a wealthy Greek family but I have no interest in your Greek names nor in your submissive games.

Forgive me if my admiration for the dead languages ever gave you the impression that our affair was one to outlast me for your own sake of shining amongst my family and friends.

Good bye,
Al  

Non sum qualis eram, A new monologue about neophilia

I often hate myself, my kind and all that resembles me until I change into something else to eventually hate, out of neophilia.

I open the fridge for consolation by all these items therein that are unlike myself. I pick an apple that hardly resembles me in anyway though studies have shown we have more than 70% of our genes in bananas. Whether we can compare apples to bananas or to humans is of no importance since once I eat the apple, the apple becomes me. The rest of the apples would like to think vice versa. Nonetheless, that foreign body that I just ate became me and is no longer desired, the remaining apples are assured and may remain seated in the fridge.

I have nothing in common with chocolate but once it melts in my mouth we become one. I have become one with so many things that I am now many -- I think to myselves. The spell-checker annoys me to hell when it does not recognise myselves -- or should I rather introduce my selves, my very diverse selves?

The neophile keeps seeking novelty until neophilia ipsum becomes old. But what would then be the post-neophilia state?

The novelty of the novelty might be too meta for many yet many seek it whether they know it or not. I need a new kind of novelty, that similar to a second order differential equation in mathematics. I seek a novelty that can provoke my sense of existence, if any, and tickle my emotions and desires, if possible. It is like asking for a first-time heart-break but after having had many... Otherwise, is it too much to ask for the real-time visual perception of a fourth dimension?

Could lobotomy be the answer, I wonder to myselves. Perhaps auto-lobotomising one of my selves could bring a sense of renaissance to that old cranky mind of mine -- mind the mine.  Is marriage a form of lobotomy and to what extent?  For myselves, polygamy is more than justified. One for the artist of me, another for that scientist, and why not have one for that one typing this note... An accomplished Frenchman is putatively one with a wife and a mistress. Hence, wives and mistresses, it is!