Christina and I are getting married. I proposed in March. The monsters of tradition have sought to have their way with us. Next thing you know, I will be goose steeping down the aisle.

All this fucking bullshit that surrounds getting married is really insane. Am I the only one who realizes that the past is gone forever, and all the things that we call tradition only exist because no one else has found a better way to do things since (gasp!) medieval times? It all makes both of us sick: White dresses and wedding cakes; Mendelssohn weddings marches (not unlike goose steps) and tuxedos; relatives more distant than the bums on my street; bubbly drinks that smell like dirty socks. These all suck. The only things that seem appropriately sacred are immortal rings, and not seeing the bride on the morning of the wedding day.

This is all I can say about weddings, but marriage is a truly wonderful thing. I love Christina so much that sometimes it hurts. We fit, like how sunlight turns clouds to amber fire; it is a scene that lacks nothing, but to subtract anything from it would take away the consummation of that light and shadow. Somewhere in deep space, there is a photon that hopes to strike her cheek, and thus show the world the essence of brilliance. There is also a shadow that yearns to be struck from this world, but it carries the weight of Sisyphus up the hill, giving meaning to the light with its turning of dark. This is what we call love. Others may have a different metaphor, but we are not concerned. This is our moment of life in the chaos of all. What they say, what everyone has said, it floats like wind around us, and swirls into this moment between fog and stars, between the sky and the dust.

Sentimental? Yeah, but I don't fucking care.