(About a 4 minute read)
Let me get as straight to the point as a repressed teenage boy’s explosive ejaculation upon first espying a comely donkey in fishnet stockings and garters: I derisively wave my fanny at the idea! At the idea, I contemptuously insert my thumb in my fanny and wave!
That’s exactly how I feel about it. Exactly.
The idea, of course, is the notion that being loved inspires artists, scientists, and even vanilla geniuses to create, to discover, their greatest creations and discoveries. “Bad idea! Bad! No treat for you!”
But to be as precise as a Baptist preacher when describing with alarmingly intimate knowledge the sins homosexual men in bed, the idea — bad as it is — is actually only half bad. You see folks, even common folks, are inspired by love — just not as the idea states, being loved. No, what inspires people about love is loving.
Or. at the very least, loving is in the ballpark of 8.326 times a more powerful source of inspiration than being loved. I know, because I crunched the numbers myself earlier tonight after speaking with a notable internet expert in the field of being both loved and loving: Namely, Teresums.
That’s to say, Teresums has two dogs, Harley and Milo, who she loves and who love her, thus making her an internet expert on the topic.
PAUL: Hike up your panties, stand tall, and answer me! To love or to be loved? Which inspires your dogs to creatively pee on your bed?
TERESUMS: I got your Amazon package yesterday, and I must say, crotchless panties along with a note, “Now you’ll never catch fire again when you wank. Who’s got your back, eh? Paul”, wasn’t you at your most charming. Assuming you actually have any charm to non-reptiles in the first place.
PAUL: Quit making making pleasing small talk. Love or loving?
TERESUMS: Loving, Paul, loving.
PAUL: Can I quote you on that?
TERESUMS: The question is more like, can you spell “loving” without capitalizing the “i”, you ego-fueled frump. Paul, are you still with me? Paul? Oh by Krishna, someday I’m so going to crop his mushroom he’ll have to pee out his backside.
So there you have it. Straight from the mouth of the finest harbor slut in Sydney. Loving inspires more creativity than being loved. But if so, why is that?
First, before we’re certain we’re loved in return, loving inspires us to do great things in order to impress our intended victim with our accomplishments. Second, nearly everyone has had an experience of being loved without loving in return, but did ever such a thing inspire much more than unfortunately derisive commentary?
Last, even after we’re certain we’re loved in return, loving continues to inspire us — but now instead of inspiring us to impress our beloved, it inspires us to use our creativity to amuse, entertain, console, delight, or make happy our beloved.
But has being loved no merit at all then? Does it make no contribution to creativity?
I’m afraid it does about as little as a chorus line of strategically shaven chipmunks does to plunge into sexual heat a racing fire truck. Or put more simply, it’s as if it entirely misses the point.
For numerous artists, scientists, and other low types have testified to becoming demotivated after falling out of love with their muse — and by “numerous”, I mean Pablo Picasso, of course.
The man was creative enough for a dozen people, even if your take into account he left it up to me in the end to advance art to its ultimate conclusion with my edgy, stick-figure drawings of my penis on finely woven museum quality papers.
Going beyond all that I believe I have observed a tendency — although I am certainly not the first to observe it — for there to be a link between a man or woman’s sexuality and their creativity such that the more freely they are able to express and fulfill their sexuality, the more creative they are.
Which is why I strongly recommend we start them young, around age 12, as child-labor in vibrator factories assigned to loading up the dildos with the maximum number of vibrations allowed by Federal law before the things are necessarily reclassified as launch-able moon rockets.
Questions? Comments? Kind offers of steel jockstraps in case Teresums ever comes to visit me unannounced with a pair of kitchen shears?