Some say that, as humans, our solace and gain are the needs behind all motivation,
But they can’t explain self-destruction and pain oft the object of our concentration.
Some say that our striving toward goals is so crucial achieving them leaves us ungrateful,
But what of those sitting there watching the wheels, those too lofty and bland to be hateful?
Some say we’re machines whose traits best pass on genes — to explain us, this view’s the solution,
But they’ve never fallen in love; if they do, they’ll feel it’s nothing like evolution.
I say that we humans want what’s most convenient; for most, what’s convenient is sameness;
But too much of that, once it’s nicely arranged, brings about only sickness and lameness.
Her children were healthy; delivering them, she did fine with no one interceding.
Her neighbors called solo birth reckless and said she must nourish by more than breastfeeding,
Plus how her kids needed a doctor, for nothing worth treating but skin irritation
Which most newborns have. Yet those neighbors arranged — to their self-righteous edification —
Authorities come relieve her of her kids. Were they mine, why I’d hardly think twice:
If no one took aim with a gun to my head, why should my own behavior be nice?
I’d go snatch my babies right back. One who steals them away surely isn’t a friend.
For enemies, even if by God appointed, congenial pleasance can end.
When we know our loved ones come first, then we also well know that we’ve done nothing wrong
Unless we won’t stand up and fight for our own — then we all fall, for who else is strong?
It isn’t convenient to tackle abusers who push back with venom and spite.
It’s much more convenient harassing the nice guys and gals who don’t put up a fight.
For those who resent being ruled by complainers and weathervanes badged but not bright,
Of how much convenience is being good sheep? Choose your battles or lose every right.
The first stanza includes a line whose implication may at first seem needlessly rude.
After all, those of us who commit our thoughts to writing open ourselves to reactions ordinarily limited, out of due respect, to intellectual matters.
Drawing conclusions about personal factoids demands a rationale, as well as evidence. So here you have both:
Jared Diamond’s seven-chapter book titled Why is Sex Fun? has nothing to say about falling in love.
How much fun is mechanical, detached sex, really? Don’t warmth & passion matter more than mechanics?
Nerds sometimes earn the image that accompanies the label by breaking things down so determinedly that the soul is lost.
Perhaps those discussing why we need attachment & ardent intimacy would come across as knowing best about fun.