Where does a kiss go?

Where does a kiss go (once it’s left your lips)?

Though only a moment ago it broke, you can neither feel it, nor recall its sweet palp
Is it gone forever? Where does a kiss go once it’s left your lips?

{) “It goes straight to hell. Or heaven. It depends on whether you really meant it. TIEBREAKER SCENARIO: the kiss becomes a poison gas cloud with a mind of its own, dead set on putting right what once went wrong, suffocating your inconceived unborn child in its nonsleep. It’s probably for the imaginary best”

{) “To charity. Every day at least 750,000,000 people go unkissed. Thanks to your generous donations, one of these billion or so losers will get to experience deep and true affection of a kind it is impossible to come back from. Every single kiss– 24 hours worth– will plant itself on their hideous, unlovable lips; the force of this is sufficient to erase them entirely from existence.

It doesn’t explode them. It doesn’t implode them. It doesn’t break them down on a molecular level or somehow tuck them away in some pocket universe. They just, suddenly, stop being. At all. The Power of Love.

Don’t worry, though! No one notices. As we established, these are people for whom first base may as well be base camp on Mt. Everest. After it happens, even their landlord kicks herself for having let a unit go unlet for so long. At least the last tenant left plenty of yard sale fodder to try to pad the gap a bit. Ooh! The Complete Jeeves & Wooster. Take”

{) “Straight to the spank bank. Doy. Ohhhh, yeaah. Human contact. Con, if not aff, irmation of my existence. Touch touch touch touch touch touch HUFFFFFfffffFFFF touchtouchtouchTouchTouCHTOUCH”

{) “Sublimates into vapor or, if cold, crystalizes. Let’s move to North Dakota so that when we kiss our lips become rock candy. We kiss so hard that our lips turn delicious. If you consider rock candy delicious. Most people don’t. I don’t.

Is North Dakota the one with Mt. Rushmore? No? Maybe we should move to Miami instead”

{) “It lives on in your memories, is a part of you. The kiss latches on to your brain, where it dwells, thrives, fertilizes eggs, gives birth to live young, and dies soon after. The larvae borrow pieces, very small pieces, of your brain using their all-body mouth, and through their unique digestion process your memories change. Just slightly.

But, over time, your notion of what actually happened deviates substantively from the actual facts. As your human mind is an incredible narrative-perceiving machine, you arrange these falsified nonsensical fragments into a coherent (enough) alternate version of events, complete with corresponding affections, prejudices, guilts, laments, triggers and stumbling blocks.

As you accumulate kisses, so does your brain incubate the thousands of alternate lives you will lead, will have led. As they hatch, your brain scrambles to fairytale the fractures; inevitably contradictions emerge and fights break out. All throughout your thoughts, tiny wars with nanoscopic battles between miniature lips. As kisses compete, you reconsider; as one tribe defeats and eats its foes, you feel you’ve had a breakthrough, at long last, you’ve made a realization.

Ultimately, like banks versus the mob, a kiss differs from Alzheimer’s only in its ability to write-off the damage.”

{) “Becomes yet another fucking ghost probably”

{) “Into your heart, where it proceeds to clean your arteries of life-threatening heartplaque. Do more kisses! They’re the aspirin of your face!”

{) “Up your butt and around the corner!

No, really– look!

*pulls out an MRI*”

{) “The kiss lives on inside all of us until pooped out. Each crack or wrinkle in a poop is the memory of a kiss; if we could all stop making out with one another for ten seconds we could finally achieve the world’s dream– The Dream– smooth poops.

Imagine: you try and you succeed; you look down, between your legs, and you see it. Perfec– hey. HEY! I’m talking to you. Don’t– stop running! I…

…I love you.”

{) “Jesus eats them as they are sins.

Jesus ate all our sins and he is still eating them. He weighs over 6,000 pounds now because he can’t never die. Back in Gethsemane they thought they got ‘im but Jesus was wise, he dosed some chump and Mr. Pilate crucified the wrong guy. Ever since Jesus has continued to eat every kiss human beings have ever since kissed.

Did you know that not only is kissing a sin but that it is the only sin? Everything else isn’t going to send you to hell, naw. I mean, you’ll make baby Jesus cry some, but I reckon that’s nigh-unavoidable at this point.

What? Oh, well, the real holy trinity is The Baby, The Man, and The Regular Ghost. Jesus exists in all three forms all the time. Fat Sin-Eating Jesus has to babysit his babyself. Whenever someone does something bad it’s His responsibility to hush Himbabyself up. But, cus we’re in a fallen state, He’s constantly eating eating eating our sin kisses and constantly hush hush hushing His Babyness, both at the same time.

Well, from what I hear, the last time He got a moment to Hismanself was November 12, 1998. It was only 1.09 seconds, but it was much appreciated, as before that his last break was March 648. That whole month! No kisses, everyone was nice to each other. But I digress…

Sadly, as He eats our kisses the sins crumb all over his lips, rendering his hushes a bit counter-productive. And all the while, the Regular Ghost watches, chiding His uselessness and jerking off– and that’s where dust comes from”

{) “You couldn’t be more wrong. Kisses aren’t sins. Kisses are deeds– real good ones, too. Kissing is your business here on Earth. You go about your life thinking that words are Language and pictures are Art and that moments are Time’s currency. But all that is just mechanism– His proverbial mysterious ways. You’re missing the mousetrap for the man’s flip pan.

Language, Art, Thought, Sport, Clothes, Dance, Music, Food, Our Penetrators and Our Penetratables, Time and Death Itself — all conspire to bring lips together in mutual assent of His creation.

It’s why prostitution is such a bum-out for the big G-space-D– all that work flushed away in a few lonely thrusts and !~No Kisses~! What a drag, He says, touching on it while he watches. And THAT’S where dust comes from!”

{) “I just know they’re around here somewhere… Hon? Have you seen our kisses? I could have sworn I put them in the linen closet behind the air mattress mattress pump. What? The Air Mattress Pump! W H A T? I can’t hear you, hon, come to the stairs. Come To The Stairs! I Can’t Hear You!! The St– STOP YELLING — JUST COME TO THE STAI ugh, forget it.

I’m pretty sure they were in the linen closet, behind the air pump for the air mattress, but they’re not there anymore. Maybe in the basement?”

{) “In a scrapbook in West Dakota. My cousin Dottie keeps it. I’ll show it to you sometime. It’s a real hoot.

What? West Dakota? Well it will be once East Wyntana realizes that it’s kidding itself.”

{) “It doesn’t. Every kiss collects on your lips. You can’t feel them, but they’re there. When you kiss someone you’re not only kissing everyone they’ve ever kissed but are rekissing all their old kisses. It’s why being alive is so exhausting.”

{) “It is deposited on your behalf in a 401a(ffection) account where it will appreciate value for when you are old and lipless. In the future the citizenship deal will break so bad we’ll all ‘consent’ to give up our lips after age 45, whereupon they’ll be used to make more realistic blowjobots so that Hedge Fund Managers are never not getting sucked off.

And in return, they’ll agree to explain what exactly a hedge fund manager is, and does, and why he’s worth 300 to 3,000 of us (and name which 300 to 3,000 of he’s worth, and explain to their faces why). After about 15 or so folks they’ll give up and propose a compromise in which they’ll make cell phones easier to compromise, resulting in a new golden age in celebrity tit pix.

Joke’s on them: there are also a TON of sweet butts!”

{) “Does it (even) matter? It’s done now.

Go on. Get.”


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2 Responses to “Where does a kiss go?”

  1. Don’t Call That Guy | Attract Pheromones Says:

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