Daily thoughts on aesthetics and theology, and the entire world in between.

    subscribe to
  • RSS

Why do thrills go away?

Some people have never been kissed. So, for them, life is pretty exciting looking forward to the thrill of the first one. (Kisses from mothers don't count).

Other people have been kissed. And they've found out that, well, it is what it is. The thrill is more or less gone.


That's what I think about. It's one thing to look forward to thrills. But why do thrills go away? Why do they fade?

This morning I'm reading about a recent rally in Washington DC in which somebody got a kiss from his favorite representative. "I even got a kiss from her! ... I'll never wash the spot!"

I'm thinking: Yuck. Please wash that spot. Keep up the hygiene pal...

Over time, faded thrills add up. They just do. Why?

Why is it that thrills don't get better? Why is it that, no matter how many kisses you've had, it would be a law of nature -- A Law of Nature -- that the next kiss would always be more thrilling? Why doesn't it work that way?

(And why do people who insist on the illusion that the next kiss will always be better usually ruin their lives?)

Why do thrills go away?


I can think of some passages, but ... fill in the blank

The article about the guy who wouldn't wash the kiss away is here (the last line of the article on page 2).


Post a Comment