ABSTRACT
Love can be such a squalid, selfish thing, but it is the very stuff of postmodern life. Does anything else really matter? Money, progress, humanity - they all seem so old-fashioned, somehow. Even spirituality is dated, being ultimately too individualistic. What is the meaning of life - is this the grit of all depression, to be without meaning in life? What I do know is that for me, exploring the subject of love, and sexuality, is essential to that quest for meaning, which is indeed one of the things I am grappling with in reflecting on these madder times of my life. Why is it that when all else disappoints, love is often the only thing that makes any sense?
