BIG BIG LOVE (ruffian country now)

We're in ruffian country now.

Well. We. I know I am. Maybe you are too. Can you hear your heart humming in your ears like a nuclear weapon?

How about the frostbite on your internal organs? Didn't think frost could bite there? You just haven't been to ruffian country yet.

It's a place where the marauders and the medieval, the undead and the unkempt, the pirates and peaceniks converge and show off their teeth and tough skins and unabashed abilities to swoon, swagger and sabotage. It's not, as is it is oft portrayed, a platform of hope but rather a diving board situated above a bed of nails.

Still, if you got the wits and the know-how (read: you've been around these parts for sometime, have broken a few bones - other people's and your own - but have still managed to somehow compose a serenade while fighting off a Kraken with a Bic lighter drunk in your underwear in middle of the road), and if you have the BIG BIG LOVE, you just might be alright.

And we're all alright, okay, alright.

You can't always tell who has it and who doesn't. BIG BIG LOVE isn't something that's always apparent. You'll know it when you see it, though, especially in ruffian country. When the towers are falling, the waters are rising, the earth is opening up, and the monsters of the skies and beasts of the deep are attacking, it's the BIG BIG LOVE that shines through.

Peace.