I once bemoaned to Lucy,
To which she promptly replied,
“No, Love swallows”.
The smutty connotation is obvious enough.
Her 5 cents worth of witticism makes sense.
Love is internalised. Those alleged butterflies. The feeling of being gutted. Love is consumption, taking the bait hook line and sinker, believed in. We accept it, put up with it, digest it, crave for it, sickened by it. And if you’re really hungry/thirsty, you get delirious and imagine illusory things, your guts twist and it hurts.
That ‘heart’ is really just a bloody red herring, a stock shape used for all those horrid products that come out in February, some silly pun for cardiac/kardia no doubt.
The stomach on the other hand, is pure gut, it is less idealised, and a more reliable and real indicator of desire. There are many art house films relating food with love, telling us that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and such other quotable quotations…
The heart is more often a weak muscle, subject to influence and override by a confused and thousand thoughts of a brain. The heart may beat its drum, but the unsophisticated stomach is king because it is instinctual in its growling belch. So the question is: Have you got the guts for it?