Blind Love

Chris Stevens

Episode 3.02, "Only You"

I know most of you have been where I am tonight: the crash site of unrequited love. You've asked yourself, how did I get here? What was it about--was it her smile, Was it the way she crossed her legs, the turn of her ankle? The poignant vulnerability of her slender wrists? What are these elusive and ephemeral things that ignite passion in the human heart?

That's an age-old question; it's perfect food for thought on a bright midsummer's night. Hey, you said it best, Will: "Love looks not with eyes but with the mind, And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind." Yeah.

[Chris quotes from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream.

Chris plays Billie Holliday's Let's Dream in the Moonlight to close the broadcast.]

The Dark Side

Chris Stevens

Episode 3.05, "Jules et Joel"

There's a dark side to each and every human soul. We want to be Obi-Wan Kenobi, and for the most part we are, but there's a little Darth Vadar in all of us. Because the thing is, this ain't no either/or proposition. Becuase we're talking about dialectics, the good and the bad merging into--us. You know, you can run but you can't hide. My experience: face the darkness, stare it down and own it.

It's like brother Nietzsche says, being human is a complicated gig, so give that old dark night of the soul a hug. And howl the eternal yes.

[Search out Nietzsche's quotation in A Nietzsche Reader or download Somewhere Over The Rainbow, the song Chris plays to close the show.]

Remembrance of Things Past

Chris Stevens

Episode 3.06, "The Body in Question"

It's time for us to say au revoir to Pierre. Where'd he come from, where's he going? I guess we could all ask the same questions of ourselves. I'm going to let a fellow Frenchman here have the last words:

When from a long distant past nothing persists, after the people are dead, after things are broken and scattered, still alone, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long, long time like souls, ready to remind us, waiting, hoping for their moment amid the ruins of all the rest, and bear unfaltering in the tiny, almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.

[Chris reads from Marcel Proust, Swann's Way: In Search of Lost Time]