It's Pi Day!

Purple prose is a magnificent addition to society as a whole. What could be better than expressing yourself so eloquently and pragmatically, as the prose that which is purple in origin and pulchritudinous in speech? It's like eating a mandarin orange on a hot, blistery, summer's eve under a canopy of flowers: daisies, daffodils, marigolds, irises, honeysuckle, toadflax. Smelling the sweet aroma of a nectarine as the sun kisses the horizon and bids it adieu until the next morn when it will brush the succulent coast with its radiant beauty. With such a majestic scene playing out before your very orbitals, which we use primarily for our visionary misadventures, how could one not revere the pure simplicity of such poetic language as this?

I practically have to bridle myself from the sheer ecstasy of the moment that I am now encompassing, for my feeble mind cannot grasp the alluring, sublime nature of such an articulation as purple prose with its vast emporium of panache.

"Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted." (Sylvia Plath)