The heart is a machine,...
There is no doubt behind the statement "A waffle iron is a machine," but there is, and quite reasonably, behind the statement that "the heart is a machine." In my life so far, all seventeen years of it, I've realized this statement to be very true. I think the question of proof of this theory, however, does not lie in the question of "how is the heart a machine" but in "how is the heart NOT a machine?" Heart, and by heart I mean all that encompasses it: mine, body, soul, compassion, lve, etc. is the very driving force behind human nature. What else runs our lives? More importantly, what else should, but does not, run our lives? I believe that up until now, right here, that my heart has been the central core of the machine of my life. I've seen a lot in my short-lived life: fantasies, realities, broken spirits, mended hearts, but no matter what I see, my heart governs my life. I made the decision long ago that logic and reason, both of which lie outside of the heart, would not factor into matters of love in my life. I heart what my heart wants, I feel it ripping at my head, and I let it win because I know that my heart is a reflection of who I am and what I want. My heart is what has gotten me this far. The heart is the machine that pumps energy back into my life, the energy that I need to get by.

a machine designed to produce heat in excess...
Waffle irons produce heat, nobody can argue with that but the heat in one's heart far surpasses any temperature that man can measure. I feel it, I feel it everyday when I look at her. The heat that a waffle iron produces compared to the heat that love produces is like comparing a match to the sun. It's like a resurgance throughout my body, but not really my body, more like my soul. I look at her face, I stare at her eyes, I stare into her eyes, I gaze through her eyes, each phase bringing about new waves of heat through my soul. It feels like my blood is boiling but I'm comfortable with it, almost relieved to be able to feel like that. I believe that the the heart produces heat because love is in the heart and love produces heat and I've experienced love first hand. I can't explain the feeling much better than I already have, it's just right. When you're staring at someone, or even something, and the rest of the world dissapears for those moments, what else could it be but love?

to bake the soul at rapid speeds...
Such a production of heat has to have some sort of prupose. For waffle irons it is obviously the production of waffles, but for the heart, baking isn't so simple. Going back to the idea of love being in the heart and love creating that heat that permeates the soul, it becomes evident that the heart bakes the soul. When feelings like love are realized, it's intense, and insane, and passionate, and wild, and it just all seems so right. When your life and soul are "cold batter" and something is finally shaping and molding and "baking" your life nothing else seems important. Sometimes we lose sight of the things that are really important because of this love. Sure, love is "baking" the soul to produce nicely molded pictures of perfection, but that doesn't mean that the process isn't mind-numbingly painful and doesn't put us on edge. In my current personal experiences I feel as though my soul is being baked. My heart has been heating my soul for a while now but the little light hasn't turned green yet. My heart is still at work on my soul, trying ot mold it into something good, and right, and as close to perfect as humanly possible.

for comsumption.
In my thoughts this was the hardest part to relate. Obviously, waffles are cooked to be eaten, an essential part of life, but is the devouring of a soul necessary to truly live? Upon further speculation, I decided that selfishness was the name of it all here. Our heart is baking our souls wiht our love and compassion and hope so that we may devour our own souls. I fwe can "eat" what our heart has worked so hard to create then we have lived. What else have you got after your soul? Nothing. If one can destroy everything they have with no reservations then they are ready for whatever stage of life, or lack of life I guess, proceeds this one.

When you don't live on the edge, you learn two things: don't touch the waffle iron when it's turned on, and don't give your heart away on a silver platter. I learned htese things early, through experience, but I also learned a few other things. The waffle iron can be turned off and back on again, people are o.k with breaking the htings we give them (regardless of how pretty the silver platter is that it lies on), but that these things can be fixed by the internal mechanism of the heart, the heart's "electricity," if you will, love. I have done all of this, not necessarily for bad, but I have.