I'm back at home in my old haunts, foot to the pedal to the metal.
It is interesting to note, however, how little guts are shown in my Facebook sites. I guess that having someone to actually respond to unfounded innuendo and to show it up for the bag of hot air it is is not a pleasing prospect.
Many have tried, of course. I welcome them all, especially the ones who show me I'm wrong in something, fundament their positions and teach me something I don't know, which is a lot.
Saturday, 14 June 2014
Imagine
that you do know that you are leaving your home for the last time. You know that a coronary hemorrhage so massive as to be unstoppable is going to happen within five minutes.
In a way, that's how I live. It could be that I have still decades to go; I could drop dead this very instant, leaving this entry incomplete.
Imagine there's a short window of opportunity in which to say a few words.
It comes to us all, sooner or later. There's always one last person we speak to, and a final set of words.
An epilogue.
What would yours be?
In a way, that's how I live. It could be that I have still decades to go; I could drop dead this very instant, leaving this entry incomplete.
Imagine there's a short window of opportunity in which to say a few words.
It comes to us all, sooner or later. There's always one last person we speak to, and a final set of words.
An epilogue.
What would yours be?
Friday, 13 June 2014
If you're unhappy,
bereft,
forlorn,
tired,
or
just plain sad,
remember
a shoulder solid for you
now, or in decades to come.
Mine.
forlorn,
tired,
or
just plain sad,
remember
a shoulder solid for you
now, or in decades to come.
Mine.
If you're unhappy,
bereft,
forlorn,
tired,
or
just plain sad,
remember
a shoulder solid for you
now, or in decades to come.
Mine.
forlorn,
tired,
or
just plain sad,
remember
a shoulder solid for you
now, or in decades to come.
Mine.
Please, don't be angry;
please, don't be sad.
Not for me.
My tears are brought
by a bright light,
yours.
Don't forget your light
when the going gets tough.
Please, let me imagine you happy,
call from time to time,
just as you please,
come and go,
or not.
I am there,
as long as I am.
Not for me.
My tears are brought
by a bright light,
yours.
Don't forget your light
when the going gets tough.
Please, let me imagine you happy,
call from time to time,
just as you please,
come and go,
or not.
I am there,
as long as I am.
As inevitable
and imperceptible
as the rising tide
in an atoll lagoon,
as imperious
as a mudslide,
my inclination
for you in particular.
It can be granted, denied,
discouraged or condemned.
There's nothing anyone can do
to make it better,
or worse.
It is there.
Inexorable,
it's me.
It simply,
IS.
It does guide my steps
to be there
as long as I be.
It is me.
as the rising tide
in an atoll lagoon,
as imperious
as a mudslide,
my inclination
for you in particular.
It can be granted, denied,
discouraged or condemned.
There's nothing anyone can do
to make it better,
or worse.
It is there.
Inexorable,
it's me.
It simply,
IS.
It does guide my steps
to be there
as long as I be.
It is me.
Tuesday, 10 June 2014
Closed, for now.
This blog is closed due to ongoing IP problems. I do hope that I will return soon, but I will have to see when.
It is not my doing.
I would like to thank the readers who found the time to read my madness.
If one of them in particular wants to talk, she knows where and when to find me.
A good night to you all.
It is not my doing.
I would like to thank the readers who found the time to read my madness.
If one of them in particular wants to talk, she knows where and when to find me.
A good night to you all.
##
And I know you will not tune in to the John Vernon Smith show, tomorrow at 11:30.
You will probably choose to think I left you and I walked away, even with the evidence in front of you.
I cannot do anymore than I do, other than wait for you, and I shall.
Not that you seem to care. Not enough to break the silence.
You will probably choose to think I left you and I walked away, even with the evidence in front of you.
I cannot do anymore than I do, other than wait for you, and I shall.
Not that you seem to care. Not enough to break the silence.
We'll always have the Potemkin.
I've heard
the sound of a dead man's laughter,
and I smiled along.
I've lived
the ostracism
of he who is different.
I've reinvented myself
so many times,
and I don't think I got lost.
I've learnt the life of a peasant,
to open coconuts with a cutlass,
to feel the warming sun on my skin
after the rigours of winter.
I've seen a monster of the blitzkrieg
as a toothless crocodile.
I've seen the faces of my children
through a car's window, going away,
whilst they called for me.
I've seen my death more times
than I care to remember.
I've fought dog packs
with a small stub of a stick.
I've braved the sea, and I learnt respect.
I've seen the machine of justice
working for oppression,
"dieu et mon droit"
on the heraldry shield.
I've seen the harrier hover,
the glebe dive,
the turtle in its underwater flight,
and rats,
so many rats,
on two and four legs.
I've seen the cuts scar,
the treason of my closest family,
now sadly dead
in an accident of survival.
I found friends in the most unlikely places,
and sworn enemies who didn't know of my existence before going to war.
I'm here,
30 minutes away from falling
apparently silent.
I'm here, and will remain.
Many sights left,
which I hope to share with you.
Hopefully in the 1.0,
but we'll always have this,
here.
Now.
the sound of a dead man's laughter,
and I smiled along.
I've lived
the ostracism
of he who is different.
I've reinvented myself
so many times,
and I don't think I got lost.
I've learnt the life of a peasant,
to open coconuts with a cutlass,
to feel the warming sun on my skin
after the rigours of winter.
I've seen a monster of the blitzkrieg
as a toothless crocodile.
I've seen the faces of my children
through a car's window, going away,
whilst they called for me.
I've seen my death more times
than I care to remember.
I've fought dog packs
with a small stub of a stick.
I've braved the sea, and I learnt respect.
I've seen the machine of justice
working for oppression,
"dieu et mon droit"
on the heraldry shield.
I've seen the harrier hover,
the glebe dive,
the turtle in its underwater flight,
and rats,
so many rats,
on two and four legs.
I've seen the cuts scar,
the treason of my closest family,
now sadly dead
in an accident of survival.
I found friends in the most unlikely places,
and sworn enemies who didn't know of my existence before going to war.
I'm here,
30 minutes away from falling
apparently silent.
I'm here, and will remain.
Many sights left,
which I hope to share with you.
Hopefully in the 1.0,
but we'll always have this,
here.
Now.
##
Nothing I can do about it. That was the situation all along.
That's the situation, even if you were to turn to me for a word.
You won't let me find closure. It seems you want me to think all people are the same...
I won't say what I think about that option of letting things fester and rot away.
I have cut some contacts, but I'll reopen the second you do, so we can talk. I cannot go on like this.
And I won't subject you to unwanted advances. I was raised better than that.
60 minutes left.
I don't think you'll contact, but I never loose the hope we'll talk again.
That's the situation, even if you were to turn to me for a word.
You won't let me find closure. It seems you want me to think all people are the same...
I won't say what I think about that option of letting things fester and rot away.
I have cut some contacts, but I'll reopen the second you do, so we can talk. I cannot go on like this.
And I won't subject you to unwanted advances. I was raised better than that.
60 minutes left.
I don't think you'll contact, but I never loose the hope we'll talk again.
##
The hooligan un me os also down, what can I say? I'm finally broken, for now.
I cannot reason for you to see me as an ally, or anything. I cannot persuade you even to approach me online, where you're more than safe.
I repeat, do you think a hoax hunter with a taste for poetry cannot see through a number of disguises?
Yet, it's all smoke. I ignore why would you do that to me.
Is it revenge? What did I do to you? Why do I keep seeing that +1 and then seeing things that match my entries on the other platform?
It might be all coincidence. Or not.
The only defining thing would be you, saying "hello, it's me".
As I said, there are many Rauls and L's online. Yet there is only one "Raul and L"
Only one.
2 hours and five minutes until I loose my connection, damn it.
I cannot reason for you to see me as an ally, or anything. I cannot persuade you even to approach me online, where you're more than safe.
I repeat, do you think a hoax hunter with a taste for poetry cannot see through a number of disguises?
Yet, it's all smoke. I ignore why would you do that to me.
Is it revenge? What did I do to you? Why do I keep seeing that +1 and then seeing things that match my entries on the other platform?
It might be all coincidence. Or not.
The only defining thing would be you, saying "hello, it's me".
As I said, there are many Rauls and L's online. Yet there is only one "Raul and L"
Only one.
2 hours and five minutes until I loose my connection, damn it.
##
As I said. I won't be chasing any more mirages. It's up to you, I made myself a fixed target so you could find me.
I have been there all along, searching for you ever since August. Every hour of every day. And I will continue.
Until your lips can tell me what's it gonna be. I have 2 1/2 hours now.
I'm gonna go full hooligan, since I now have no hope...
Until Saturday. Any Saturday the rest of my life.
I already said: an eagle will see another one. They don't mate for a season, you know?
But, though that's what I'd want more than anything, I'll be happy with anything from you. As long as it's you.
I have been there all along, searching for you ever since August. Every hour of every day. And I will continue.
Until your lips can tell me what's it gonna be. I have 2 1/2 hours now.
I'm gonna go full hooligan, since I now have no hope...
Until Saturday. Any Saturday the rest of my life.
I already said: an eagle will see another one. They don't mate for a season, you know?
But, though that's what I'd want more than anything, I'll be happy with anything from you. As long as it's you.
Plagiarism.
Speaking with a friend, I congratulated her on the first plagiarism of her work.
It's something special. It's the first time that you create something that will make others wish they came out with that, badly enough as to steal it.
It's theft, to be sure. It'll make you feel as if somebody stole your underwear. After all, what is more private than our thoughts?
I recommended that she framed it. However, I can see how there's a difficulty with that.
I still keep mine. It was the first attempt to use my pen as a throwel to build a bridge. Three people came out to claim the work. Only the last one (me) was the one behind it. You might recognise it, though my writing has evolved somehow.
I never stopped searching for you, click here.
It's something special. It's the first time that you create something that will make others wish they came out with that, badly enough as to steal it.
It's theft, to be sure. It'll make you feel as if somebody stole your underwear. After all, what is more private than our thoughts?
I recommended that she framed it. However, I can see how there's a difficulty with that.
I still keep mine. It was the first attempt to use my pen as a throwel to build a bridge. Three people came out to claim the work. Only the last one (me) was the one behind it. You might recognise it, though my writing has evolved somehow.
I never stopped searching for you, click here.
###
And, even now, as low as I feel. I do not give up on you. Because I believe in you, even if you decide against me.
Friends.
I cannot say but that I'm quite upset, not that I expect anyone to care. I'll have to live with that as I have done all this time.
I cannot help but feel I'm set up to fail, a kangaroo court condemning on the base of nothing at all.
When I make my decisions, I can always say they are my own. No matter what my friends will say. They are my friends because they will not question my judgement.
Those are friends. They do not question me for a minute, even when they see me turn my back on the work we did together, to what others would call a wild goose chase. You saw one sticking her neck out for me. Those are friends.
I do not blame anyone. I regret that slip of the keyboard. If you ever deign to speak to me, and point out where I hurt you, I'll be more than happy to look into it. Your decisions are important to me.
That does not exclude my right to express myself here. I shall never hurt you.
If you feel pain on reading, it would be pain of not seeing your friend. Or it might be of not listening to all sides before calling a decision.
I'm heartbroken. What do you expect? It's almost a year now. A year of horrid minutes of absence, with the prospect of many more to come.
I'll still be waiting by that railway station, if you ever want to hear me out.
Do not worry, a bit longer and I will be out. Only seven hours.
You do not have to wait that long, though I made clear that I'd want to hear directly from you. My friends also tell me to forget you, but I decide and they abide.
It's just my life, after all. And they respect my feelings without trying to do a psych assessment.
I cannot help but feel I'm set up to fail, a kangaroo court condemning on the base of nothing at all.
When I make my decisions, I can always say they are my own. No matter what my friends will say. They are my friends because they will not question my judgement.
Those are friends. They do not question me for a minute, even when they see me turn my back on the work we did together, to what others would call a wild goose chase. You saw one sticking her neck out for me. Those are friends.
I do not blame anyone. I regret that slip of the keyboard. If you ever deign to speak to me, and point out where I hurt you, I'll be more than happy to look into it. Your decisions are important to me.
That does not exclude my right to express myself here. I shall never hurt you.
If you feel pain on reading, it would be pain of not seeing your friend. Or it might be of not listening to all sides before calling a decision.
I'm heartbroken. What do you expect? It's almost a year now. A year of horrid minutes of absence, with the prospect of many more to come.
I'll still be waiting by that railway station, if you ever want to hear me out.
Do not worry, a bit longer and I will be out. Only seven hours.
You do not have to wait that long, though I made clear that I'd want to hear directly from you. My friends also tell me to forget you, but I decide and they abide.
It's just my life, after all. And they respect my feelings without trying to do a psych assessment.
##
Puzzled? Don't be. I leave a footprint, too. Maybe not like yours, but that's our combined beauty.
A colleague and friend, of course. People will come to us as we go to others. It doesn't change the question:
Will I see my Tahr again?
You are not Primus inter pares, but Alpha et omega.
That is the point.
A colleague and friend, of course. People will come to us as we go to others. It doesn't change the question:
Will I see my Tahr again?
You are not Primus inter pares, but Alpha et omega.
That is the point.
##
Dancing on a razor's edge is becoming a lifestyle. The JVS show thought that I was doing a hoax call, until I provided evidence.
They accepted it. It's as solid as I am. I'm the only solid thing amid the bogs and the quickmud, the alligators and pythons in the swamp my life became.
It's a fair warning. I am not a knight in shining armour, nor a toad.
I'm just a regular guy buffeted left, right and centre, who holds no fear of a few quips here and there.
A regular guy fighting back with all he's got. Thall "all" is less than I would like and more than I think. I surprise myself each passing day.
I would not be surprised if you were trying to reach me and had difficulty. My comms are a downright joke. One in very bad taste I do not see any fun in.
And here we both are, still. Me and my +1.
When I can, if I lose the connection, I'll find another way.
I'm nothing if I'm not resourceful.
They accepted it. It's as solid as I am. I'm the only solid thing amid the bogs and the quickmud, the alligators and pythons in the swamp my life became.
It's a fair warning. I am not a knight in shining armour, nor a toad.
I'm just a regular guy buffeted left, right and centre, who holds no fear of a few quips here and there.
A regular guy fighting back with all he's got. Thall "all" is less than I would like and more than I think. I surprise myself each passing day.
I would not be surprised if you were trying to reach me and had difficulty. My comms are a downright joke. One in very bad taste I do not see any fun in.
And here we both are, still. Me and my +1.
When I can, if I lose the connection, I'll find another way.
I'm nothing if I'm not resourceful.
##
And there I went again, being blunt for not being careful. I'm a man, human, prone to errors.
I will be an error 404 after midnight, though I hope not. I fear they'll apply a midnight deadline on the week's "allowance".
I expect there will be mockery. As I did not have a direct confirmation, which would be evidence, I have no intention of going away. The fact that I'm not blocked is not evidence, but a mere inkling.
Meanwhile, while I wait to finish work, I leave a bit of music that expresses me. It does not define me. It's something I found that matches me (which is quite different).
I will not be a 404 error on Saturdays, 7-9 pm, HW rail station. Come what may. Click here for some music.
I will be an error 404 after midnight, though I hope not. I fear they'll apply a midnight deadline on the week's "allowance".
I expect there will be mockery. As I did not have a direct confirmation, which would be evidence, I have no intention of going away. The fact that I'm not blocked is not evidence, but a mere inkling.
Meanwhile, while I wait to finish work, I leave a bit of music that expresses me. It does not define me. It's something I found that matches me (which is quite different).
I will not be a 404 error on Saturdays, 7-9 pm, HW rail station. Come what may. Click here for some music.
##
I'm a bit "in your face" at times, nothing new there. Today, however, there's a reason.
At midnight it will be Wednesday. If I miss the phone call from the BBC, I'm offline. For a little while, anyone would say.
An eternity.
I can live if you throw me out. I will live (or at least survive).
What I can't take is somebody applying the axe-chop without hearing from you directly.
I'm still on my way to work, tune in to BBC 3 counties. Between 11 and 12.
At midnight it will be Wednesday. If I miss the phone call from the BBC, I'm offline. For a little while, anyone would say.
An eternity.
I can live if you throw me out. I will live (or at least survive).
What I can't take is somebody applying the axe-chop without hearing from you directly.
I'm still on my way to work, tune in to BBC 3 counties. Between 11 and 12.
##
Something happens to a person that does a +1 on 24/7 basis. Though not hard evidence, I suspect a thing or two are going on, and that you are in a trap that is not just that of a small lie.
It's something else. You should be getting your sleep and eating well...
You should be doing that in any case.
Talk to me, please.
It's something else. You should be getting your sleep and eating well...
You should be doing that in any case.
Talk to me, please.
The trap.
We start with a little one. A small, unimportant, harmless falsehood. Do I know from experience? Of course I do. Who hasn't lied.
My biggest ones (just like for many other people) had to do with trying to project an image that was expected of me. We do not wish to disappoint the other person. It's such a small thing to say...
But no sooner do we utter that little sentence that we notice we are in a trap. As one inconsistency shows up, we make up a second lie to cover the first, then a third...
Before we know it, there are two versions of our life. The one the others see, and the one inside. And the chasm widens.
We long to regain control, to come out with it. But, by lying, we have heightened the expectations of those around us.
Did it happen to me? If you don't know, you can find out, if you know the people in my life. Of course I did it.
And a day comes when the weight is just too heavy to bear. We are confronted with the edited version of our lives, we are shown them to be a fabrication. There's only two options:
You can continue with denial. Your self-esteem will suffer more and more. It's self-destruction.
You can stop, and admit: "Yes, I did it. I'm sorry", or "yes, I did, I'm not sorry". Six or seven small words that take all your effort to speak out.
The fear of retribution is huge. We are at the mercy of others. It's not an enviable situation.
And, surprise! The sun is still up there, and the earth still revolves around it. Nothing has changed, but for one thing: you're no longer carrying that weight. You feel relieved.
And the people who love you can see through to the real you. They won't tax you with it, and cab see how you fell into the trap.
Because it is a trap. And the small-time liar is a victim of sorts.
Did it happen to me. Of course it did. Some people (the ones worth keeping around) will accept it and move on with you.
They will feel hurt, but they will also be relieved at having you back. At putting an end to it. All you need to do is to be yourself from now on.
That's a kind of reward. To regain yourself.
If you have something, don't hide it. You're not helping me, and I dare say you're not helping yourself.
Just let go of that weight on your chest. You'll feel better.
Do I speak from personal experience? Of course...
Break the trap. Trust or live with the lie.
My biggest ones (just like for many other people) had to do with trying to project an image that was expected of me. We do not wish to disappoint the other person. It's such a small thing to say...
But no sooner do we utter that little sentence that we notice we are in a trap. As one inconsistency shows up, we make up a second lie to cover the first, then a third...
Before we know it, there are two versions of our life. The one the others see, and the one inside. And the chasm widens.
We long to regain control, to come out with it. But, by lying, we have heightened the expectations of those around us.
Did it happen to me? If you don't know, you can find out, if you know the people in my life. Of course I did it.
And a day comes when the weight is just too heavy to bear. We are confronted with the edited version of our lives, we are shown them to be a fabrication. There's only two options:
You can continue with denial. Your self-esteem will suffer more and more. It's self-destruction.
You can stop, and admit: "Yes, I did it. I'm sorry", or "yes, I did, I'm not sorry". Six or seven small words that take all your effort to speak out.
The fear of retribution is huge. We are at the mercy of others. It's not an enviable situation.
And, surprise! The sun is still up there, and the earth still revolves around it. Nothing has changed, but for one thing: you're no longer carrying that weight. You feel relieved.
And the people who love you can see through to the real you. They won't tax you with it, and cab see how you fell into the trap.
Because it is a trap. And the small-time liar is a victim of sorts.
Did it happen to me. Of course it did. Some people (the ones worth keeping around) will accept it and move on with you.
They will feel hurt, but they will also be relieved at having you back. At putting an end to it. All you need to do is to be yourself from now on.
That's a kind of reward. To regain yourself.
If you have something, don't hide it. You're not helping me, and I dare say you're not helping yourself.
Just let go of that weight on your chest. You'll feel better.
Do I speak from personal experience? Of course...
Break the trap. Trust or live with the lie.
Monday, 9 June 2014
Epilogue (hopefully not) to insanity.
I have used the MB I have left as best as I could, save for that huge mistake which I'll regret the rest of my days. About you, I care. I care more than I can express with words. We might find better ways, don't you think?
There's not much more to tell, other than I will continue to write you. Asking for (and giving) permission to be a muse is not something that can be taken back, I'm afraid.
You impregnated me with a million more things to come, and for that I do thank you, even if you decide to come and give me a kick in the nuts before saying farewell. Not that I'm asking for that...
But that is only a symptom of what I feel about you. I have already rambled on and on. You should know where I stand, if I look like a pansy to everyone.
That is no affront to my dignity as a man. As I said before, it takes a man to don a pink shirt, and to call it "pink" instead of "salmon". I'm safe enough in my masculinity not to be piqued by those petty things.
I'm always almost done. The thing I miss the most is to just shut up and listen to you.
And I don't give up hope of that happening. I never will.
It might be that you worry about my integrity, my ability to withstand a flat-out rejection on all levels, down to unfollowing me and blocking me everywhere.
Fear not, my love. I hurt when I saw your reaction this afternoon, but I will survive the blow. The last thing I want to be is your chain. I'll live. I'm needed, remember? I'm a father, and (if they decide that), I hope to be a grandfather, and see them grow a lot closer than I'm allowed now.
And, at least in this blog, I'll call you "my love", that's what you are to me. Out of here, only when you want it.
I'll only call you "my girl" after you're 60. I hope we both see that, though I know not what will happen.
That's part of the adventure. We only have the one shot. Let's make it count whatever you decide, my dear love.
There's not much more to tell, other than I will continue to write you. Asking for (and giving) permission to be a muse is not something that can be taken back, I'm afraid.
You impregnated me with a million more things to come, and for that I do thank you, even if you decide to come and give me a kick in the nuts before saying farewell. Not that I'm asking for that...
But that is only a symptom of what I feel about you. I have already rambled on and on. You should know where I stand, if I look like a pansy to everyone.
That is no affront to my dignity as a man. As I said before, it takes a man to don a pink shirt, and to call it "pink" instead of "salmon". I'm safe enough in my masculinity not to be piqued by those petty things.
I'm always almost done. The thing I miss the most is to just shut up and listen to you.
And I don't give up hope of that happening. I never will.
It might be that you worry about my integrity, my ability to withstand a flat-out rejection on all levels, down to unfollowing me and blocking me everywhere.
Fear not, my love. I hurt when I saw your reaction this afternoon, but I will survive the blow. The last thing I want to be is your chain. I'll live. I'm needed, remember? I'm a father, and (if they decide that), I hope to be a grandfather, and see them grow a lot closer than I'm allowed now.
And, at least in this blog, I'll call you "my love", that's what you are to me. Out of here, only when you want it.
I'll only call you "my girl" after you're 60. I hope we both see that, though I know not what will happen.
That's part of the adventure. We only have the one shot. Let's make it count whatever you decide, my dear love.
26h left.
I'm quite anxious, I have to admit. The prospect of losing my connection is unnerving, to say the least.
Mixed signals, but I will not fall for a non sequitur if I can help it.
Since it's not the first time the haiku attracts readers, you will become more and more dissolved in the crowd.
Save for B, C and D. I do not search or look any further. There's no point, it'd only be invasive.
All I needed and wanted to do was to say hi, with my name. Once that's done, it's up to you. It cannot be otherwise.
If you wanted me gone, you'd have me gone. I'll stay in here as long as I can.
In the 1.0 is where it matters. That's where I am. You know now when and where.
Mixed signals, but I will not fall for a non sequitur if I can help it.
Since it's not the first time the haiku attracts readers, you will become more and more dissolved in the crowd.
Save for B, C and D. I do not search or look any further. There's no point, it'd only be invasive.
All I needed and wanted to do was to say hi, with my name. Once that's done, it's up to you. It cannot be otherwise.
If you wanted me gone, you'd have me gone. I'll stay in here as long as I can.
In the 1.0 is where it matters. That's where I am. You know now when and where.
#
I despair sometimes.
Like now. There's something I'm doing wrong. I have to figure it out by myself, I know that much.
I have to assume that the leads I was pursuing were the wrong ones when they told me I was mistaken.
To the gates of hell I go for a look into your eyes, for a word.
Even if that word is goodbye.
Which would mean I'd still wait. I will not cheapen myself and somebody else by trying to put a replacement. A woman likea spare part? Hell, no!
And anyone can call me an exacting singleton. My mind's made up.
We're not children anymore. We know of that mistake of using people as spare parts.
Like now. There's something I'm doing wrong. I have to figure it out by myself, I know that much.
I have to assume that the leads I was pursuing were the wrong ones when they told me I was mistaken.
To the gates of hell I go for a look into your eyes, for a word.
Even if that word is goodbye.
Which would mean I'd still wait. I will not cheapen myself and somebody else by trying to put a replacement. A woman likea spare part? Hell, no!
And anyone can call me an exacting singleton. My mind's made up.
We're not children anymore. We know of that mistake of using people as spare parts.
##
In a silly hat, with closed eyes.
It's you.
About being Mexican...
I can be too.
Or anything.
I'm what you want me to be. The only thing I cannot be is "there". Until you tell me where that "there" is.
It's you.
About being Mexican...
I can be too.
Or anything.
I'm what you want me to be. The only thing I cannot be is "there". Until you tell me where that "there" is.
Ball in your court.
There.
I do hope you will finally say you are you.
I cannot wait to hear your reproach either. And to own up to it.
We both grew since. I did know little other than posting something. I learned as I went along.
It took me so bloody long to find you. Please, give me your reproach if that's all you have for me.
For I'd drink of your cup to the very dregs.
I do hope you will finally say you are you.
I cannot wait to hear your reproach either. And to own up to it.
We both grew since. I did know little other than posting something. I learned as I went along.
It took me so bloody long to find you. Please, give me your reproach if that's all you have for me.
For I'd drink of your cup to the very dregs.
##
It hurts. Every second of your absence is an eternity. To be so far, and yet as close as we are is that maddening itch in the back of the throat which I cannot scratch.
I try to make you laugh, but a joke will be almost surely taken the wrong way. I won't cut you, even if by accident, my sweet Minnie.
Here we are, trapped in words.
Please, believe me when I say there's no one else for me. The reason, it's you.
It was always you, before I knew of your existence. And now, I cannot unknow. We go back to the zebra playing the piano.
I have control over my actions, but not over the room that you made for yourself inside of me. I tend to it daily, hourly, each minute... you get the idea.
There's only one way in which I'd stab you with a hug and a kiss on the forehead. Only one. Once. Hours.
That is a promise I intend to keep.
Just a minute.
I try to make you laugh, but a joke will be almost surely taken the wrong way. I won't cut you, even if by accident, my sweet Minnie.
Here we are, trapped in words.
Please, believe me when I say there's no one else for me. The reason, it's you.
It was always you, before I knew of your existence. And now, I cannot unknow. We go back to the zebra playing the piano.
I have control over my actions, but not over the room that you made for yourself inside of me. I tend to it daily, hourly, each minute... you get the idea.
There's only one way in which I'd stab you with a hug and a kiss on the forehead. Only one. Once. Hours.
That is a promise I intend to keep.
Just a minute.
##
I trawl my lists. It is a habit of months. Wherever I catch a glimpse of you, I put myself in.
All we need is a few words telling me it's you on the other end of the line. I do understand why you would feel the need to save face in the other platform. The audience listens and it is unforgiving. Part of that said audience is you.
All we need is to see each other in the eye. We'll remain allies, no matter what life throws at us.
If we survive this as allies, nothing can break us. Nothing.
By now, you know.
All we need is a few words telling me it's you on the other end of the line. I do understand why you would feel the need to save face in the other platform. The audience listens and it is unforgiving. Part of that said audience is you.
All we need is to see each other in the eye. We'll remain allies, no matter what life throws at us.
If we survive this as allies, nothing can break us. Nothing.
By now, you know.
Semiopaque mirror.
And, just in case you do need further evidence, you can tune in at the JVS (John Vernon Smith) show, they want to help me with my phone problem. That's the BBC Three Counties radio. They run a consumer helpline.
You'll hear my voice there. Tomorrow or the day after.
Damn it, I have been searching for you high and low ever since. I have been doing what I can to have a cable to you.
Eagles, that's what we are. Eagles surrounded by sparrows.
I can not think of one writer of fiction who can come up with a story like ours.
Not even Orwell, or Kafka.
You're the semiopaque mirror in which I saw myself, the bird of prey waiting to soar. I'm yours, I saw.
Try again, contact me. Say the name behind the profile. Say it's you.
Damn it that it should be so hard.
You'll hear my voice there. Tomorrow or the day after.
Damn it, I have been searching for you high and low ever since. I have been doing what I can to have a cable to you.
Eagles, that's what we are. Eagles surrounded by sparrows.
I can not think of one writer of fiction who can come up with a story like ours.
Not even Orwell, or Kafka.
You're the semiopaque mirror in which I saw myself, the bird of prey waiting to soar. I'm yours, I saw.
Try again, contact me. Say the name behind the profile. Say it's you.
Damn it that it should be so hard.
xxx
By now, you should know. There's no other one, there never will be, as I said that last day on our way to the shop.
I'm not surprised you did not believe me such level of devotion.
That's because nobody saw you in all your glory, as I did.
Because an eagle does not know what it is, but will recognize another one instantly. Let's face it, that's what we are.
I see a passing ardorous compliment I made to you on the phone as part of one of your bios. A total riot, I must add. I do feel honoured. Or did you think I was just another mindless reader competing for the attention and a photo?
Or did you think I didn't recognize the Borges poem of 11/03?
I'm a hoax hunter. I have been for a while. I unmasked a photo nobody recognised as false. Just a fraction of things I do. I have a place there as soon as I have my connection back.
Eagles. Circling the air as they mate.
Frightened? You mustn't be, though far it be from me to tell you what to do. I point out you have no reason to fear.
I see comments about "going with other women". One of them attacked me in your FB site.
Really? And who makes my blog entries for me in the middle of the night? When I wasn't here, I was at the other platform, who was signing my entries for me? Almost 24/7, I have been doing this.
I must sleep. It's becoming too much.
I'm not surprised you did not believe me such level of devotion.
That's because nobody saw you in all your glory, as I did.
Because an eagle does not know what it is, but will recognize another one instantly. Let's face it, that's what we are.
I see a passing ardorous compliment I made to you on the phone as part of one of your bios. A total riot, I must add. I do feel honoured. Or did you think I was just another mindless reader competing for the attention and a photo?
Or did you think I didn't recognize the Borges poem of 11/03?
I'm a hoax hunter. I have been for a while. I unmasked a photo nobody recognised as false. Just a fraction of things I do. I have a place there as soon as I have my connection back.
Eagles. Circling the air as they mate.
Frightened? You mustn't be, though far it be from me to tell you what to do. I point out you have no reason to fear.
I see comments about "going with other women". One of them attacked me in your FB site.
Really? And who makes my blog entries for me in the middle of the night? When I wasn't here, I was at the other platform, who was signing my entries for me? Almost 24/7, I have been doing this.
I must sleep. It's becoming too much.
Hooligan.
"A hooligan", I was called by someone yesterday. I still cannot say whether it was said as a compliment. It must have been, since she just started following.
What a terrible pair we make, right? And I'll say no more on it. You know about my work, I know a bit of yours.
I do miss my accomplice, the lamb with a she-wolf costume.
300 seconds in each set of five minutes without you. I count them.
Just like Leonidas's hoplites.
What a terrible pair we make, right? And I'll say no more on it. You know about my work, I know a bit of yours.
I do miss my accomplice, the lamb with a she-wolf costume.
300 seconds in each set of five minutes without you. I count them.
Just like Leonidas's hoplites.
Exiled into my words.
Such is my reality.
All these many months, strengthening my voice, to try and throw a rope between you and I.
To try and make you smile when I could, knowing your likeliest reality. There were never many options open to you at the time. I do hope things have improved.
I sought to remain that breath of fresh air, the moonbeam entering your window. I seek to sculpt bubbles into squirrels that play on any branch. Anything to try to make you smile.
How many men do you know who remember the colour of eyes of the woman they're with? Exactly.
How many men can recognize the woman from a partial photo? Exactly.
How many men do can guess when a woman has been displeased? Please do tell.
That is a fact that tells you how I feel. All my words flow from that fact.
What I uploaded this morning was nothing but a few inductive tools to keep my sanity, make sense of a senseless situation.
Those who peddle baseless beliefs do not like those who can poke holes into their phallacies. And, beyond this, I have no time for other people in this blog.
To you, I'd beg forgiveness. Possibly face to face. I am waiting for you. I got cut by that blade that entered through that full stop that should have been a comma.
And, despite all, you're here still. Is it not time for us to contact? To touch base with the most loyal ally you'll ever have?
All these many months, strengthening my voice, to try and throw a rope between you and I.
To try and make you smile when I could, knowing your likeliest reality. There were never many options open to you at the time. I do hope things have improved.
I sought to remain that breath of fresh air, the moonbeam entering your window. I seek to sculpt bubbles into squirrels that play on any branch. Anything to try to make you smile.
How many men do you know who remember the colour of eyes of the woman they're with? Exactly.
How many men can recognize the woman from a partial photo? Exactly.
How many men do can guess when a woman has been displeased? Please do tell.
That is a fact that tells you how I feel. All my words flow from that fact.
What I uploaded this morning was nothing but a few inductive tools to keep my sanity, make sense of a senseless situation.
Those who peddle baseless beliefs do not like those who can poke holes into their phallacies. And, beyond this, I have no time for other people in this blog.
To you, I'd beg forgiveness. Possibly face to face. I am waiting for you. I got cut by that blade that entered through that full stop that should have been a comma.
And, despite all, you're here still. Is it not time for us to contact? To touch base with the most loyal ally you'll ever have?
One error.
A huge one.
Which will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I have hurt, unintentionally, but that's not the point. I have hurt.
I wrote "I couldn't care less." as a separate sentence, instead of as a clause, meaning "I couldn't care less about winning or loosing..."
I edited.
But who's going to edit the hurt I caused?
A million times and over I'm sorry won't cover it.
And yet I would kneel in front of you and beg your forgiveness. If you'd have it.
Which will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I have hurt, unintentionally, but that's not the point. I have hurt.
I wrote "I couldn't care less." as a separate sentence, instead of as a clause, meaning "I couldn't care less about winning or loosing..."
I edited.
But who's going to edit the hurt I caused?
A million times and over I'm sorry won't cover it.
And yet I would kneel in front of you and beg your forgiveness. If you'd have it.
Just a cigarette break.
Explanations are not asked, but given (or not). They might be listened to (or not).
How often our minds play nasty tricks on us. Speaking for myself, I've had more than my fair share of that.
We're particularly good at imagining worse-case scenarios. A small example, the christian concept of hell. The one of heaven is much blander, and less detailed. Just a few fluffy clouds and that shit.
It is a vice I try to stay away from. Life's hard enough as it is, is it not? Not always with success, I gotta add.
Because sometimes, fear will trigger aggression, and I do dislike the few times I have used a harsh word.
Truth. The great mistery. We penetrate this or that aspect a bit at a time, partially.
But it can be sought.
Sometimes, truth is just a short message away. My truth is in what I do. In what I say, not in what others adscribe to me in their perceptions.
I am who I am, my love. No more.
And no less.
How often our minds play nasty tricks on us. Speaking for myself, I've had more than my fair share of that.
We're particularly good at imagining worse-case scenarios. A small example, the christian concept of hell. The one of heaven is much blander, and less detailed. Just a few fluffy clouds and that shit.
It is a vice I try to stay away from. Life's hard enough as it is, is it not? Not always with success, I gotta add.
Because sometimes, fear will trigger aggression, and I do dislike the few times I have used a harsh word.
Truth. The great mistery. We penetrate this or that aspect a bit at a time, partially.
But it can be sought.
Sometimes, truth is just a short message away. My truth is in what I do. In what I say, not in what others adscribe to me in their perceptions.
I am who I am, my love. No more.
And no less.
Monday morning, under 500MB
You'll run. You'll run like the wind from one conversation, which doesn't compromise you to anything.
You'll just sit down till I'm gone. Will you then go on to say that the absence is hard to bear, how we men are incapable of this, that and the other? It seems possible from where I'm sitting.
It seems plausible.
And, you know what? I'm not bothered about "winning" a tug of war in the social media. (Addition: After hundreds of entries, I make a grammatical error in this paragraph, which I have corrected. I'd rather die than hurt you).
I'd rather "loose" and see you.
I remain tied to my post, waiting for you.
If it was you who did approach me in the last few days, you can still retract a word and say "hi" as yourself.
Of course I understand.
But I fear you won't do that.
Of need and accidents.
I know why you won't speak with me, and why you would have been told it's not a good idea.
We both know that the constructs of "normal life" are nothing but a house of cards, blown away at a couple of innocent questions.
And so, it'll be down to blind faith.
It's not that hard evidence lies on my side. There's no such thing as hard evidence when it comes to our life decisions, save for extreme situations.
But, as I might have quoted someplace, the need is expressed through the accident.
I am consistent with my need, if unfulfilled. It is that consistency and solidity you fear, against which all the smoke you were sold would be ineffectual.
The answers to this can only be "ad hominem", so much hot air.
We both know that the constructs of "normal life" are nothing but a house of cards, blown away at a couple of innocent questions.
And so, it'll be down to blind faith.
It's not that hard evidence lies on my side. There's no such thing as hard evidence when it comes to our life decisions, save for extreme situations.
But, as I might have quoted someplace, the need is expressed through the accident.
I am consistent with my need, if unfulfilled. It is that consistency and solidity you fear, against which all the smoke you were sold would be ineffectual.
The answers to this can only be "ad hominem", so much hot air.
**
Bitter morning.
Another one. After the body blow, there was nothing left but to collapse.
And wake up.
And collapse again.
Another mirage yesterday.
I just don't know what to do anymore, I cannot do anything right.
And how funny for others. At least, this is entertainment for some.
Anything I've said in the last two years is disproven with four words: "but you're a man".
That seems argument enough nowadays. For everything.
Another one. After the body blow, there was nothing left but to collapse.
And wake up.
And collapse again.
Another mirage yesterday.
I just don't know what to do anymore, I cannot do anything right.
And how funny for others. At least, this is entertainment for some.
Anything I've said in the last two years is disproven with four words: "but you're a man".
That seems argument enough nowadays. For everything.
##
Coser to deadline.
And nothing from you yet.
You would have your reasons not to address me.
Not even a word.
As if I'd committed a crime against you.
In a way it is. A world like ours doesn't forgive being a round peg.
Dawn is so far away...
And nothing from you yet.
You would have your reasons not to address me.
Not even a word.
As if I'd committed a crime against you.
In a way it is. A world like ours doesn't forgive being a round peg.
Dawn is so far away...
Sunday, 8 June 2014
##
I do not know what else to do.
I see the hurt others spew, and it reflects my very own. Illusion of series? That would be Ockam's blade applied. It is the answer with less entities.
The alternative... I already subjected myself to plenty of ridicule. It should not leave scars, but it does.
The dance of the profiles goes on, I cannot tell anymore which is which.
But for one.
I am descending into the realm of irreality. I know what I know about myself, though.
Even offline, I will wait for that train. Saturdays, 7-9pm.
I'm not sure I can continue here much longer.
I'm broken.
I see the hurt others spew, and it reflects my very own. Illusion of series? That would be Ockam's blade applied. It is the answer with less entities.
The alternative... I already subjected myself to plenty of ridicule. It should not leave scars, but it does.
The dance of the profiles goes on, I cannot tell anymore which is which.
But for one.
I am descending into the realm of irreality. I know what I know about myself, though.
Even offline, I will wait for that train. Saturdays, 7-9pm.
I'm not sure I can continue here much longer.
I'm broken.
##
Well, I should be getting used to the disappointments.
I should.
And I keep pressing on.
Life's not an spectator sport.
I should.
And I keep pressing on.
Life's not an spectator sport.
x
Another chapter of a wild goose chase (translate "gamusinos" into Spanish) comes to an end.
Incredibly funny.
For anyone else.
Incredibly funny.
For anyone else.
xx
Being self-assured 24/7 is exhausting. Furthermore, it's impossible. Unless, that is, one were to live in a hotbed of dogmatism, credulity and ignorance.
I'm never more skeptical than when it comes to my having any merit at all, which is why I strive to excel. You do the same, my love. Others will resort to putting others down. Let them.
And that is when we discuss acquirable, learned skills. When it comes to having the persuasion of animal magnetism, I hide behind a facade of confidence.
I never dreamed a woman like you would look at me. I still have trouble believing it, of course.
Which is why, as usual, would need some hard evidence to show for it.
I'll say howdy in half an hour. Please do speak out.
I'm not springing a surprise.
I'm never more skeptical than when it comes to my having any merit at all, which is why I strive to excel. You do the same, my love. Others will resort to putting others down. Let them.
And that is when we discuss acquirable, learned skills. When it comes to having the persuasion of animal magnetism, I hide behind a facade of confidence.
I never dreamed a woman like you would look at me. I still have trouble believing it, of course.
Which is why, as usual, would need some hard evidence to show for it.
I'll say howdy in half an hour. Please do speak out.
I'm not springing a surprise.
A girl, a woman. A boy, a man.
The man told the girl a bedtime story, after setting her duvet, a story of home and love found, of comfort, of invincible amazons prodigious in strength and battle skills.
The woman hugged the boy to her chest, applied a balsam on the cuts he brought home that day. She sang him a nightsong. A song of kindness, of healing, of fighting his battles with brain instead of brawn.
And the little ones, exhausted after a frightening day in the world, could rest.
The man and the woman met their eyes.
The girl and the boy came out to play.
The woman hugged the boy to her chest, applied a balsam on the cuts he brought home that day. She sang him a nightsong. A song of kindness, of healing, of fighting his battles with brain instead of brawn.
And the little ones, exhausted after a frightening day in the world, could rest.
The man and the woman met their eyes.
The girl and the boy came out to play.
The chink in my armour.
I might come across as blunt, self-assured, strong, rational in my madness. That's how I would like to think I am, and maybe I am, too.
I also am terrified.
The boy who stares in awe and wonder atthe world is adventurous, mischievous, curious. He is also a boy. We all have one.
Mine is also petrified not to measure up to the idea you might have of me.
I think the girl in you is just as terrified as the boy in me, but she needs to help a tiny bit more. Only a bit.
The boy needs to know it's that girl in particular. You know what to do. Just do it. Talk to me as you. All you have to say is: "yes, it's me".
Meanwhile, the man sometimes despairs of his shyness, despite the apparent boldness. He gets as tongue-tied as anything.
The man longs for the woman, the boy for the girl.
I am going to lengths difficult to believe by myself. There is only one line open for us, I think it's you.
But if you say you're not, it's something I have to take at face value. I have no choice.
And the clock keeps ticking. The MB keep ebbing away...
I also am terrified.
The boy who stares in awe and wonder atthe world is adventurous, mischievous, curious. He is also a boy. We all have one.
Mine is also petrified not to measure up to the idea you might have of me.
I think the girl in you is just as terrified as the boy in me, but she needs to help a tiny bit more. Only a bit.
The boy needs to know it's that girl in particular. You know what to do. Just do it. Talk to me as you. All you have to say is: "yes, it's me".
Meanwhile, the man sometimes despairs of his shyness, despite the apparent boldness. He gets as tongue-tied as anything.
The man longs for the woman, the boy for the girl.
I am going to lengths difficult to believe by myself. There is only one line open for us, I think it's you.
But if you say you're not, it's something I have to take at face value. I have no choice.
And the clock keeps ticking. The MB keep ebbing away...
#
There, that wasn't so difficult. The machine didn't bite. Neither did I.
That's all it takes, a little at a time.
As you said, live the moment. Do not let it go.
My life is not a BMW, but a bus ticket for now.
Yet I can say I'm on minisafari. This time with my girls.
I'm always on minisafari mode. This world's just so big. There's so much to see just by lifting a stone...
But there's no need to listen to my dreams. What do yours say?
That's all it takes, a little at a time.
As you said, live the moment. Do not let it go.
My life is not a BMW, but a bus ticket for now.
Yet I can say I'm on minisafari. This time with my girls.
I'm always on minisafari mode. This world's just so big. There's so much to see just by lifting a stone...
But there's no need to listen to my dreams. What do yours say?
××
How would I know? I'm a survivor, remember?
Because, on that, I could write books. I have been told to get on and do it.
I have been a prisoner of "it's not as bad as it seems" for eight years. Longer, even.
And it nearly killed me twice. You do know.
As much as I suffer now, it's nothing compared to that horror.
There were good moments, and those were traps into further living the nightmare.
As much as the present is preached, it all comes down to choosing a future.
Because it will be the present.
And then the past. More memories.
Will they be ballast, or will it be a shelter in harder times?
Only you can know.
Because, on that, I could write books. I have been told to get on and do it.
I have been a prisoner of "it's not as bad as it seems" for eight years. Longer, even.
And it nearly killed me twice. You do know.
As much as I suffer now, it's nothing compared to that horror.
There were good moments, and those were traps into further living the nightmare.
As much as the present is preached, it all comes down to choosing a future.
Because it will be the present.
And then the past. More memories.
Will they be ballast, or will it be a shelter in harder times?
Only you can know.
*
Only you can know. The present, for me is full of you. And yours has me.
What I read smacks of conformism, an ode to the virtues of the status quo.
If that is conviction, you won't have any difficulty saying that to me. Directly, and with your name in it.
The truth of our presents are in the horror of the nights, where the "conventional wisdom" fails to assert a wisdom that is any number of commonplaces thrown together. Its an affirmation of the consequent.
It is: "all that is, is as it should be."
It is true that we always find a moment to enjoy. An extreme example: even a battered woman will have at least one fond memory of her abuser. How else do you think she put up with it? "It's not as bad as it seems.
But it is the total sum that adds it all up.
It is only slaves who stay up nights, dreaming of freedom.
When it is not as bad as it seems, we sleep.
And we don't.
What I read smacks of conformism, an ode to the virtues of the status quo.
If that is conviction, you won't have any difficulty saying that to me. Directly, and with your name in it.
The truth of our presents are in the horror of the nights, where the "conventional wisdom" fails to assert a wisdom that is any number of commonplaces thrown together. Its an affirmation of the consequent.
It is: "all that is, is as it should be."
It is true that we always find a moment to enjoy. An extreme example: even a battered woman will have at least one fond memory of her abuser. How else do you think she put up with it? "It's not as bad as it seems.
But it is the total sum that adds it all up.
It is only slaves who stay up nights, dreaming of freedom.
When it is not as bad as it seems, we sleep.
And we don't.
*
My daughters are delayed.
So I wait.
I know (or suspect) why you did stop smoking. It doesn't make a difference to me, or how I feel toward us. I thought you should know.
Five minutes that I have. I'm here. It has always been like that. That +1, perennial, got noticed after the first 20 entries or so.
"You hang up first"
"No, you do"
We are still there.
With love, that thing many claim they know. That I thought I knew. Until you (yes, you).
So I wait.
I know (or suspect) why you did stop smoking. It doesn't make a difference to me, or how I feel toward us. I thought you should know.
Five minutes that I have. I'm here. It has always been like that. That +1, perennial, got noticed after the first 20 entries or so.
"You hang up first"
"No, you do"
We are still there.
With love, that thing many claim they know. That I thought I knew. Until you (yes, you).
##
Another day for the insane, getting ready to meet two of my three loves.
One missing. A large hole in me. You.
I do have the worry that your decision won't be entirely yours. I cannot help but worry about that. I already saw last night one, telling you to keep silent and not to explain.
That decision should be yours.
That's why I tell you that I am the most loyal friend (or among them). I told you to explore before making any decisions. And that whichever it was, it was the right one.
Because, would you need convincing that "it's not as bad as it seems"?
Just notice how many people would give medical advice on the networks: "take this", instead of "go to the doctor". People feel the need to say something that will soothe. That doesn't mean they fully know.
Because nobody knows you and I.
Only you and I.
Many already thought they knew me. They only knew their stereotype.
Love.
One missing. A large hole in me. You.
I do have the worry that your decision won't be entirely yours. I cannot help but worry about that. I already saw last night one, telling you to keep silent and not to explain.
That decision should be yours.
That's why I tell you that I am the most loyal friend (or among them). I told you to explore before making any decisions. And that whichever it was, it was the right one.
Because, would you need convincing that "it's not as bad as it seems"?
Just notice how many people would give medical advice on the networks: "take this", instead of "go to the doctor". People feel the need to say something that will soothe. That doesn't mean they fully know.
Because nobody knows you and I.
Only you and I.
Many already thought they knew me. They only knew their stereotype.
Love.
x
It's not easy to say hello.
It's impossible to say goodbye.
Remember, my love.
Avoid the commonplace advice when applied to extraordinary circumstances.
Would you say we're common? Normal? No.
Nobody knows better than you. Nobody.
Just be yourself. If you're having to hide, there's something wrong with that. Inherently so.
Now I must sleep. And you too.
In millón y medio de besos (tú eliges dónde), uno en la frente y otro en la punta de la nariz.
Te adoro.
It's impossible to say goodbye.
Remember, my love.
Avoid the commonplace advice when applied to extraordinary circumstances.
Would you say we're common? Normal? No.
Nobody knows better than you. Nobody.
Just be yourself. If you're having to hide, there's something wrong with that. Inherently so.
Now I must sleep. And you too.
In millón y medio de besos (tú eliges dónde), uno en la frente y otro en la punta de la nariz.
Te adoro.
x
Good night, my sweetest love.
I just must sleep. I have my visit tomorrow. You can easily guess which one. The two other loves of my life.
You'll have the time to talk with your friend and feel stronger to talk with me.
Directly. You and I.
I'll just be offline. In the morning.
I wait for you the rest of my life. I waited 41 years to meet you. I'll wait for as long as you tell me.
But we have to talk.
We must.
It's our lives.
I just must sleep. I have my visit tomorrow. You can easily guess which one. The two other loves of my life.
You'll have the time to talk with your friend and feel stronger to talk with me.
Directly. You and I.
I'll just be offline. In the morning.
I wait for you the rest of my life. I waited 41 years to meet you. I'll wait for as long as you tell me.
But we have to talk.
We must.
It's our lives.
x
I cannot help it. The blogger dashboard says it before I open the editor.
It shows that (for example) the entry before the last has been "read" from six places.
It does happen with certain entries.
I understand that you feel insecure.
But do you need the moral support from friends to talk to a friend?
Please.
Please.
Talk to me.
It shows that (for example) the entry before the last has been "read" from six places.
It does happen with certain entries.
I understand that you feel insecure.
But do you need the moral support from friends to talk to a friend?
Please.
Please.
Talk to me.
x
The thing is, the ball is in your court. With you and I, it always is.
All you need is a small step.
Never mind anybody telling you what to say or do.
A friend will ask you what do YOU want to do. And respect it.
All else is control.
I write from here. I just opened that entry as the step to take.
Just use any of your other profiles, as long as you say: "hi, it's me".
All you need is a small step.
Never mind anybody telling you what to say or do.
A friend will ask you what do YOU want to do. And respect it.
All else is control.
I write from here. I just opened that entry as the step to take.
Just use any of your other profiles, as long as you say: "hi, it's me".
x
I feel we are just so close to speaking. You and I.
Things have changed for me as well. I can guess (better than you think) what happened to you. The same as you can guess what happened to me.
But, as you said, it's good to talk things through.
And you know I do listen.
Things have changed for me as well. I can guess (better than you think) what happened to you. The same as you can guess what happened to me.
But, as you said, it's good to talk things through.
And you know I do listen.
x
A true friend sees you as you are, don't you see? I see through the dance of the profiles, and I see you.
The woman I met.
I'm not asking for commitments on your part, of any sort.
Just let me be your friend.
You could use another one.
We all could.
The woman I met.
I'm not asking for commitments on your part, of any sort.
Just let me be your friend.
You could use another one.
We all could.
x
Do not stop now. You can talk to me, even if I don't like it.
I'm sure she's a good friend, but you can. I won't tell you to do this or that.
It's your life.
I won't respond to the other guy.
I'm sure she's a good friend, but you can. I won't tell you to do this or that.
It's your life.
I won't respond to the other guy.
x
Now I understand the reactions of B and S. They knew.
Talk to me, this is no way.
Or are you afraid of yourself?
True, you could have left me on "read".
Or you could have stopped reading me altogether. And you still don't.
So make that step. You can.
Nothing but your fear holds you.
Talk to me, this is no way.
Or are you afraid of yourself?
True, you could have left me on "read".
Or you could have stopped reading me altogether. And you still don't.
So make that step. You can.
Nothing but your fear holds you.
x
I am starting to worry now.
I repeat, there is NOTHING you cannot say to me, nothing.
I can say it louder, but not clearer.
Nothing.
And there's nothing that will stop me from wanting you in my life.
Nothing.
Don't you get it?
I don't care whether you had an accident that disfigured you, or ANY other lifetime situation. Not one.
Even if...
I won't say it here.
No, not even then.
The only thing would be that you put football on the telly, or that you joined a church.
It's YOU I want.
I repeat, there is NOTHING you cannot say to me, nothing.
I can say it louder, but not clearer.
Nothing.
And there's nothing that will stop me from wanting you in my life.
Nothing.
Don't you get it?
I don't care whether you had an accident that disfigured you, or ANY other lifetime situation. Not one.
Even if...
I won't say it here.
No, not even then.
The only thing would be that you put football on the telly, or that you joined a church.
It's YOU I want.
#
I won't accept quotes as a substitute for talking, or loose entries that might mean anything to anyone.
Your life has changed? Of course it has. You don't need to explain if you don't want to. Or you can tell me as much as you like.
There's nothing you cannot say to me.
Nothing.
I cannot tell you I'll like it. I can surely say that I do not pass judgement (who the hell am I anyway?).
You can count on me. Not until ten, but just count on me.
You can. You always could.
Your life has changed? Of course it has. You don't need to explain if you don't want to. Or you can tell me as much as you like.
There's nothing you cannot say to me.
Nothing.
I cannot tell you I'll like it. I can surely say that I do not pass judgement (who the hell am I anyway?).
You can count on me. Not until ten, but just count on me.
You can. You always could.
x
I know that reading these entries are as painful to you as the pain that spills out of me into the lines.
I hate that, but I have no way to stop this. I think you made it clear in your other platform, you do not reply to me, as if I had done you a great harm.
What is it? Are you going to let that fester? Do you seriously think you will not return to the blogs, even after I'm gone?
And, after a while, I will be back. It's only temporary.
Whilst I'm still around for a couple more days, I will try to make you smile whenever I have it in me.
Even now.
Your pain does hurt me. You don't believe me, but it does.
I hate that, but I have no way to stop this. I think you made it clear in your other platform, you do not reply to me, as if I had done you a great harm.
What is it? Are you going to let that fester? Do you seriously think you will not return to the blogs, even after I'm gone?
And, after a while, I will be back. It's only temporary.
Whilst I'm still around for a couple more days, I will try to make you smile whenever I have it in me.
Even now.
Your pain does hurt me. You don't believe me, but it does.
Nothing happens always. Almost nothing.
It hurts, it ALMOST always does.
I distrust the always applied to almost any statement.
I cannot say with any degree of certainty that what you would say to me would be innocuous.
I cannot say that we won't both hurt.
But it would bring some closure, and THAT is what I'm so intent on.
That you should be able to have one more friend in this cold world.
Even if that friend would love to be more than that, but you won't let him in. Fine. As I said before, it's not the first time I dealt with rejection.
And, if this is a misunderstanding, and if you were seeking for me (and still do, maybe?)
It does not have to hurt. Not always.
And, if it has to, can we make it a little less?
I distrust the always applied to almost any statement.
I cannot say with any degree of certainty that what you would say to me would be innocuous.
I cannot say that we won't both hurt.
But it would bring some closure, and THAT is what I'm so intent on.
That you should be able to have one more friend in this cold world.
Even if that friend would love to be more than that, but you won't let him in. Fine. As I said before, it's not the first time I dealt with rejection.
And, if this is a misunderstanding, and if you were seeking for me (and still do, maybe?)
It does not have to hurt. Not always.
And, if it has to, can we make it a little less?
#
I never questioned your public positions. By and large, I find them quite balanced, and I refute if I ever see something I disagree with.
The question is, do our public positions on one side match the other ones?
It's a hard balance. I have found myself leaving fori for personal reasons.
It hurts too much to speak to you as a stranger. That is all. That's what's behind some of my more bizarre recent behaviour in our personal platform.
I bleed, I can no more look away than you can, but I do not receive automatic notifications.
It is too much for me.
As much as anyone would belittle it as a small chemical reaction, it's not unimportant.
Returning to Na+. You already know about hyponatremia and hypernatremia.
It's not nonsense. And it won't "go away".
I need to speak with you. Maybe you do, too. I do not see the harm in that.
The question is, do our public positions on one side match the other ones?
It's a hard balance. I have found myself leaving fori for personal reasons.
It hurts too much to speak to you as a stranger. That is all. That's what's behind some of my more bizarre recent behaviour in our personal platform.
I bleed, I can no more look away than you can, but I do not receive automatic notifications.
It is too much for me.
As much as anyone would belittle it as a small chemical reaction, it's not unimportant.
Returning to Na+. You already know about hyponatremia and hypernatremia.
It's not nonsense. And it won't "go away".
I need to speak with you. Maybe you do, too. I do not see the harm in that.
------
I do not make any entries to hurt, though I can be relentless in how I put things across.
And somewhat blunt at times, but you have seen my blunt side on debates before.
I didn't come even close. I do not need to.
It's not a war to conquer you. It's not a debate to get you to rationalise that I'm the coolest guy on earth (which I'm not).
I just find the irrationality of this situation deeply perplexing.
What I am, I already said. You already know, and you deny it. Why, I do not know.
If you truly do not feel anything, or are sure of yourself, you wouldn't have any difficulty with a direct message. That's plain simple.
And, if you do feel something, do you think I'd take advantage of you feeling weak to chain you to me? You know me better than that. You do.
Meanwhile, you let songs' lyrics make your thinking for you. You do say as much. They are clichés.
Grab the bull by the horns, then.
This friend will be waiting.
Before all, I am that. First and foremost.
Your friend.
And somewhat blunt at times, but you have seen my blunt side on debates before.
I didn't come even close. I do not need to.
It's not a war to conquer you. It's not a debate to get you to rationalise that I'm the coolest guy on earth (which I'm not).
I just find the irrationality of this situation deeply perplexing.
What I am, I already said. You already know, and you deny it. Why, I do not know.
If you truly do not feel anything, or are sure of yourself, you wouldn't have any difficulty with a direct message. That's plain simple.
And, if you do feel something, do you think I'd take advantage of you feeling weak to chain you to me? You know me better than that. You do.
Meanwhile, you let songs' lyrics make your thinking for you. You do say as much. They are clichés.
Grab the bull by the horns, then.
This friend will be waiting.
Before all, I am that. First and foremost.
Your friend.
*
Here we are, another romantic evening. You, me, and our screens as chaperones. Not many of those left now.
Then you shall be free of me. I do not tie you to me. I do not send you away.
Until I get online again, and start blogging. If you didn't give a monkeys, that +1 would have disappeared, as well as two reads (laptop+phone, maybe?)
Funny that, speaking with my friend K, a tech buff if there's one, he reached that conclusion as well, separately from me.
Not representative, not hard evidence, but whole religions have been built on less, without any shred of an inkling.
I guess I'm entitled to that particular hypothesis.
Meanwhile, I wait to be able to speak, I try, like I have unstintingly tried for almost a year, and I'll wait on after I loose my connection.
To believe firmly without evidence is foolish. To refuse to believe anything, the absolute skepticism is called solipsism.
Dubito, cogito ergo sum. And nothing else.
Then you shall be free of me. I do not tie you to me. I do not send you away.
Until I get online again, and start blogging. If you didn't give a monkeys, that +1 would have disappeared, as well as two reads (laptop+phone, maybe?)
Funny that, speaking with my friend K, a tech buff if there's one, he reached that conclusion as well, separately from me.
Not representative, not hard evidence, but whole religions have been built on less, without any shred of an inkling.
I guess I'm entitled to that particular hypothesis.
Meanwhile, I wait to be able to speak, I try, like I have unstintingly tried for almost a year, and I'll wait on after I loose my connection.
To believe firmly without evidence is foolish. To refuse to believe anything, the absolute skepticism is called solipsism.
Dubito, cogito ergo sum. And nothing else.
Saturday, 7 June 2014
++++++
And what would anyone expect on seeing all of one's hopes dashed? A happy face? A happy face I'll make to the world, in the other platform.
But this is my parlour. I do not need to hide my tears here. If you enter, it is MY parlour.
You have the chance to speak with me. It is the reason I am there. I do not care for followers, I have plenty of those, intelligent people to debate with on whom I turned my back.
I am not interested in little games. I'll complete that shisan renga now.
But this is my parlour. I do not need to hide my tears here. If you enter, it is MY parlour.
You have the chance to speak with me. It is the reason I am there. I do not care for followers, I have plenty of those, intelligent people to debate with on whom I turned my back.
I am not interested in little games. I'll complete that shisan renga now.
------
Bitter, as gall straight from a chicken's raw bladder.
Bitter because I know that, come next Saturday and all the Saturdays that I have left in me, I shall await at that station, from 7-9.
Maybe you don't deserve it. Yet it is repeating a sentence I keep hearing from my friends. One that I cannot bring myself to believe, based on my experiences of you.
So I'll wait.
And slowly wither.
Meanwhile, there might cone a time when you might feel tempted to check on that old friend. You might not dare to, because you think a barrage of recrimination will come.
How little you know me. And how well I know you. That's exactly where you are.
And there's no recriminations from me. Should there be any? I leave that for you to answer to yourself.
The real tragedy is that you won't dare to meet the one who waits and keeps waiting for you.
What are you gonna do about it? Maybe unfollow this blog?
It'll stop emitting soon, anyhow.
Bitter because I know that, come next Saturday and all the Saturdays that I have left in me, I shall await at that station, from 7-9.
Maybe you don't deserve it. Yet it is repeating a sentence I keep hearing from my friends. One that I cannot bring myself to believe, based on my experiences of you.
So I'll wait.
And slowly wither.
Meanwhile, there might cone a time when you might feel tempted to check on that old friend. You might not dare to, because you think a barrage of recrimination will come.
How little you know me. And how well I know you. That's exactly where you are.
And there's no recriminations from me. Should there be any? I leave that for you to answer to yourself.
The real tragedy is that you won't dare to meet the one who waits and keeps waiting for you.
What are you gonna do about it? Maybe unfollow this blog?
It'll stop emitting soon, anyhow.
------
You'll read this, of course, you got addicted to my blood spilled over this virtual pages, for some reason. It is on the blogs' dashboard.
Within seconds of each publication, that +1 and minimum of two "reads".
Or the missing +1 in entries that you would frankly dislike or misinterpret me.
Less than 10 out of almost 2000 now. With screenshots.
Why the screenshots? Because it feels at times that you're playing some sort of mind-game with me.
Am I upset? You bet I am. With you? It does not make sense, I cannot be upset with you. There are inklings that you were the one behind a number of allusions, but they amount to little more than Jesus's face on a toast. Illusion of series. Pareidolia.
With me, then? Maybe. There are times in which I am more and more convinced there's no room in the world for a man like I am. That only ill-born bastards who treat women like objects will get someplace. It doesn't last. I cannot turn into that without causing violence to my thoughts. I can't.
I could not, even when I was given all the excuses a man uses for turning violent. And I can't. It's not in me.
Which is why I pay for the rest.
Now, go and tell your friends. Have a good laugh, for when it is Saturday and there's nothing to do, there's nothing quite like seeing a quip contest.
Within seconds of each publication, that +1 and minimum of two "reads".
Or the missing +1 in entries that you would frankly dislike or misinterpret me.
Less than 10 out of almost 2000 now. With screenshots.
Why the screenshots? Because it feels at times that you're playing some sort of mind-game with me.
Am I upset? You bet I am. With you? It does not make sense, I cannot be upset with you. There are inklings that you were the one behind a number of allusions, but they amount to little more than Jesus's face on a toast. Illusion of series. Pareidolia.
With me, then? Maybe. There are times in which I am more and more convinced there's no room in the world for a man like I am. That only ill-born bastards who treat women like objects will get someplace. It doesn't last. I cannot turn into that without causing violence to my thoughts. I can't.
I could not, even when I was given all the excuses a man uses for turning violent. And I can't. It's not in me.
Which is why I pay for the rest.
Now, go and tell your friends. Have a good laugh, for when it is Saturday and there's nothing to do, there's nothing quite like seeing a quip contest.
Editorial.
And now's the time of the week I turn blue beyond belief. Such are the avatars of unreciprocated love.
Unless you're vampires who thrive on others' pain, I'd suggest you look away. Read on at your own risk.
Unless you're vampires who thrive on others' pain, I'd suggest you look away. Read on at your own risk.
Just a small molecule.
I feel nothing but contempt for those who belittle everybody's feelings as "just a chemical reaction without importance".
Contempt because they commit a wilful phallacy of (at least) self-deception. At worst, to belittle others.
The presence of neurotransmitters is not an argument to ignore them as anything unimportant (in my humble and unqualified opinion), but as MATERIAL BASE, EVIDENCE that those feelings exist.
Just because a molecule is small, it does not follow that its consequences are unimportant, but that they might be unexplored as yet.
A small example. As small as a Na+ ion. Not even a molecule. It races along a myelinated axon at a speed of up to 120m/s. On an unmyelinated axon, it is between 1-4. Change the speed at which it moves by demyelinating. You don't need to. Just look at what Multiple Sclerosis does to people. A small change.
Or nociception. Surely, one of those "intellectuals" would be able to withstand the pain of a broken bone armed with the knowledge of what nociception is, and without resorting to painkillers.
It is, after all, just a small molecule, unimportant.
Contempt because they commit a wilful phallacy of (at least) self-deception. At worst, to belittle others.
The presence of neurotransmitters is not an argument to ignore them as anything unimportant (in my humble and unqualified opinion), but as MATERIAL BASE, EVIDENCE that those feelings exist.
Just because a molecule is small, it does not follow that its consequences are unimportant, but that they might be unexplored as yet.
A small example. As small as a Na+ ion. Not even a molecule. It races along a myelinated axon at a speed of up to 120m/s. On an unmyelinated axon, it is between 1-4. Change the speed at which it moves by demyelinating. You don't need to. Just look at what Multiple Sclerosis does to people. A small change.
Or nociception. Surely, one of those "intellectuals" would be able to withstand the pain of a broken bone armed with the knowledge of what nociception is, and without resorting to painkillers.
It is, after all, just a small molecule, unimportant.
--------
I feel at times I'm loosing my sanity, or what's left of it.
I was writing something very bitter. I thought you were coming today, and the disappointment is brutal.
I have another hour to wait, hopes dwindling to a negative number.
It's time for me to pay the price for dreaming, it seems.
The going tariff is a week of insomnia, pain untold, etc.
Until next Saturday, and the next, and the next, from 7 till 9.
Until you can make it. All for a few words.
I was writing something very bitter. I thought you were coming today, and the disappointment is brutal.
I have another hour to wait, hopes dwindling to a negative number.
It's time for me to pay the price for dreaming, it seems.
The going tariff is a week of insomnia, pain untold, etc.
Until next Saturday, and the next, and the next, from 7 till 9.
Until you can make it. All for a few words.
591MB left.
Here I am, at rendezvous. H.W. railway station, 7-9 pm, Saturdays.
Waiting for you. As I said.
I hope you are propense to "me", as I have a terminal case of "you".
I see the question asked about my strategy. I'll make it plain.
You've seen that my interactions in English (in A) are more to do with debate about secularism and politics in English.
I love the type of work I was doing in Spanish, and I had offers to expand in that platform (I know a few where you're in, and I admire your work).
I am simply more comfortable in that language now.
I did not remember there was a B until a contact from the other platform flagged it up and I got the email.
My strategy is to find an opportunity to talk (at least). I thought that was clear when I threw everyone out.
I do not base my self-esteem on what happens on the networks, but the meaningful people I meet, among whose you (yes, you in particular, my wild goat) are first and foremost.
It's not about getting a million followers, but about trying to find reason, and spread it.
Meanwhile, I wait for you, at this station. It's not a metaphor.
I'm a miser with the MB I have left.
You have seen the signatures Musa and Lilith. They are my (and your) friends. Particularly, Musa.
You can link in through her signature page, she'll confirm.
That is, assuming I do not see you today and I'm offline.
Waiting for you. As I said.
I hope you are propense to "me", as I have a terminal case of "you".
I see the question asked about my strategy. I'll make it plain.
You've seen that my interactions in English (in A) are more to do with debate about secularism and politics in English.
I love the type of work I was doing in Spanish, and I had offers to expand in that platform (I know a few where you're in, and I admire your work).
I am simply more comfortable in that language now.
I did not remember there was a B until a contact from the other platform flagged it up and I got the email.
My strategy is to find an opportunity to talk (at least). I thought that was clear when I threw everyone out.
I do not base my self-esteem on what happens on the networks, but the meaningful people I meet, among whose you (yes, you in particular, my wild goat) are first and foremost.
It's not about getting a million followers, but about trying to find reason, and spread it.
Meanwhile, I wait for you, at this station. It's not a metaphor.
I'm a miser with the MB I have left.
You have seen the signatures Musa and Lilith. They are my (and your) friends. Particularly, Musa.
You can link in through her signature page, she'll confirm.
That is, assuming I do not see you today and I'm offline.
45 minutes.
I'm writing a shisan renga,
I hope you won't mind,
leaving pieces of me
for you to find.
Slowly, with care
to my one, only Muse
I write, regretting only
the times I was obtuse.
A little something,
a feather touch
to your throat
little can be much.
Unended, this verses I end,
as I prepare to leave
to the station, at seven,
I'll be there, your thief.
I hope you won't mind,
leaving pieces of me
for you to find.
Slowly, with care
to my one, only Muse
I write, regretting only
the times I was obtuse.
A little something,
a feather touch
to your throat
little can be much.
Unended, this verses I end,
as I prepare to leave
to the station, at seven,
I'll be there, your thief.
Coiled together.
Love is tricky between royal cobras.
They eat other snakes for breakfast, each one a menace in its own right.
We both have perfected camouflage. This slightly-smaller cobra walks into the midst of things, and is learning to look like a branch.
It's the surety of knowing the venom in my fangs that tells me it's not a necessary thing. You've seen it, too.
And I won't sow a whirlwind for you to harvest. One learns.
There's no need to pretend, and I don't.
It's impossible with you, as you see through me.
I'm babbling. If I wait for you at seven, I'm happy from the day before.
And I cannot contain my happiness any further than this.
They eat other snakes for breakfast, each one a menace in its own right.
We both have perfected camouflage. This slightly-smaller cobra walks into the midst of things, and is learning to look like a branch.
It's the surety of knowing the venom in my fangs that tells me it's not a necessary thing. You've seen it, too.
And I won't sow a whirlwind for you to harvest. One learns.
There's no need to pretend, and I don't.
It's impossible with you, as you see through me.
I'm babbling. If I wait for you at seven, I'm happy from the day before.
And I cannot contain my happiness any further than this.
*****
I won't apologize for feeling protective of those I love, but I can step back without barging into their fights. It would only be an insult, don't you think I learnt that a long time ago?
The people I love are, after all, quite feisty. The grown-ups as well as the little ones. It's an integral part of their charm, having the fangs and claws of a predator.
I'll save the shining armour for when it is requested. Or for my own fights.
I just thought I'd say that.
For some reason.
The people I love are, after all, quite feisty. The grown-ups as well as the little ones. It's an integral part of their charm, having the fangs and claws of a predator.
I'll save the shining armour for when it is requested. Or for my own fights.
I just thought I'd say that.
For some reason.
...
I know it's not a healthy thing, this.
Reading, probing into one another like two snakes eating each other by the tail. I don't think we are ordinary snakes. You and I know that.
And maybe it's right. Maybe it is the thing to do.
Maybe you get to see me, and me you, and that's fine.
Without subterfuge, you see me here when I'm free to rave.
And that is fine by me. See me, feel me, touch me. The "me" that's not so apparent on a face to face.
Well, that one as well...
Reading, probing into one another like two snakes eating each other by the tail. I don't think we are ordinary snakes. You and I know that.
And maybe it's right. Maybe it is the thing to do.
Maybe you get to see me, and me you, and that's fine.
Without subterfuge, you see me here when I'm free to rave.
And that is fine by me. See me, feel me, touch me. The "me" that's not so apparent on a face to face.
Well, that one as well...
----
I almost did it. Almost.
I almost spoke out of turn.
I feel the urge to protect you. And I won't apologize for feeling that way. It's part and parcel of me.
But I do know that you can fight. Hell, you could give me a run for my money if you set yourself to it.
And I hold my peace, which is not peaceful at all, but a desire to tear, restrained. One learns.
I took note, though. I also hope you won't mind.
See you later.
I almost spoke out of turn.
I feel the urge to protect you. And I won't apologize for feeling that way. It's part and parcel of me.
But I do know that you can fight. Hell, you could give me a run for my money if you set yourself to it.
And I hold my peace, which is not peaceful at all, but a desire to tear, restrained. One learns.
I took note, though. I also hope you won't mind.
See you later.
Uxbridge.
Well, that's interesting...
At this pace, I'll earn the right to wear my tu-tone fedora in broad daylight.
But not today.
1.- Cool reception from the crowds, they did not realize a genuine by-Thor genius walked into their midst. I covered half the bus fare.
2.- I assert this on the basis that I had the guts to play (and sing) Stairway to Heaven (that's right), wearing my blue cap. I have earned already the right to wear the cap at night with impunity. And I was not pelted with tinned tomatoes, either.
3.- I did all this in front of a tube station.
4.- I was told to leave by a council jobsworth with nothing better to do.
Next week, I'll try Slough, that's the walk on the wild side. Uxbridge sucks the rigid cock of Satan. I know, because I follow him in Twitter.
Meanwhile, the day remains full of possibilities for a by-Ahura Mazda bluesman in the make.
Follow the steps (well, only some of them) of this antihero on this blog. Not a genuine one until he loses his mobile internet.
There's always another level.
Bear and grin, kid.
Bear and grin.
At this pace, I'll earn the right to wear my tu-tone fedora in broad daylight.
But not today.
1.- Cool reception from the crowds, they did not realize a genuine by-Thor genius walked into their midst. I covered half the bus fare.
2.- I assert this on the basis that I had the guts to play (and sing) Stairway to Heaven (that's right), wearing my blue cap. I have earned already the right to wear the cap at night with impunity. And I was not pelted with tinned tomatoes, either.
3.- I did all this in front of a tube station.
4.- I was told to leave by a council jobsworth with nothing better to do.
Next week, I'll try Slough, that's the walk on the wild side. Uxbridge sucks the rigid cock of Satan. I know, because I follow him in Twitter.
Meanwhile, the day remains full of possibilities for a by-Ahura Mazda bluesman in the make.
Follow the steps (well, only some of them) of this antihero on this blog. Not a genuine one until he loses his mobile internet.
There's always another level.
Bear and grin, kid.
Bear and grin.
Turmoil.
It's only a word. The clash of the thunderstorm of the morning and the afternoon sun.
Awaiting, eagerly already. Seeing, feeling the well-defined muscles of your back on my palms, itching to rapture you.
Raring to eat you raw.
Will I be your wolf today?
Awaiting, eagerly already. Seeing, feeling the well-defined muscles of your back on my palms, itching to rapture you.
Raring to eat you raw.
Will I be your wolf today?
Sweet torture.
Hours yet of peeling petals of the marigold nobody can see.
Still awaiting, seeing glimmers of hope and a break in the clouds.
And I'm terrified it won't be me. What would anyone expect?
I'm terrified not to be the match of he who comes across though my aimless ramblings.
Then, I remember we already met. The fear should be baseless.
Bear it and grin, boy.
Bear it and grin.
I'll be there.
Still awaiting, seeing glimmers of hope and a break in the clouds.
And I'm terrified it won't be me. What would anyone expect?
I'm terrified not to be the match of he who comes across though my aimless ramblings.
Then, I remember we already met. The fear should be baseless.
Bear it and grin, boy.
Bear it and grin.
I'll be there.
Countdown.
Be still, my beating ego.
Gallop away, my racing heart.
Saturday arrived, in its desperate intensity, with its clockwork regularity.
The possible confluence gives sense to my insanity, only moderated by the fact that you are very real.
I'll see you at that station, even if you do not turn up, for I only need to close my eyes.
Will you be there when I open them?
Gallop away, my racing heart.
Saturday arrived, in its desperate intensity, with its clockwork regularity.
The possible confluence gives sense to my insanity, only moderated by the fact that you are very real.
I'll see you at that station, even if you do not turn up, for I only need to close my eyes.
Will you be there when I open them?
Back on the trail.
The storm lifted.
They always do,
eventually.
And I am at that bus station, on the roads to everywhere, glimpsed by a madman who created whole worlds and was acclaimed as a genius.
Quite often, one and the same.
I pick a bus randomly. Hunting expedition.
My forebears used bowstrings. I have my own set.
This should prove interesting, premiering again after 20 years on a street corner.
They always do,
eventually.
And I am at that bus station, on the roads to everywhere, glimpsed by a madman who created whole worlds and was acclaimed as a genius.
Quite often, one and the same.
I pick a bus randomly. Hunting expedition.
My forebears used bowstrings. I have my own set.
This should prove interesting, premiering again after 20 years on a street corner.
Possession.
Sex as an act of aggression is an act of possession. I'm yours, assert your rights, if only in a line for now.
For now.
We circle one another, sometimes we slash, sometimes we gnash.
All down to a tug-of-war between schoolchildren.
My persistence of waiting is affirmed by your reading this.
Accept or deny, but that reality is stubborn.
Someday I'll prophesize a song where you can see us talking, where you fear nothing, not even yourself in my company.
Let's stop reading tea leaves.
Let's talk.
For now.
We circle one another, sometimes we slash, sometimes we gnash.
All down to a tug-of-war between schoolchildren.
My persistence of waiting is affirmed by your reading this.
Accept or deny, but that reality is stubborn.
Someday I'll prophesize a song where you can see us talking, where you fear nothing, not even yourself in my company.
Let's stop reading tea leaves.
Let's talk.
Amphitheater.
Two tigers circle the arena,
topaz eye on topaz eye,
oblivious to the shiftless
making wagers,
to the connoisseurs
making comments.
Only the claws,
the fangs,
the intent
are permitted in.
topaz eye on topaz eye,
oblivious to the shiftless
making wagers,
to the connoisseurs
making comments.
Only the claws,
the fangs,
the intent
are permitted in.
:-)
I smile.
Though a thunderstorm cancels my plans for busking.
I smile.
Though I'm a laughing-stock.
I smile.
Though my other uncertainties increase with every passing minute.
I smile.
It's an act of defiance.
Though a thunderstorm cancels my plans for busking.
I smile.
Though I'm a laughing-stock.
I smile.
Though my other uncertainties increase with every passing minute.
I smile.
It's an act of defiance.
First diary entry of the day.
The first act of the day is to try to get some sleep. The night's fangs bled me dry.
Sooner than we think, those cursed birds will bring the dawn on the wings of their ill omen.
Then it will officially be another day.
Hoping against hope, I keep seeing new days.
Tooth and nail, shattered against the rock.
Sooner than we think, those cursed birds will bring the dawn on the wings of their ill omen.
Then it will officially be another day.
Hoping against hope, I keep seeing new days.
Tooth and nail, shattered against the rock.
Arrival.
Reading a book
on that familiar bench.
My eyes glued to the doors.
Another tide of humanity
detrains from Marylebone.
I scan, aware
of the fiasco
waiting to happen.
A familiar shade of brown,
it cannot be.
It's happened before
that people insist
in looking like you,
for some Machiavellian reason.
I see your hand up.
No doubt now.
on that familiar bench.
My eyes glued to the doors.
Another tide of humanity
detrains from Marylebone.
I scan, aware
of the fiasco
waiting to happen.
A familiar shade of brown,
it cannot be.
It's happened before
that people insist
in looking like you,
for some Machiavellian reason.
I see your hand up.
No doubt now.
Complicity.
The wrinkles on my face,
liver-spotted hands clasping,
the familiar sparkle of mischief in yours,
topped by unapologetic grey on your temples
I slowly kiss your hand,
you're just as lovely
as that day
I felt your back
at the back of that open shirt.
Decades have passed,
I'm your accomplice
at last.
liver-spotted hands clasping,
the familiar sparkle of mischief in yours,
topped by unapologetic grey on your temples
I slowly kiss your hand,
you're just as lovely
as that day
I felt your back
at the back of that open shirt.
Decades have passed,
I'm your accomplice
at last.
Hours...
Your hair on my face,
tendons of muscles
I forgot the names about
clench under my teeth.
Your light coursing through me
in the chiaroscuro of the candles,
my light in you
igniting sparks.
Drinking of your fire
to quench my thirst,
hunger unabated.
tendons of muscles
I forgot the names about
clench under my teeth.
Your light coursing through me
in the chiaroscuro of the candles,
my light in you
igniting sparks.
Drinking of your fire
to quench my thirst,
hunger unabated.
Island within an island.
It will take years for this Peter Pan with not enough happy thoughts to fly to London (even if it is round the corner) to deliver his message to Wendy.
By then, Wendy will feel bad about not having visited the island, and that will keep her yet longer.
Unknown to her, Peter still awaits. All the need for explanations dissapear at the thought of her face.
She is his happy thought, but she didn't see it. She worried so much about apologies that she didn't see they were not necessary.
And the clocks keep ticking...
By then, Wendy will feel bad about not having visited the island, and that will keep her yet longer.
Unknown to her, Peter still awaits. All the need for explanations dissapear at the thought of her face.
She is his happy thought, but she didn't see it. She worried so much about apologies that she didn't see they were not necessary.
And the clocks keep ticking...
Friday, 6 June 2014
------
It's the dreams that deny me my deserved sleep. It's called the sleep of the just, but it is the ones who suffer, the real just who have trouble settling down.
I'm afraid it's the same for you, my love, if I know a thing about you.
The peace and quiet, whispering to a friend by messages. And why not?
I'll go one more on the one I said before. It makes me happy to see you have friends who support you, if you do not count me into those.
I, instead, cannot say that I'm in the mood to speak to anyone (well, almost). I think I'll stay blogging another night.
It's not exactly an option, call it an emotional forecast.
But I'll be fine. Tomorrow, my appointments with a guitar and a street corner, and with the trains which might bear you.
It might be the last Saturday I await blogging for a while, but not the last Saturday I wait. Not by a long chalk.
I'm afraid it's the same for you, my love, if I know a thing about you.
The peace and quiet, whispering to a friend by messages. And why not?
I'll go one more on the one I said before. It makes me happy to see you have friends who support you, if you do not count me into those.
I, instead, cannot say that I'm in the mood to speak to anyone (well, almost). I think I'll stay blogging another night.
It's not exactly an option, call it an emotional forecast.
But I'll be fine. Tomorrow, my appointments with a guitar and a street corner, and with the trains which might bear you.
It might be the last Saturday I await blogging for a while, but not the last Saturday I wait. Not by a long chalk.
##
Another day fuses into the next.
Weeks became months.
I stop now.
It's more tears on the screen.
I see a street, where you and I can walk, hand in hand, our feet synchronising to our medially joint arm swing.
Our hips bump together from time to time.
I decide to avoid such accidents by grabbing your waist, your arm is around mine.
Our hands drop from time to time, furtively, surprising one another.
We are headed to my place.
Such a small thing, playing in my mind. Preying on my mind.
Weeks became months.
I stop now.
It's more tears on the screen.
I see a street, where you and I can walk, hand in hand, our feet synchronising to our medially joint arm swing.
Our hips bump together from time to time.
I decide to avoid such accidents by grabbing your waist, your arm is around mine.
Our hands drop from time to time, furtively, surprising one another.
We are headed to my place.
Such a small thing, playing in my mind. Preying on my mind.
Loyalty.
Loyalty is to wait every minute for a phone call that will not come.
To resist the feeling that you despise me against the fact that you are still around.
To worry about any indication that you might be suffering.
To forego my imperative inclinations as a male, as I thought it would make things easier on you (yes, damn it, and it broke me asunder!).
To tell you to bring him (if there is), and swallow everything. It's compensation to know you're happy.
To see you happy, even in the arms of another man.
To know I will be here, waiting, if you need me in your older years, even unannounced and unheard of for decades.
Many others that I won't write. To do so would be to betray you. Those will be said face to face, or they won't be said at all.
To resist the feeling that you despise me against the fact that you are still around.
To worry about any indication that you might be suffering.
To forego my imperative inclinations as a male, as I thought it would make things easier on you (yes, damn it, and it broke me asunder!).
To tell you to bring him (if there is), and swallow everything. It's compensation to know you're happy.
To see you happy, even in the arms of another man.
To know I will be here, waiting, if you need me in your older years, even unannounced and unheard of for decades.
Many others that I won't write. To do so would be to betray you. Those will be said face to face, or they won't be said at all.
Emotional management.
Tell me you love me.
Tell me you don't love me.
Both might be possible at the same time.
I find hard to believe you find anything funny or endearing in my entries. They are as unlovely as I feel right this instant.
This is no longer an attempt at poetry or even a diary, it's insanity in distilled form.
I expect that, as I once said, one might find it hard to avert their eyes from a looming train crash. There's a terrible morbid attraction for self-destruction.
But I'm not Sid Vicious. It's late for me to die young, though I would leave a beautiful corpse.
Who's the addict here?
I bet if I told you NOT to think of a zebra playing the piano, you'd achieve it. It's irony, of course.
That's how much control we really have over our thoughts and feelings.
There is only the illusion of control. Nothing else.
Tell me you don't love me.
Both might be possible at the same time.
I find hard to believe you find anything funny or endearing in my entries. They are as unlovely as I feel right this instant.
This is no longer an attempt at poetry or even a diary, it's insanity in distilled form.
I expect that, as I once said, one might find it hard to avert their eyes from a looming train crash. There's a terrible morbid attraction for self-destruction.
But I'm not Sid Vicious. It's late for me to die young, though I would leave a beautiful corpse.
Who's the addict here?
I bet if I told you NOT to think of a zebra playing the piano, you'd achieve it. It's irony, of course.
That's how much control we really have over our thoughts and feelings.
There is only the illusion of control. Nothing else.
---
In gorilla terms, I should think I reached the "silverback" stage, at the risk of being pretentious.
In more hominid terms, I'm finding more and more difficult to define what I am, though I am sure of what I'm not.
That should be a beginning. What of, though?
I foresee no changes in my life in the short- or mid-term.
The enforced separations will continue. Some of them, I will have to wait for years in almost complete silence.
Another one might end tomorrow, but I consider it highly unlikely.
What a waste.
I'll be called a raving lunatic, but I'll need time before I consider getting close to anyone.
I must be a raving lunatic.I suspect what that timeframe is.
I must be a raving lunatic for not harboring resentment.
Some day, I might wake up and be normal, resigned to the lack of dreams.
I sit down to wait for you. I would suggest that you sit down to wait until I "see the light".
We'll sit in our corners. I, waiting for a word (any word). You, waiting for me to stop writing.
I would dare my readers to stop following me now.
And I suspect the result.
In more hominid terms, I'm finding more and more difficult to define what I am, though I am sure of what I'm not.
That should be a beginning. What of, though?
I foresee no changes in my life in the short- or mid-term.
The enforced separations will continue. Some of them, I will have to wait for years in almost complete silence.
Another one might end tomorrow, but I consider it highly unlikely.
What a waste.
I'll be called a raving lunatic, but I'll need time before I consider getting close to anyone.
I must be a raving lunatic.I suspect what that timeframe is.
I must be a raving lunatic for not harboring resentment.
Some day, I might wake up and be normal, resigned to the lack of dreams.
I sit down to wait for you. I would suggest that you sit down to wait until I "see the light".
We'll sit in our corners. I, waiting for a word (any word). You, waiting for me to stop writing.
I would dare my readers to stop following me now.
And I suspect the result.
Just the once...
And, if the days are dark, the nights are a dungeon of nightmares, populated by ghouls of every sort.
It is the price I pay, not gladly, but without regrets.
I do not regret feeling, though it is not becoming in a man of hairy chest and booming voice.
And who said I wanted to be like that, anyway?
There's nothing but contempt for those who go about bragging of their male-ness, as though they could wish themselves into what they are not.
Either it's there, or it's not.
And, if it's there, what's the need for the display?
That's what mandrils do, with their coloured faces (and arses).
It is the price I pay, not gladly, but without regrets.
I do not regret feeling, though it is not becoming in a man of hairy chest and booming voice.
And who said I wanted to be like that, anyway?
There's nothing but contempt for those who go about bragging of their male-ness, as though they could wish themselves into what they are not.
Either it's there, or it's not.
And, if it's there, what's the need for the display?
That's what mandrils do, with their coloured faces (and arses).
True love.
Like I felt when I held any of my babies, the thought, novel, alien and dangerous as a panther in the shower: "this is for keeps, I love you onto death". My death, of course.
I do not wish to consider the mortality of the three I love with such finality, though Iknow it exists at an intellectual level. It's too much.
I know my parting thought, many years from now (I hope) will be of you.
And almost any in the meantime.
My priority, to stand. To wait. And to stand by their side when I'm needed.
It's a matter of time.
I do not wish to consider the mortality of the three I love with such finality, though Iknow it exists at an intellectual level. It's too much.
I know my parting thought, many years from now (I hope) will be of you.
And almost any in the meantime.
My priority, to stand. To wait. And to stand by their side when I'm needed.
It's a matter of time.
Samson in chains.
To pass through your parlour, an honour I intend to keep. I was not raised in a barn, though some of my best memories are of haylofts.
I, of course, am distraught to see you so near and far, resigned to a nonexistent fate.
That summer will always live in us. I know it is in you too. The summer we dared dream, and we did it together. That is our baby. The one we conceived.
The one I tend to every day.
Do not resign yourself, for you're worth a million times what you have.
As always, I end the transmission with a million and a half kisses (you choose where they go) and another one on your forehead.
And another for the tip of your nose.
Always.
I, of course, am distraught to see you so near and far, resigned to a nonexistent fate.
That summer will always live in us. I know it is in you too. The summer we dared dream, and we did it together. That is our baby. The one we conceived.
The one I tend to every day.
Do not resign yourself, for you're worth a million times what you have.
As always, I end the transmission with a million and a half kisses (you choose where they go) and another one on your forehead.
And another for the tip of your nose.
Always.
Class.
It's you, of course. You're class in flesh and bone. Magnificent, sublime.
I cannot let go of you, because you refuse to leave my dreams, which turn to nightmares just to think that you suffer.
I can only live with the dreams, I know.
In return, I want you to have the knowledge that nothing changes for me. You made yourself at home in my soul, you'll always be welcome where I go, or I fly to your side with a minute's notice. Day or night.
Regarding songs, or verse, we choose those with which we identify. Do not be a slave to them. Nothing is written in stone, my love.
You are class, humour, intelligence, wit, tenderness and raw animal lust. How to turn my back? I'm the royal cobra under your charm.
But I only bite on request.
I cannot let go of you, because you refuse to leave my dreams, which turn to nightmares just to think that you suffer.
I can only live with the dreams, I know.
In return, I want you to have the knowledge that nothing changes for me. You made yourself at home in my soul, you'll always be welcome where I go, or I fly to your side with a minute's notice. Day or night.
Regarding songs, or verse, we choose those with which we identify. Do not be a slave to them. Nothing is written in stone, my love.
You are class, humour, intelligence, wit, tenderness and raw animal lust. How to turn my back? I'm the royal cobra under your charm.
But I only bite on request.
##
There is a clear difference between identifying patterns, based on scant but available evidence, and falling into the illusion of series leading to pareidolia, the fabled Jesus on toast.
I, for one, am desperate to begin a coherent dialogue, but the time for the wild goose chase is over.
I refuse to see a pattern on separate things from separate places.
I'm the static target, because we will never speak if I keep moving from one profile to the next. Meanwhile, my supply of MB is dwindling.
It's simple, say "Hi, it's me. How are you?"All else follows.
Really simple.
I, for one, am desperate to begin a coherent dialogue, but the time for the wild goose chase is over.
I refuse to see a pattern on separate things from separate places.
I'm the static target, because we will never speak if I keep moving from one profile to the next. Meanwhile, my supply of MB is dwindling.
It's simple, say "Hi, it's me. How are you?"All else follows.
Really simple.
The true meaning of forgiveness.
It is to momentarily sit sipping a cup of instant coffee in a back yard that used to be mine, staring at the untended plants over which I no longer can lavish my usual gardener's tender care.
To see an oversized trampoline, which I'll never see in use by children screaming in glee.
To replenish a fish tank for my very dearest to enjoy, though they must never know it was I who cleaned the filters, treated the water and fed the fish and yamato shrimps.
To exchange politely in Mascareigne Creole French over coffee with somebody who does not speak English. No matter what, she will always be the mother I no longer have.
To see that life went on in that house without me, without batting an eyelid, offering to repair in polite requests, as though it didn't belong to me anymore.
To see that she and I became strangers, business partners with two unfinished pieces of business between us.
To have to leave what was my home like a thief, for my little ones must never know I was there.
To sit in the sun, and let it bathe me, in relative peace to write this.
To see an oversized trampoline, which I'll never see in use by children screaming in glee.
To replenish a fish tank for my very dearest to enjoy, though they must never know it was I who cleaned the filters, treated the water and fed the fish and yamato shrimps.
To exchange politely in Mascareigne Creole French over coffee with somebody who does not speak English. No matter what, she will always be the mother I no longer have.
To see that life went on in that house without me, without batting an eyelid, offering to repair in polite requests, as though it didn't belong to me anymore.
To see that she and I became strangers, business partners with two unfinished pieces of business between us.
To have to leave what was my home like a thief, for my little ones must never know I was there.
To sit in the sun, and let it bathe me, in relative peace to write this.
Just a moment.
Alone.
Free.
Under a timid English sun that does not dare proclaim its preeminence over the clouds.
I should learn from that, but somehow I do not.
Green fire on my retinas, I take the liberty to sit upon the grass.
Just because.
A perfect moment of peace and freedom. Just a moment of surcease. Never mind my empty pockets or other worries.
Just here.
Just now.
The illegal immigrants are sailing across the sky, sure in their knowledge that their maps do not have any of our stupid lines.
And I sit.
And watch.
Free.
Under a timid English sun that does not dare proclaim its preeminence over the clouds.
I should learn from that, but somehow I do not.
Green fire on my retinas, I take the liberty to sit upon the grass.
Just because.
A perfect moment of peace and freedom. Just a moment of surcease. Never mind my empty pockets or other worries.
Just here.
Just now.
The illegal immigrants are sailing across the sky, sure in their knowledge that their maps do not have any of our stupid lines.
And I sit.
And watch.
IV
And, just like that, it's over. At the mention of a IV international, it breaks down...
Stalinists are not known for their sense of humour (or their good looks either).
Well, one can hope for a future without exploitation.
Just how it would be achieved, it's where I despair at times.
Meanwhile, gotta live in what we have, the rat race.
Stalinists are not known for their sense of humour (or their good looks either).
Well, one can hope for a future without exploitation.
Just how it would be achieved, it's where I despair at times.
Meanwhile, gotta live in what we have, the rat race.
--
Next chapter in this diary for the insane: an old rusty trotskyist in debate with stalinists.
One just doesn't know where to stop.
And why should I?
One just doesn't know where to stop.
And why should I?
#
So, I'm in a hurry... and I'm not. That sums things up.
I'm about to try yet a couple more things in my life. Coming next: street corner musician.
It's not as romantic as it seems, but I'll be serenading you from the distance.
And, as long as I have this blog and you look, I'll be under your window, the dark and handsome stranger.
Well, stretching things a bit too far, but I always try for a smile.
I do.
I'm about to try yet a couple more things in my life. Coming next: street corner musician.
It's not as romantic as it seems, but I'll be serenading you from the distance.
And, as long as I have this blog and you look, I'll be under your window, the dark and handsome stranger.
Well, stretching things a bit too far, but I always try for a smile.
I do.
100%
What seems worse than it is? That is a victim talking.
You are (you in particular) the best you have. Never doubt it.
Now, that is the sentence that would worry you if you heard it from anyone else:
"It's not as bad as it seems."
You are (you in particular) the best you have. Never doubt it.
Now, that is the sentence that would worry you if you heard it from anyone else:
"It's not as bad as it seems."
xx
A whole rain of messages of hurt and a message I hope is from you, but how do I know if you won't say?
End the hurt and speak direct. There's no point of no return with me.
There's no cornering, I acknowledge receipt. With my name. Ask me anything trivial and you'll know.
End the hurt and speak direct. There's no point of no return with me.
There's no cornering, I acknowledge receipt. With my name. Ask me anything trivial and you'll know.
#
I'm not a bully.
A bully would open a B in the other networks, and barge his way in.
A bully would do so many things I do not do, and never will.
My recent breaches of etiquette are due to being garrulous, unfamiliar with that set up. I learnt.
I'm here, in my parlour, I welcome you. It's you who comes and listens. I hunger for your opinion, correct me in what you think I'm wrong. I do not allow many people to do that, right?
It's all I can do. All I know to do.
If anyone's cornered, it's me as well.
And my MB keep getting lower.
A bully would open a B in the other networks, and barge his way in.
A bully would do so many things I do not do, and never will.
My recent breaches of etiquette are due to being garrulous, unfamiliar with that set up. I learnt.
I'm here, in my parlour, I welcome you. It's you who comes and listens. I hunger for your opinion, correct me in what you think I'm wrong. I do not allow many people to do that, right?
It's all I can do. All I know to do.
If anyone's cornered, it's me as well.
And my MB keep getting lower.
xx
It hurts to see you cornered. I am here. My presence there is the door I keep open. I do not make you see this.
It hurts that you'll come here to read and not talk. You're dishing yourself pain, unnecesarily.
Even though it might seem so difficult, it's not. Just do it and talk.
All of it hurts when it is left to fester.
It hurts that you'll come here to read and not talk. You're dishing yourself pain, unnecesarily.
Even though it might seem so difficult, it's not. Just do it and talk.
All of it hurts when it is left to fester.
#
I'm not setting out to hurt. I'm unfinished business.
Never am I a threat to you, and it hurts that the word even has to be mentioned. I'm not a threat to myself, either. Not ever.
I'll stand another rebuke, even a definitive one.
I'll stand your presence telling me: "It's all well, my friend, it'll never be. Be my friend and that only."
I'll stand you saying: "After tonight I'll see you no more."
I'll stand by your side, come what may, if the unimaginable dream came true.
Never am I a threat to you, and it hurts that the word even has to be mentioned. I'm not a threat to myself, either. Not ever.
I'll stand another rebuke, even a definitive one.
I'll stand your presence telling me: "It's all well, my friend, it'll never be. Be my friend and that only."
I'll stand you saying: "After tonight I'll see you no more."
I'll stand by your side, come what may, if the unimaginable dream came true.
x
Because that is one of the options put. An adventure, a possible lifetime where there's nothing written beforehand.
I'm not lukewarm, but fire.
Mine is the friendship that is wholehearted, that of the accomplice. That which gives from what I am, as well as what I have. As little as I have, it is my all, and it's yours.
If the only worry is the nights, there's a test drive on offer. I won't say what we'd do, when we can find out.
When I wait for you, I DO wait for you, ready for the possibility of your arrival, right down to a shave and smart shirt.
There's a whole world of possibilities, each Saturday, from 7-9.
I'm not lukewarm, but fire.
Mine is the friendship that is wholehearted, that of the accomplice. That which gives from what I am, as well as what I have. As little as I have, it is my all, and it's yours.
If the only worry is the nights, there's a test drive on offer. I won't say what we'd do, when we can find out.
When I wait for you, I DO wait for you, ready for the possibility of your arrival, right down to a shave and smart shirt.
There's a whole world of possibilities, each Saturday, from 7-9.
Accomplice.
It's clear you're not an A, but L. Eyes do not lie. Also, I did not say which L. it was, the right one pops up, with a pic I recognise. One that she (your cousin) put in as a call for help. And, shortly after, a guy calls you L. You did say as much, though you might not remember.
Maybe you got so used to guys not noticing you that you do not realise there's one here that does, because you graced him with a view of your soul, and here is a kindred one.
I will use that word, soul. A respected colleague, a fellow atheist,made a very convincing case for its use, if outside the judeochristian ideation.
I was graced with a view into you. I drank like a man parched after a lifetime in the desert, realising for the first time he had spent his life in the desert.
And I only got thirstier and thirstier. Your elixir has that virtue.
Not that there's a half for each one, or that there's someone to complement. But some do get such luck. One thing never excluded the other.
I'm no bluesman tenor with a love in each street corner. I'm the cherrypicker hobo with a lap guitar in the boxcar, singing of home and yearning, while the train follows its track.
Life's an adventure we only have once.
Run away with me. Let me be your accomplice.
Maybe you got so used to guys not noticing you that you do not realise there's one here that does, because you graced him with a view of your soul, and here is a kindred one.
I will use that word, soul. A respected colleague, a fellow atheist,made a very convincing case for its use, if outside the judeochristian ideation.
I was graced with a view into you. I drank like a man parched after a lifetime in the desert, realising for the first time he had spent his life in the desert.
And I only got thirstier and thirstier. Your elixir has that virtue.
Not that there's a half for each one, or that there's someone to complement. But some do get such luck. One thing never excluded the other.
I'm no bluesman tenor with a love in each street corner. I'm the cherrypicker hobo with a lap guitar in the boxcar, singing of home and yearning, while the train follows its track.
Life's an adventure we only have once.
Run away with me. Let me be your accomplice.
""
I might have an outburst, you know how little I tolerate the nonsense from others.
That's (I think) the right order of priorities. I take no shit from outside. From the ones inside my circle, I am inexhaustible.
And I gotta do stuff today. I'll be here a bit more later, closer to the end of my MB.
That's (I think) the right order of priorities. I take no shit from outside. From the ones inside my circle, I am inexhaustible.
And I gotta do stuff today. I'll be here a bit more later, closer to the end of my MB.
*
And that should be bringing it to a close. In short:
-1. What I did to you, come and get redress. Get closure. Curse me in my face.
-2. What you think you did to me, it's not as bad as you think. Come and hear me say it, and see my eyes. See them very well. Get closure.
-3. What I feel for you is what it is. There's no two ways about it. Do not think it a wound you caused me, or a self-inflicted one. Let's leave blame for the churches.
-4. You've put up with a lot of my bullshit.I'd love to know why.
-5. I wouldn't change your presence in me for anything, even though it hurts. It is a gift. Though not reciprocated, I've discovered I can love after all the wounds I was given. For that alone, I'm blessed by your presence in me, my goddess.
There's more. There's always more. There's a lifetime's worth of "I adore you" for you (yes, you in particular).
There's so much that screaming from the rooftops (as I've done) wouldn't suffice.
Those are my points. I'm my own best and worst arguments.
-1. What I did to you, come and get redress. Get closure. Curse me in my face.
-2. What you think you did to me, it's not as bad as you think. Come and hear me say it, and see my eyes. See them very well. Get closure.
-3. What I feel for you is what it is. There's no two ways about it. Do not think it a wound you caused me, or a self-inflicted one. Let's leave blame for the churches.
-4. You've put up with a lot of my bullshit.I'd love to know why.
-5. I wouldn't change your presence in me for anything, even though it hurts. It is a gift. Though not reciprocated, I've discovered I can love after all the wounds I was given. For that alone, I'm blessed by your presence in me, my goddess.
There's more. There's always more. There's a lifetime's worth of "I adore you" for you (yes, you in particular).
There's so much that screaming from the rooftops (as I've done) wouldn't suffice.
Those are my points. I'm my own best and worst arguments.
Scars.
I might be called many things, but I am not lukewarm in my feelings. Nor are you. In this day and age of virtual realtionships, it is not seemly to display one's own feelings.
I once wrote a comment on forgiveness as a practical compromise with the hurt. A respected colleague said she did like it.
I was, of course, referring to past events. Events from before 2013. I'll leave it there.
There is no need for me to forgive a friend, I still don't understand that I was asked for forgiveness in September. There's nothing to forgive in actions arising from the need to survive.
How I'd love to hear those worries from my friend, help her to see there's nothing to forgive (no matter what she think she did). How I'd love to set her mind at ease on that one.
Forgiveness belong to the one who got hurt or who we think got hurt. It's not judging, it's saying: "I'm OK, you did not kill me. Please do not be burdened on my account."
How I'd love to do some apologising of my own.
That is a face to face. I'm insistent. What if I'm right? On hurt and forgiveness, I could write for a long time. I got the scars, you know of my previous wounds.
I once wrote a comment on forgiveness as a practical compromise with the hurt. A respected colleague said she did like it.
I was, of course, referring to past events. Events from before 2013. I'll leave it there.
There is no need for me to forgive a friend, I still don't understand that I was asked for forgiveness in September. There's nothing to forgive in actions arising from the need to survive.
How I'd love to hear those worries from my friend, help her to see there's nothing to forgive (no matter what she think she did). How I'd love to set her mind at ease on that one.
Forgiveness belong to the one who got hurt or who we think got hurt. It's not judging, it's saying: "I'm OK, you did not kill me. Please do not be burdened on my account."
How I'd love to do some apologising of my own.
That is a face to face. I'm insistent. What if I'm right? On hurt and forgiveness, I could write for a long time. I got the scars, you know of my previous wounds.
---
Sense of urgency.
With the vehemence of a fifteen year old tugging my chest, and the brain of someone who knows we only have one shot at this thing called life, how could it be otherwise?
And the pain, the gut-wrenching pain. Pain, many types I've seen. It's, after all, my bread and butter.
-The feeling of oppression on the chest, as though an elephant decided to sit there. Acute MI, or deep anxiety, that pain is an old friend of mine.
-The sharp splinter pain, when there is something broken.
- The deep, all-encompassing visceral pain. Something is very wrong, and you need help, fast.
- The burning neuralgia, maddening. Nerves inflamed from feeling too much, then replaced by the freezing cold (apparent relief) which marks the death of that particular pathway. The nerve may recover. I know.
- The raging throb of infection festering. It might kill.
- The mild persistent itchy ache of a bone healing. It tells you how far you can work that day, but it is a good sign.
Pain is a warning and a guide. I listen to it every day. Mine and others'. Pain is not something that will "go away". Without treating the root cause, it will remain and spread.
Am I your pain? I'd hate to think that I am. I'd love to think that I am, for there might be hope after all. Hope is almost as stubborn as reality. Sometimes they come and play together.
Clear as anything, I might be wrong, but I don't guild the lily.
Am I your pain? What type? Do you think that killing a nerve to get rid of the pain is the way forward? To feel that frost which might never leave?
I'll welcome any friend you might bring, if you do come.
Face your pain and heal. It hurts to see you so. My pain is the lack of you, the loss of you. If that's what hurts you, then come and see that I stand, that I'll live. My pain is to imagine you hurting, unable to do a thing, other than this.
I'll deal with my pain, do not worry about me, my dearest. But it all goes through you, and what you decide.
Please don't hate me for saying this. I'm saying it as I see it, and you once respected and listened to my opinions.
With the vehemence of a fifteen year old tugging my chest, and the brain of someone who knows we only have one shot at this thing called life, how could it be otherwise?
And the pain, the gut-wrenching pain. Pain, many types I've seen. It's, after all, my bread and butter.
-The feeling of oppression on the chest, as though an elephant decided to sit there. Acute MI, or deep anxiety, that pain is an old friend of mine.
-The sharp splinter pain, when there is something broken.
- The deep, all-encompassing visceral pain. Something is very wrong, and you need help, fast.
- The burning neuralgia, maddening. Nerves inflamed from feeling too much, then replaced by the freezing cold (apparent relief) which marks the death of that particular pathway. The nerve may recover. I know.
- The raging throb of infection festering. It might kill.
- The mild persistent itchy ache of a bone healing. It tells you how far you can work that day, but it is a good sign.
Pain is a warning and a guide. I listen to it every day. Mine and others'. Pain is not something that will "go away". Without treating the root cause, it will remain and spread.
Am I your pain? I'd hate to think that I am. I'd love to think that I am, for there might be hope after all. Hope is almost as stubborn as reality. Sometimes they come and play together.
Clear as anything, I might be wrong, but I don't guild the lily.
Am I your pain? What type? Do you think that killing a nerve to get rid of the pain is the way forward? To feel that frost which might never leave?
I'll welcome any friend you might bring, if you do come.
Face your pain and heal. It hurts to see you so. My pain is the lack of you, the loss of you. If that's what hurts you, then come and see that I stand, that I'll live. My pain is to imagine you hurting, unable to do a thing, other than this.
I'll deal with my pain, do not worry about me, my dearest. But it all goes through you, and what you decide.
Please don't hate me for saying this. I'm saying it as I see it, and you once respected and listened to my opinions.
--,
There's many I don't know, but there's one that I do.
You know I am still "pending". For as long as you cannot avert your eyes from here (if the 1 reader with the +1 is you, always the caveat), I will be pending.
I am lower and lower on MB left. I ask you to think (if you haven't done that already) "what then?"
This blog will be stale, something you read while you repeat to yourself "it could not be".
If you keep saying that, you are trying to convince yourself, are you not?
Since when do we need to convince ourselves time and and time again that we did the right thing?
You know I am still "pending". For as long as you cannot avert your eyes from here (if the 1 reader with the +1 is you, always the caveat), I will be pending.
I am lower and lower on MB left. I ask you to think (if you haven't done that already) "what then?"
This blog will be stale, something you read while you repeat to yourself "it could not be".
If you keep saying that, you are trying to convince yourself, are you not?
Since when do we need to convince ourselves time and and time again that we did the right thing?
----
I'm still learning, for I'm an ignorant on so many levels. I am sometimes overwhelmed when I see some of the things you (and others) can do. That's the type of envy I have. And I'm very envious.
Yep, writing about myself again, the old way to fight the blues and turn them into funk.
Overwhelmed, that describes me in front of you, and why I sometimes fall silent when I shouldn't, or I speak when I should hold my peace.
It is with awe that I look upon you. Do not ever mistake my silences or words as anything else.
When I see your words on the screen, it's like I'm a tongue-tied boy who should know better.
Yep, writing about myself again, the old way to fight the blues and turn them into funk.
Overwhelmed, that describes me in front of you, and why I sometimes fall silent when I shouldn't, or I speak when I should hold my peace.
It is with awe that I look upon you. Do not ever mistake my silences or words as anything else.
When I see your words on the screen, it's like I'm a tongue-tied boy who should know better.
Yawn
Waking up in installments is the privilege of those who don't have to go to work.
Like me today.
Time to get up and dream, while doing things that are real.
Thanks for being around, and being you.
Like me today.
Time to get up and dream, while doing things that are real.
Thanks for being around, and being you.
------
And it's true that love not reciprocated is pain (I should know), but I want to remind you of one thing.
The tears for you are because you are a worthwhile person, because you're missed. Because you light up the room when you enter.
The tears are the noisier fact. They are the happiness you give, when it's missed.
What I'd give to have your head on my shoulder!
The tears for you are because you are a worthwhile person, because you're missed. Because you light up the room when you enter.
The tears are the noisier fact. They are the happiness you give, when it's missed.
What I'd give to have your head on my shoulder!
Thursday, 5 June 2014
----
I wanted to cheer you up, somehow.
Anyhow.
Any which way.
And I only can when you tell me...
Damn pride and all else, what is that between friends?
I wanted you to know that the words I said to you before I knew you to be you are me.
People fall in love with you because you are an exceptional person. Never loose sight of that one when you feel low, my love.
Anyhow.
Any which way.
And I only can when you tell me...
Damn pride and all else, what is that between friends?
I wanted you to know that the words I said to you before I knew you to be you are me.
People fall in love with you because you are an exceptional person. Never loose sight of that one when you feel low, my love.
Walking by myself, Johnny Winter's style.
Softly,
padding through my room,
while I wish away the distance,
a tiger in a cage,
Hannibal behind the glass,
scenting l'air du temps
which you're not wearing today.
Swagger in my corridors,
with the ursine gait
of the b-ball court,
feinting,
protecting from a fall
in the same way
I placed myself for a defence duel.
Airy, I trot to my children,
pressed for time
always so little...
Exultant, I walk to the railway,
to meet you,
though I know the likely outcome.
The return,
best left,
you can't simply win them all.
padding through my room,
while I wish away the distance,
a tiger in a cage,
Hannibal behind the glass,
scenting l'air du temps
which you're not wearing today.
Swagger in my corridors,
with the ursine gait
of the b-ball court,
feinting,
protecting from a fall
in the same way
I placed myself for a defence duel.
Airy, I trot to my children,
pressed for time
always so little...
Exultant, I walk to the railway,
to meet you,
though I know the likely outcome.
The return,
best left,
you can't simply win them all.
Revenge.
Let me be your dream,
or at least,
one within the nice ones.
The dream that wakes you
with hope and strength,
filtering through your day,
turning your walking steps
into dance ones.
That is what you did to me,
and I want revenge.
or at least,
one within the nice ones.
The dream that wakes you
with hope and strength,
filtering through your day,
turning your walking steps
into dance ones.
That is what you did to me,
and I want revenge.
Just one more.
Loosely,
I weave,
without knots,
flowers into a basket.
Petals to caress you,
a feather
to sign my name onto your skin.
A bubble from your bath
to tattoo your name
into my soul.
All very platonic,
as perforce it must be.
Under the duress of distance
I believe in you,
unreservedly.
I weave,
without knots,
flowers into a basket.
Petals to caress you,
a feather
to sign my name onto your skin.
A bubble from your bath
to tattoo your name
into my soul.
All very platonic,
as perforce it must be.
Under the duress of distance
I believe in you,
unreservedly.
°
The day might come that I leave you behind. I just can't envisage it. I hope it's soon (more like right now, please).
There are offers at my door, of course. I don't reject them for you. It's for me. I won't lead anyone down the garden path, and leave them hurting if I can help it.
I won't cheapen anyone by imagining your face on them...
That, I won't do.
There are offers at my door, of course. I don't reject them for you. It's for me. I won't lead anyone down the garden path, and leave them hurting if I can help it.
I won't cheapen anyone by imagining your face on them...
That, I won't do.
*
Wild beauty, auroras do not sum you up.
I die for not bringing your eye to me.
It's not threat, but what it is.
I guess it's my fault for opening the door,
for not concealing myself behind seven hasps, five keys and four locks.
It's my fault for not being made of cork.
Which is why I don't like that word; often, it just doesn't make sense.
I die for not bringing your eye to me.
It's not threat, but what it is.
I guess it's my fault for opening the door,
for not concealing myself behind seven hasps, five keys and four locks.
It's my fault for not being made of cork.
Which is why I don't like that word; often, it just doesn't make sense.
¶
A veces se odia uno por no odiar al otro. Por no ser razón convincente, por no ser locura ajena, sueño, se odia uno.
Me repiten: "no te merece".
Les respondo: "no la conoces".
Me repiten: "no te merece".
Les respondo: "no la conoces".
935Mb, counting down.
It seems my initial moment of panic can be put to rest.
It seems that we can have another day of you insisting you don't love me, me insisting that I'm OK with it (well, almost).
Another day where I receive anonymous messages as soon as I drop the filters, and there's not the courage to do a direct one.
But it is as it is.
It seems that we can have another day of you insisting you don't love me, me insisting that I'm OK with it (well, almost).
Another day where I receive anonymous messages as soon as I drop the filters, and there's not the courage to do a direct one.
But it is as it is.
Wednesday, 4 June 2014
x
Compulsive blogging? Guilty as charged.
What do I do? Ache and pain are only words, academic concepts. I feel ill in a way, to tell the truth.
There's only so much I'll bare in the other, more public, platforms.
There's only so much I can say in the other formats, this is a more suitable one where I can unleash and vent myself.
I will need to check the remaining data credit. I worry I'll be out and blocked very soon, courtesy of Virgin Mobile (now, the joke tells itself).
It's as if both of us left a trail of breadcrumbs. You can trace it back to the source. I made sure it was done that way.
Yours, on the other hand, starts and finishes in the middle of nowhere. That, after that time where you seemed to have been swallowed by the very earth.
It feels like too much not to be able to speak with you. That's at times utterly overwhelming, physically so.
And now, this coming thing...
How I hate the set up.
How I hate to have run out of easy jokes.
How I hate the gaping wound on my chest.
How I hate that anything I say or do is misunderstood.
How I hate not to have a reason to know you're all right.
How I hate the easy advice from people without a clue.
How I hate being called a liar.
What do I do? Ache and pain are only words, academic concepts. I feel ill in a way, to tell the truth.
There's only so much I'll bare in the other, more public, platforms.
There's only so much I can say in the other formats, this is a more suitable one where I can unleash and vent myself.
I will need to check the remaining data credit. I worry I'll be out and blocked very soon, courtesy of Virgin Mobile (now, the joke tells itself).
It's as if both of us left a trail of breadcrumbs. You can trace it back to the source. I made sure it was done that way.
Yours, on the other hand, starts and finishes in the middle of nowhere. That, after that time where you seemed to have been swallowed by the very earth.
It feels like too much not to be able to speak with you. That's at times utterly overwhelming, physically so.
And now, this coming thing...
How I hate the set up.
How I hate to have run out of easy jokes.
How I hate the gaping wound on my chest.
How I hate that anything I say or do is misunderstood.
How I hate not to have a reason to know you're all right.
How I hate the easy advice from people without a clue.
How I hate being called a liar.
Just one of many possible themes...
Not so long ago, in a long and arduous debate with a fake ID account, I was told: "if it's personal, it is political."
True, up to a point. The only hitch with that argument is that it is the essence of "ad hominem" as well.
Her argument, the "ad nominem". I'm male, ergo I must be macho. Enough said. Non-sequitur, right?
More recent, I saw an article that I hope escaped the notice of anyone who has read about the concept of neurosexism. It was about male masturbation and brain degeneration.
The writer seemed to be aching for a fight. She did mention a recent study on conectomes, accepting a number of potential phallacies as "a priori" to build her case upon.
1.- As she pointed out, there was no female "control" group.
2.- The study on brain conectomes is being contested, and that writer was aware of a response by Cordelia Fine, Evolutive Psychologist in Australia.
3.- There was a claim that masturbation reduced neural plasticity. Now THERE is a claim Francisco Bergoglio would be happy to put his seal in.
And, as usual, the lack of link to the source in the article.
I expected so much more from a very admired writer. Yes, somebody who did earn my respect and still has it.
She's a fiery writer with a good balance between precission, clarity, reliable references and passion.
We all have bad days. I'd like to discuss this with her at some point, but my own brain is not up to much lately.
It's not masturbation, but melancholy, at least in my case.
True, up to a point. The only hitch with that argument is that it is the essence of "ad hominem" as well.
Her argument, the "ad nominem". I'm male, ergo I must be macho. Enough said. Non-sequitur, right?
More recent, I saw an article that I hope escaped the notice of anyone who has read about the concept of neurosexism. It was about male masturbation and brain degeneration.
The writer seemed to be aching for a fight. She did mention a recent study on conectomes, accepting a number of potential phallacies as "a priori" to build her case upon.
1.- As she pointed out, there was no female "control" group.
2.- The study on brain conectomes is being contested, and that writer was aware of a response by Cordelia Fine, Evolutive Psychologist in Australia.
3.- There was a claim that masturbation reduced neural plasticity. Now THERE is a claim Francisco Bergoglio would be happy to put his seal in.
And, as usual, the lack of link to the source in the article.
I expected so much more from a very admired writer. Yes, somebody who did earn my respect and still has it.
She's a fiery writer with a good balance between precission, clarity, reliable references and passion.
We all have bad days. I'd like to discuss this with her at some point, but my own brain is not up to much lately.
It's not masturbation, but melancholy, at least in my case.
+
I seem to have touched nerves today, never saw so many disliked posts in one place.
I call it as I see it. Even on my Facebook publications (which I've neglected, low data and distractions lately) I steer away from the usual, popular topics and try something new. Anyone can bring a funny pic from wherever.
Anyone uploads music, but doesn't help with how to play it.
Anyone uploads poetry, but doesn't go into metrics, or context.
We live in a fast-food, fast-read, fast-publish world. Now change "fast" for "junk" and you're nearer the mark.
I can be incisive, but I'll only apologize for hurting feelings. The contents, I'll rectify upon receipt of evidence.
There are a lot of things I would dearly love to be wrong about, and more I would wish to know more.
There is always another question.
I call it as I see it. Even on my Facebook publications (which I've neglected, low data and distractions lately) I steer away from the usual, popular topics and try something new. Anyone can bring a funny pic from wherever.
Anyone uploads music, but doesn't help with how to play it.
Anyone uploads poetry, but doesn't go into metrics, or context.
We live in a fast-food, fast-read, fast-publish world. Now change "fast" for "junk" and you're nearer the mark.
I can be incisive, but I'll only apologize for hurting feelings. The contents, I'll rectify upon receipt of evidence.
There are a lot of things I would dearly love to be wrong about, and more I would wish to know more.
There is always another question.
+
On another order of things, a friend received a purported message, allegedly for me, saying (in short):
1.- I won't have surgery to look pretty in your eyes. (!?)
2.- I can't live with your family's disapproval. (!?)
3.- I don't want to be a trophy housewife, I'd be out of context in your social gatherings. (!?)
Now, that's somebody who's very, very lost, or someone's idea of a sick joke.
Which is why I insist on a question about a seemingly trivial anecdote, known to only my muse and I.
I hate to see people lost.
1.- I won't have surgery to look pretty in your eyes. (!?)
2.- I can't live with your family's disapproval. (!?)
3.- I don't want to be a trophy housewife, I'd be out of context in your social gatherings. (!?)
Now, that's somebody who's very, very lost, or someone's idea of a sick joke.
Which is why I insist on a question about a seemingly trivial anecdote, known to only my muse and I.
I hate to see people lost.
*
In rapid-fire volleys, my scant ability seeks to make you smile, and desire to live.
The hurting is not to be able to see that.
I'd lie if I said I didn't want you at my side. I've wanted nothing more and nothing less than that.
Long nights stretching into days, stopping only for the utmost need to do other things more prosaic.
Routine days of a kiss to see me through my day with the hope of another one on our return from work. The kiss that takes away the tiredness.
The accomplice glance when we want to walk away from something, or try something.
To be able to make you blush with a word well aimed. Or vice versa.
To cook for you. Stupid, but there it is.
To look after those aches and pains so specific to each one of us, and pamper you when you want it would give me joy.
But I have to settle, and I knew that long ago.
If I make you smile or think fondly of me, that's a little victory.
I won't impose my dream on you, just don't expect me to give it up. I can't.
I already saw some of it and much more.
The hurting is not to be able to see that.
I'd lie if I said I didn't want you at my side. I've wanted nothing more and nothing less than that.
Long nights stretching into days, stopping only for the utmost need to do other things more prosaic.
Routine days of a kiss to see me through my day with the hope of another one on our return from work. The kiss that takes away the tiredness.
The accomplice glance when we want to walk away from something, or try something.
To be able to make you blush with a word well aimed. Or vice versa.
To cook for you. Stupid, but there it is.
To look after those aches and pains so specific to each one of us, and pamper you when you want it would give me joy.
But I have to settle, and I knew that long ago.
If I make you smile or think fondly of me, that's a little victory.
I won't impose my dream on you, just don't expect me to give it up. I can't.
I already saw some of it and much more.
(y)
And, just like that, I seem to have fallen out of favour of the +1.
In a way, it feels a slight relief. I was wondering if somebody's machine got automated. Only a few times it happened (out of almost 2000) blog entries.
All of those to do with particular topics. It's a relief to be able to know it's not just a machine.
On the other hand, I hate the idea of hurting anybody's feelings, especially those of someone I know and love (there we go again).
But reciprocity is not an automatic thing. It happens or it doesn't.
Didn't you think I know?
In a way, it feels a slight relief. I was wondering if somebody's machine got automated. Only a few times it happened (out of almost 2000) blog entries.
All of those to do with particular topics. It's a relief to be able to know it's not just a machine.
On the other hand, I hate the idea of hurting anybody's feelings, especially those of someone I know and love (there we go again).
But reciprocity is not an automatic thing. It happens or it doesn't.
Didn't you think I know?
.
I'll dare my luck with yet one more. That's the story of my life, daring my luck (even when it seemed I did not).
I might have lost one of my two faithful readers, as well as the +1. I sincerely hope not to have hurt anyone. I do hope that.
If I did, then it's the genuine concern of a friend, the empathy and ability to imagine with which I'm sometimes cursed.
But friends call it as they see it.
And, even if you don't want to be my friend, I'll remain devotedly yours.
Such is my prerogative and my inclination.
I might have lost one of my two faithful readers, as well as the +1. I sincerely hope not to have hurt anyone. I do hope that.
If I did, then it's the genuine concern of a friend, the empathy and ability to imagine with which I'm sometimes cursed.
But friends call it as they see it.
And, even if you don't want to be my friend, I'll remain devotedly yours.
Such is my prerogative and my inclination.
-
When I say we need one another, I mean "we all". Of course, that "one another" would take a different shape according to whom they are applied, would they not?
I fear for that child in a corner, playing gorgeous tunes in the harmonica, enjoyed by those fortunate who listen to her amazing talent, while she turns her back on the world she plays for.
I fear the corner, and that she seems to sleep little, she seems to change instruments to play as somebody else instead of just leaving that corner for a little while. Few can see into the trick.
I can, and I hope I'm wrong. That's one of the things I wish for the most. To be wrong on that.
Please come, tell me I'm wrong, slap me, tell me to mind my business. Or tell me I'm right, and how I can be of any (any!) help to you.
My blogger is doing weird stuff. I think I'm coming close to cut off point for data transmission.
Each and every Saturday, 7-9, HW.
I fear for that child in a corner, playing gorgeous tunes in the harmonica, enjoyed by those fortunate who listen to her amazing talent, while she turns her back on the world she plays for.
I fear the corner, and that she seems to sleep little, she seems to change instruments to play as somebody else instead of just leaving that corner for a little while. Few can see into the trick.
I can, and I hope I'm wrong. That's one of the things I wish for the most. To be wrong on that.
Please come, tell me I'm wrong, slap me, tell me to mind my business. Or tell me I'm right, and how I can be of any (any!) help to you.
My blogger is doing weird stuff. I think I'm coming close to cut off point for data transmission.
Each and every Saturday, 7-9, HW.
.
There's a concept I would leave here: temporal discrimination. The idea that (somehow) our forebears were so fundamentally different from us, and that we need to apply different standards in assessing.
Not so. The people are the same. 10000 years of civilisations (give or take) have hugely changed the conditions in which we live, but our basic make up was there.
Just look at the studies of Trinkaus on Neanderthal (Smithsonian). The presence of HEALED fractures indicate the cooperation.
Going a bit further back, to A. Afarensis, our famous skeleton "Lucy". One of the things all seem to agree is that she had advanced osteoarthritis of the hip. She should not have been able to survive to that stage.
How did she do it? Not alone.
A lone primate is a dead one. That is fact. People have a genuine need for one another, I'm not inventing the wheel.
We also have the sadism of chimps, the eroticism of bonobos, and many other things besides. I'm not saying anything you don't surely know.
Just saying.
Not so. The people are the same. 10000 years of civilisations (give or take) have hugely changed the conditions in which we live, but our basic make up was there.
Just look at the studies of Trinkaus on Neanderthal (Smithsonian). The presence of HEALED fractures indicate the cooperation.
Going a bit further back, to A. Afarensis, our famous skeleton "Lucy". One of the things all seem to agree is that she had advanced osteoarthritis of the hip. She should not have been able to survive to that stage.
How did she do it? Not alone.
A lone primate is a dead one. That is fact. People have a genuine need for one another, I'm not inventing the wheel.
We also have the sadism of chimps, the eroticism of bonobos, and many other things besides. I'm not saying anything you don't surely know.
Just saying.
.
I might get out of here to do a FAV or two, touching base of course. If she truly wanted me gone, she'd have hit the "block" button.
It's not that hard. In the pages I manage (or at least post), I'm known as the fastest block button west of the Thames. I might have even posted that, too.
I wonder at times, is she afraid of me coming to harm? Without any other implications about love or the price of broccoli.
That's another reason I want for her to see me stand, to allay that fear.
We'll see... Only three days till Saturday. And my next paper slip from our friendly agents of transport security.
It's more complex than that. It always is.
It's not a closely guarded secret that I work with the elderly. I won't say how, where or what in here.
Most of those have outlived their loved ones, sometimes their children as well. There's always the glint in their eyes of a repressed tear at the surety of that farewell. I recognise it as mine.
When I said those words, I meant every syllable, every inflection. I mean them today, almost a year on. I'm not surprised at much of what has happened, but I'm aware of a similar thing happening to a friend.
If it can't happen, then it won't. If it won't, I'll live with it.
It's not that hard. In the pages I manage (or at least post), I'm known as the fastest block button west of the Thames. I might have even posted that, too.
I wonder at times, is she afraid of me coming to harm? Without any other implications about love or the price of broccoli.
That's another reason I want for her to see me stand, to allay that fear.
We'll see... Only three days till Saturday. And my next paper slip from our friendly agents of transport security.
It's more complex than that. It always is.
It's not a closely guarded secret that I work with the elderly. I won't say how, where or what in here.
Most of those have outlived their loved ones, sometimes their children as well. There's always the glint in their eyes of a repressed tear at the surety of that farewell. I recognise it as mine.
When I said those words, I meant every syllable, every inflection. I mean them today, almost a year on. I'm not surprised at much of what has happened, but I'm aware of a similar thing happening to a friend.
If it can't happen, then it won't. If it won't, I'll live with it.
#
I could very well be wrong, but it is high time I stopped my exalted protestations of undying love.
But I don't think I'll be able for long, at least here, let's face it.
If there's one thing I have learnt is not to be stingy with the words "I love you".
That's how I want to be remembered the day I die:
"His last words to me were: 'I love you'."
Instread of:
"His last words to me were: 'what's for lunch?' "
Quite a difference, wouldn't you say?
But I don't think I'll be able for long, at least here, let's face it.
If there's one thing I have learnt is not to be stingy with the words "I love you".
That's how I want to be remembered the day I die:
"His last words to me were: 'I love you'."
Instread of:
"His last words to me were: 'what's for lunch?' "
Quite a difference, wouldn't you say?
.
The surety of uncertainty is what spices up my day. One never knows where the axe will fall next.
All one knows is that it will fall, as inexorably as a meteor earthbound.
Defeatist I might be called. The few victories I've tasted are all the more scrumptious.
It's like a dinner seasoned by hunger.
Love and hunger, lust, hate and fear. Rage, bewilderment, and desire. Reason and lunacy, memory and oblivion.
All built inside a skin.
All one knows is that it will fall, as inexorably as a meteor earthbound.
Defeatist I might be called. The few victories I've tasted are all the more scrumptious.
It's like a dinner seasoned by hunger.
Love and hunger, lust, hate and fear. Rage, bewilderment, and desire. Reason and lunacy, memory and oblivion.
All built inside a skin.
*
The few MB I have left are better used here.
I fear the disconnection not at all. Mi guitar awaits. The only difference is that the sounds will stay within the walls.
On the other hand, I should have something to show for it when I return online.
My fingers learn fast, and I have tons of catching up to do with that old friend.
I'll also reacquaint myself with a hand penned diary, which I call "Winston's diary".
You, of course, know the reference, my dear.
P.S. You'll know I'm offline when I stop blogging. You know it's my one online vice. I'll leave it all open. My Facebook notes are there, too. You can reach them.
I fear the disconnection not at all. Mi guitar awaits. The only difference is that the sounds will stay within the walls.
On the other hand, I should have something to show for it when I return online.
My fingers learn fast, and I have tons of catching up to do with that old friend.
I'll also reacquaint myself with a hand penned diary, which I call "Winston's diary".
You, of course, know the reference, my dear.
P.S. You'll know I'm offline when I stop blogging. You know it's my one online vice. I'll leave it all open. My Facebook notes are there, too. You can reach them.
Welcome to my lounge.
Please, have a seat, make yourself comfortable. Take your shoes off, if you like.
What would you like to drink? I know just how to make your drinks, I won't forget if I lived 80 years, my sexy martian.
Comfortable? Well, here I go...
I'm powerless to stop you from reading this, once I hit "publish", or anybody else. That is of no import to me, I have nothing to hide and I will never betray a confidence. Even when said confidence is regarding somebody in (just for instance, let's say) Mexico. I'm not like that.
Something does leak, now and again, maybe brought about by adrenalline, but one thing I do know is that I do not hallucinate. I subject things to stringent tests before I assert them to exist.
It seems like a game of cat and mouse but, who's the cat here? Where I am, when I am, I declare myself manifest, in form A or in form B. There's no C.
In the virtual world, it should be easy as pie for you to walk away, should it not? There's the "block" and "mute" option.
Yet, you do not. Yet. You said about curiosity, but that (as far as it can be ascertained online) should have been satisfied.
After all, my other blogs, as well as my YouTube channels and facebook work are linked to me via G+. My name is there.
Online, there's no talk of the brute force of a man, internet is a great equalizer.
You are afraid, that much is clear. You said in the past that it's not me. You have no business being afraid of anyone. Least of all, me.
There are two people who can vouch for me on who I am, it's in my letters. Two people at least have read each entry of mine. Two blog readers... or one reader with two profiles.
I cannot walk away, here comes the part where the friend says what you don't like to hear.
By multiplying yourself, you're also dividing yourself. I worry genuinely, as true friends do.
And I'm true.
By evading with insults, you show that you're not afraid of who I am, but of who you are near me.
I already showed you I can treat you like a sister if that's what you want. Even though (of course) I cannot see you in that way.
That's what you fear. The closeness. The feeling of having feelings. Being in the presence of somebody who sees you as much more than a chunk of flesh. A person.
Feeling the risk of the repetition of what you lived in our common hometown, growing up. It doesn't have to be that way.
We are different from them. We learnt from the mistakes of others.
It doesn't have to be any which way. We (and I mean you) set the rules.
Meanwhile, we've fallen into a deadly sniping game in other platforms. We both aim for the waterline. I, to bring myself closer. You seem to do both, to call and to repel.
Last night, there was talk of testing people. If you've been one of my two regular readers, you know I pass all tests, bar one (not really tested).
That one terrifies you. It terrified me, but it won't stop me from trying it out, should you be here. It should be delicious.
Is that what made you bolt and run?
I'm using what might well be the last Mb of my connection credit before disconnection, though I hope not.
Meanwhile, I'll be there every Saturday. Musa and Lilith will post reminders. You know where.
Who are they? I do hope you and I go and visit them together in Spain. One, you might even know, though I doubt it.
They're friends of mine and they would be yours, too. Ladies with whom I'm sure you have already crossed words.
What would you like to drink? I know just how to make your drinks, I won't forget if I lived 80 years, my sexy martian.
Comfortable? Well, here I go...
I'm powerless to stop you from reading this, once I hit "publish", or anybody else. That is of no import to me, I have nothing to hide and I will never betray a confidence. Even when said confidence is regarding somebody in (just for instance, let's say) Mexico. I'm not like that.
Something does leak, now and again, maybe brought about by adrenalline, but one thing I do know is that I do not hallucinate. I subject things to stringent tests before I assert them to exist.
It seems like a game of cat and mouse but, who's the cat here? Where I am, when I am, I declare myself manifest, in form A or in form B. There's no C.
In the virtual world, it should be easy as pie for you to walk away, should it not? There's the "block" and "mute" option.
Yet, you do not. Yet. You said about curiosity, but that (as far as it can be ascertained online) should have been satisfied.
After all, my other blogs, as well as my YouTube channels and facebook work are linked to me via G+. My name is there.
Online, there's no talk of the brute force of a man, internet is a great equalizer.
You are afraid, that much is clear. You said in the past that it's not me. You have no business being afraid of anyone. Least of all, me.
There are two people who can vouch for me on who I am, it's in my letters. Two people at least have read each entry of mine. Two blog readers... or one reader with two profiles.
I cannot walk away, here comes the part where the friend says what you don't like to hear.
By multiplying yourself, you're also dividing yourself. I worry genuinely, as true friends do.
And I'm true.
By evading with insults, you show that you're not afraid of who I am, but of who you are near me.
I already showed you I can treat you like a sister if that's what you want. Even though (of course) I cannot see you in that way.
That's what you fear. The closeness. The feeling of having feelings. Being in the presence of somebody who sees you as much more than a chunk of flesh. A person.
Feeling the risk of the repetition of what you lived in our common hometown, growing up. It doesn't have to be that way.
We are different from them. We learnt from the mistakes of others.
It doesn't have to be any which way. We (and I mean you) set the rules.
Meanwhile, we've fallen into a deadly sniping game in other platforms. We both aim for the waterline. I, to bring myself closer. You seem to do both, to call and to repel.
Last night, there was talk of testing people. If you've been one of my two regular readers, you know I pass all tests, bar one (not really tested).
That one terrifies you. It terrified me, but it won't stop me from trying it out, should you be here. It should be delicious.
Is that what made you bolt and run?
I'm using what might well be the last Mb of my connection credit before disconnection, though I hope not.
Meanwhile, I'll be there every Saturday. Musa and Lilith will post reminders. You know where.
Who are they? I do hope you and I go and visit them together in Spain. One, you might even know, though I doubt it.
They're friends of mine and they would be yours, too. Ladies with whom I'm sure you have already crossed words.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)