tree talk

Two trees lay on the grass. They look at each other without staring. They’ve known each other for some time now and they know each other’s flaws too well. Not to mention the qualities. When you know someone for so long, even good qualities turn into flaws. 1000 years? Seems more of an inside joke that makes neither of them laugh anymore.

You know? 384 summers ago I’ve touched you. It was the only time my right side leaves decided to grow in your direction.

Yeah? Funny. I honestly can’t remember. I do remember when they started falling. It was 284 autumns ago. One of them touched me.

(smiles) I’m always caught by surprise. How do you manage to keep them on for so long? And it seems like yours fall on their own. Without any help. With me it takes wind. It was the same back then. The grace was purely accidental. No pun intended.

But pleasant, nonetheless. Just so you know.

You’re almost making me blush. Did you really like it?

Why do you think autumn is my favorite season?

Mine is summer, but for the exact same reason.

in the cold mocking light of day

On the highest step of the conventional social ladder, the turnarounds in terms of love and passion seem to end at one point and start somewhere between what has happened and what’s left to happen. Trapped between the organic conclusions of past experiences and the obsolete innocence of future expectations, the relationship slash love, evoked by the present tense, looks like a black and white photo of a pure and yet uncertain virgin aching with desire and trembling with indecision - her heart is made up, but her mind is not. The opposite’s been known to happen as well. Duality’s what’s making her/him/us desirable. I said duality and not hypocrisy (I didn’t think you were one then, and I certainly don’t think you are one now – hypocrite that is – just felt the need to mention it and blog-ly apologize). Almost blindly stricken by an enormous emotional shove over the last floor’s balcony of perception, the reason crushes hopelessly on the concrete reality of lust, need, want, crave of one for the other. Seducing tactics, found in thick books of love or summer issues of sex magazines, do tend to fail as if they were these giant cannonballs brought in as a last resort in a war of exclusively high tech weapons – useless. The he/she routine, as it’s been known and successfully used by my parents, fits today’s relationship-al needs like a ruptured umbrella on a pouring-cats-and-dogs day – useless yet again. Seeking advice is the final stage of the socio-cultural disease of sharing the togetherness. Upon making love, we make the mistake of making possession and making promises and we dismiss the act itself that reveals from two beings colliding on the shady life’s orbit. Their reason and reasonable emotions for one another get so stuck on the mazey webs of maybes, whens, ifs, and whys that their initial quest for pleasure soon goes out of their focus. Questions become answers and the answers are even more questionable as words get lost for other words. When inside all of this chaos of rapture-driven-need of sharing and being shared the answer should be self explanatory: that one other person. Whose blink of an eye makes your stomach tremble, whose licking of lips makes you wish you had a taste, whose first breath in the morning is that life saving oxygen breath you'd linger on forever. That person makes the maybes turn into yeses, the whens into nows, the ifs into for sures and the whys into becauses without any preliminary intention. Self explanatory and yet so damn hard to explain: you do!

as long as...

I'm the oldest 25er I know.
I could be a grandma if I were given the chance.
I guess pain, both physical and emotional count towards getting to a certain level of maturity. Howeva', I seem to rush into things and into life itself with the blooming recklessness of a 15teener. I guess I'll be the same when I'll be 60. If I get there.. Something tells me I will, if I haven't already got there by now.
The grandma in me tells me 2 things: there is time for everything, so no rush, but there is no time for regrets, so have none.

As long as the sun rises there will be light (I'm afraid of darkness).

As long as there is light, there's sight.

As long as there's sight, there's perspective.

As long as there's perspective, there's creativity.

As long as there's creativity, there are words.

As long as there'll be words, there'll be music too.

As long as there's music, there's a good enough as long to consider.

As long as there's an as long (whatever that might be), there will be less of a shortage.

NO-HO

NO-HO stands for November Holidays. Yes people, for each day of November there's a named holiday and a very brave lady decided to put all of them together.
It's a collection of posts for each day of the month and all of them are at jlomowriter.blogspot.com.
I had my say on the 9th day.

shrink love, shrink - part 2

...So not the looks, not the loony bit, not her stories that she had been virtually feeding him over the last emailing months. But she had something that made him wonder: did they stand a chance?

As he kept on walking, Sebastian was curiously staring at his own shoes on his good-intention-stones-paved-road to his small uptown apartment. For a moment there he thought:

Gee, my feet look awesome even when they're shoed up!

But this time his amazing feet were not going to get him out of thinking about her. There was something there (around her) that required more of his attention and if that meant removing it from his gorgeous feet, well that was the price that he would agree to pay.

He even started making up some sort of answer to her latest email. With every pace getting him closer to his doorstep a new potential answer would arise:

no answer at all (let her boil)

a professional answer to keep it strictly professional

making it tough for her and give her a hard wake up call on the status of her/their mind

play around with her and make her think she has a problem (she can handle it)

play around and make her think I have a problem (she can handle that even better)

play around and

He was standing in front of his door, keys in right hand ready to unlock: Play around!

He smiled his usual damn-I'm-better-than-my-personal-last-best smile and headed for the shower.

Downtown, in a crane surrounded office building emails were sent, phones were answered, conferences were held, money were being made and time was being recklessly spent.

But not by her. She was thinking about the good ol' doc and his whereabouts, but mostly about what he was going to answer and if he was going to answer at all.

He did. Plain and simple as his charms (as the best things in life are said to be):

Hi you,

I don't have the answers you are looking for.
Sorry.
But I do have a small couch for 2 and a new sitcom.
Would that do for tonight?

to be seen if and how to be continued..

shrink love, shrink

Hi Doc,

I got more to thinking and I think I’ve figured out my problem. Our problems to be more precise. I can't romance and I can't relate. And at the same time I’m a sucker for boys. How’s that for contradicting terms. Paradox. That’s my sign. At times I think it's just an unconscious statement of coolness and uniqueness I try to make. So that suckers around me remain mouth open and watch me in admiration. Oh. But after the curtains go down. I’m just the same old sad clown.
Yesterday I cried. First time in 5 months. I’ve missed it. Why? I don't know. It sets me free. For no reason. I wasn't even listening to a mooshy song. Just cried out of missing crying. How did that make me feel? Stupid and proud. Felt like I still had a last decent grain of humanity in me. Then I wiped my face clean and popped a gum balloon. Intense, I know.
I miss your conclusions. The ones that you never gave me to be honest. You just listened and summarized. But what about your take on this? What’s your take on me? On us?
I have to go now. But let me ask you this before I go: do we stand a chance? Could we make it? Or at least one of us if not both?
Waiting for you to shrink our head.
Not truly, yet passionately interested.
Same-not-so-old me

Having read that, Sebastian looked out the window. It was high time he went home. Most probably to get high. For a moment he had the intention to press reply and start making up this nice convincing pep talk that all his rich clients paid him for. Although, come to think of it, he had not charged her any money, or them as she would have insisted. He kindly smiled to the small laptop screen as if she might get it from behind the screen she had used to get the message across. Rubbed his hands together and decided to call it a day.

He was the type of pleasing-all-tastes kinda guy. Heads turned for him every time he walked. He was not handsome. Some might have said he was ugly. But the confidence he would breathe made him sexy as hell. Not to mention the fact he could get inside any smart woman’s head (he was not up to the challenge of wasting time with anything less) by a finger snap. He would seem to be toying with all the female companions, as his mother would like to call them. When in fact he was merely advising them. Naturally you would think he was gay as a singing tweak. Nope. He just had his share and had enough of drama. That’s why her email made him smile.

As he was stepping out of the 3 floor building that played host to his “small business” her written words rang visually in his head: I can’t romance and I can’t relate.

In a normal patient-doctor situation he would have replied with the caring-empathetic-professionally-distant-yet-friendly-enough speech to set her/their mind at ease. This was not that normal situation. She had intrigued him, although he hadn’t set eyes on her for 6 years now and he was the visual type of intriguee. What was the most intriguing was the fact that for the first time in his many other times he could not put his finger on what was so enticing about this girl: her split personality? Fuck no. He had dealt with far more split and multiplied acts before and fought his way out of them as quick as one could say: house call.

So not the looks, not the loony bit, not her stories that she had been virtually feeding him over the last emailing months. But she had something that made him wonder: did they stand a chance?

…to be continued

My first lipogram

It's hard as it is to draw a lipogram, but how hard? I should find a way around it.

I submit my first:

It was a glorious morning of May. My six o'clock train was not in sight, although a big station clock was about to show a chunky half past. I was anxious within, but had a calm way of showing it. I simply could not miss work that morning. It was crystal in clarity that this was my final opportunity to nail a good last srping day as my sick mind's vaticinator had said a night ago: Last May day onwards to last month of living for you. Pray for your train not to show up tomorrow as it will signify your last trip against this world.
I'm sick with autophonomania. No doubt about it. My mind was drawing jumps in front of trains with maximum accuracy on impact, jump kind and timing, but today was not a suicidal-fling-by-jumping-in-front-of-a-six-o'clock-morning-train kind of day, that's why my calm act.

Half past six, no train, sunny day, I was still living and was as calm as a still hot pool of blood. My blood was rushing though and so was a furious train approaching. Bosom pounding, train coming, rail skuawking, lids closing. Train stops, sound too.

All aboard!

A short man in uniform asks with strong conviction: Miss, Miss, going or staying? Train's not waiting.

I look at my watch. I look at his talking lips and back at my watch. Both ask for my ruling. I finally talk: Who is? I'm not waiting. Train's not waiting. You look as a foolproof not waiting man. Why wait? I'm staying. Or going. I'm doing both.

OK. Lady. I'm not a funny guy. Not today anyway. Stay and go and do your thing. But not on my train.

It's all I could wish for. I'll stay and go on a following train. Not on yours. Got it.
I kiss his almost bald body top and go. I stop. I turn to him: I'm going and staying on this platform and not on your train. No risks! You wouldn't fancy this anyway!

Lady, did you miss most of your rods?

No. Only a sound. But I'm on my way of catching up with it. On a following post. Cross my... soul.

Even the Mona Lisa's falling apart

We’re living strange times. It’s the era of constant changes. The only constant about our time is actually a variable. How crazy is that?

The famous Mona Lisa line uttered by probably the last of the anti-heroes of the decade is completely true. I look around and see that the main trait of everything surrounding me is perishablity. One can view that as evolution and could nail it. However, the other end of the spectrum is just as valid: it could be a sign of devolution. Unfortunately, both ends go towards extinction so they’re both equally scary.


I was talking to my friend the other night and we sadly concluded that there are no more taboos and there is no more mystery left with regards to anything. Relationships have the same cycle as a product on the shelf. It’s all about marketing and putting oneself on the market. As long as you manage to constantly reinvent yourself, you can hold on to your “customer”. But do you want to? Isn’t the purpose of marketing to expand your “business”? So, in this case, isn’t the acclaimed love marketing actually the reason why so many couples are breaking up?

And where does love fall into all of this? I guess Tina was right after all.

We’ve turned into consumers. We’re not lovers anymore. We’ve invented these tools to help us get and stay in touch more easily, but they only add up to our paranoia and frustration. We get involved in major conspiracy theories about being controlled in everything we do, but we apply the exact same technique on our life partners. We’re control freaks that have completely lost control over everything - traffic, diseases, resources, money, war, our lives. You name it we’re glad to fuck it up.

Is there something essentially wrong with humans? Why can’t we go only upwards? Why are we desperately looking to go down?

We’re the makers and sure as hell are the breakers, too. For every yes we make sure we have a no dying to come out.

I guess we've simply lost our patience. We know that we’re heading towards the end and we can’t wait for it to happen. We’re building, pumping, testing, making, shaking, taking, giving, acting, reacting, faster and faster like we’re doing our best to put an end to all that surrounds us.

Is this the ultimate stage of humankind? Have we reached the last level of evolution and we’re destroying ourselves consciously?

I’m funnily sounding like an environmental-self-aware-sex-and-the-planet-series character.

I need to redeem myself.

To get my usual blogging credit back, I will end this post with an idea that has been haunting me for some time now. I love concerts. There’s no secret in it. I think concerts are the ultimate (as in the last ever) way to gather positive energy from large crowds of people. And I’m pretty sure music and the way we relate to it has something to do with our evolution in the universe. I think it’s crazy and probably not feasible from a scientific point of view, but what if we gave back the planet’s energy through music?

Make use of all the imaginable musical instruments, instead of making use of all the imaginable weapons to differentiate ourselves? Why can't we quench our killing thirst by engaging in musical wars? Why don't soldiers fight eachother with guitars and piano keys?

faded to pretend

there are mornings and there are m-o-r-n-i-n-g-s. the spelled ones are sad even tho the sun is up, even tho the light shines brighter than it did the day before. reason? none. they just are sad and pointless and most of all useless. as they are fated to end. as i am fated to pretend that something good might be standing just right around the corner. but might it? and what's the point in pretending? the sweater i'm wearing today will be old news tomorrow. the face i'm looking at in the mirror today will be all wrinkly and constantly reminding me of what i failed to do rather than what i've succeeded. the boy i love today will be so old news just like my nowadreams just like i will be for him. life is a big fade in fade out sequence. but what happens in between? where do all the fading outs go? faded loves, faded films, faded books, faded actors, faded parents, faded men, faded women, faded friendships? does anyone give a flying f' about them and recycles them for when there will be no more to fade in to? guess not. so my question is this: if the stuff we stubbornly believe will last a small eternity fades away for good, why can't we have the same fading fate? what if this is it? what if what we get in this lifetime is all we get and that's it? what then? what now? what now and then?

smells like mean spirit

have you ever given credit to your smell? and if so, how much? could you bet your life upon it? i'm a dog in the chinese zodiac and this totally shows on my smell. i can easily differentiate putrid onions from slops. and deffinitely can tell what's in one's garbage provided it has been sitting in the bin for too long for the odors to mix. i'm a hard smeller with a big passion for out of the ordinary obsessive mean smells. the heavy and sometimes disturbing smells i could smell an eternity and not get my nostrils bored. the smells that lay between unpleasant smells and strange enough smells that are continuously intriguing although they always smell the same. i'm talking wired smells that i distiguish from a million other smells. this is my top 10 mean smells list:
10. printed paper hot from the copy machine
9. my dog's paws after having been out in the rain
8. storage room of a shoe store (filled with leather shoes - no fetish i swear)
7. hot asphalt
6. licked stamps (and not the ones that make you go crazy, although...)
5. tyres on hot asphalt
4. the overheated vcr (yes i totally remember that smell!)
3. scotch tape
2. my breath on cold glass
1. dirty snow