1 – Who Ever Loved?
Who ever loved, that loved not at the sight ?
Saints. prophets, basilicas, men with guns, hookers, hotels, inns, flop houses all aglow with gaudy neon, prayer kites, gongs and wind harps, pretty little prostitutes, varnished grand parents, walled gardens, mystery relations who vanish as suddenly as they appeared, pale feathered aliens astonished on street corners, rave clubs, cigar lounges, espresso bars, sushi bars, jazz clubs, gambling joints, poker shops, trains in and out the station every ten minutes, tourista ships in and out the harbor all summer, shops, bars, shanties, slums, people sleeping in the alley at night, migrant drug dealers on the corners who cannot “sopikka da onglese”, trucks, heavy transports, small coupes sportive, a limousine, two of them. Cops with shock staves, theft, rape, abduction, police! Courts, magistrates, deception, lies, investigation, counter-allegations, property, real estate and leases. Pastry vendors on the sidewalks and sun glass vendors on every street corner, And ciggarro vendors. Barrow boys, costermongers. Whoremongers, marijuana-mongers, hawkers of religious curios. Beer that tastes like piss, imported food, lines at check-outs, lines at banks, lines in the traffic, lines of cocaine on coffee tables, lines of cocaine across her hard sweet stomach, gun oil, pornography starring me, news at seven, television trucks at unlikely occasions, film crews on my door step. Some one famous. Two of them, nuclear plant blow-outs, meteor fall-outs, friendship fallouts, acres of solar generators, acres of cellulite on the beaches, more cell phones per capita, decapitation in elevators, grain elevators in the harbour groaning all night, diesel fumes, petrol fumes, dog shit fumes, over loaded methane digestors. The smell of curry, fajita, nuoc mam, paella, bacal hau, Bicycles, scooters, rikshas, more trucks, tourist buses. People shouting during siesta. Crazy women entering with out knocking. People, strangers, staring, open mouthed, making noises…
What does a person have to do to get some quiet around here? Puta!…..
Let us start again. The story as a consequence of living with Joy. And then living, long after Joy has been deserted, with Wonder. Ha ha ha ha ….
en honor de mi mi padre y de mi madre
y mi hermana hermosa del alma
c’ esta en libro de mi trabajo
My love for my beautiful Strega de Corazon requires that not one heart, nor one lifetime, could ever hold all of you.
I did try. And succeeded to a point
In my hour of need, you were my trigger-happy saviour
My guardian angel, my saving grace
La cancion de la Corazon Meo
esta un estoria de amor
the Song of my Heart
to You who held it
as your own
Amado
Cara
Mi
*
*
*
viniste mi
“If love does not recreate lovers – what good is it?”
un Strega d’amor
start >>>
A girl stands in relief against the achingly blue sky of Southern Mocambique. A breeze which has crossed a million miles of ocean, made her thin cotton skirt billow in a line so graceful, so full of animation and moving beauty, that the heart of a chance watcher could tighten to wistfulness over her quality of suspended freedom. She lifts her arms, she leans back against the wind, her skirt dipping and flaring, her hair set up in its own wave pattern.
A girl on a dune top: credulous, fluid, plastic, young; drinking the air as she longed to drink life. The eternal aching comedy of expectant youth.
The sun is so bright, her skin so tanned she glows radioactive…burned into my retina for all eternity… a scene of stark visual contrasts: the yellow sand and blue sky, the green ocean, the bronze skin, the white skirt, the black hair…Vision set free
As her hands meet high over her head, her arms forming a hoop to embrace the wind, one lean lined thigh raises itself drawing her toe pointed foot out of the sand, slowly rising, till her foot, her out stretched leg is in line with her hip – and carries on rising…up…up…up…up
Ai yai yai yai,
Ai mi Amor
Ai mi morena
de mi corazon
Try The Science of Desires
And the world between your eyes
Where the oceans come around
Draw a circle in the sand
With the passion of my life
Circles in circles in the sand…..
Vasche Vexvelt
Sic transit Gloria Mundi
Trying to Identify the Voices in My Head{Syllable from Sound}neXt
Dies Irae
The hum of the engine turns to a throaty roar as I twist the throttle….UP! Just me and the “White Lady”… chasing dotted lines in the dark… out here on the edge of crystal black sky, black road to somewhere. We are Stoned… Immaculate. I Just Wish…
>>FOREWORD.
I mean foreword is fore-armed. So worded and armed you can proceed into this Byzantine labyrinth safe in the knowledge that the only other occupant is a slightly demented and very dangerous minotaur. Who cannot be reasoned with – but can be bribed. For the time being. The present incumbent. And should you perchance, slay him, you will become the “present incumbent”. Others will test against you. Remember: after this, you can Never sleep peaceful, again. Not after tonight.
For all of my life I have kept many secrets to honor the memory of one, so dear to me, so close as sin, and a life I wished for you. Gradually over the years I have become more uncomfortable with the idea of dying without recording what I know. With a growing urgency, I also feel I need to write an account of my own actions into the record.
I have always been afraid that sharing any details of my relationships, diminishes those relationships. But some of these stories are going to be revealed here, and I must warn you that you are going to be delighted and shocked.
Delighted at the recognition of your self. Shocked to realize there was more to this than you ever imagined. MORE than just you.
And there will be some disappointment amongst you too, I am certain. Since had you ever used that device you call a brain, and dredged your imagination out of it, and polished it with a just bit more passion, and enthusiasm… and humor, we could have at some point, survived our own arrogance.
SO I HAVE TO SAY THIS IN CAPITALS AND SPOIL THE INTRO, BECAUSE I KNOW THAT SOME OF YOU (all) WILL ALREADY BE GETTING READY TO SPIN OUT AND GO BALLISTIC – YOUR STATE OF MIND IS A DISGRACE, YOU WILL BE JEALOUS BECAUSE YOU ARE LIVING WITH SOME MAN AND READING ABOUT WHAT YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE. He may be a fine man, and he may be a bastard.
But I can be both – DEPENDING ON YOUR OWN BEHAVIOUR. Lessons in life #77
Yet it is difficult to begin. The events I have set down here have never ever been out of my mind. Not since You the First, not since the days they occurred :: Nevertheless, the prospect of re-experiencing them is uncomfortable and my silence the harder to break on that account. I feel like I am watching my own autopsy. The cranes on the wall fly across the Zen moon toward their mysterious destination and where the biological systems turn electrical, and where the reptilian R-complex converts to the mammalian brain – and Emotion enters the equation…the Snake cannot be removed – but it can be charmed, my young little snake-charmer…
It’s all information – What we know. What we are… Cannot be reached by language, only by symbols. But it can be manipulated.
Again, only by symbols.
À
“First you have to understand the symbols that underlie the language…”
Life in My fathers House::
NOTE: 12 Nov 2005:: As I am getting to the completion of this missive, I had the good fortune to have lunch with a woman this afternoon.
And she is the next You. Identical to all of you 3 Blondes of my life. The attributes of each, recombined in various proportions – to create another you. The hands of this one, the mouth of that one, the eyes of the other. The walking gait of one combined with the physique of the other. Maria!
What must I do now? Fall in love all over again with you to the power of three.
Passion Cubed
I smelt her breath, I watched her eyes. I know exactly what she will be like when I touch her. Kiss her. Make love to her and make her sing…
I smelt her breath and I knew that I would want to wake up with her…
Love is back. I see it written on her face, I see it written on her back.
And here’s the catch, my beautiful French biophysicist, my tragically wounded French botany scientist will not be able to clearly understand the meaning and the intent of all this. I will spend my life trying…
The Life Change I endure with all its attendant sensations – passions, ecstasies, pains. I have felt at the same time, with detachment, the necessity of pain… even to the point of death.
Death/Life. Compassion/Detachment.
Fluctuating from moment to moment in a play of intention and knowledge. Any thought becoming the object of another, in an infinite regress. Like mirrors in an elevator, in a sequence terminated only by the limits of the Will of The Machine.
“Suppose that we are wise enough to learn and know — and yet not wise enough to control our learning and knowledge, so that we use it to destroy ourselves? Even if that is so, knowledge remains better than ignorance. It is better to know — even if the knowledge endures only for the moment that comes before destruction — than to gain eternal life at the price of a dull and swinish lack of comprehension of a Universe that swirls unseen before us in all its wonder.”
That was the choice of Achilles, and it is mine, too.
::For example >>>
