35 – Mea Morenas

 << Mea Morenas >> My Dark Haired Women

“Let me Go”
No hesitation, no heartbreak, no remorse
This is your romantic divorce

Some where between brute silence and last Sundays sermon
Somewhere between Calvin on Christ (god help us), and the lizards
Somewhere between our soiled and greasy currency of words
And the First Star,
The great moths fluttering about the ghosts of flowers
Lies the place where I, no longer I
Nevertheless remember
Loves night-long wisdom of the other shore
And listening to the wind remember too, that first sorrow
Sleepless, with death beside me in the dark
But I, no longer I
In the Clear Place between my thoughts and silence
See all that I had, and lost
Anguish and joy, of you, glowing like gentians in the alpine grass
Blue, Unpossessed and Open.

For The Day We Parted

I saw a motion picture of a lily
growing; shoot to a blossom in a brace of seconds, so she rises
and shakes out her hair

I saw a strand of spider web drift by
glittering and streaming;
and so she passes

I saw a bird die in my hand, its open crystal eyes unchanging
and so I sit now unchanged;
except that something has gone out of me…

 
Life on The Longest Street – World Domination in a Glass

A story about Cape Town. Life and the people who live it Dress haute couture, wear designer or dress far-out….Get 24kt gold. Get diamonds. Get a mystic talisman. Get hyped. Get shiatsu Get high Get fucked on drugs Get Fucked.
It is an exile at an oasis at the Café at the End of the Street attitude, energy with the highest per capita ratio of mobile phones on God’s own earth. But then, this is God’s own earth. alive day and night with bistros restaurants bars. In between you can browse through some unusual book shops,

Eat delicatessen, eat curry, eat Kurdish. Eat healthy. Eat fast or eat cusine globale…But eat…because soon you will be skiing in a snow storm of cocaine that will kill your appetite for food for ever. And then youre gonna need a drink for the dried out mouth and one drink always leads to another but its still early.

Chemotherapy in bars with chicks who smoke cigars. Get the rich and famous, the fast and furious, and get laid in double-parked cars. Play pool. Get cool. Reefers and champagne…and a chemical based life form swirls up and down the street in some contorted Brownian motion.
And the music…Flows. Everywhere.
Atmosphere: daring, lasered, foggy. Crowd: funky, well-heeled and glib. regular basis. Be sure to visit the patio, and shake your booty to the sounds while the Red Queens Race happens on the street below you..Not to be missed. Over 21.

Several first floor patios over the Street affords a spectacular view of Long Street by night You’ll just have to get past the fact that there’s enough mascara flowing through this joint to sink a battle ship.
Models and wannabes abound and every-one is in their own movie. Great place to meet a first date (or bullet the last one). If you have what it takes to succeed, the xxxx is for you
The perfect place to go to avoid seeing anyone you know and then still have them bump into you there
Don’t miss world domination in a glass. Get soused in the name of Friday Night. And then the Quest for Drugs begins and does not end for Life in The Dark Lane.
Later the tidal detritus of humanity will be washed up on the pavements of camps bay. Sunday morning and some of them are still wearing the same clothes they left for work in, on Friday morning…they haven’t been home since then. Having gone out for a Friday lunch that went on all afternoon: all judgement fled and then it was smasho and then time to call your dealer to get you right

Speech by The First Plankton on the Sun

We set sail in the year of our lord.,,,,,{{>>Follows}

The Perpetrators of The HillSide Project: In order of Appearance in
THE PAVILLION OF WOMEN

Olha que coisa mais linda
mais cheia de graça
É ela menina que vem e que passa
nun doce balanço, caminho do mar…

Moça do corpo dourado, do sol de Ipanema
O seu balançado é mais que un poema
é a coisa mais linda
que eu já vi passar…

Ah! Porque estou tão sozinho
Ah! Porque tudo é tão triste
Ah! A beleza que existe

A beleza que não é só minha
que também passa sozinha

Cindy? Cyn. Pure Sin

I met her shortly after my divorce. She was 17. She is 27 now. A year younger than my daughter, Bri. The same age that Patricia was when I met her. The same age that Lisa was after she had been living with me after six years. The same age that Barbarella was when Bri was only eight.

How shocking! You will say. Why? I was running around with seventeen year old girls when I was 19. 25. 31. So why should things change when I am 42.

Attraction arises in the strangest places.

She came to visit often… to satisfy her young curiosity and her urges. And enjoy my company. And pretend treat my apartment as her home away from home. And want to imagine that she would “live here forever”. Being dressed up in a woman’s clothing. Going to dinners. Being driven around in a nice car – to picnics, lunches, parties etc.

Hey! And without drugs. She was never allowed to know about what I did, or who some of my friends were.

She knew that at my age there must have been others before her. She never asked and I never spoke, on the subject.

For you to have some kind of recrimination about the fact that Cyn came to stay with me after Patricia moved out, is not for you to discuss. It was before any of this between you and I.

So you don’t discuss her again. It was before your time.

Also the fact that we are still friends. Is my business. We will be friends till one of us dies.

What do you imagine I should do? Cut off my friendship because of some one else in my life? You don’t cut friends off for that. Even If I have someone in my life, she will still be my friend. She is a designer today because she used to see me designing.

I taught her how to cook, keep house, paint and decorate, appreciate whiskey, cigars and opera and drive fast.
Inge “Diabolita Negra”

Inge was the first girl-woman to visit my apartment after my divorce. In fact, within two hours of finding out that my “good wife” and I were parted. The day after I moved into my apartment.

She went to school with my daughter. Barbarella never really liked her. She never liked Inge, and I can say without doubt that it was because she could see herself in Inge.

When Barbarella was Inge’s age she ran away from her mothers house, off with some guy to what was then South West Africa. Living in Swakopmund and Windhoek.

When Inge came to my door with a bottle of champagne to throw me a “house wetting party”, she was the same age that my mother was when I was born. She was the same age that Barbarella was when she had her first child, Mark.

Jet Black 900FZ Honda, to match her jet-black hair, black leather bike gear and black full-face helmet, with its anonymous black visor.

Barbarella disliked Inge even more for replacing her in my life. On such short notice. I pointed out to Barbarella that we were divorced. By her own hand. She is still upset about it ten years later, more so because she realizes that she has no right nor ground To Be Upset!

Inge lived with me for a year. Taught Cyn many things. We are still friends. We speak often. Meet for a drink occasionally. Celebrate birthdays etc.

I cannot give up that friendship. There is no reason to. We have been friends for ten years. Thanks. She turned 28 in January. The price she had to pay for living with me was that she had to giver up working as a stripper to pay for college. She is just about completed her studying to be a lawyer. Mercantile. Because I wouldn’t be her friend if she quit college. She works at a proper job. Catering in the movie industry. Walk-on parts in TV commercials.

She is an excellent cheffete, keeps her own apartment nice, designs and makes her own clothes (on the Barbarellas sewing machine – that Barbarella hardly ever used in the 4 years she had it), appreciate flowers, art galleries, female bi-sexuality and astronomy.
Sandra Gunn.  My Sun Dragon.

She lives in England now. Too blonde. Too bronze. Too energized. Too intense. Hot blue-gold brought to life. A jealous golden devil. A passionate, whirling gold dust dervish. Eighteen when I bedded her,now 30, she is a photographer and exhibition designer. Specializes in Food and Fashion photography. From things she learned from me. At Hill Side Or taught herself. At Hill Side. When she was just at Hill Side for the exciting adventure, the voyeurism, the explicit, rampant, hedonistic display was her feast.

I made her paint walls with me. Get laid, get whiskied and coked to the gills.
And then create. Paint. Brushes. Mess. Thinners. Drop sheets. PVA.  More mess.
There is nothing quite as interesting as watching a naked, energetic young girl painting. Drenched in girl-sweat…

Facing the wall she was like a picador facing The Bull.
A brush in each hand – calculated insanity burning just behind the half-closed eyes. A star-ship gunner summing up the volume of space that is to be consumed in this blast when it is un-leashed.

Muralled my entire apartment. Mes assistant stupide! One day I covered her in paint and fucked her against the wall of the passage way and on the off-beige carpet. And up the other wall. A Work of Art.

We sit back and drink half a bottle of J&B, smoke a joint, and watched the paint dry.
To give up that friendship would be a mortal blow. We created and sold so many works of art composed in this fashion. Well seven actually. Seven is a good number.
We parted ways because we could not get married to the Fantasia on film. Too dangerous for the heart.

This Persephone of my at once sacred and profane life. Always jealous, always to be part of it. She would have to be part of you – if you want to be part of me. You too would have to love her. Be her lover.
Romana “Kelebek” Celebi

Turkish Delight. So dark. Kelebek means “Butterfly” in Turkish. The sleek chocolate butterfly of desire.
Celebi, pronounced “CHe-Le-Bi”. A Jewish Turkish name. Jelly Bean.
Billy Jean the tennis player and Jelly Bean, the athlete. The athletic cuisinart chef.

She was 48 last Christmas. I will swear on my own grave that she was the original dancer of the Dance of the Seven Veils. I will swear with my last breath that she recited for me the Song of Songs. I will swear it. On my dying breath.

Arrives at Hill Side with a bag of groceries and two bottles of white wine and proceeds to make a Mediterranean lobster. You will marvel at the ease of its preparation. You will be astounded by its flavor and you will wish that there was more. Just Like you do when you touch her hair, smell her skin, feel her heart beating in the palm of your hand as you cup that one small breast.

And if you think this might be fun… well lets see. My apartment is her painting studio. There is an easel. There is canvas. The light is right. The environment is right. And after we have made love  – and we sleep. She paints. And we awaken to a new painting in our house.

Should I give up my friendship and the love of this woman? Just because my life has someone in it. Someone would have to let her in also, to their own lives.
 

Olivia “Angelita” Conti

My chiropractor, aroma-therapist, physio-therapist, personal kung-fu instructor, dietician and all-rounder physical do-gooder: Miss Goodie Two-Shoes
Come to change my diet. Cook. Exercise. Suck. Fuck. Swap books and discuss the secret life of plants. And live her secret life on Sun Dragon’s 35mm.

A work out 3 time a week. Vigorous, hard, painful and possibly damaging. Also exhilarating, exciting and excessively Ex Rated. Combine this with danse macabre, Paso Doble flamenco, pasta and dark humor / film-noir, 1940’s romance on the silver screen mentality and you have the recipe for certain death. Or life in a here-after, Right Now, few can imagine.

How can I give up the friendship with this woman

Eva “Madam la Giaconda” La Guardia

Our Flamenco dance teacher. Erotic flamenco. Shades of Ju-Juitsu. The kung-fu instructor and the Spanish dance teacher. In the same room. At the same table. In the same bed. How does a man give this up? I ask you. And she sings and plays the guitar.

You listen to her words and her voice and you will laugh. And you will weep.
And be glad to be alive. And hope to never feel the sorrow of parting.
You will love to be sucked and fucked. And you will understand that death is just a veil.

And we push all the furniture up against the walls. Clear the carpet away. She opens a bottle of Aguardente… Jose Ferrer… like a syrup of molten steel.

And you will dance and you will fuck and dance and fuck and cannot stop, because if you do you will be a dead person.

She is 51 this year. And so delicious.  And many women wish to be like her when they are 51.

Porra! I am now 51

My pretty little Madame. She has a stable of girls that are the core of Fire Island. And then there are the free-lancers. And they are many. And I know many of them.Today they sell exclusive property, computers, cars, holidays.
Executive call-girls become executive people and close executive deals.
They left the business and went into a line of work where what they had learned was invaluable.

Oh she used to come to bathe me. Bring a TV dinner (no time to loose), and a science fiction video for me. And a romantic video for her. And a bottle of whiskey and a box of chocolates.

So here is a woman who owns the biggest best kept secret brothel in Fresnaye, with her Porche Carrera parked out side my apartment, arriving in her shorts and a silk shirt.

What does she want. I have to bath her. Wash, soap down and dry. Fuck her for 2 hours. Bath her gain. Order out for a Pizza and then We have To Watch Movies. She likes Sci-Fi, and Romance.

And I could listen to her cry about the “sheer painful beauty of it all”. Hold her while she snots on my gown crying her way through the movie. Drink Chivas. Neat no ice. Terr’s Orange Choc and a crying Madame whose 14 whores are operating under a Lieutenant who is also a Piece of Work.

Urania – and the Uranium Girls

I will tell you the story of my “Phaedra”, my golden Greek Goddess – fresh out of the sea
Ah! A blonde Greek lady. And a Jewess, into the bargain! She is so full of myth and poetry.
When she arrives, she wants white wine. She wants her clothes off. She wants to have her feet rinsed and she wants to be wrapped around in a hematia. Her Sobranie cigarros must be here. She never, ever, smokes in front of people, or in public. She smokes at home and at my house. If we go to a restaurant. She goes for a few quick puffs in the toilet.
Her birthday is Jan 1, A goat. A goat of Note. In 2004 she goes into her 52nd year. So splendid and magnificent as the angel of destiny as if she descended from Mount Olympus.

Olympic breasts. To fuck her is an Olympian feat. An Olympic voice. Her orgasmic song brings shouts from the other inhabitants of the building.

If they knew who she was – they would be more circumspect. She always carries a gun

She produces this country’s best pornography.

I used to go visit her mother with her. At the Cape Town Holocaust Museum. An aunt she never knew went to the gas ovens in Belsen. We have things in common. She has an empire. She believes in aliens and flying saucers and StarTrek. I went with her to bury her mother

She’s like a sister to me. Should I give her up for someone in my life who if they knew her would be jealous all of their days.

Like my old school friend – We were children once. She could never let me out of her life, as I could not let her out of mine. Too close. Just like Heather. We were children together once. Now how can I give her up?

Vagina “Luna” Benbeniste

Also, “sabra”. She acts with her body. Her mother was a Loader on a tank in the Yom Kippur war. Her father fought on the Golan Heights and in Gaza. And in Hebron. She was in a Kibutz with old women while the parents of her were fighting a war. Her parents were doing this while I was in high school.

She was 28 then and 38 now. Tough and sleek and dark. Always dressed in white. Always gentle, demanding, wishing and wanting. Always needing solace, attention and presence. Small, dangerously treacherous and uncompromising in her jealousy. The standard-bearer of Israeli women at large. With her I-Ching, her Tarot cards, her Shaman Beads and her urgent needs and her requirements of freedom. Miss “Fuck and Go”. Was the bane of my existence.

But cannot stay gone. Whiskey and cocaine. Guns and cars. And she was always on film. And she distributed film.

And when I was in hospital, she was the one to bring me cigarettes. And J&B. And linea Blanca. And a basket of fruit each second day. And change the flowers. Feed my two cats every night for 6 weeks

“Just money. I just do money”. She says

Let me tell you about my lawyer: Jade. A  jollee nice Indian gell. From Deban. So dark and mysterious as her Tamil ancestors. One day
 Miho Nakayama is a story by herself. That story will remain a secret to the end of days. But you have the burgundy brassiere.

There Are No Sluts. There Are No Whores. There Are Only Women. Women. Just girls who look like women. Women who break just like little girls. As Bob Dylans song goes.

But They are my women, my friends and my little girls in the green eden fields of the poem of my life.

I invited you to run there.

Do you imagine you would like to run all on you little old own some? No company? By your self? So dark that field will be.

I my self would never live in it. Nor run on it.

I love the sunlight.

          I would as soon die as Live without them. I need them. My Life needs them. I am richer by knowing them as they profess richness      
             through knowing me.

If they were lying – why are they still here?

Kindred spirits? Perhaps. We know each other. That is enough.

To know. Accept and not question. Nor Pry. Nor expect anything more.

It is enough to know what you know.

Now. Why do you not accept that?
You want to know everything? Keep it for yourself? When it does not belong to you
 And you never lived in those lives? But you want to possess and own them?
And have the past CHANGED TO SUIT YOUR FUTURE?

Hell, babe. Not today.
Wuzz here, now’m gon away….

 And then there is the Carnale… Claudia… my sweet sister spirit. Dark and smoothe her hair… Dreamy her hazel eyes and a voice that just spells “Dream”…