Archive for September, 2008

Da ya think I´m sexy?

That´s what the twelve men staring at me from the pages of that calendar seemed to say.

One of those where firemen, policemen, footbal players and the like are depicted half-naked, and that my workmate brought to the office today. Young men, glorious muscles, tanned bodies and the like.

My colleagues were watching them and commenting. “Oh, they´re soooo sexy”, “August is the sexiest”, “August? Nah, December is the sexiest of them all!”.

Their eyes must have some qualities that mine lack, because I could not see anything in them. January February, March, April, May… I saw nothing.

They asked me what I considered a sexy man. I closed my eyes and tried to visualize an image.

And there is only one image of a man that I have ever considered sexy. John Wayne, wearing a white shirt and getting soaked under the falling rain.

Not gloriously young any longer, not conventionally handsome, definitely not a body-builder showing off his muscles.

I wasn´t even born then. But John Wayne, when he played that scene, became the sexiest man on Earth for me.


The Quiet Man, 1952


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 I long for the day

when those cinder clouds

that veil your brilliant eyes

return no more.

 I long for the night

when those savage storms

that darken your pupils

return no more.


I long for the day

when those sombre shadows

that obscure your gaze

return no more.


 I long for the night

when those grim grey ghosts

that shade your mind

return no more.


 I live for the time

when into the deep blue pools of your eyes

I will lose my soul

once more.


For Robert, whenever I may find him.

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The Forest Path


I live in a farmhouse pretty much at the back of bourke.

So at the back of bourke that my address is the Pinetree Forest, Willow Grove. All around my home there are forests, and roads are not even roads, but paths. One path leads to the river, one path leads to the main (main being the understatement of the year) road.

If I follow the path I reach the main road in about 25 minutes. If I take the short cut, in 15. The short cut winds through the old cemetery.

I usually take the short cut.

Last night I ran out of cigarettes. So I decided to walk to village next door, where there is a bar-post office-tobacco dispenser-general store-male meeting place. It wasn´t that late, but night had already fallen in the forests.

My dog was missing, so I took my i-pod, my keys, a stray garbage bag (everybody hates to take out garbage bags), some coins and set off.

It was not really scary. There were no lamplights along the path, of course, but moonlight was enough to see where I was going. And it was not really lonely. Night birds sang, owls cried, hedgehogs and squirrels scurried away, frogs sang, the occasional fox or deer gave a startled jump when I came near them, dogs could be heard barking in the distance.

And Lou Reed was singing about heroin and New York. So on I went, swinging my garbage bag to and fro and singing hey honey, take the walk on the wild side, when I suddenly realized there was something wrong.

The forest was totally still, not a leaf was moving. I switched off my i-pod and listened. There was no movement, and worse, there was no noise. The old white tombstones in the cemetery shone eerily under the moonlight, with piles of moss obscuring the long forgotten names of the dead. The smouldering crosses threw ominous shadows on the uneven path, and rotting petals laid on the broken marbles.

Everything was still and yet something was moving, something that I could not see in the darkness, but whose cold breath I could hear. Something that dragged its feet on the uneven path slowly and calmly approaching me.
I could hear so clearly its ragged breath but I could not see it, there was nothing to be seen… only the noise of the dragging feet in the dreary stillness of the cemetery.

Fear was gripping my heart when the shadow whispered in a voice that came from beyond the grave

What is doing a girl like you in a place like this?.

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All About Eve

One joins in a forum or starts a blog to find people who share the same interests. Language and Literature, in my case.

Word Reference, my favourite, and Using English. I also joined in two other forums just for fun and light chat with nice people, TTT and Word Irreverence.

It was interesting to discuss favourite topics with intelligent, cultured people. One, er, intelligent female, or so she seemed, was a member of three of those fora, too.

Let´s call her Eve, in honour of the first silly female ever to inhabit the Earth. This Eve character may not be the first silly female ever to inhabit the Net, but it will do.

Of course there were interesting men writing on these fora. One of them was specially appealing to the Eve character. A very intelligent, attractive man with a wicked sense of humour. Let´s call him Gerry, in honour of the very intelligent, very attractive and humorous writer Gerald Durrell.

All went nicely among linguistic discussions, literary extracts, word plays. Then the wordplays took a strange twist: the Eve character declared herself addicted to sodomy, offering her bare ass for an avatar and publicly declaring her naked desire of being fucked, avant et derrière, (her words, not mine) by the Gerry character.

Some of us thought she was going too far. Innuendo is all right, bad taste is not. I doubted whether the Gerry character liked such an aggresive approach; he was, after all, an intelligent bloke, and I have yet to know any intelligent bloke who likes to be cornered by a virago in full heat.

A blonde haired, green-goldeneyed, big breasted Eve, or so she described herself; but a virago nonetheless.

To make a long story short, the Gerry character decided that a virago might be quite all right for guiding the Révolutionnaires to the Bastille, but had no place in his bed, real or virtual.

And the Eve character, frustrated like a lioness in heat, could not believe that any man in his senses would reject such a blatant offer.

The bare truth, that Gerry did not like stalkers, not even well endowed goldeneyed ones, she could or would not accept. She had to find a more dramatic, fit for a soap opera reason. It must be, it had to be that another woman had robbed her of her prey.

Ms Alexandra Cohen was the chosen target of her fury. Her victim had committed the unforgivable sins of first outwitting and then utterly ignoring the Eve character.

That Ms Alexandra Cohen and the Gerry character had never dreamed of having an affair, either real or virtual didn´t matter much to her: she had been rejected. Her pride was hurt, her jealousy was blinding, and she was raving mad with rage and frustration.

An Eve character wandering from forum to forum spitting her rage, her venom and her jeaousy against the man who rejected her advances and the woman who dared to utterly ignore her.

Venting her frustration in the form of “communiqués” sent to whoever wants to listen to her, be either members of a forum or mailing lists, trying to get her imaginary “enemies” banned from every forum in the net and/or discredited.

How´s that for a more than vulgar and pathetic SecondLife?

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Does lovers giving to givers increase loving

Does givers loving to lovers increase giving

Does giving loving to lovers increase givers

Does giving lovers to givers increase loving

Does loving giving to givers increase lovers

Does lovers loving to givers increase giving

Does givers giving to lovers increase loving

Does loving giving to givers increase lovers

Romeo and Juliet, Sir Frank Dicksee

Romeo and Juliet, Sir Frank Dicksee

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