god

rain, i love summer rain and it will do this to me every single time. i have not yet had breakfast. last night i poured a glass of wine and then sat at my desk, another six hours later, at three in the morning, i realize that i had not had my wine or anything else to drink for that matter. it is raining. i got up six hours after going to sleep and i do not recognize myself again.

i walk outside to the garden to check the beer snail traps. i am starting to think that poisoning the slimy creatures may be better than drowning them in beer. you know, snails, actually here we get the kind without a shell that are called slugs, but what is a bit of fuzzy terminology among friends? you know what i mean, don't you. fuck, you don't. but do i care?

each day i get the pleasant task of recovering over ten slug corpses from the beer trap near my basil. the slug creatures have been going at my basil as though it is the only greenery in the garden. we have a huge green garden! why my basil? the wetter it is the more slugs there are crawling around in the direction of my basil. for god sake, it is my freaking basil, there are lots of other gardens and other green things to eat. i got it, i do not put ivy leaves on my buffalo mozzarella, but then it is well known that i am a prima dona when it comes to what i eat. why do i care about slugs? i don't.

i got a call late last night that got me down to earth. imagine that you are thirty years old, have two children, and you have just woken up from a couple of days in comma following the second operation in four years to remove a brain tumor. how would you feel?

Technorati Tags: rain, words, work

lunch time break

"ragman" is on my mind, and very much so in my mind. it is an idea for a rather plain vanilla story, the kind of story that happens often on earth and leaves no imprint or trace, and on some occasions, a bit of genetic material gets propagated. as they say, happy people don't have a story to tell. they, again there they are, the all knowledgeable they! opus dei!

i am known for building bridges, they are those unlikely bridges that uncover realms best left unattended. is this a journey that you want to enter?

i have been reading a bit on genetics and mental health, and me "knowing" quite a bit about the molecular nature of genetics, and the forever so uncertain reality of mental health, have found myself disagreeing heavily with the author of the book that i have been reading. remember, but you can not remember, i never told you that i have studied genetics and topology and that i could really go off the deep end with mathematical representations.

i found myself yesterday fending off indiscrete questions from one of my best friends. we often have rather candid conversations about intimate and personal issues, but then when another is involved, i warehouse a lot of trivial details. the details that i call trivial are the kind of details that turn art into pornography. did you ever wonder why pornography is such a widespread mainstream phenomenon? what is pornography really?

pornography and history, or man's fascination with its bodily functions! but here i diverge.

in returning to the initial train of thought, ragman is on my mind. also working in the background for days is the two hour conversation that i had with one man who after thirty years still says "i love you" and means all and nothing with it. i am free with him. they say that is easy when i live in europe and he lives in north america out in the wild. see i have tried hard to invalidate his views somehow, i do not want to listen to what he is telling me. it all resonates much too close to home.

the truth remains a whore, and whores are honest even if some may be conniving, but such is the nature of truth. in other words, truth is illusive. still, when i hear something that strikes a chord in some inner part of my being, i do recognize the ring of it.

i am a bit thoughtful and doing this bit called the core dump. i am here.

Technorati Tags: context, core dump, floue, genetics, history, honesty, opus dei, postmortem, things, truth, whores

vanilla or chocolate

i sit down to scribble this, totally energized and with a certain idea in mind that i want to develop. my mobile bleeps with a message... i am gone, really gone. one more fucking distraction!

i was thinking about the kind of sex that people call the vanilla kind of sex. yes, i do think about sex, and yes the uninstructed may meet me and conclude that i do not have a sex life. i am always amused by what people get as first impressions. i had no idea that i look less than vanilla! live an learn, they say. these they have a bit of being both right and wrong. it is good to lay here on my bed with the notebook propped up my legs and writing while listening to rai music! i am in a wonderful mood, with or without vanilla.

but what is it with the chocolate? i love chocolate. dark plain chocolate, the darkest of them all, and even more after sex, you know, the vanilla kind. no thrills, no frills, just good and plain. i know, i know, that is not what you call vanilla! my vanilla is my vanilla! chocolate is no replacement for vanilla sex, so stop your wild fantasies.

do you know what i really resent?

oh, that will take quite a long post and i need a shower now. that is how i am, needing a shower and in one hell of a fucked up mood.

Technorati Tags: chocolate, friendship, fucked up, vanilla