Version 2.0 blanche

One thing you will never understand is that I appreciate you more when I can’t have you. I like you more when you’re far away from me and unreachable. I want to treat you more nicely when you’re not “mine.” These are things that you probably are not be able to appreciate being in your shoes. That’s fair. It might take a little, it might take a while, but someday we’ll reach that point when we’ll both be comfortable with each other without yearning to have what we can’t. Without tears, without staggering gazes.

Happy Great Union Day, Romania!

It’s Holly Golightly walking down the pristine roads of a city that used to be imperial in a gone era. She wears a black, long dress, her back uncovered, and carries a small camera in her left hand. Obviously, you can’t catch her gaze because he wears her ubiquitous pair of black wayfarers. She’s smiling slightly, looking ahead, and fixing a direction towards her favourite cafe she’s only been to… ONCE.  Her gait is slow, but firm. 

As soon as she reached Sacher, she was happier than she expected. The “piece of cake” she thought she’d order wasn’t on the menu anymore, but something more delicious and decadent took its place, and it also got rave reviews! 

Oh, but Holly ordered it, although she had to pay more than in the past – one has to pay for exquisite ingredients and for beauty! She wasn’t disturbed by this aspect. However, she didn’t manage to get past the prospects of just staring at the cake. It was pretty yes, and it was appealing. It was mad decadent, but one more important thing stopped her from digging in. What was that, you ask yourselves?

A terrible accident which hurt everyone who was enjoying their coffee and cake in the opulence exhibited by  the renowned Café Sacher.

Let me go, let me go

I say “Hi!” to his pale face and he smiles back. Short-haired, blonde, eyes of a colour I am not too sure I understand. He’s been wandering in life without an aim besides his literary pursues, but that’s understandable. Twelve, only. Whenever we decide to meet and have this literary get-togethers I bring this huge book with me. It’s a meta book, considering the purpose of our meetings. It’s called “The Shadow of the Wind” and I think it is a perfect book for him to understand what I find beautiful in life. Similarly, he shows me what his eyes deem beautiful by reciting poems of authors you wouldn’t imagine a twelve-year old would read.

We are at this playground today and I am sitting in a swing – him, in another one next to me. We’ve never talked about girls, we would like to keep these meetings strictly within the confines of our Literary Society. Daniel (Sempere) is the character that reminds me of him, except my friend seems to have lost all his innocence. It might be due to the poetry he reads, or it’s just the way he’s been growing up. Who knows what he’s encountered in life so far? And why do I have to think so deeply about this topic when our friendship works fine just in the confines we’ve decided to keep it? I sometimes feel like Daniel and I think about the girl I like, and I would like to have someone to talk about to… talk about how should I act in her presence. Or I would like to recite her beautiful poems. But I think our society is supposed to suppress us from thinking about “guilty thoughts.” We’ve decided that anything which involves girls is “guilty.” Girls, at least for awhile, should only be talked about from a literature fanatic’s perspective: we will only comment on their importance (or overstated importance) as characters, inspiration etc. in the mighty FICTION of our confined society. We are free to talk about sex or whatever that is, because it doesn’t involve feelings. So far, the books have shown us sex is just a source of pleasure, babies or disappointment. Yet, as we go back to discuss our favourite literature, nothing about sex pops up, but it’s inherent there is some girl-trouble in both our minds. We will keep discussing our favourite authors and not discuss feelings. The society must SURVIVE!

– National Poets Month –

See the dark
With music playing in the background
I can’t quite notice you
Unless you notice me first.

Eyesex.

I have been around and around
Around you – not so much
Around the real one – maybe
Too much.

Ignore.

You see,
You can’t quite leave me confused
Immoral as I am
I can’t quite tolerate this.

Go away.

He’s sad already
On the verge of doing I don’t know what
I don’t want to kill him with my words
Or lack thereof.

Your fault! Go away!

You have to decide
Play by the rules,
Or else …
I will kill you.

My eyes – they never die.

Go away!!!

Tantalizing feet restless against the vaguely blue mattress. But that’s only how everything starts. Always. What would be the primary thought when mainstream thoughts have evaporated only to make room for the pleasing ones? Would it be genitalia? Or maybe a face? Or maybe a magazine cover? No. Would it be the liquid sensation of what one desires in one special day…like no other.

This day is repeating endlessly. It’s what one asks for. On a daily basis. To choose between now and tomorrow has never been this hard. Pleasure should come today, but is it as pristine a quality as if it lasted endlessly? To choose a face or a body? To choose a mind or my body? For now, this person succumbs to the white vastness which meets the eye.

Trouble has never come as something threatening, because one has to develop from it. But this time around, trouble is more than just what one would qualify as a one-night stand. Trouble is what meets your eye, and is inescapable. Better yet, if the venue [of trouble] were a club, with music bursting our ears, if the venue were the fostering house of liquid pleasures, well, now you know… What would come afterwards? The dance is something well-encouraged by the venue; dancing can usually be intense, but this time around it’s only a matter of synching the participating minds. And so, this person would go around making something unforeseeable be foreseeable. Just for one moment, just for one second. The magic isn’t magical anymore, and the faces grow dim as the dawn becomes brisk. It’s a one night stand you thought you’d rely on. But it ain’t the biggie anymore. It ain’t what you wanted and there’s nothing you want anymore. It’s you, yourself and… who else?

——————————————————————————————————

Remember when you enjoyed holding hands? Remember when the passion was what you’d preach for? Remember you still didn’t believe in love? Remember this…

Walk closely to the person you thought you’ve given birth to.
“You are more important to me than my family,” is what you hear.
“You cannot say this. Your parents are the most important thing you have – they have always been there for you. On the other hand, the rebirth is something you chose yourself, hence you should thank your own self.”
“I understand you don’t understand what I feel, and I don’t blame you. You as well represent my choice.”

Okay then. There you go: smiles. Smiles everywhere. Now I would be willing to accept this. Accept it over the sip of a cocktail. Accept it and step with the right foot forward. Put on the loose, silky Chloé shirt, a high-waisted pencil skirt, add that ponytail look. Then make the lips the color of fuchsia and be ready to move on. On, on, to the next one.

I think it’s time for us to fuck. I am not interested in what you have to say. And I would certainly prefer seeing you not wear those terrible clothes. I would also prefer hanging out with you just when we’re tipsy enough.

Leaves gather around. Distorted tones of yellow and brown. And the almost-frosty feeling of the air somehow manage to make me consider the situation above. If, guys, what your plan is to have me in your pants, just ditch that nice attitude. It’s hard for me to believe you want to hang out with me just because I’m a beautiful, smart lady, and that you can see the prospects of a real relationship. No, I’m not that kind of a gal. And you’re not that kind of guy. It’s just autumn, your thoughts are bedazzled. My body is just another body. On the other hand, my mind is just a solitary realm of its own. No match is to be found at this fragile age, at this immature state.

It’s London, baby, it’s fall, and you’re still deep inside my heart.

The collarbones encircle a nice region which is prone to many damages: hickeys. The ankles are strong enough to withhold our action for more than just a couple of minutes. The hands – your hands. But I should first start with the arms. Oh well, the characteristic muscularity keeps the girl-actor firm in her nook. And then, the hands are the main characters. The hands are all around her body. Then the girls’ hands have touched all his body parts. And then what? What more can you do with the hands? No one cares for a moment now, we’ll focus our attention on the upper body parts – those which think, and act mysteriously (or maybe just by whim). Who cares about the eyes? They’re wide closed. The noses complement each other, but more than this, it’s the tongue within his mouth which barely touches her tip of the tongue. But then she takes ahold of the situation and fishes out the liquid element of desire. And then what?

The focus moves to the heated zone, that were the penis becomes erect, yet it’s far away from any nook where it might nest. Hold on a bit, she will call this night that of learning, of bettering oneself. So there she goes, she moves down, her eyes opening for the first time in the last 5 minutes or so. Wait a bit, her hand grips the bulge, and her mouth encircles the tower. The typical odor of this phenomenon is yet about to come. First, the liquid element decides to explore the outsides of the oral cavity, and hence up and down moves, circular and angular moves make the bulge firmer and firmer. And then, with a gaze coming from her eyes, the smile formed on her face as the bedroom received its part of liquid pleasure.

It’s nice to see him smile.

What do you know about love? How many times have you loved? What about obsession? Which of these do you understand better? Would I really like to know? Maybe… The state of confusion, that of frustration and disappointment is very hurtful; similarly when you start thinking about distance. I started asking myself questions such as “What would have happened if…?” What if I should have been a good, good girl and not have played the game? Is it normal for one small change to create such a big fuss? Did it really make any change at all? My heart feels so. Alas, I cannot tell about my mind, my rationale.

The questions is though, how do I get out of this situation? And what am I supposed to regard you as? What does it matter if hundreds of other people appreciate me more than they should, while you, you seem to just be aloof. Are you there still? What are you trying to tell me (by not saying anything)? What is it that preoccupies you? Why, why, why? No, these are not questions that I am asking you. These are questions that I am asking myself; I need to answer these (even if “you” is not me).

I just wanted to say that I’ve grown a sentiment for you which I shouldn’t have. I am so vulnerable now, that if you suggested me to be lovers for life I’d accept immediately. (And if that were the case, would I get something in return eventually?)

Heartfelt…
You know, I wish I stopped exactly at post #19. I wish I did not have to go through this anymore. I wanted a hassle-free summer, but what I get is the usual summer. Almost three months in since the last post, and I still did not manage to stand clear of any sexual interaction. As much as I wanted, it was hard to stop this body. However, as soon as the body is involved, my mind gets involved and eventually plays tricks on my body. My mind follows the moves of the body, and this mind… this loses the ability to think rationally.

And so I stand here, in front of the laptop, writing in first person at the red light of my IKEA lamp. So I stand here, thinking about not even last week; it was actually more than two weeks ago. And what was it? Nothing. Basically, a game. What did it turn into? (Sexual) frustration, lust, longing, yearning, nostalgia, tears… all those mentioned. Just from a game. Hence, I can’t pretend this blog is dead, when my emotions are so strong right now. I am not dead anymore, but I am yearning, and this hurts. Do you know what else hurts? Not getting any feedback on the game you played yourself. This was me being confident about myself, yet it turned into vulnerability at its best.

So here I am, asking for someone who can listen to all this first half of the year shit, first half of the year mess, everything that went over my head and screwed me up to the last tear. I am opening myself. And I am asking for a listener.

Where the highs won’t bring you down, babe
No, the highs won’t hurt you there, babe.

Whenever I get to the point where I lose all hope I know that I need to bring down another blog. This is what is happening now with version 2.0. When love has officially died, hope is dead, and thus, inspiration is dead. I don’t expect to have a newer version earlier than Fall 2011.

Au revoir. Adjö!