23 Jun 2008
Today, I bumped into a Romanian article entitled “Praise to real women” (the article is only in Romanian):
Femeile celor mai buni prieteni. Prietenele celor mai bune femei. Femeile-cele-mai-bune-prietene.
Femeile care se gândesc la futut la fel de mult ca şi noi, dar au decenţa să nu vorbească la fel de des şi de urât despre asta. Femeile care ne trimit cadouri, care ne-aşteaptă cu luminile stinse în maşina parcată la colţul străzii, care ne plătesc consumaţia, care ne întreţin, ne savurează şi apoi ne roagă să le uităm.
I’ll try to translate it all to English, when&if I have the time. It is really well written, and kept me reading it to the end :)
This also made me look for a previous entry entitled “Simple Honesty”, with the motto You make me want to be a better psychopath:
[..] quote from Kafka on the shore:
I look down and catch a glimpse of her bra strap through the collar of her crew-neck shirt, a thin, cream-coloured strap. I picture the delicate fabric at the end of the strap. The soft breasts beneath. The pink nipples taut under my fingertips. Not that I’m making any effort to imagine all this, but I can’t help it. And - no surprise - I get a […]
I stare at her chest. As she breathes, the rounded peaks move up and down like the swell of waves, somehow reminding me of rain falling softly on a broad stretch of sea. I’m the lonely voyager standing on the deck, and she’s the sea. […]
The girl wears two rings on her fingers, neither of which is a wedding or engagement ring, just cheap things you find at those little boutiques girls shop at. Her fingers are long and thin but look strong, the nails are short and nicely trimmed with a light pink varnish. Her hands are resting lightly on the knees thrust out from her miniskirt. I want to touch those hands, but of course I don’t. Asleep, she looks like a young child. One pointy ear peeks out from the strands of hair like a little mushroom, strangely fragile.
So if that was a very exact experience or description of a living moment… how would that sound in my own words?
- I don’t like your beautiful hair per say - it’s not in the way you wear it either. It’s not even in the way you play with it. The essence of this feeling is in the way you let it be - you let it play, you let it listen to music, you let it smoke, you let it smell. You only take care of it, without actually murdering its childhood in order to please you.
- What about that smile of yours?… Exactly, what about it?! I’m not saying that crappy “Oh, you’ve got a beautiful smile!” Most often I like that you’re taking it on a roller-coaster called laughing. Most often, I like it because you make it contagious. I do see that sometimes you use it for your own cunning purposes, which is a bit kinky, so it’s ok :)
Like someone said “it’s not fun to be near a sad person all the time”. And that’s true, but you can be sad - the only thing that might change, is that I will treasure your smiles even more. But keep it on if you want your smile to have a blind date with my smile.
- Ohh, and your smell. No, not your perfume. Your smell. Why do women/girls always think that men/boys get a crush on the fragrance of the perfume? You’re simply stupid at this point. The fact that your “specie” do like to wear/smell men’s perfume once in a while doesn’t make it true for us. We really don’t give a bird’s eye for feminine perfume. Do you ever see us trying testers of it in shops? No, neu, neu!
And it’s not because we fear of leaving a gay image behind. What makes us/me go wild is the pheromones that come out along the smell. It’s pure anatomy and chemistry. So just keep hugging me so that I can be impregnated with all that. I’m gonna miss you no matter what, but I like to fool my senses now and then.
- Same crap would go for lingerie. You find it so peculiar that I have absolutely no shivers when I take your things from the bed to the drawers, or from the washing machine. And you think: Jesus, I thought it makes him go wild, but he’s treating it like dirt. Because it is dirt in that form of existence! It’s only some piece of strings (I would say cloth only for some elements) which can be easily stuffed in a keywhole. Like the keywhole - it’s not the physical element that reaches down deep inside, but the experience along with it (peeking through the keywhole, or watching you wear only a piece of cloth). It’s a small part of the bigger myth: the forbidden fruit.
- Let’s skip the eyes, can we? That’s just total bullshit and only morons fall for that. And you’re not a moron. At least that I know! I’ll just say that eyes can be so easily replaced with some lenses and the fun would still be there. It’s like climbing a tree when you’re a kid. So what if the fruits are different from tree to tree, or even no fruits at all? I’d still be climbing… the tree, of course :) So get real about your eyes - they are beautiful if you’re beautiful. Thus them alone are somewhat like pure void.
- Your hands “on the other hand” are something else. Hands are hands, and then some. Although there were some dumbasses saying “You have beautiful fingers”.. but no. Fingers are futile without the whole hand (exception if you have that type of fingers filled with flesh that make your knuckles stand up - some sort of mamma fingers). But anyway, I really like your hands. The “why” question is worthless. Maybe you should ask me “when”. For instance when you touch the keyboard. Have you noticed how everyone is doing that in a different way? Well, I love yours. Say.. when you hold a drink in your hand. Or when you use them to explain yourself. Or when you caress my ears. I also like the joints of your fingers when they move, or the nails… which you sometime tend to cut boyish style. I don’t like them long - remember that please. Oh, and you might want to cut down with the nail polish. Oh, ok.. unless it’s that classic red and we go out for some fancy event. Or if you want to fulfill a fantasy :)
- Kids - turn off the screen, scroll down a page, and turn it on again :). Your bumm. Well, that one… I could die for, or I could live without. All at the same time, for some people’s amazement and fun. That depends on the way you move it (please don’t shake it - it may just look like jelly: grouse!) , on the way you check it out in the mirror, or.. without further deviations: in the way I hold it - ok, I’ll be generous: sometimes in the way somebody else holds it.
- Belly - that’s gorgeous to just feel. Maybe it’s some shitty maternal psychiatric reason behind it, but it is always good to feel that type of warmth. To just put your hand on it - nothing else, not your head, not your lips, nothing. Just your hand. Sometimes I can almost tell if you’re good or bad just by doing that. And the thought that sometime you’ll be having it big, with babies inside - that’s scary and comforting at the same time, no matter if you have them with me or not. Actually, it’s not even the probability or the usual course that you might follow - it’s just that you have the possibility to “use” it for that purpose.
- Boobs - I once read “boobs are just boobs”. Are they? I mean of course “X is just X”, no matter what X is. But simply because they are yours, that can change things. Oh, don’t get all mooshy-mooshy on me, or freaking out on me. Yes, I’m talking about your boobs on the Internet. Regularly, I wouldn’t bring this up even in a very close circle of friends - like why the hell should I be speaking about my the-present-one-and-only’s boobs with others? It would only mean we’re just some stupid freaks. Exception: if you’re a sex-bomb.
Anyway - the hell with this mumbo-jumbo. What I wanted to say about your boobs is that sometimes you make them look as if they are not yours. Stop that. I want them not to catch my attention, I want them to show their presence, I want them to be wearing the same temperature as you do - I want you to make my hands fell on them as if I’m eating sweet cherries, or melon in summer… or I’m making snow balls and through them here and there, without any reason.. as if I’m a kid. I want you to tell me when I’m making my curiosity turn you into a freak, to tell me that I should play more and inspect less since they (the boobs) will have open hours tomorrow, same time. I want you to tell me: stop gulping!
- I’m quite fed up with these 90-60-90, aren’t you? As the song says: big girls, you are beautiful! Same goes for legs - who cares about them? I only care about them when they show a healthy body and spirit - visually. If we talk about touch - then all I care is feet. I like to give them a nice massage, or just to feel them between my legs on a cold winter evening, when we watch some “ever-green” TV series, since we had enough crap with the modern ones. I want you to use them to tell me all sorts of stuff - in some key moments :)
- And I want you to be warm - Not hot! I will still leave an open door about being hot visually. But from a thermic point of view, I just need you to be warm. To have that amount of warmth where you can put yourself near me, or you can hold my face and act as a pill of distonocalm. I want you to take away my forehead sweat on a hot summer day, or after riding a bike, or running, and give me the same feeling after a warm shower. And I want to save the planet - so I need you to be my heater during winter. Ok, ok, only after we both enjoy the feeling of fresh, cold linens.
- Make-up, ear-rings, etc - for heaven’s sake, never put as much as those stupid bitches on the street, or like those porn-stars. I know you’re not one.. yes, honey.. I know you have never done it like they do (put make-up I mean). But I’m telling you so that you know that I love the way you somehow miss on putting make-up. Because for my childish eye.. I really see you without any, though you often tell me that you have. And ear-rings… do where whatever you like. Same goes for clothes… I may be barging in now and then, just criticizing or telling you that I like something more.. And I will really notice when you’ll put something new or do something like getting another hair style. But all in all I really don’t care.
And although I’ll tell you to try something else on you, please don’t yell at me afterwards that you went along despite your wishes. And please don’t tell me two hours after yelling that in fact you want to dress and be like I want you to be on a pissy-kissy voice - feels undermining and it’s simply not the truth - and that you’re sorry about yelling, and that you actually want from the bottom of your heart to hear next time what I think about your style. Clothes and such are the first thing that you can change on you, and I can change on me. Ultimately - we can change on us. But otherwise, don’t expect me to care about it. I appreciate your style, even love it, but don’t spend that much energy on it - the above bolded words can definitely make up for some bad fashion.
- I’m almost finished, but I didn’t want to take out of the picture 3 things, for adulthood. One would be keeping clean - I like the lack of organization, when it’s me that feels like that, while you know the place of each and every. So keep it your way, as long as we’re not taking it to a trash-hole. And please forgive me because I have a more average-like way of doing it. It’s just me.
- The other thing is cooking - first of all, please stop saying that you cannot cook. I would really love to hear a kid saying “I cannot ride a bike” before ever getting on top of one - bike, I mean. So just try.. and after you try some simple stuff, I will actually be amazed by some very simple stuff that I take as a personal cousin now - like potatoes with smashed eggs and cheese in the oven. Who would have thought that the only thing you knew how to cook was something that I would remember and cook by myself years after?
- And kids.. it’s ok to be indifferent about kids at this age - just don’t kind of fake it. You can as well love them, but be shy about them. Of course the greatest thing would be to see you making them turn and swirl, and then catch a phrase like “Mummy, I like this girl. She’s beautiful” (as I did with the girl -25ish- of my mom’s tailor when I was 6ish :) ) but we can’t have them all.