As most single people on Earth I have a hand full of affairs that never really have begun and consequently are not really going to end. Even though I never take it seriously, sometimes when I'm getting dressed to be undressed I have the uncomfortable feeling I am an humanitarian prostitute that shags not for money, but for the 'Cause'.
What is ironic about my dates is that when I'm asked out for some talk, to watch a film or to have some dinner I always end up in someone's bed, but when invited for some action I always end up talking, watching a film or having a snack with someone that has a very big mouth but has no idea whatsoever what to do with it.
Sex and silly romantic interactions had become far me more interesting to be watched than lived. If Edgar Wallace was right and 'an intellectual is someone who has found something more interesting than sex', I'm screwed, that's official I am an intellectual. This epiphany doesn't discourage me to keep being around people that give me orgasms, but honestly sometimes the District Line tend to weaken my sexual desire.
After two beautiful hours of a miserable tube drama I arrived at one of my friends' flat, we watched 'Shortbus' (a great film that - pretty much like everything that is meaningful and brilliant - is not for everyone), we kissed, caressed each others face and for a couple of seconds I thought of telling him 'I like you', but this thought was rapidly vanished by the fear of how it would be interpreted, maybe he would think of staying with me or maybe he would think of going away. And I wanted neither of the options, I want the gray area, that's what I crave for, relationship-wise I am colorblind.
After we did what God designed us to do we fell asleep, but my thoughts kept waking me up. I felt like a person that has a blueprint of a heart replacing the organ that once existed and I sadly asked myself what had I done to the old me. Hearing just silence I turned around naked and got back to sleep.
x B
Friday, 5 November 2010
The Constant Constable
"Fashion always had and will have its day - but Truth (in all things) only will last.", this is a sentence taken from one of John Constable's letters to his friend John Dunthorne. Constable is one of the most respected landscape painters in England and I didn't have the slightest idea he had exited at all until the day Mr. Ray (a customer from my coffee shop) talked to me about him.
I went to a couple of museums to see his works and one of his portraits that can be found at the National Portrait Gallery, there you'll find him close to William Blake and J. M. W. Turner (a terrible portrait by the way, I'm not sure if he really looked like an angry eagle or if the painter did the job with his left foot). John look so attractive that when you see his wife's portrait at the Tate you just go like 'love is a funny thing', and she wasn't just not attractive, she was very annoying and took her almost a decade to accept to marry him just because he was penny less and his best friend was the local plumber.
When I finished reading 'Constable In Love' (by Martin Gayford) I felt jealousy running in my veins mixing with my blood, this man wasn't a believer he was a knower, he was cocksure that his love was worth fighting for and that his art was meant to last forever. There are a massive amount of people that have delusions of grandeur, but he wasn't delusional he was right.
If you are up to reading a non-fictional Jane Austin like book go for that one, the author tells you not just Constable's story he puts everything in its context giving you a bigger picture of the society this charming man lived in, and that's what makes this book so enjoyable.
The only downside is that reading about someone like him made me realize that I haven't been sure about anything for far more then a while, for me sureness is something I only know now in theory and it made me wonder if I will ever be blessed again with this form of lunacy.
B x
I went to a couple of museums to see his works and one of his portraits that can be found at the National Portrait Gallery, there you'll find him close to William Blake and J. M. W. Turner (a terrible portrait by the way, I'm not sure if he really looked like an angry eagle or if the painter did the job with his left foot). John look so attractive that when you see his wife's portrait at the Tate you just go like 'love is a funny thing', and she wasn't just not attractive, she was very annoying and took her almost a decade to accept to marry him just because he was penny less and his best friend was the local plumber.
When I finished reading 'Constable In Love' (by Martin Gayford) I felt jealousy running in my veins mixing with my blood, this man wasn't a believer he was a knower, he was cocksure that his love was worth fighting for and that his art was meant to last forever. There are a massive amount of people that have delusions of grandeur, but he wasn't delusional he was right.
If you are up to reading a non-fictional Jane Austin like book go for that one, the author tells you not just Constable's story he puts everything in its context giving you a bigger picture of the society this charming man lived in, and that's what makes this book so enjoyable.
The only downside is that reading about someone like him made me realize that I haven't been sure about anything for far more then a while, for me sureness is something I only know now in theory and it made me wonder if I will ever be blessed again with this form of lunacy.
B x
Tuesday, 2 November 2010
The Wanting, the Waiting and the Weighing Room
My feet ache from walking around the only three rooms that I still can be bothered to explore in my visibly damaged mind. By far the Wanting Room is the most beautifully decorated one, getting inside it gives you an almost evil sensation, it is the feeling of having every bit of your body being driven towards something seemingly essencial that a second ago you didn't have the slightest idea existed at all, it has Rosso Corsa red velvet curtains, Sangria hypnotizing arabesque wallpapers, stylish chandeliers hanging from the ceiling like a graceful pair of golden dressed trapezists, a bunch of candles with their sexy flames dancing around and every piece of furniture exhales lust and moans in pleasure, I wish my visits to that piece of hellish heaven happened more often.
The Waiting Room is where you go to perish, suffer, cry, choke and feel you don't worth a penny. The walls are covered in clocks, some of them are big, others tiny, some of them are melting away when others are just staring at you. The walls are pale and it has in its essence a very perceptible limbo's touch. It's a room that makes you hate yourself for having chosen to became a slave of the tics and tacs that sometimes would make you so confuse you wouldn't even know what a hell you were waiting for.
And the beloved Weighting Room is where you racionalize if the velvet euphoria matchs the grey and plain concrete, that's the place where you weigh up every sensation, touch and taste you have savoured. I have a theory that most of the time, in this room we realise that it doesn't matter how amazing an experience is, comparing to the world we built in our minds all that surrond us is no more interesting than a Playboy from the 80s compared to a pole dance by Liz Hurley followed by a blow job.
I know I'm sounding a little bit too weird but making no sense was always one of my strengths and I'm effortlessly getting better every day.
Tip for a very confusing week, watch 'Waking Life' after reading 'A Theory of Everything' by Ken Wilber. You'll feel your world being turned inside out, then upside down and you'll have a very authentic epiphany that only a Blog could save you.
Good night you bunch of nice friends,
B x
The Waiting Room is where you go to perish, suffer, cry, choke and feel you don't worth a penny. The walls are covered in clocks, some of them are big, others tiny, some of them are melting away when others are just staring at you. The walls are pale and it has in its essence a very perceptible limbo's touch. It's a room that makes you hate yourself for having chosen to became a slave of the tics and tacs that sometimes would make you so confuse you wouldn't even know what a hell you were waiting for.
And the beloved Weighting Room is where you racionalize if the velvet euphoria matchs the grey and plain concrete, that's the place where you weigh up every sensation, touch and taste you have savoured. I have a theory that most of the time, in this room we realise that it doesn't matter how amazing an experience is, comparing to the world we built in our minds all that surrond us is no more interesting than a Playboy from the 80s compared to a pole dance by Liz Hurley followed by a blow job.
I know I'm sounding a little bit too weird but making no sense was always one of my strengths and I'm effortlessly getting better every day.
Tip for a very confusing week, watch 'Waking Life' after reading 'A Theory of Everything' by Ken Wilber. You'll feel your world being turned inside out, then upside down and you'll have a very authentic epiphany that only a Blog could save you.
Good night you bunch of nice friends,
B x
Sunday, 31 October 2010
"I used to want to change the world...
...now I just want to leave the room with a little dignity", this piece of thought by Lotus Weinstock says a lot about losing hope in lots of things as the time goes by, I naively believed that this feeling would strike me like a fulminating bloody thunder around my fiftieth birthday, but nope, things don't really happen like that. I will soon be thirty and I already feel like vacating the premises taking the French leave.
So if you just like me feel bad and want desperately to feel even worse about yourself, life and everything else please go for 'Atomased' by Michel Houellebecq, this book was meant, I humbly believe, to hit us straight in the face so hard that our skull would be smashed. It makes you feel miserably human, this amazing author manages to squeeze all the divinity out of our actions and reactions and reading it felt like a sweet trip on acid when you finally understand everything.
I gave a tip for the cool and miserable ones with a keenness for reading, now a tip for those that are not less cool, far less miserable, a bit busier and that honestly believe that they can get famous, rich and be recognized for their undiscovered (maybe nonexistent) talents. So you sweet piece of honey pie try to find this week's ShortList (Issue 149/28 October 2010) and read the article 'Don't Stop Believing' by Andrew Hankinson, he will most definitely pump you up with his rather positive piece about the possibility of making our dreams come true through hard work, persistence and an unquestionable motivation that comes mainly from the fact we can not face living a life without the idea of glamour and fame that would place us in a special land, metaphorically far from all those people that surrounds us and we all feel are far less special than ourselves.
Enjoy the reading and don't forget that 'hope dies last' but eventually dies.
B x
So if you just like me feel bad and want desperately to feel even worse about yourself, life and everything else please go for 'Atomased' by Michel Houellebecq, this book was meant, I humbly believe, to hit us straight in the face so hard that our skull would be smashed. It makes you feel miserably human, this amazing author manages to squeeze all the divinity out of our actions and reactions and reading it felt like a sweet trip on acid when you finally understand everything.
I gave a tip for the cool and miserable ones with a keenness for reading, now a tip for those that are not less cool, far less miserable, a bit busier and that honestly believe that they can get famous, rich and be recognized for their undiscovered (maybe nonexistent) talents. So you sweet piece of honey pie try to find this week's ShortList (Issue 149/28 October 2010) and read the article 'Don't Stop Believing' by Andrew Hankinson, he will most definitely pump you up with his rather positive piece about the possibility of making our dreams come true through hard work, persistence and an unquestionable motivation that comes mainly from the fact we can not face living a life without the idea of glamour and fame that would place us in a special land, metaphorically far from all those people that surrounds us and we all feel are far less special than ourselves.
Enjoy the reading and don't forget that 'hope dies last' but eventually dies.
B x
Saturday, 30 October 2010
Prince Albert... Not Just my Favourite Pub
Sometimes you go to places, and you have no idea why that street or that museum have the name they do. Have you ever thought who on earth was the Earl of Whatever? I know you kind of have a life to live so you don't think about this sort of stuff, thinking about the next IPhone or the biggest sale you can find maybe sounds more interesting. But anyway I will tell you something, if you live in London do yourself a favour, google as much as you can to know the history behind things. You wouldn't believe how lovely and amazingly rich this City is. It somehow might sound a bit silly to say, however I doubt that people in general pay real attention to London.
I will give you just two examples, one of them is about a monument that is just outside the National Portrait Gallery, it's a statue of Edith Cavell, an extremely interesting character, she was a nurse that was put down for saving people during the First World War, her biography is delightful, inspiring and deserves to be read, it's a shame people don't know about her.
The second example involves Prince Albert, that is not just my favourite pub in Notting Hill it's as well the name of the coolest prince I've ever heard about. Do you know what a Prince Albert Pierce is? Now I do and so will you, it is one of the most common male genital piercings and it was named after this lovely gentleman just because he carried one himself. Can you imagine that? It's the bloody 19th century and the Queen's husband is some sort of a pervert, I just love it! So it's very easy to guess which book will read next, it will have to be undoubtedly something about him and his cousin, wife and quite naughty Queen Victoria.
So if you want to get your golden star from Mrs. Black, google about London and let me know what you have found, I would most definitely love to hear from someone just because talking to myself is getting rather boring.
B x
I will give you just two examples, one of them is about a monument that is just outside the National Portrait Gallery, it's a statue of Edith Cavell, an extremely interesting character, she was a nurse that was put down for saving people during the First World War, her biography is delightful, inspiring and deserves to be read, it's a shame people don't know about her.
The second example involves Prince Albert, that is not just my favourite pub in Notting Hill it's as well the name of the coolest prince I've ever heard about. Do you know what a Prince Albert Pierce is? Now I do and so will you, it is one of the most common male genital piercings and it was named after this lovely gentleman just because he carried one himself. Can you imagine that? It's the bloody 19th century and the Queen's husband is some sort of a pervert, I just love it! So it's very easy to guess which book will read next, it will have to be undoubtedly something about him and his cousin, wife and quite naughty Queen Victoria.
So if you want to get your golden star from Mrs. Black, google about London and let me know what you have found, I would most definitely love to hear from someone just because talking to myself is getting rather boring.
B x
Thursday, 28 October 2010
Love and its Masks
I've been to the Victoria & Albert Museum a couple of times but today I spent most of my time at the Asian section, I read every single label I could and I stared at all the items that were being exhibited, I saw exquisite tobacco pipes, 19th century kimonos, ceramics (habitat-like) made more than hundreds of years ago, breathtaking wooden chests, extremely beautiful Samurai swords and armours and so on, but the only item I connect with was a mask of a character from a No play.
The mask was made approximately on the 17th century and pictured the face of a enraged woman, she was Hashihime, a lady that after being rejected ended up becoming a demon, hard not to relate to. It's ridiculous how silly we are, love (obsession and its variations) all ended up catching our eyes... how typical.
B x
The mask was made approximately on the 17th century and pictured the face of a enraged woman, she was Hashihime, a lady that after being rejected ended up becoming a demon, hard not to relate to. It's ridiculous how silly we are, love (obsession and its variations) all ended up catching our eyes... how typical.
B x
My Dear Mr. Huxley
Once I read in one of Huxley's books that "we live together, we act on and we react to one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves", and I feel now the weight of this words more than ever in my life. And there's nothing particularly wrong with it, apart from the fact that I'm quite lost professionallywise, but it happens to pretty much everyone so I just would like to know where I can find the roots of that feeling then I could chop them off and carry on living happy as a bean.
Anyway 'The Doors of Perception' is a great book to read if you have had any hallucinogenic experience and if you don't like reading very long books, and I honestly believe you will search for other books from Aldous when you finish that one, but please start with 'The Island', just because it is going to fill up your heart with lovely visions of a fairer and less suffocating society.
This evening I'll visit him at the National Portrait Gallery*, which has amongst dozens of pieces I'm tottally crazy about one of Huxley's portrait painted by Vanessa Bell in the early 30's. I know it will definitely sound quite weird by staring at this art work makes me feel better about myself and it also makes me wonder if I could one day have the same effect on people.
B x
* = The NPG has late shifts on Thurdays and Fridays, check their website for more info.
Anyway 'The Doors of Perception' is a great book to read if you have had any hallucinogenic experience and if you don't like reading very long books, and I honestly believe you will search for other books from Aldous when you finish that one, but please start with 'The Island', just because it is going to fill up your heart with lovely visions of a fairer and less suffocating society.
This evening I'll visit him at the National Portrait Gallery*, which has amongst dozens of pieces I'm tottally crazy about one of Huxley's portrait painted by Vanessa Bell in the early 30's. I know it will definitely sound quite weird by staring at this art work makes me feel better about myself and it also makes me wonder if I could one day have the same effect on people.
B x
* = The NPG has late shifts on Thurdays and Fridays, check their website for more info.
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