The Sand That Falls...

I have never killed a man, but I have read

many obituaries with great pleasure... 

[C. Darrow]

I WISH I KNEW HOW TO TIE MY SHOES, run faster than I do, and hold my breath for longer.  Perhaps I have wasted too much time looking at it and, now I just wonder:  Why time goes faster when you don’t look at it?  Oh…  Would you look at me now?  I’m mumbling and giving out excuses that only suit my fears.  

Back to the subject: 

You are real.  You are not a dream. You exist; but perhaps, now that I have you (at last) in front of me, I realize:  I must be dreaming.  How quiet this rooftop.  Isn’t it?  How abominable is the approaching night; it will cover you, in darkness.  And you’ll be gone forever.  How tormenting the sunrise will be. How monstrous my realization.   Listen to the choir…  How silly they look with their little Austrian costumes! Where are you?

YOUR blinking eyes do not belong to this moment; they shift.  I don’t remember our first time; but do you?  We started so long ago; didn’t we?  And yet, the menace of time and space (if there is such thing) turned us into this.  I guess that whatever it is brought us here turned the favor upon you; you got lucky.  Don’t you think?  Well, just look at me and look at yourself!  Look at me looking at you, admiring you, from this quiet rooftop.  What am I to you?  Is it true that we were once the same?

We are fourteen billion years old; can you imagine!  Fourteen “big ones” and counting!  I should have wrinkles by now, but I don’t.  I’m only eight years old; or so our primitive number system tells me. I have been looking at you for quite a long time, and your reddish face blinks faster by the day; we are definitely getting old.  Your blood is getting hotter while mine is getting colder.  I have a charming face (or so they say) and you have a burning surface.  We are brothers, sisters, sons of a primeval atom…  Is it true that we were once the same? 

Down here we believe in spirits, in an after-life; after this one.       We are so naive and so defiant that we have managed -as beings of chance- to believe that we know the order of all things.  In here, I even have a name:  Human.  Would you like to know yours? 

<<I knew you wouldn’t…>>

We have chosen, for the sake of order and for the lack of reason, or maybe because of our inherited, useless and disproportional value of fear; a man, a figure, an idea as our master, as our guide.  God! Can you believe it?   It turned out that we have also used “that god”, that “figure” as an excuse to multiply and to spread a confused and shallow message of separation and hatred that had traveled faster than the speed of light.  Religion, as we know it, has killed more men, women and children that all wars and sickness combined. We now have as many gods and beliefs as we have pores in our skin and grains of sand in the sea.  It is funny!  The one thing that was initially supposed to bring us together has turned us against each other; and all in the name unity and peace.  Can I tell you a secret?  I am thinking about becoming one of those gods. What do you think?  But I am far too young and inexperienced to compete with them; too young! I’m sure they only mean that because of my human years.  It would be easier than I initially thought.  I just have to tell people what to do, what to believe and how to live, or face eternal fire.  Just like a dictator does; but with greater power and a far greater reach:  The entire universe.

Oh…  Would you look at me now?  I’m mumbling and giving out excuses that only sustain my fears.  I am talking to you; as if you could actually listen.  Can you?  Are you still there?  

Everyone here seems to be in a constant chase:  a chase to become somebody, wanting to be somebody, to emulate someone, to look and talk like someone, to be remembered, revered and even envied; and they use their short time as “beings of chance” on trying everything that someone else did or said; anything that could explain their origin, their purpose, their vision of themselves and their end.  As I mentioned to you before:  you got lucky!  You are up there; floating in space, unreachable and magical.  We were separated at birth, but I remember you, as clear as if it had happened a minute ago.  Look at what you have become!  I am expected to live up to one hundred orbits around the Sun; how old are you now?  What can you tell me about the bearded man?  If you see him somewhere, anywhere, tell him about our hunger, about our thirst, about the suffering of the younger ones, about all the wars we have endured on his name.  Oh yes!  I almost forgot.  Down here, almost every conception or image that we have about our “superior being” comes in the shape of a male; interesting formality considering that almost all living things in the world that he created are brought to life by the “weaker gender”.   But what do I know?  I am only fourteen years old.  

We are lazy beings.  We have invented destiny in order to explain, in a more incomprehensible but fashionable way, (we enjoy not understanding, we are addicted to it, and also to finding explanations that suit that necessity) the things that we don’t want to invest a second on understanding.  Things like:  death, life and love.  And we reassure ourselves with the abstract certainty that everything is meant to be; that everything happens for a reason.  Are you laughing at me now?  Maybe that is why you are dead!

 But not everything is as bad as you may think.  Down here we also have great things that I wouldn’t be able to abandon or trade for anything or anyone, not even for you.  We have music; the union of different sounds that when combined in harmony, they can build anything out of nothing, anytime, anywhere.  And we have love…  Just don’t ask me to explain to you what it is; it would take my entire time here and probably yours to come up with a good and partially complete understanding.

Love; that is the best thing…

But what do I know, I am only 16…

We keep digging holes underneath our feet, trying useless to find a fueling force; ignoring that the only energy capable to take us back to our origin lies in our core.  No one will make it.  One of my traveling partners, whom I love, we will fuel each other’s journey on our way back home, to our origin.  And while a seventh string plays for us a song to make our long journey home; we will meet and end up our time beginning a new one; a time that will never be measured.

Don’t be so rigid.  You definitely manage well your impersonation of a dead corpse.  Your biggest accomplishment yet! 

Back to the subject:

You are real.  You exist. Cold, but you exist.

Now I remember; I mean, I remember how we met. It was in first grade. It was my first day at that school and everyone laughed at me. The nurse came to verify the medical files of the new students and, her white coat and her mercury smell scared the shit out of me; literally.  Who am I kidding?  I saw the needle on her coat’s left pocket and, that is when it happened. 

-Teacher!  Teacher!  It smells like shit…

And you laughed at me; only not with your lips.  We spend our first six years in school together.  <<Well, I don’t mean together as in a couple>>.  We attended the same classes, the same classrooms and you never dared to look at me; as if I was dead! 

-Now look at you!

Then one day, for my surprise, you sat down in front of me at the cafeteria.  You smiled.  I was nervous. I blame the milk.  I am lactose intolerant. I’m not. I have a weak stomach.  I vomited.  And you laughed at me; again.  You can’t laugh now; can you?      I did not see you for a while.  You were gone; I heard up-north. Then one day, for my surprise, as usual, you appeared again.  A man and a woman; and you looked stunning.  That was the first time I kissed you; remember?  What a splendid night!  I am not sure if the car accident afterwards has something to do with the fact that I don’t remember seeing you again for the next ten years or so. But you were always closer that you thought. But your insolent and ungrateful game of chance is over now.  I got tired of seen you fucking other man, breathing another air, living another life.  Is that what you call a life? 

-There is no life if I am not in it!

Did I ever mention how great you look when you wear red?  Oh… but that is a white dress; how silly!  That’s right; I remember now.  You were going to get married with that insignificant resemblance of a sub-specie.  No.  I don’t hate him.  That is why he is not the one here.  But let’s not speak about him. You betrayed me.  So many times you have destroyed me.  How could you go on with your life knowing that I was dying for you?  That will answer your question: 

-That’s why I killed you!

WHEN MARCO’S BODY WAS FOUND on a deserted beach in Cascais; he was missing the back half of his head.  A gunshot to the mouth; the police said.  Adriana’s body was never found.  Some still believe that her body is still buried, deep in the sand.  Others assure that she is still alive; that they have seen her walking on the shore, wearing the same dress; asking them:  Have you seen Marco?  At his house, the police found thousands of photographs of her, covering the walls of every room. They also found countless notebooks in which he had written her name, over and over; Adriana, next to tiny drawings of broken hearts.  For decades he had followed her; chased her, in silence, ever since that first day at school. 

He invited her for a drink.  He was leaving the country. He wanted to say goodbye properly; he said. They discovered, after the forensic examination, traces of some substance.  What is the name of it?  This will sound awfully comforting:  But she was asleep when Marco opened her chest with his bare hands. They believe that he ate her heart.  Well, they found bits of a human heart inside his mouth; they just couldn’t verify if it was in fact hers.

A lifelong obsession…

In one hand, he had a gun and, in the other, a note.

I lived my life devoted to you. And I have cherished every single moment of your life ignoring my own. I do not regret what I did, for it was the only way possible for us to be together.

Aldebaran…

Back to the start...  And we’ll be together, forever, where time can’t be measured.  

But what do I know?  I only managed to become god when I could be anything far more practical.  I killed Adriana Walsh.  I am 35 years old. I am no longer afraid of the dark.

ADRIANA WALSH died in 1988 in Cascais, Portugal.  Her body was never found.  I still remember and enjoy the smell of her blood, still warm, running through my fingers.

Oh, well...  I guess this is farewell.  The night is young and there are still a few old friends to visit. 

Until then!

_______________________



THE RISE of the VAGINA



Men have been trained and conditioned by women, not unlike the way Pavlov conditioned his dogs, into becoming their slaves. As compensation for their labours men are given periodic use of a woman's vagina.”

Ester Vilar

___________________________

IT IS EXACTLY forty-four minutes after midnight and today I am celebrating a very special event; in fact, I am celebrating two.  In just a matter of minutes, I will dedicate a moment to remember and celebrate in complete anonymity two events that radically changed my life. Coincidentally, these events, even when separated from one to the other by twenty years, they took place on the same day and at the very same time. Unfortunately, there is just a little bit more to it: these events, as memorable, tragic and life-changing as they were, they also involve the same woman... well, sort of.

For merely practical reasons I happen to have a large mirror on my wall, next to my bed and, after a longer-than-usual-time spent looking at myself (or what was barely distinguishable in the quiet intimacy of the darkness of my bedroom), a big realization struck me:  "today is my second anniversary.  I made it.  What I initially thought to be almost impossible twenty four months ago… The purification process has been completed.  I have broken my dependency; no more slavery around here. At last, I am free from your grip, I don’t need you anymore!"

     For the sake of formality I got up and turned on the lights. I walked towards the mirror and I raised my arms, and screamed:

“My name is Rodrigo Valladolid, I am a man, I am thirty five years old and today I announce that from now on, I no longer need you.  I had freed myself from you!  I am the one in control now… and I thank you for nothing, you cunt!”

     I am certain that by now you might be as confused as I was when all of this started in the month of September of 1989, but don’t worry, I promise that we will get to that, in just a moment. 

     For my surprise, this time the mirror reflected a younger looking man, more vivid, refreshed and full of life; quite different from the man I was two years ago when I met Maria Regina, who left my house in tears, just an hour before I made a promise to myself:  To brake the chains that I allowed to cover my body for so long, to raise the iron curtain that had blurred my vision and to make myself immune to her venom; from the venom that the vagina actually is.  I promised myself not to live a minute longer subject to the influence, control and slavery of the vagina.

     “I am born again” –I whispered.  And suddenly something unexpected took place. While still in front of the mirror, with my arms fully extended, a distant yet clear memory paid me another visit:  My science teacher undressing at her bedroom.  I am 13 years old and silently watching her through the window, hidden between the branches across her garden, using the same small telescope that I borrowed from her during the astronomy class, hours before at school.  I shook my head attempting to regain control of my thoughts, of my emotions, which were rapidly taking the best of me.  I lowered my arms and for a moment I felt the floor moving, shaking.  “Get yourself together, Rodrigo.” –I screamed.  But it turned out to be useless; I couldn’t take the image of my science teacher’s naked body out of my head. My body began reacting in a way I thought to be foreign, impure. Something was growing, and rapidly.  “Wake up!  Don’t succumb into temptation” –I repeatedly reminded myself.

     There is something mysterious and dark about the body of a woman, something that not even the highest sciences have been able to explain.  I was attempting to celebrate my self-imposed celibacy and it all turned against me, against my expectations and wishes, and in favor of my deeply hidden desires.

     It took me two years to change my life and one dirty memory to turn it all around. I have skillfully managed not to think about women or sex and I also accomplished what has been considered to be impossible for most men: To not have sex, any action or thought of sexual nature, in any form, for two years.  And everything I had accomplished in all that time vanished in less than 10 seconds; and the mirror was the best confirmation of it.  I had a massive erection…

“Hold on; is that the floor moving?”

     A loud roaring sound caught me off-balance.  The bed began shaking abruptly and the chandelier over it moved erratically from side to side. A half of a second after, the mirror fell from the wall, almost crashing into a million pieces over my head.  I managed to move away from disaster with just about enough time to realize what was happening:

“This is a fucking earthquake…!”

     From the corner of my bedroom I tried to remain calm until it passed; and when I felt that all was safe again, I walked towards the mirror’s new place, the floor.  I looked down to find that the mirror, now trashed into tiny fragments, was reflecting like silver-polished puzzle pieces everything above, including myself.  “What have I done?”  My initial reaction was to blame myself:  “I have broken my vow; the vagina has done it again…”

     Precisely two years ago, Maria Regina was here, in this room.  The loud music made it easier for me to ignore the voice inside my head, and the Vodka did the same for her. She was dancing in front of the mirror, slowly undressing when I heard the knock on my door; the same knock that changed my whole life. 

     I’m sure that you might be still confused; because even after all these years I still am.  But a promise is a promise, and like I said before, it all started on the month of September of 1989…

VAGINAVAGINAVAGINAVAGINAVAGINAVAGINAVAGINAVAGINAVAGINAVAGINAVAGINAVAGINA

     The changes on the curriculum were the best news of that morning of September of 1989.  I was starting the seventh grade at a new school, not as close from home as the old one, and that gave me a new sense of independence and freedom.  For the first time ever, I was completely free from the shame of my mother; of her, wearing that horrible and outdated seventies attire every morning when she walked me to school.  For the first time she wouldn’t be next to me giving me instructions about almost every single thing;  she wouldn’t be there rubbing my hair, fixing my clothes, kissing me a hundred times or asking me how I was;  it was paradise.  I tried to look confident enough when they called my name and handed me a piece of paper filled with dates, times, room numbers, class’s descriptions and names.  “So this is what they call a curriculum” –I thought.  It took me a little longer than I anticipated to figure it out, I mean, the curriculum.  A voice from behind interrupted me:

–Don’t worry; this is seventh grade, man.  We are all new in here and we are all as lost as you are.  I turned around and assured him:

–Thank you but I am not lost, not at all; I am just deciding on my electives.

–Of course, man.  I am sure that it will all become clearer once you see the astronomy teacher.  

     For a moment I thought that Daniel was just another big-mouthed and over confident 13 year old, I also disliked the fact that he kept calling me “man” so I didn’t pay too much attention to him and resumed reading my curriculum when the bell rang: 

–Time to go!  –he shouted and tapped me on my shoulder.  I made a sudden movement and told him:

–Just go, I’ll manage it.  I am still unsure on which classes…

     But he was already gone.  Soon after I found myself alone; everyone had walked away to their respective classrooms. <<And now, what should I do?>>  A small hand on my back lifted me out of my nervous trance:

–I said that I’m ok.  Just go, I don’t need your help!

It wasn’t Daniel, it was an angel.  An angel had come to my rescue; or so I thought, until I heard her say:

–I have an empty chair in my class if you decide to join us…

     Mrs. Maria Veroni, the astronomy teacher, walked me to her classroom.  On our way, I remembered Daniel’s words: I am sure that it will all become clearer once you see the astronomy teacher.  It definitely changed that first negative impression I had about him. Mrs. Maria Veroni had been brilliantly created by a higher power, by the universe itself to become an astronomy teacher.  Her blonde hair shined like the Sun, her eyes were as blue as Neptune, she orbited every building on the way to our destination as slow and meticulously as Uranus orbits our own star, her breasts were as round as the larger moons of Saturn, and her perfect rear; well, that was the best way to understand Jupiter as “the giant planet.”  It did, in fact, all become clearer.  Every word she said seemed to have taken me to the moon and back; and it all happened during our short walk from the school’s Welcome Center to our classroom; in which I carefully managed to remain close behind her to enjoy the magnificent beauty of the space beyond…    

     You will be probably asking yourselves how did I learn all those astronomy facts with great accuracy, how did I learn all that without even making it to the classroom; well, that is how good of an astronomy teacher Mrs. Veroni was.  For a moment, a doubtful realization sank in:  Could it be that this a message, a presage?  Should I go to the History classroom instead?  After all, with only 13 years of age, I was already behaving like a caveman. 

     At her classroom, as to be expected, the astronomy related décor covered almost in its totality every wall.  There was only one empty desk, and it happened to be right next to Daniel’s, who welcomed me with a broad smile, splendid and shiny as a full moon.

–I told you she would change your mind… –he whispered– Doesn’t she makes you feel like God himself is teaching the class?  –he concluded.   

     But again, I didn’t pay too much attention; I was hypnotized by every single step she took to her desk.  She took a long chalk from her desk and broke it in half; and I felt like it was my own bones what she had just broken. She began the class:

 –Good morning.  –Everybody murmured something in return–.  Today we will begin our class with a subject that I am sure will be of great interest to everyone:  Today we will talk about Venus…

<<Venus?  This is the mother of all coincidences!  Could it be?  Venus... the beautiful goddess of Love>>

     Mrs. Maria Veroni began drawing a circle on the board and I couldn’t avoid thinking about the great similarities with her perfect buttocks.  It gave me some sort of tranquility and comfort the fact that I was not the only one drooling over Mrs. Veroni.  From a class of 25, all of the12 male students looked as stupefied as Daniel and I; well, not exactly, there was this one guy who thought it would be more interesting to pick his nose and eat whatever he found inside.  I was numb.  I couldn’t hear a single word.  You may call me whatever you want, but before that morning, I never experienced an emotion like that in my life.  What is the name of it?

–I’m so fucking horny; it is beyond this world…

–Thank you, Daniel, that was precisely the word I was looking for.

–I need to go to the bathroom, Rodrigo.  I need to go now!

–Then go, what are you waiting for?  Raise your hand and ask for Mrs. Veroni’s permission, is that simple.

–Is not that simple, Rodrigo.  Can’t you understand?  I can’t go like this!  I turned around just to find the implications for his concern:

–What do you mean you can’t go like this… –my jaw dropped when he briefly moved his hands from where they were and showed me his “little problem”.

–Here!  Take my space atlas, it is heavy enough and it will make it disappear in no time.

     I couldn’t understand him at first.  Sure Mrs. Veroni was an impressive science artifact, but Daniel’s reaction, in my opinion, was completely out of proportion. My mind wondered for an instant:  <<Our astronomy teacher was so good at what she did, that she had been able to take Daniel’s “rocket” to outer space even without enough fuel.>>  A minute or so later, Daniel, still keeping his head buried on his desk opened his mouth:

–How can you do it?  How can you see that, from your advantage point and not even move a hair?  He was visibly shaken when I asked him:

–What do you mean, see what exactly?

–Oh, I see… –he interrupted– You have been so deeply stupefied that you haven’t even noticed it yet…  Turn around, Rodrigo. Turn around.

–Turn around to what?  …Oh gracious creator of the universe!

     In fact, I had been so deep in a trance that I didn’t noticed the spectacle that the cosmos had prepared for me, and which was taking place right in front of my eyes.  From under Mrs. Veroni’s desk, without any visual enhancing artifact, I quickly witnessed a very close and clear view of the center of her “galaxy”.  Mrs. Maria Veroni wasn’t wearing panties underneath her short dress.  An instant later Daniel and I risked a second look; but convincible enough, we were not mistaken; it was there for us to see.  Mrs. Varoni’s ravishing vagina, I mean, my seventh grade astronomy teacher’s marvelous “in-between”, will follow me through my entire life as the first vagina I ever laid my eyes into, and obviously admired. Daniel and I ran away from the classroom immediately after our second glimpse.  It was clear that his erection problem would require a lot more than my heavy science book to fix it, and I surely needed more than one last look. It was then when I first fell in love with that evil monster; it was then when my addiction with her destructive force, with her abstract effects began.  It’s hard to explain, like I previously stated; even for the higher sciences:  How something that is as small as a fist, something that weights between a kilogram or two, (depending on the size of its handler, of course) something that most of the time remains well covered under layers after layers of clothes and protocols have fucked us all in such way?  Why have we, men, allowed this monster to rule and control every single thing that gives meaning to our already miserable lives?  It was later that same day, the beginning and defining moment of my entirely vaginal dominated life; in fact, it happened on the night of September 9 1989.

     On the night of September 9 of 1989, Daniel and I broke inside the principal’s office.  Our mission was simple:  To locate from her private files Mrs. Maria Veroni’s home address.  It took us a bit less than twelve minutes to accomplish it; and shortly after we were on our way to her residence, which for our great luck, it turned out to be not far from the school.  I know that I began this story by saying that I borrowed a small telescope from Mrs. Veroni; well, that was certainly a lie.  Before we left the school, we also “visited” the astronomy classroom and took an overnight loan, for scientific research purposes only.  Mrs. Veroni’s house ended up being ideal for our mission: A two stories house, completely exposed and almost fully surrounded by uncovered clear windows.  It made it easier for us to find a good point to establish our research headquarters.  Between the branches of a thick row of plants, flowers of diverse kinds and high grass we hid, extracted the telescope from its black hard case and assembled it in no time.

     The timing was also perfect; it was 12:44 am. We arrived just a few minutes before our astronomy teacher left the bathroom at the second floor, covered with a miniature-red towel that barely covered her breathtaking body.  Miraculously, there wasn’t a trace of mist on the air or at her windows.  We had a clear view.  Daniel became impatient when I exhaled:  “The towel is down...”  He pulled me by my shirt and assumed his position, only to take a brief look and then rapidly disappeared behind me.  I didn’t have the time or the enthusiasm to look for him, so I resumed my research.  I was in awe with her naked body, but especially with her lower mid-section, which I zoomed-in with great skill and admired in great detail.  The spectacle lasted for just a short while, but for me it seemed an eternity.  That was all I needed it.  When Mrs. Veroni was completely dressed, another unexpected realization:  She has a daughter, about my age; or so I thought when a young girl entered her room. 

     Daniel was still nowhere to be found when I began disassembling the telescope and managed to get ready to leave Mrs. Veronis backyard.  An instant before I finished, a loud masculine voice followed by a thick and heavy hand lifted me effortlessly from the ground:

–Who are you and what the fuck are you doing here?

     A month later, after countless hours of evaluations, long administrative hearings, counseling sessions and disciplinary reviews at school, I was finally expelled.  I don’t blame my mother for her words; words that I’m sure were harder for her to say than they were for me to hear.  In tears she pulled me out of the premises by my ears and shouted:

–I don’t know you anymore!  What have you become, a devious pervert?

     I surely did feel bad about her and about everything that happened, but again I had no regrets, I couldn’t go against my primeval nature, of my teenage desires.  I need it the vagina like I needed the air.  And that was the beginning of it all.  When you are thirteen years old, believe me, (some mothers will deny this) you masturbate until you lose consciousness.  You don’t eat, you don’t sleep, you lie, you cheat, and you do whatever it takes to find a moment alone to “choke your little friend” down below; you play with your toy as if there was no tomorrow.  When you are thirteen years old, don’t get me wrong, masturbation is more than a hobby, more than something that you enjoy doing; it is a necessity, it is what helps us to go through our everyday teenage demons, (which are many) is a way of life.

     But then time goes by; years, and what you once believed to be just a phase, it turns out to be something even bigger than it was.  Vagina has taken control of your life.  You stop playing with yourself the older you get, yes, but not because of self control or great will, but because you don’t need your hands anymore.  Instead, you need your brain.  Yes, you have discovered the amazing world of sex and its incredible potential.  You no longer need a vivid mental picture in your head and a strong hand to get the job done; you need a vagina and great intelligence to get her to do whatever you want.  Sounds tricky and complicated, and in fact, it is.  When a man is on his twenties, if he’s smart enough, vagina comes and goes with the same frequency as day and night. And if you are at the top of your game and in good health, you can actually get twice the sunrise and twice the sunsets each day.  The only thing that changes from your teenage years is: the subject.  Yes, the subject.  You still lie when necessary and you cheat when the moment is right; and for heaven’s sake, you even end up paying your monthly hard earned salary in one hand for moment with her:  for the glorious vagina!  You get older and your addiction gets stronger, unbearable, out of control.

IT IS EXACTLY forty-four minutes before midnight and, in a few minutes, I will celebrate a very special day; in fact, I am celebrating my girlfriend’s birthday.  In just a matter of minutes, a few friends and I will surprise her at her favorite restaurant. A month ago, I planned an event that will remind her how thankful I am for all the wonderful things she has done during our year together. One last look on the mirror and one last fix of my jacket’s inside pocket, where I hide the ring which I will offer her when I ask her for her hand. I closed the door behind me with the same determination I thought I had when I abandoned the vaginal chapter of my former life. I called the elevator:

–Going up or down?  –I asked the lady inside.

–Good evening, sir.  Going up, always up… –She replied followed with a flirty smile.

–Well, I’m officially late, so I guess I have no other option than to take it anyway; go up and come down; right?

–If you may…

     Twenty years after the events that took place on September 9, 1989 and exactly two years after the night where I didn’t actually made it to my girlfriend’s birthday party, I still believe that I made a great mistake when I chose Astronomy over History.  If I had chosen to join the history group instead of Mrs. Veroni’s, none of this would have ever happened.  Perhaps I would have probably gained the knowledge that I needed in life, maybe even answer more questions than what I in fact did answered:  Why we men still behave like fucking cavemen? 

Look at me know… 

     Two years ago, as any good old caveman and chronic vagina addict would do, I left my fiancée waiting at her own birthday party.  Instead, I chose to continue what had begun at the elevator, and attempted to finish it at my bedroom. And yes, you read it right; I said: Attempted.

     After a few drinks and several precisely inflicted kisses, Maria Regina was getting naked as I planned.  I thought I had finally conquered the “Vaginal legendary spell”. One touch and then another… <<How easy has turned out for me to get what I want!>>          Maria Regina’s naked body made it impossible for me to even breathe-in a vague sense of guilt.  She was perfect, and she brought back emotions that I thought to be lost a long time ago; just like Mrs. Veroni did once…

<<Hold on…!  Could it be?>>                

     The walls began spinning around me at an increasing speed, and my entire life passed through my eyes. <<There is no way that she…>>                She lowered her panties with a sensual gesture and like an avalanche she jumped in top of me:

–Maria; please stop for a second.  I have a question, Maria. Wait, please!  

     Among all the side effects of vaginal addiction, blindness is the most common of them.  Maria Regina Veroni was her name.  Yes, my former astronomy teacher’s own daughter; the same one who discovered me hidden between the branches and alerted her father. And even when it might sound awfully familiar I must admit that no; I did not have sexual relations with that woman.  When Maria Regina was naked and in my arms, initially ignoring my request for her full name, my girlfriend knocked on my door…

     The recovery process took longer than the doctors anticipated.  My ribs healed rather quickly considering the gravity of my injuries.  It is unimaginable and indescribable the extent of the damage that two angry vaginas can do to a man.  Now that I remember, it was in fact during my two months hospitalization when I made my promise.

Look at me now…

     Two years of cleansing and purification, two years of breaking these painful chains of emptiness and lust.  I finally made it and a fucking earthquake has ruined it all. 

     The mirror’s fragments, dispersed over the floor, reflected everything above; including myself.  It resembles a galaxy, I thought; when looked through a telescope. I contemplated the revealing scene for a short while and then, I stepped closer.  From that advantage point I finally understood the true meaning of everything that happened to me ever since that day in 1989. 

     I had a massive erection and, that, in the addition of two years without having sex. There was no use on fighting it anymore, I surrendered. And when every reflecting fragment of the mirror on the floor and my penis finally collided, reflecting my dear companion’s long expected awakening on every single one of its pieces...  What an interesting realization:

A galaxy of penises for a universe of vaginas… 

Enjoy!   

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Zugzwang

For the last two decades, I have dedicated some time on preserving every single word that has followed me since youth.  I began writing them when I was about 13 years old in a notebook, and years later on a journal.  A year or so ago, when I began re-writing them, -this time on my computer- I discovered that I had collected over 3,000 quotes, thoughts and anecdotes in almost twenty years.  Most of them are my own, -is amazing how growing up developed in me a vicious sense of belonging for words- some are from family members, others from friends and random people I encountered here and there and anywhere. I have never dare to write quotes for that purpose, or for the purpose of preaching or teaching anything; ever since I was a teenager, I always had the urge to write, to write anything, and they just happened to have the discrete shape and style of a quote.  I have learned little by little and with many inconveniencies in between, that I rather write what I think and keep it to myself than to say it out loud; (my face had paid the price in several occasions).  In that line, I also learned to write my thoughts and my queries; about life, love, sex, disputes and many other things out of necessity, frustration and fear.  It is said that every life is the union of moments lived, any moment, good or bad; and for some reason, during all this time, I just wrote and collected the not-so-good moments and include them in my little journal of anecdotes. 

I wanted to share a few of them with whoever decides to read, and I hope you find in them something interesting enough to make you keep reading.  Something is for sure:  At least, some of them will make you smile, and that is good enough.

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I rather live with a thousand questions, than with a single answer that attempst to answer them all...
                                                                                                                          2011

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A person who keeps one secret is called a good friend.  A person who keeps two secrets is called a confidant.  But the person who keeps three, is called a liar.

1999, Ontario

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I have a passport, enough money to disappear for a while, 196 countries to chose, an honest smile in my pocket, the rising sun over my forehead, a backpack full of memories, and a woman to run away from…

2010, Vienna

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To find love in Honolulu you’ll need $500 dollars and a great sense of humor.  To find love in Rome you’ll need a nice suit, a good line and a creative excuse. But to find love in New York City, you’ll need all of the above and a loaded gun.

2007, New York City

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I lost 500 lei in Bucharest to a hand reader to learn my future and $100 dollars in New Orleans to hear about what I already knew.  On my way back home, I spent 5 seconds with my mother just to hear her say:  I told you so!

2001, Cordoba

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Learn to change and master adaptation.

Learn a song or two & keep up a good tune,

So when a heart is broken and all is doomed,

You can sing out loud to the occasion…

2003, London

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Love is a lot like chess. You can move ahead, sideways, crossways and backwards.  You may even take your time to make each move count; but when the Queen steps on your King…  Is game over!

2011, San Juan

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White lies are harder to swallow, especially after an appetizer of dark truths…

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“If you spend $300 dollars on a date, you better kiss her.  If you spend $500, you better touch her, and if you spend $1000 dollars, you better bring me a grandchild.”

Last night… My mother.

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On my first ever professional job interview, I decided to walk the short distance between my flat and the office building.  On my way, I received two things from strangers:  a photograph of a missing young girl and two condoms from an anti-abortion rally group.  The interview went better than expected, but after forgetting the photograph and the condoms underneath the chair at the director’s office, it’s no surprise they never called.

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“She is such a liar; don’t believe a word she says…  Look at me!  No hair or calluses on my hands, and still no blindness…”

1984, Emilio (my brother).

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When most people think of stars as something distant and unreachable, I see them as the dim light that my mother leaves on every night; as the quiet and silent signal that reminds me:  someone waits for me at home…

1992

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Destiny is just the absurd invention of those who live unaware of the laws of physics and under-estimate the power of nature. It also serves as the beautified excuse for those who seek love and can’t find it, and the ones who do, but can’t explain it.   Destiny is also, and has being for centuries, the magic word that has helped many unfortunate men to get under the skirt of women; that if left to the laws of physics or natural order, it wouldn’t happen, even for the sake of absurdity.  Confusing!  Just ask Josephine about Napoleon Bonaparte!

 2004, Paris

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When running from your demons, watch out for your shadow, she’s a tricky motherfucker!

Soto del Real Prison, Spain, 2000

(And no; I was not in jail)

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One day your life will flash before your eyes, make sure is worth watching…

2002

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The first time I went to a Catholic church I was 7 years old.  I was moved and impressed by the service and the size of the cathedral, but even more by a hungry little dog outside its doors, who everyone seemed to reject.  After the communion, I took what I thought to be potato crisps from the hands of the altar boy and ran outside.  The little dog was happy after eating all those “potato crisps”; for some reason, the priest was not. 

1983

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Don’t waste your time thinking about your purpose in life.  Do good, play fair, live passionately, savor every single moment, enjoy the ride and, perhaps, it will come to you, or the other way around.  

2006, Rouen, France

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I am living a life that doesn’t belong to me.  I shouldn’t be the one who writes about the feats of others, I should be living a life that others want to write about…

2005

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If the universe is constantly expanding at an increasing speed; there is no use on regretting last night, it is probably way beyond our reach.

2009, Mauna Kea

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I never stay too long at one place, it reminds me how awful companion I end up being.

2005

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I have always been cautious with those who force a smile, with the "over-attentive" and whoever greet me with unproportional exuberance; for the only way to stab you in the back and get away with it, is by getting as close as possible while camouflaging the knife's sharp edge behind a false charm.

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Kiss her passionately, caress her as if she were the last living thing, tell her that you love her and whisper little spicy words softly to her ears… Don’t forget these two things:  Never give her your real name and, for heaven’s sake, leave her enough money for the taxi ride back to where she came from…

2010, Florence

“Max; self proclaimed gigolo”

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My name implies that I am just “that”.  My nationality proves that I am from “there”.  My religion assures me that “I am fucked”; therefore, I have no name, no country and no God.

2007

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       (The mirror)

       -Show me your face and I will give you my name.

       (Myself)

       -Give me your love and I will show you my face.

       (The mirror)

       -Tell me your name and I will give you my heart.

       (The angry wife)

       -Come back to bed, you drunk bastard!

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The only difference between one crazy man and Salvador Dali is that Dali is not crazy at all…

S. Dali, 1970, Lligat

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A train whistles just to bring you back from day-dreaming; so you think twice your ambitions of trading the uncertainty that awaits you at the next station for what you are about to leave behind.

2004, Genève

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No need to seek forgiveness,

No use on locking your fingers.

Raise up, my man, your soul is still deep in the mud,

on the trenches, where your violent trade turned rain into blood.

Dry up your tears, you half man!

Flares will only enhance the color of your fears.

Lower your arms, there’s no honor on taking lives;

or heroism paid with medals, made of cheap metals,

to celebrate the circus of cannibalism and their heist.

Hear his voice, oh great man;

It whispers:  <<Zugzwang>>

Be still, stand tall!

Ignore your orders, follow the call.

Sometimes the best move forward is not moving at all…

Fort Shafter, Hawaii, 2008

-While watching a chess game

between two young US Soldiers.

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