Some one who reads Romanian’s been visiting my blog; gave me an idea
to interest my spanish friends into reading this ‘little’ post: Ha!

Sin consolidar corazones

Ya no estoy sola
No estoy desesperada
Sólo tengo una pulgada
que necesitan rayado i

Y aquí:

Estoy buscando un novio
-Debe ser la edad suficiente, mayores o menores que yo, no es el punto en realidad, ya que no hará
una diferencia una vez que asuma como mi novio.

-Se puede ser muy aburrido y con cero sentido de la vida fuera de su propio reino: todos estamos agrupados en una burbuja o cuatro-que es
no hay problema, si cree que su mundo, sus valores, sus creencias, y su punto de vista son ¿Qué es y qué debería ser …

-Puede ser hombre o mujer, el sexo es lo que importa realmente.

-Rico, rico, se rompió o necesitados; tengo dinero para compartir … es su cartera para llenar: .. no puedo dictar –
No tengo derecho a hacer financieramente estable de un hombre / mujer debe ser .. Yo no soy el Banco Mundial.

¿Qué otra cosa, ¡oh yeah

-Negro, Blanco, asiáticos, polacos, dos o más colores de piel … En definitiva, a menos que haga que una diferencia enorme
en lo que es realmente importante sobre como mi novio, no me importa un comino. Come As You Are, nos encontraremos con lápices de colores juntos, si no debería ser necesario.

-se debe hablar un idioma. Verbal, físico, emocional, sádico, doloroso, incomprensible … No me importa. No vamos a hablar mucho de todos modos

Es casi Navidad. Necesito que mi propio hijo Jesús (a todos los ofendidos. J que está salpicada-go la figura)

PS: Para elegante y el Emry es que aún te amo tanto, por separado, pero yo sí.
Para Antipop, Te amo demasiado diferente, pero yo

punto: que tres mencionadas anteriormente no se puede poner en sus aplicaciones: esas son las reglas.

Tag: amado. unfriended. Regalos de Navidad para los niños

I am not lonely
I am not desperate
I just have an inch
which i need scratched

And here:

I am searching for a boyfriend
-He must be old enough; older or younger than me is not the point really, since it will hardly make
a difference once he takes on as My boyfriend.

-He can be boring and with a zero sense of life outside his own realm: we are all clustered in one bubble or four— it’s
no problem if he believes that His world, His values, His beliefs, and His point of view are What is and What should be…

-He can be male or female; the sex is what matters really.

-Rich, wealthy, broke or needy; I have got no money to share… it is his wallet to fill:..I cannot dictate -
I have no right to- how financially stable a man/woman should be.. I am not the world bank.

what else; oh yeah

-Black, White, Asian, Polish, both skin colours or more… Really; unless it makes that huge a difference
in what’s really important about One as My boyfriend, I don’t care a fig. Come as you are, we will find crayons together, if there should be a need to.

-he should speak a language. Verbal, physical, emotional, sadistic, painful, incomprehensible… I don’t care. We wont do much talking anyway

It’s almost Christmas. I need my own baby jesus (to all the offended. that J is dotted- go figure)

ps: To Sleek and The Emry’s I still love you both, separately, but I do.
To Antipop, I love you too- differently- but I do

point: you three mentioned above cannot put it in your applications: those are the rules.

Tag: unloved. unfriended. Christmas boys for presents

I will be away; way off Inside my head, somewhere unmapped; searching for a brain- my brain-
trying to come up with an Act of love. A play. hopefully it will put an end to this and the past year
hopefully it will give me closure… hopefully I can find my brain; and create a work that will finally
put ‘elsy and I to an end- conclude our semi-paedophilic literature.

- yes there’s been a death in my country
and its the tragedy abuzz- “Woman beats man to death-
poor, poor, soldier! A man like himself to die the way he did…”

I haven’t read the news; only emails sent to me by informing family and friends;
therefore i haven’t very much to comment on this death.

This post today however, is about my past writings for the daily newspaper
back in my country… Today I came across this article Defining handsome; god! it would put a whore-house Newsletter out of bizness.
I have no recollection of my ’skill’ to write this kind of stuff

To the wives and girlfriends of these men- sorry

thursday night: I got an attack on the walk back home
right after Babak dropped lawrence, chris and myself off… ( I was worried about getting hit by a car, I was worried about
scaring Chris and Lawrence; I was hyperventilating and I thought my heart would burst out of my chest
I was speaking fast and directing my own first aid.
What I really should have done is relax, suffer the attack and let the boys deal with it.
Chris read me The Red Pony. I shook like a leaf. my eyes were tearing. He read on until I fell off to sleep.

Friday I could swear I was gonna die. on a winter afternoon. alone. and right after I had answered to Chris’s phone
call telling him, am alright. I was alright during the phone call. Valerie too had sent me a text asking if I needed her to come over
I was sure I was alright. Then, as if in a practical joke. The attack came back. a massive one. I was crying. yelling. mourning. disappointed in myself.
Again. sixteen again. Vulnerable and helpless again. Why. Why again.

Friday night I promised to fight it. I cooked. Rice and vegetables. The idea was to impress with my cooking. the end result is that
the rice was too dry, the vegetables over cooked, over peppered, less salted… but at least; I wasn’t lying down flat on my back shivering, shaking, crying, hyperventilating, welcoming my childhood to swarm my little brain—-( At one point i thought I was home in Kakoba. At my grandparents home, and was calling out; Mummy, Mummy, It’s come back again: my head hurts, my chest hurts and I forgotten how to breath)

Saturday morning: it was a good morning. It had been a good night. At midday a woman rang my door bell: she wanted to check
my gas metre. I didnt even know i had a gas metre. I had practically run out of bed to open the door for her: she was speaking fast, moving her hands, checking my trash box, opening my kitchen drawers, speaking in Italian…. I woke my house mate. she’s spanish. at least they two could communicate. it happened. the gas metre was found. she left.
my housemate was crying. She had been for hours she told me.

I made her a big breakfast, I found us the FRIENDS DVD and played the first season; I ate most of the breakfast, she cried all through the funny skits in friends; I asked her to cook something, chop something…. anything that would divert her crying energy as well as feed me… she made us a spanish omelette. Heart breaks aren’t that bad; I told her. she cried some more… they are bad, she answered. they are horrible…
yes they are.

Saturday afternoon. We caught the train to Udine. Udine is become that place for us now: A great break from Fabrica.
We spent the weekend with Ramon; bar hopping; drinking, eating, snacking, eating, laughing, arguing, shooting at bottles, driving bumper cars, getting drunk; worrying less about being ill… popping aspirins every once in three hours. We got back to Ramon’s house in the morning.. so to speak

Sunday afternoon. Rain. cold. rain. cold.
Talk about Zico coming to the village; a coffee and chats with Renzo; a ride to venice to watch Chelsea vs Man. U
where we ate, drank, ate, drank.. and a few aspirins.

And now…

Now I conclude this diary exercise.

I HOPE I GET SOMETHING OUT OF IT
cheers

Thrusday night in Treviso — that was an amazing night

Friday morning in Brussels—- finally, I experience an Autumn forest: thanks Cedric, thanks Alizee!

Friday night in Holland——I am having a great weekend… really beautiful: with my sister, the twins and Sandra

ps: monday night… back in Treviso ( Italy still is the most beautiful country I know- inspite of her politics)

_____________
tuesday evening: I woke up at 5 this morning thinking I was at home in Kampala.
For 62 seconds – what seemed like forever- I worried about the mirror and dressing table
that’d suddenly appeared three feet away from my bed.
I got out of bed, walked to my door and only then did I realise that I was in my flat in Italy;
and. I was looping on, speaking strangely, in spanish. something that intended to be; “no, sorry I don’t speak dutch”.
….
It’s likely that am completely losing it. It’s likely that I had my First ’sleep walking’… ever.
_________

Wednesday Morning: with a hangover- wrote the first draft for my short story/ it came out as a fiction. i guess it should then
be fiction

Wednesday afternoon: In a room with four men deciding the title for the film. / I called in Valerie at one point/ it can get hilariously sad in there

Wednesday night: GIRLY NIGHT AT MY HOUSE. boys invited but only as a Point of Conversation

Thursday Evening: (in the music room mixing the sound- for the film) Work comes to sudden halt; a cigarette break. it’s a jam session.
Babak on the drums. Hanna on the electric guitar and Chris on the piano…
Lawrence is just walked out…

Last night was Poetry Night: themed Disturbingly Gothe, Paulo set the mood with candles and projections of amazingly disturbing images, we played the opening scene of The Antichrist to get in the ‘zone’.

We read from Sylvia Plath, Edgar Allan Poe, Philip Larkin, P.B. Shelley, Horace Smith, Pablo Neruda, Edward Lear, and a brilliant many more.
We read a monologue from a theatre play, a verse from a book, something beautiful in portuguese, something beautiful in Farsi, italian, spanish ….

This was, like many poetry nights I have had here, especially sweet and cosy and nurturing.

This was my very last one. My contract here at Fabrica ends
in about a week and I will be home soon.

I hope the tradition continues.