Atonement

I've just seen the movie. Few things resonate.

Firstly, it's a chick flick, no doubt. Great for late autumn, I suppose. Beautifully filmed, appropriate music, appreciable acting.

Secondly, I can't recall a chick flick that would prominently incorporate such a breathtakingly seditious sentence — In my dreams I kiss your cunt, your sweet wet cunt. An instant classic! Did MLK ever have a dream like that?

Thirdly, a real sentimental one. Me, Paddington, just outside one of the better bookstores around, across the street from two of my favourite cinemas. My last days in the city, hanging around, recording memories, to — sort of — never lose affection for people and things that went before. And chasing a coffee table book. A coffee table book, my dear friends.

A stand with free postcards and movie leaflets. Me, reading a short comment on the movie. I suspect something had left a trace. I remember considering going to see it. I remember whom with. I hesitated. I never went. No regrets. It meant to be that way.

That's how I'll look back on this one.

May?

May this be the best time of my life without me actually knowing it?

Strolling my life away, drifting through cities, countries, streets, parks, airports, nailed to the Internet or a book, sipping coffee in dodgy cafeterias and snack bars, enjoying compressed music and night trams. Is this really it?

I'm just wondering, 'cos there's probably no way to know until much later.

Feeling good

Haven't felt so good since... don't know when. Guess it has nothing to do with my current situation. How could it? It's all about booze. Take one beverage, then another one and mix them together. A bit more. Yeah, that feels right. And then drink. Drink more. And listen to a deep, deep music. Goose pimple music, honey. After a while, you find yourself watching the sky.

Could anybody hand me a joint, please?

Post orgasmic state

A one night stand. A quickie in a dark corridor. Bang-bang, off you go, thank you, see you again or maybe rather not. And now imagine considering a quickie and ending up having full-on sex for like two hours. Non-stop. Hot and sweaty, soaking in all kinds of bodily fluids, going through myriads mental states, ups and downs, flowing with it, enjoying, giving and taking as much as humanly possible on a roller coaster of lust.

And then, you're getting there. The waves of warmth are getting stronger, heartbeats through the roof, you're pushing harder and harder, you can feel the sensational finish just around the corner.

And then you come.

Yet there is no sex involved.

A personal record in f-words uttered then melting away in the bath, enjoying a margarita and a very Tony Montanesque mood.

Could I be talked into it again? Fuck yeah.