I’m not much of a church go:er. Growing up in a Catholic environment where mother would drag us to Sunday mass, the preacher was about as brilliant motivation speaker as a depressed mountain goat chased off the edge of a 100m high steep slope by a pack of wolves, and the Sunday clothes always itched, you tend to run as fast as you can in the other direction once you’ve grown enough to decide for yourself.
I don’t pray. From the age of 15, when I got to decide myself whether I wanted to attend or not, to this day, I’ve probably prayed a handful of time, tops, the last being 4 years ago when on top of the Milano cathedral, right in below the Madonnina, we was to play Juventus at San Siro the following day, I prayed, for us to win.
Before that, oh, it’s probably all the way back to when I was 20-something, over a cousin who was killed in the war.
By the way, why do Sunday clothes when you’re a kid always itch? Are you supposed to hear the voice of god better in that kind of outfit?
If I try to remember all my prayers, they’re not many.
It’s that Milan-Juventus, game, which we lost.
Once, age 14-15, when the neighbor daughter stole my Game & Watch, I knew she had, I caught her later, I prayed she would grow loads of hair on her chest, but to my knowledge she never did.
One time, 11-12 yrs, when I was to do a paper route for a mate, two huge piles on a rickety old bike, it was pouring Biblical rain, and the papers would fall to the wet ground about two-hundred times, until there was not a single one left not soaked. I got pissed off when one man in a woman’s dressing gown stood in front of his door commented on it, took the papers to a spot of forest and tossed them in with all the strength I could muster. I headed home and prayed no one would notice. Of course they did, and I got a proper beating.
Before age 15 I remember I was praying not having to go to church on Sundays, but it didn’t help.
Age 16 I prayed for a girl who I was in love with to fall in love with me, but she never did.
I prayed, a few times during the 80’s, that just once, once, Sweden could beat the mighty red Soviet machine in hockey. Never happened.
I once prayed a lottery ticket would make me rich, and promised half would be given as charity and to family. Not the torn off corner on a smallest value bill did I win
So I wonder, all these prayers, what is it that I have done for none of them to come true. Was it something I said, god?
Bye bye, love. Bye bye, sweet caress. Hello, emptiness. I feel like I could di-ie. Bye bye, my love, goodby-ye.
There goes my baby With-a someone new. She sure looks happy. I sure am blue. She was my baby 'Til he stepped in. Goodbye to romance That might have been.
Bye bye, love. Bye bye, sweet caress. Hello, emptiness. I feel like I could di-ie. Bye bye, my love, goodby-ye.
I'm a-through with romance. I'm a-through with love. I'm through with-a countin' The stars above And here's reason That I'm so free: My lovin' baby Is a-through with me
It’s mid November, but a first arrived today when true autumn shows what a magnificent painted canvas only a magical day of this season can display. Vivaldi knew what he was composing, as he sat in front of an empty sheet penning Concerto No 3 on top of the paper.
The giant elm outside my window moves in the invisible breeze. A wind which toys with branches stripped naked of all but the odd little leaf not yet taken the drop to the ground. One moment it is as if it’s caressed by the movement of air, it sways, then a slight stop, and another kind of touch, as if puffs tickle to provoke motion. A magpie nest rests abandoned on one edge of its crown, a clique of house sparrows on the other end enjoying the slow rocking ride on a twig.
It’s a bright blue Cirrus cloud sky, with a tad of golden gifted from the sun, soon about to set.
I was on a walk under this heaven earlier today, big leaves in self-gathered clusters as I walked down the sidewalks. Maple leaves size of a palm, flew and landed from over the other side of the road where the majestic maples are stood, they must have.
Looking towards them, it’s a color feast for your eyes, shades of yellow and red, from Yellowhammer golden, Gamboge and Cadmium, to the red of scarlet, lust-filled lips, and towards Alizarin.
I continued my walk.
Suddenly, I was at a scene, as in a film. The wind was having a dance with an empty plastic bag. Funny moments present themselves when least you expect it. The bag seemed to want release from the dance, while the wind would tease it. Pick it up and fly it through space, then let it go, then catch it again in its soft arms, just about when you would think an escape had been successful.
It was flying about, caught my eye, doing the moves in the air, it was fascinating to watch, somewhat beautiful to watch, something you can not, not watch, I was stood there fixed, could not move, could not let my eyes off it.
But it was a piece of litter wich I know I should toss in the bin then move on to other views, next scene. Somehow it reminded me of a couple relationships of past. When I was struck by beauty, but stuck in a moment I knew I should really bin.
No regrets
Autumn is for locking yourself up with your beloved, walk up to her where she is sat in the couch, sit behind her, with your left leg along the side of her left, and your right leg along the side of her right leg, your chest against her back, your arms around her, her hands in your hands, resting on her lap, and you warm her with a sigh of bliss into her ear.
Autumn is for turning up an old 1950’s slow tune and invite her to a private dance in your own living room
Autumn is for wild love-making to the theme of heavy rain and thunder heard from outside
Autumn is when a Scandinavian dusk is about. Magenta breaks into the blue of sky, her silhouette against the kitchen window, an image to inspire a song.
The elm sways, and dusk moves near. It's autumn in Gothenburg.
The admins of this place are like the scene in Life of Brian where they're arguing wheter theyr'e the Judean front of the people, or the People's front of Judea, or the etc etc
What I'm saying is that with the fervour of yours and pace at which you enter to make joke of these kind of subects, it borders mockery, and not innocent joke.
But I'm not too bothered, mind. Just an observation. Have nothing against you, or will make no demands. Carry on.
Ship, you are one very interesting persona, sometimes.
You are out on this road trip in an old rusty-red F-100 Pickup, almost mint condition, except for the left back wheel making a continuous beat due to something stuck inside, behind it. You know, like when a kid steals father’s poker deck, and mom’s clothespins, attaches some cards with some pins to the front wheel of his bike and it makes a rattle sound as he charges down his home turf street.
On top of your pickup roof, you have this huge sign, and a loudspeaker system. As in olden days, when the circus was about to enter town and ahead of it they would do advertisement by doing runs through town, chanting their commercial, over and over.
The sign says: I don’t want you to approach me As soon as you pass a community in your pickup, you pick up the mic and announce: I don’t want any of you to approach me
Sometimes, well, nay, often in the daily papers here you will find someone entered a message: On my birthday XX/XX, I kindly ask for no one to approach me on this day. Odd.
You’re on a dating site, displaying that you don’t want anyone with such frequency, it’s become questionable. But it’s not odd. What is odd, is that you always, always find it necessary to enter these kind of threads and do your plastic joke thing.
If it’s such a cheesy subject, if it’s such a distance from where you’re standing in mind, why bother?
RE: BET NONE OF YOU COULD EVER LIVE WITH A ROMANTIC PARTNER BECAUSE OF THE TERRIBLE PERSON YOU'VE BECOME
Inside-out!But what does it matter? Not like someone will notice in these threads.