You don't talk for hours over the phone for years. It usually slows down. Maybe you don't slow down and it becomes to intense? And when you start to think something is up you can be sure that she will notice you're thinking something is up, and that is neither a very healthy stance in a relationship, nor is it one of the greatest turn-on's for a woman.
I like to cook, and actually thought I would seek out a restaurant where I could get to learn how it's done in a restaurant kitchen. Mine is small scale, as you can imagine.
The tears of a grown man who doesn't feel the slightest bit of love is allowed in this world can really get to you. I will never forget it. Strange, it was a very short moment, many years ago, and it was by pure chance I was offered the opportunity, but it has remained as possibly one of the most valuable moments ni my life. No, not possibly, it most definitely is one of the most important!
I was down with fever, home from work, this is more than 10 years ago. Not much to do than lie there and either feel sorry for yourself, or use the time to learn something new. I chose the latter, I always have. In Sweden, we're with the gift of daytime telly being hours of the educational kind. It can be language courses, it can be simple documentaries about places far off my own shores, it can be anything. This day served a special kind of story.
It was a piece about life in Peru, somewhere above the city of Trujilo. A smaller town towards the higher of the mountain sides. This native man of the land, stood somewhere below the mighty Andes, dressed in a raggedy poncho, that characteristic hat they wear, worn out trousers hanging high, with end of legs giving us a gap to his sandals, not covering all the way down. They followed this man as he walked.... oh no, he didn't walk, he bloody climbed that mountainside forever, up to a glacier. He would do this every day. A trek which lasted almost a full shift. He would chop a huge lump of ice off, and carry it on his back, so heavy you wondered under which torture his spinal was, he would take it down towards the valley below, and the town nested inside the valley's bosom. The man was around 30, but he looked 50 or more. The rough life under a rough climate but even more so the exhausting which is poverty had chiseled distinct and sad marks on his by weather and, like I said, other much sadder issues tortured face, a pain at full display once you looked him in the eyes.
As he came down that day of the camera being there, this man who carried an enormous lump of ice to town where he intended to sell it to one of the local stores, for them to break it to pieces and with it have keep their soft drinks cool, as he was walking from the cold towards the warmer below, you could only feel admiration. Here was this man who woke up every morning, climbed the side of a mountain to knock out a piece of ice as big as he could muster carry, because it was the only means he had of trying to provide for his family.
Is this a chore you would look forward to wake to, every morning?
On this day, he came down, and right before he arrived with his heavy load a truck had passed through town. A new truck, which sold ice at a very cheap rate. Not a single store in town wanted this man's services. A full day he had spent getting up there on the mountain, carrying the ice down, and now he was sat in front of a store, his last stop, crying as he realized he would not get it sold, not get a coin for his effort, as the ice was melting next to him under the sun. He was devastated, knowing he would return home to his family that day with no money for food, or money for anything else.
As the man broke down in tears, I did as well I must confess. Tears just appeared under my eyes as I saw his tears.
My mind has often throughout the years ventured towards that man and his family, curious what became of him, of them. It is amazing what us humans are capable of, what we can endure, what we can over-win, overcome and live through. Sometimes, it's only a melting block of ice on a street in a little town within the borders of a Peru I've never visited which makes you realize how fortunate you are with what little you have to endure, what little to overcome, and what an easy life you have.
Bless that man! I often think about him. I wish he could be my friend.
It makes not much sense. Usually, when you fall, from anywhere onto anything it involves pain, or at the very least a brief yet intense moment of fear as you stumble and gasp at the sudden possibility of a piece of pavement smacking you hard over that face of yours with which you unintentionally are arriving towards ground at what seems is Mach speed. Sometimes you break an arm when you fall. I did my military service in the navy and we had this fellow in our 12-man cabin who was more clumsy than a drugged baboon attempting a game of miniature Mikado. He fell down the steep steps leading from upper deck down towards the main. It sure didn't look like he enjoyed falling, that lad. "I'm falling in love"? It doesn't sound very pleasant, does it? On top of it, it sounds random. Like someone happened to arrive at that state with me, as if it was by accident rather than due to one of my good sides having touched her own good inner self.
Who came up with this bit of falling? I'm struggling to find a possible reason behind the phrase becoming as classic as it is. I can see someone fell off a roof, someone within construction who's renovating the orange ceramics often sheltering a house from weather, and as he steps on one of these tiles up on the roof it slides underneath his feet, surprises him, has him fly down that height like a kite set on fire, he lands on the front, takes the hit with his back, with the owner's daughter having been stood at the kitchen window sipping from a glass of lemonade, she witnessed it all as he drops past that window, and she rushes out to check on him, to see if everything is alright. As he gets back to his senses the first thing he records is her lovely being there leaning over him, asking him if he is alright, and from that moment his heart is hers. He fell for her because it was meant for him to take that fall? Is this where it might stem from?
Or, is it that the first person in history who ever felt the sensation, he recognized it, it appeared during the season called autumn, which is sometimes called Fall? Falling in love on a Friday fall night? I might make that into a song.
How do you come up with a better for "I have fallen in love"? Despite the contradiction between a love and some bodily plunge which often brings pain, it is perfect contradiction, is it not? It is what we do. We fall. head over heals, which is another odd structure of words describing when life's taken you to its most beautiful places. "I've fallen head over heals in love with you" How on earth do you translate that into any lingo of any language where these phrases are not familiar? I bet you a Maori hunter of whales, if I tried have it directly translated into his language, he would think I be a wuss who allowed a woman trip me to the ground with an outstretched leg at a café and I've broken an ankle, possibly a fractured nose as well, some woman who violently decided I was the one to be picked to pick her. Because as I have said before it is always the woman who picks her man who is to pick her. We never pick her directly.
What construction can replace the words of "I have fallen in love"? Those words with which you enter a new day, in your state between dreams and awakened, when it suddenly dawns on you, that bliss of someone you found. You know that feeling you sometimes have when you wake and know something quite vital happened the previous eve, and you are for a slight little brief moment lost as to what it was. Good or bad? Grand or sad? You are in-between two states, and then you remember. And then your smile which spreads on your face is so radiating glorious it challenges the divine in the beams from the sun entering through your bedroom window.
Someone's captured my heart? I am lost for words as I think of her? Captured, lost, falling, heads over heals. Is it a warning within all these phrases?
The greatest thing I've ever heard in my life, apart from the times a woman has asked me if I fancied a.... nevermind. A place not far from where I live, where on one side of the street on Fridays you can hear a rock'n'roll band practice the crap out of their instruments, while on the other is a gathering place for Muslim prayers. It's the oddest, funniest mix you'll ever hear which comes streaming as you walk past.
What this has to do with Christmas music I have no idea. So please just ignore and carry on.
Come to think of it, maybe I need to put my foot down. (she has left so we can speak openly) And don't give me that bloody "sisters look out for one another" thing, now.
Last time, I told her I had reserved time for laundry on the Saturday and that it was her job to do mine for me. She somehow managed to escape this. We were sat at the nearby local, when with a smug smile she bluntly said: - Weren't I supposed to do your laundry now? At which point it was to late to send her off to do it Sneaky British woman!
I need to put my foot down and show her who's the boss in this house. Don't I? Maybe I should just dirty as much of the dishes as I can, and have her do them the moment she enters the door? A bottle of ketchup is oh so cheap, I could spread my things all over the kitchen and spray them with that tomato stuff worse than Pollock ever molested a canvas with random paint.
Or, maybe... ... I was thinking she should wash my feet? Isn't that the ultimate putting your foot down and showing who's in command? Your woman taking your socks off in the living-room, bringing a bowl of heated water, then get down and rub your toes in with that soap, then lift one foot at a time to her lap where she dries them with a cotton towel.
It's as odd a statement as it would be to see someone hold a ready-to-fire crossbow to the head of a six year old child and call it a bedtime story. Sure are some weird characters out there with a right to vote.
Thing is, it's all gifts come from gifts. Writing comes from inspiration. Always. No one can write from the heart without inspiration. And these past weeks, some of your brilliant thoghts, ideas, and words have inspired.
Everything written which is of value is inspired by something of greater value, and something which truly is the source of it becoming at all.
Any time you might be on your way to Gothenburg, you must let me know. The pints are on me!
I saw the moon tonight, it rested there tilted as a most bright shining white tropical fruit chopped in half, of sort. Aligned towards the dark, dense and almost mythologicaly magic backdrop.
Sometimes you notice the moon, sometimes you don't. Sometimes it gathers your attention, very much so, like this moon of crescent or gibbous, I'm not certain of which phase of either one mentioned it was, but it gathered my attention nevrtheless. Sometimes, mind, it is simply there, the moon is rising above you, setting against your horizon, unnoticed, forever it will be there, continued travelling and phasing way beyond the time of our steps on this soil.
These moments appear in life. Moments of realization. Times when you have an answer to a question you didn't even know you had. Some moments, some truths overwhelm you simply in that way where you are not really shocked, they just serve as a reminder of how humble you really need to remain under these skies. Have you ever reached the moment of realization where you finally grasp a greater fact becoming a given certain?
A definite is never a definite, because nothing less than miracles have enough of times in this world and throughout history contradicted the definities of the sorrow man's kind. But still.
I came to realize the other day that I will most likely not have a child of my own. No daughter to take to the designer on her seventh year since birth and have a new dress - of her own little beautiful choice - be had made for her last day of her first year in school. And I will not be sat on Christmas morning, having been up until very late on the eve before trying to get my son go to sleep, hiding presents and pretending stories as to build on the surprise when he awakes come that day, when him, rubbing his eyes for that brief moment, of great sensation a child does on a day when the child suddenly remembers great moments are abound to be had, realising what day it is, he comes running down the stairs with the beautiful smile only an anticipating son on Christmas day can sport.
No regrets, no sadness. Simply realization.
Some moments in life, you find yourself under the dim lights of gas-lit street lamps, against a grey concrete wall is your body, the ghost-like motion with its distinct contour, your right side of a somewhat seemingly sorrowed face is towards the wall, arms punching that air which is giving meek resistance, no restistance to be honest. You're a fighter with fists covered by nothing but some thin cloth over knuckles, as is what fighters not yet in a fight wear. You're practicing your muscles against and towards oxygen.
I have new stories, every day a new. They are my stories mostly, and mostly for me and mine they remain. Sometimes they simply appear, and as simple as they arrive, as simple they are. There is no struggle to pen them down, there is no effort. Some find error in them being brought forth here, some find a wrong constitution in them being written out loud. Like the shadow of a boxer, they are not there before I move, they are not there after I move, they arrive as I move. They simply are.
PietroPaoloV Forum Posts (722)
RE: If I asked you out for 1 Date-Dinner, Carriage Ride, Symphony-Nothing More, Would you go?
But you'd think it would be prefectly OK to invite a woman to be sat with you behind two horse's arses?