Grey hair?! Bollocks to that!! White hair’s more like it!!!!!!

This is not good... Today I found my second grey hair (the first was found on Friday morning!)! Who am I kidding, it wasn’t grey, IT WAS WHITE!!! I am 27 bloody years old and I am getting grey hair?! Wat Da F**k?! And oh no, my first grey hair would not chose to join his darker friends on my head at the back of my neck, no no no, it chose its star entry at the front of my head, right on top of my forehead!! Show-off!

I told my dearest mother this and she kindly informed me that yes, “It runs in the family darling!” and that I’d have to start dying my hair pretty soon... Aiii que miseria Dios!!!!!

I was telling my friend Claire that a lot of the events in my life this year, I felt, were dragging me kicking and screaming into adulthood (a fact of life I have chosen to consciously ignore up until now) well this is the icing on the cake as far as I’m concerned! Old age is imminent!!!!

You can learn a lot about a country by what they sell in their vending machines... It’s true I swear!!!

You can learn a lot about a country by what they sell in their vending machines (“VM”)... It’s true I swear!!!

 

For example, here in London, at the Fulham Broadway Tube station, they have an “umbrella” VM! Yes, that is because in England, it rains a lot! You’ll wake-up in the morning, it’s hot and sunny, you’ll take the tube to work in your t-shirt, by the time you’re out of the station on the other side of your 30min journey, it’s freezing and pissing down with rain! And guess what? It hadn’t occurred to you to bring your umbrella with you today! So you go to the VM and buy yourself one - I think it costs £2!

 

Or in Barcelona, I once saw a VM in the Placa Catalunya Metro that sold books! While living in Barca, I once read that Spanish children under 16 read more books that any other children under 16 in the whole of Europe! So in a way, it seems logical that the Spaniards feel the need to supply books in their VMs!

 

Now, I save the best for last... In Japan, they sell Asahi beers in their VMs! Yes, alcohol my friends! As you can see in the picture above, my eager buddies were buying themselves some beer! Now, the VM doesn’t ask you how old you are... I mean if we had those vending machines in Switzerland when we were growing up, I can assure you we’d have been alcoholics by the ripe age of 11! It’s completely mad! But what does it tell you? Probably that children in Japan aspire to better things than getting drunk and therefore can be trusted not to go and acquire themselves a VM drinking habit...

 

So, dya see what I mean about VMs telling you a lot about the society of a nation? Please let me know if you’ve encountered any obscure VM products on your travels...

The Existential Dilemma of a Foetus

I am an egg

Ready to hatch

I have no home

Nowhere to run off to

No one wants me

I am the ugly ducklin’

I don’t believe to have a swan in me.

I am incomplete

I know

Premature, I guess

Yet extremely sensible

On the verge of boring

Ouch

That hurt

Be true to myself

Or just continue being me

Avoiding chance

It’s safer that way

But I won’t be happier

If that means anything

To you

I assume not

I desperately am in need of…

Something

What I am not

What I don’t have

Hatch or not Hatch

That is the question

The Young Girl Assassin

You’re the Assassin!

You killed me more than once.

I survived and moved on,

Leaving you behind

In your home-made prison.

This cage of yours,

It’s made of glass.

There’s no air

And you’re suffocating slowly,

Melting away.

You see my reflection

On all the panes,

Reminding you

Of all your crimes,

Taunting you.

I hope you know that I mock you,

That I am the stronger one now,

That you cannot reach me no more,

That I am untouchable,

By you at least.

You might have murdered me,

My innocence, my trust, my youth,

But I have faith in me:

I am ME!

Thee

If thoughts could fly,

I’d send them to thee, my love,

Without a blink of an eye,

Of that dear,

Thou can be sure!

 

Without a doubt,

I should cry out

That thou have set my heart on fire,

And by Lord,

It shall not be put out!

 

May thy love be free

To wander through

The wilderness that is my spirit,

For if it is not,

I shall be engulfed

In the moving sands of sorrow!

 

Let our minds join!

Let us run for victory!

For with your love inside me,

No one shall ever get to me!

Onegin

The thought

That I could refuse tomorrow,

What is due to my life;

That I may be denied the taste of love,

By the very one who loves me,

Who is undoubtedly mine,

Made for me!

How cruel can one be to oneself?!

 

Not all sorrow is caused by others,

It is sometimes self-inflicted,

By means of arrogance,

Or prior pain

Or plain misjudgement.

To be the cause

Of one’s own unhappiness

And having to live with it,

Is life’s greatest punishment,

Its greatest torture.

All for the sake of love,

Can we die alone! 

My African Fantasy

The freshly showered lady,

Waiting for her lover to return

And their intimacy to resume.

As he enters,

She awaits behind the door,

Just to catch a glimpse of his nightly ritual,

Of him, the man she loves:

He falls onto the couch,

Loosening his tie

In that same rhythmic way

Left to right and back again;

Then she follows his glance,

Knowing that he’s eyeing the ashtray,

Looking for that special part of the day,

When peace begins,

And the sun sets.

 

As familiarity resumes,

Their unison is witnessed

By the wildest of beasts: the lions!

His foreign accent,

Floating through the branches of the whispering trees,

Telling tales of warriors

And unforgotten love,

Myths of Kings and Goddesses;

All this,

Retorting the birds’ calls.

 

The envious lioness,

Searching for her prey,

In hope of a taste of the rush,

As are the two lovers on the deck.

As harmony is reached,

The African night appears,

Clear and mysterious,

Noises unknown, unwanted,

For sleep and calm takeover,

The evening’s run.

My Unicorn

The Queen of May

Covered in her long fur coat,

Telling me

That the white horse is there,

In all his splendour,

Shining from the Heavens.

She claims his light,

Pulling at his unicorn for more power;

But he is drained

Of all energy source:

Galloping for peace is a long road to follow,

A tough war to fight,

The Queen,

A hard woman to beat!

It whispers to me

That it can help no more,

I pray that it may,

That it finds the will, the strength

And sends more love to planet earth.

I dream of his magic,

Covering me at night,

Making sure that I’m tucked in tight.

I have faith in his goodness,
And I do believe,

That his love will save the world!

So my unicorn, don’t give up!

My Little Leprechaun

My little Leprechaun

Always on my shoulder

Whispering thoughts, unheard to others,

Convincing me

That he’s out there,

Somewhere,

Looking for me,

Waiting for my heart,

Wishing for my love,

Demanding what I can’t yet give,

My entire soul!

Why so?

Because I can’t tell you where

Or whom it’s with.

Something I have to discover still.

So, my little Leprechaun,

He’ll have to wait-up

Or move on,

Because what I have to offer

Is gone and not yet found.

Do not tell a soul

And do not make a sound,

For what I have lost,

Is not yet found.

Super Gay

On the search for love again my friend!

Always looking

For a sexier ass

And a comfier heart,

High class,

And he better be smart,

Cos you ain’t no tart!

Never settle for too little,

You deserve a free spirit

And a sincere soul.

Your love is so big,

That you share it

And give it away

With such ease,

But you’ve gotta keep a bit for yourself, darling!!

No hurry dear,

You have a whole life ahead,

And a bag full of smiles,

So don’t shed it all,

For a quick fuck,

After the ball!!

Unknown

Sharp images

Of unwanted Dogs

Howling past me,

Bleeding souls and fastened eyes

On what is Neverneverland.

The flowing mane

Of the unknown,

Unspoken thoughts;

Mind ruled by freaks

Falling from the skies

With naked hearts,

Showing torn pictures

Of things

I’ve never had or seen,

Not even

In my worst nightmares…

A Wannabe Clone

Inexhaustible shadows

Always casting

Over hopes

And fears.

They’re but so perfect,

Yet so unreal.

 

Distorted images of the truth

Multiplying and stretching

On what is pen ultimately correct.

A Trompe L’Oeuil

Disguised as ourselves,

A Wannabe.

 

Your sorry attempt as a shadow,

Craving my soul,

Grasping at my every breath,

At my freshness,

At my aptitude to be good at everything you are bad at

What a pitiful sight,

A thief

Who cannot rob,

Who’s being pursued

By what he doesn’t

And will never have.

 

You’re just a clone,

And you didn’t even manage that right.

You lack my passion,

You’d get the drought

After I’d quenched my thirst.

Too late again my friend,

Too late again.