clouds

The weather was absolutely perfect. Windstorms fell off the ceeling and made way for a misty sun, sun which rose with the mists and shades off cotton wool pinks, and set just the same, erasing the sharp edges, the mountains, the islands and all the reminders of a common reality. When the sun would set it was replaced by a misty moon enthroned in red, a red night sky, a powerful old winter moon, just like the one now. It went on for days, this mist sun, and the mist full moon, and they did not the boy sleep, or the girl for that matter, for trough walls they could feel each other being awake.

If slumber would take over than it would soon be shot trough by the face of the boy, the hands of the boy, the want of the boy, and once they would meet, and see each other fatigued faces, it was clear the thing was happening to both.

Between them stood inconvenient reality, a traditional story which man and god alike have battled with for thousands of years, winning and loosing all in the process.

Once night turned up she lied in her bed awake, aware he is doing the same, and shudering from little pleasures that the sun made possible.


This however did not occur, a thousand years ago, or a hundred years ago, and thus the boy did not have a horse, but he had a motorbike, a powerfull modern black  thing, shiny, maintained and locked up waiting for summer. He mentioned this to her, about him not unlocking it during the winter. But when he tuned up on it, to pick her up, she smiled, and knew that she had been the cause. The whole point  was to make her squeal, and scream , feel hot and cold and warm, hold on to him resigned to fate, to the moment, to him.

The weather was perfect. The clouds made way for a sun, a warm sun which evaporated the mists and shades of cotton,  redefining the edges, the green of the mountains, green of the islands. A new moon rose, sharp and crisp lighting the black winter sky like a lightbulb, putting stars and planets in their proper orbits. She slept. And awoke. She slept and awoke.  All was as should be. It took a while for her to realise that he did not exsist, he was just a fantasy.

Valentina

Feburary

Hello. Have you felt it too?

If not why did you click on this Febuary post? hm.

 Can you not feel it really?

 The something in you awaking .

That old you, forgotten you, that you which is a different shape from your body,
maybe its the sprit.

. And it is waking up.. .contorting your spine, lengthening your fingers, your hair is growing, changing colour, going straight  or curly
and you cant sleep.

 You can't sleep first of all because its full moon,
than half a month later because ins new moon,  and your still not sleeping

you are horny as fuck, out of no good reason, or rather a trillion good reasons.

When you where younger you saw it occur in Cats. The cats are cat-availing all trough February, screaming their mad seductions trough your neighbour hood. The foxes appear all over the place at one, screaming too.

And what is going on in your head?

Is no accident St Valentine's day world over is celebrated in Febuary. Its a naming of the obvious.

But it goes further, than that. I feel like the very life is waking within.

 The bulbs are sprouting orgasmicly their flowers, the flowers are spreading out their opulent scents , breaking the winter.  The mid winter fire is breaking trough and this surge of ideas and energy and intention is buzzing trough every one who is in tune enough with them self to feel it.

How many ideas have you had this month, which are fantastic?

And changes, as if we are ready for changes, for big jumps, for breaking the ice on the surface of the winter water  and jumping in, riding it .

I suggest we go for it. Givee one another the green light. We can do it all, its Feburary after all. Its fucking febuary.

And its so good.

The Artist girl recepie - for how a woman can re set her day- and change it from dull to astounding..

When the day starts in the wrong way and from time to time it occurs.. You simply have to re set your self. Re start the day so it goes from stupid to fantastic.


 Here is my recipe though I think its universal to all women more or less..

STEP 1Get some fucking bitch high healed shoes on- your above it all..

 STEP 2 Put on a mini skirt- so you can see your own legs in the shoes..

STEP 3 Paint some bright lipstick on to your lips.

 STEP 4 Boot up the music.

STEP5  And well- go paint a while of course.. whilst dancing :)

Everything else is to change from this moment on..

 Someone delicious will ask you to get away from darling painting pretty soon, and you will be riding motorbikes into the sunset, drinking champagne eating  oysters on the sea shore...

I promise.

(ps. All advice here is intended for women only and should not me attempted by the macho male- exceptions made for boy-queens)

The thrill of realising anothers fantasies

How often do we go out with our altruism and leave the polite route of giving a few coins tip to the waiter, or a beggar and actually actively try to  make somone's fantasies come to life.. ?

It depends on what those fantsies are, who the person is, and are we able and wiling to risk our selfs , energy and means, to  make someone happy..

Ah but the thrill of surprising that someone, going all the way, realising to the last detail of the fantasy, mmm unbeatabley delicious, don't you think?

Home universe female Versus me

At some point there must have been a merge. From girl me, to girlfriend me, to wife me , to mom me, to being the woman that holds the family. I know I do, for should I become too preoccupied with any work- it all seems to start crumbling, the husband becomes nervous as hell, the child unhappy , the house a mess, there is no food, there are no clothes to wear, even the plants all start dying, - the chi stops flowing, the way I seem to make it flow, when I am planted, home, as the base, the permenant, mother, wife, home universe female.

I have become the home universe female, and have forgotten what it was like to be the me before that. The artist, the traveller, the lover, the seductress, the impulsive go happy thing that does as it pleases and has it all turn out well of course, for that girl was more or less always positive.

And than, what happens when this mother universe female,- gets attention. Not for being the home maker, wife, dinner organiser to friends , gets attention for being-  her self - without the rest. ?

What happens than. Well the girl starts lucid dreaming, lifting out of her body and seeing things outside . Perceiving her self. Oh I have not felt sexy for ages, and yet this attention, this attention for my self, suddenly has given me a complete image make over, the clothes are the same, the girl is the same, the hair colour is the same, but why this person writing this text is a trillion times sexier than the same person a month ago,  why at once every where I got heads turn... The difference is simply in aware ness of ones own existence.

My son has been breast feeding for 2.8 years. I have not slept a whole night for about a thousand nights. And it has not bothered me, his waking me up , every night, up to 15 times. It has not bothered me, even though  each day he makes me get on to my feet at 6 am- because I did not feel like I exist as a person- separate to the universal home maker female, which I have become, which must be soft and easey to mould to the needs of the home, of the family, and those needs satisfied make a universal family female think that  her own needs are fulfilled.

This week I actually have the power to disengage my son ,and set him to sleep in his bed, be tough enough as to owe ride his protest and crying. I realise I do not want him to breast feed any longer. Only now that I feel me.

And best of all I am painting. Oh yes. I as a separate entity, aware of it self, I am fearless, and full of inspiration and need to paint, not choked up by needs of filling the  dishwasher.

However, this is all very new territory, quite exhilarating.

 I belive that  The trick is to balance both the I- and the fabulous home maker universal female.
Now here forth, I do embark!