By Our Selves

There is a picture on my desktop of a woman sitting on a chair, she is wearing trousers, smoking a cigarette. She is wearing no blouse. Her small breasts are free of restraint and she wears them proudly.

Another picture I have is of a grown man sucking on a woman's nipple.

I look at these images and wonder how many of us, female humans, are proud of our breasts. Their shape, size, girth, how they droop or perk, how they feel when we touch them, how aroused we feel at their sight.

I wonder how many of us would walk around our very own houses without a top on, and feel it to be natural.

Me, I would love to be naked all the time. I'd love to wear clothes only when leaving the house, and with no underwear at that. I'd love to come home to my partner, leave my outer outfit on the chair and continue my day wearing only my skin. I'd love to feel his skin against mine, all of it, whenever we hug.

What an excentric world, this one, where we hide from our very selves.

On Victory

So, I don’t have everything, big deal, no one does. I thank the gods that what I don’t have is not essential. I’m alive, I have food, I have a roof over my head, I have money, I have a significant other… What am I complaining about? Am I complaining at all? Life is not as heavy as I draw it, it’s not that complicated. Then what is it?

Why do you want to put a name to it? You won’t destroy it, you know that much, it’s what makes you write, and writing is what gives life a meaning, a reason, a sense or whatever… So, why?

Because in looking for a name I will name myself, I guess. For example now, I am wishing to catch someone’s attention, I’m wishing someone would come and ask me what it is that I’m writing, I wish to feel someone’s interest on me… Yet I’m unwilling to show interest for other people, openly. I’d be embarrassed about it.

Enthusiasm is life itself, the less you feel it, the less of it is inside you.

How do I get it back?

Through victory. It’s so easy and perfect that it’s scary. When you consciously do things that lead you away from victory, you are stupid. Stupidity is a great flame extinguisher.

Am I being stupid protecting the things I have?

Only if you don’t want them.

I want them half the time.

Then you are half stupid.

I am only nothing.

You are half genius and half stupid, you are human.

Was Cortazar human? All those great writers, Dostoievski, Saramago, Walter Scott, Shakespeare, Bodoc,…

All human, that’s why most had miserable lives. Is that what you want for yourself?

I want so many things…

That only gives you a wider range of possible victories.