Recurrence

I had a dream, I've been having it for many years now, in which a woman is making love to me, or I am making love to her.

She is always the same woman, Her hair is black, her complexion is thin and delicate. She's fearless. Her face may vary, sometimes she looks like a girl, sometimes like a fragile woman, sometimes like a lioness. Sometimes she makes love to me, sometimes I make love to her.

Every time it gets better. Every time I let her in further into my soul, I care less about her seeing the pleasure I experience from her touch, or I care less that she will be off put by the way I touch her. I've learned she likes it, too.

The right kiss in the right place.
The right pace of movements...

This time we were at a cozy hotel by the beach. Our friends would never suspect our actions, we were totally free.

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.