I received some comments about why I've deleted the post with the tale. Well, yesterday I found myself writing something that really happened to me just few months ago, in summer. And after publishing it, I thought that this was not only too personal, but, especially, not very respectful of the other person who was with me that night. That was not only my story, but also her one. Sorry for that.
There will be more stories.
bebo
PS: for the moment, I leave you with a booktrailer (guess who is the murder...)
21 Nov 2010
4 Nov 2010
Innisfree
Had a nice phone call. Quick one. Jo.
Then I spoke with this colleague of mine, standing on the stairs outside the office, those massive brown rusty iron stairs. He needed some words. I needed too, lots of times, perhaps too many. And —you know— it's good to be there and feel you're giving something. It's quite better than receiving. And it always gives you something back.
Today, before the stairs, before the chat, I was stressed out (job). And when I sat down again, suddenly came to me this poem (one of my favourite poems). And I only remember this poem when I feel some peace.
Just wanted to share it with you all.
.....................................................................
Then I spoke with this colleague of mine, standing on the stairs outside the office, those massive brown rusty iron stairs. He needed some words. I needed too, lots of times, perhaps too many. And —you know— it's good to be there and feel you're giving something. It's quite better than receiving. And it always gives you something back.
Today, before the stairs, before the chat, I was stressed out (job). And when I sat down again, suddenly came to me this poem (one of my favourite poems). And I only remember this poem when I feel some peace.
Just wanted to share it with you all.
.....................................................................
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
(William Butler Yeats)
3 Nov 2010
Smashing weekend
A blue-eyed new English writer, with one of the most beautiful smiles I've ever seen, wrote this in the Book of the Faces.
It must have been the Moon.
I saw the Moon four days ago, from Melilla, and she was smiling (yes, the moon is a "She"). I went to the beach, stood in front of the Sea (best friend of the Moon) and She spoke to me (yes, the Sea is a "She", also). And smiled. I went to see the Sea almost every night. She's very patient with me, and She has always the words I need for me.
"Go with the flow."
Smashing weekend. Yes, it was the Moon, the fairy of the sky. Thanks, Moon. Thanks Sea.
Thanks, fairy.
...
It must have been the Moon.
I saw the Moon four days ago, from Melilla, and she was smiling (yes, the moon is a "She"). I went to the beach, stood in front of the Sea (best friend of the Moon) and She spoke to me (yes, the Sea is a "She", also). And smiled. I went to see the Sea almost every night. She's very patient with me, and She has always the words I need for me.
"Go with the flow."
Smashing weekend. Yes, it was the Moon, the fairy of the sky. Thanks, Moon. Thanks Sea.
Thanks, fairy.
...
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