Invitation

come inside for there is still pain left
and sadness brewing by the fire
hot piercing heartache and cooling resentment
all waiting
let go of the sunshine outside
darkness is what you know and fear
ah close your eyes at the cutting threshold
smell that hurt and feel that sorrow
you are here
So enter, friend, and share with me
my crown of thorns and my crap destiny

Perdition

He said goodbye and it did not happen
he is still shacked up all inside
my soul where i can’t get to him
where from him I can’t hide

they promised me he would disappear
a bad dream through a storm
they promised me but he is here
and i can’t make him go

New Albanian Hope

I chanced to meet Miss Kosova, Marigona Dragusha, and Miss Albania, Hasna Xhukici last night. It was great. Both girls were gorgeous, especially Miss Kosova, which reminded me a lot of Audrey Hepburn. Tall, thin and very elegant, she looked like a doll and moved like a mannequin. She was sweet and well behaved and had a lot of hope in her eyes. Miss Albania was more forceful, and less experienced with her poses, but she was also sweet and well behaved.
However, they were both so beautiful that the photographer was inspired and would not stop shooting. And he is not one of those people who is usually satisfied with anything.
Anyway, vote, vote, vote so one of them can win. They are both worth it.

www. missuniverse.com

Reflecting (rated D for disturbing)

Scene:
Boy meets girl after a long long distance flirt. Boy and girl go out to dinner, then to dance, then to the beach. They have a lot of fun and laughter and touching. Heavy touching. Girl and boy go to his room, touch, kiss and pet some more, take their clothes off, lay in his bed and… And he turns to her, makes her stop and says: “I am not emotionally and physically ready for this. Then he turns on the other side and goes to sleep.
And he still wants to be friends.
Yeah yeah yeah. I know all the comments, I know all the jokes, I know all the gay and impotence innuendos (maybe not so wrong after all) but what I do not know is this: Does that schmuck really know what he did to that poor woman? do men generally realize this?
I have heard of blue balls in men, even felt sympathetic towards some who seemed to have perpetually colored ones, and God knows I took some damage on my own trying not to tease. Because I know that men are human too. Apparently this guy did not get the memo about women being human too. do they know how hard it is to lay on the same bed with a turned back and unfamiliar sheets?
Tease hurts. Touching hurts. Arousal can become the worst torture. And the general idea that men are the hunters does not help. They are supposed to be these forever hungry beasts who pounce on everything that moves and ravish them. So when the savage beasts pounce, nudge and then fall asleep after saying how emotionally unprepared they are to ravish, it throws the whole natural order of things in a fizzy.
On the other hand, the emotional unavailability is a strange card to play for a guy. The only one that trumps it is the one who tries to go through with the deed but who can’t, how do I say this, raise to the occasion, but still has the galls to ask in the end whether he shook your world. So we either have these bastards:
1. not yet out of the closet
2. flag lagging at half mast
3. going through a midlife crisis and is scared of the little blue pill
4. so full of themselves that they have no compunction about taking the friendship, attention and warmth offered and then not even deigning to return the favor.
or maybe we are truly witnesses of a miracle: the modern emotionally sensitive man in touch with his delicate feminine side.
either way, women are still out of luck.

bumpy plane ride

She says things she does not mean, she yells out loud and stamps her feet. She is in full temper mode, her face contorted into a furious and terrible mask. I am afraid to approach her. I do not know who she is right now. It does not make sense to be afraid of this 5 feet tall hurricane, but I step back and try to think. Think think, think how to escape from all the noise and the bad vibes currently blowing in my face. Ah she is dead set on giving me the full effect of her anger.
I go deeper in my mind where a door is slightly open. I like this little opening, which promises to cut me from the blast, shelter me from the upcoming pain. I need that little crack. I concentrate on how gingerly I will push the door, on the curiosity and hope that will cross my face as I go in, the warm rays and butterflies I will find inside. Not that I am particularly in love with butterflies. But right now they are a very safe and appealing image.
Ah the door is here. I open it and I get in. Yes, it lives up to its enticement, its little crack promise, its warm rays and butterflies. All around me they are, fluttering their little wings and spreading their safe vibes. I like to watch as they circle me, smell me and then sit down on my arms, hair, shoulders, swell of my breasts, and prickle me. How gently they prickle me, how lulling their little antennae touch me, how soothing the colors. I do not even mind the blood leaving my veins; I do not even need blood here. It does not help. I gladly give it to the butterflies.
I imagine she is even madder now because I am gone and she can’t torture a shell. Well, she can but there is no satisfaction there. The shell won’t cringe, the shell won’t run deep inside its mind, and hide in a strange room full of bloodsucking butterflies behind a slightly cracked door.
Tomorrow, maybe my veins will be filled with new blood to save from her fury and give to the butterflies. I like it.