Ode to Fresh Salmon

 It's been proven by scientists that people who eat fish are happier.

 In England unfortunately you can't get a fresh fried fish straight from the ocean like I was used to in Latinamerica, but you can still have a salmon.

Panta rei, Mr Charming!

 One thing I have to confess: I am definitely not a seightseeing creature. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I cannot appreciate a beauty of a view- I am just too impatient to spend hours stuck in one place just admiring a landscape. 

 Amongst all of the things I couldn't exactly get in my life the first one is ability to spend holiday in one place only, not moving for a whole day or even more, and I don't mean only hotel swimming pool style of vacation. I am an itchy adventurer and when something stops being entertaining, my hands start to shake and my throat  becomes surprisingly tasty creating in my mind a situation of a desert isolation. 

 This feeling came to me suddenly recently, when me and my dearest friends went for a delightful trip around our beautiful, underestimated again and again city. Late evening we stopped on a pathway beside the river Thames, discovering an undeniable charm of Tower Bridge. 

How 'Size' has become an adjective

 If there is any girl reading me at the moment she will understand, that the thing which happened to me recently was the most terrible ever. I put on weight. 

 Being correct, I actually didn't gain that much, but my imagination gained at least three sizes. And you can say it right now: 'Monkey Seduction is not like that.' 'She has such a distance for herself that for sure she is size 18 and she loves it.' 'She will never post anything about diets and losing weight. She's just over it.' Unfortunately, you will be totally wrong. Once I realize that I cannot easily fit in size 6 anymore (European 34, US 2) my nightmare becomes a taking-over daydream. I am a woman. 

O.B.B.- Offended By a Blogger

 There is one creepy thing I realized recently when my dear friend Paolo O. Martin (known by his English friends mostly as Paul Portier), has been asked why did he stop to run a blog. 

 -Well- answered he, concentrating on a pronounciation of double 'l'- I guess I had too many thoughts insulting random people that I decided not to post anything for a while. 

 Refering to this after a while, I realized that since I became a blogger I always think twice. And amongst all of other benefits I got from it, such as a perver pleasure of a never-read-before writer, I realize such a good exercise of patience is that. All because we live in a society of O.B.B.s.

Jump in!

And once in a while, I draw an another reality to jump in. 
I might not like this one as much. Mostly because about some technical imperfections, but there is much more making me feel about it like it somehow doesn't fulfill my expectations. But how my dad always says, no matter how much your eyes like it and how good does it look, if it doesn't make you feel in any particular way, then it's not worth watching.

Beginning with a description

 -Switch the music off- said my literary one of best friends Paolo O. Martin interrupting consuming his daily portion of cereals.- It reminds of a time passing.

 After this statement he wiped his mouth with a napkin and put his spoon inside of the bowl, letting me know that he is no longer hungry.

 - The passing time is the most depressive thing in the world- continued my friend, who diagnosed himself with depression long ago.- If you think about it coming from the right point of view, it's actually the only depressive thing in the world. Because everything is all about time. Without it, we would just enjoy a moment.

Ms Adorable's lightness of being

 No matter if you wake up in the worst-itchy mood towards reality, hopelessly keeping your eyes closed for the cobwebs, you will certainly feel a piece of sun wether Ms Adorable is the one to uncover the window. In reality, she's doing this every morning. It's been two months since I've been living with Michelle Adorable.

 Living with someone like her, you're posing for a picture every morning. You cannot act otherwise, when you wake up with her blond curles and round Marilyn Monroe's hips, and her undeniable charm seeming to be saying 'Smile!'. 

 My neighbour Mr Charming is happier than ever, having finally his company in undoubtful happiness. Everyday at work I just can't wait for coming back home, to see their full of harmony smiles and faces slowly  sailing in peace, while they offer me a sweet camomile tea. Just to wonder if in their sleep, there is a floral smell coming from the sky, and a gentle mist sneaking around them to cheer up their minds.

Jump in!

And once in a while, I create an another reality on the page to jump in and forget.

My Dad

 This post will be simply about an amazing man. My dad.

 Amongst all of the things I ever owed Marilyn Monroe, I can't not to recall today the song "My heart belongs to daddy'. My dad's portrait is the ultimate thing which will never work for me. Because it's too much left to say.

 In my memories my dad is standing in his workshop, surrounded by hard smell of vernix, which never bothered me, smoking a cigarette even though he had quit already two years ago.It always has to be summer, with a sunshine lighting the workshop through the window, and softly melting in cigarette fumes in wooden walls, so home. My dad's face in mind in winter seems to be incomplete like most of his sketches. There has to be summer, with fresh tomatoes for a salad, and an empty beach with a lake to go to with your bike. The picture is staying incomplete, because there is so much to say, just like he always says, in arts like in life, some things are better incomplete.

 My dad believes that visual arts should create emotions like music. That there is a level of perception to be necessarily reached, beyond everything which could be obvious. Arts should never give you a ready image. Just like in life, when everything is clear, there is just no fun. 

 My dad is... how old? There was supposed to be a happy birthday, but maybe we should leave this post incomplete. How do you think, dad?