As requested by " Diane " who regularly comments these pages, another scene with the no-nonsense mother. I actually made this picture 2 years ago and I'm not totally happy with it technically, but I hope you will find it inspiring anyway...
Sunday, October 30, 2011
No nonsense mother (2)
As requested by " Diane " who regularly comments these pages, another scene with the no-nonsense mother. I actually made this picture 2 years ago and I'm not totally happy with it technically, but I hope you will find it inspiring anyway...
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
" The Dark "
Very well-written book about the author's own sensible experience. Deep self-questioning and struggle in his soul, the book had him banned from his traditional Ireland for years
" The night was the night of the Jib's dance in the Aula, a new poster was up in the archway, you'd to meet John O'Donnel inside at nine.
The preparations took over an hour, shaving and washing, clean white shirt and collar out of the case, shining of the shoes, brushing of every speck from the suit, the hair flattened with Brylcream, the teeth brushed, the painful knotting and unknotting of the wine tie before the mirror, diarrhoea of tension.
What would it be like, the band, the music, the dances, the women? Would you be scorned by these women?
Because you couldn't dance.
Were you good-looking enough, would they look at you with revulsion?
Would you by watching pick up the steps and rhythms of the dance?
Would you have courage to ask a girl to dance?
Would you find yourself on the floor trampling on her feet, not able to dance, saying, "I'm sorry. I'm not able to dance, I'm learning," and would she leave you in the middle, "You'd better pick someone else to learn on," or would she endure you in stony silence?
What would you talk to a girl about?
Would you be able to endure the white softness of her bare arm, the rustle of taffeta or the scent of lacquer when she leaned her hair close, without losing control and trying to crush her body to yours?
Would you be the one leper in the hall at Ladies Choice, flinching as every woman in the place casually inspected and rejected you, their favour falling on who was beside you, the other men melting like snow about you until you stood a rejecting laughing stock out on the floor in the way of the dancers, no woman would be seen with you? It would be as if your life was torn out of your breast by every couple dancing together and you could slink towards the shadow of the pillars, fit to weep, watch your own mangled life go dancing past.
"Off to the dance," they said downstairs as you went.
"Off to the dance," you repeated and pressed your features into an embarrassed smile.
"All the girls will be falling for him tonight, but don't do anything we wouldn't do."
"No. Good night."
Laughter wreathed about their "Good night", and was it mockery.
You crossed the other side of the road, glad of any excuse of delay, the blood pounding at the temples. "Control yourself. Control yourself. It's not the end of the world. It'll be forgotten by tomorrow morning," but it was no use. (...)
A vision of the dance floor came to plague you, naked shoulders of the women, glitter of jewellery on their throats, scent and mascara and the blood on their lips, the hiss of silk or taffeta stretching across their thrusting thighs, and always their unattainable crowned heads floated past.
This was the dream you'd left the stern and certain road of the priesthood to follow after, the road so attractive now since you hadn't to face walking it any more, and this world of sensuality from which you were ready to lose your soul not so easy to drag to your mouth either for that one destructive kiss, as hard to lose your soul as save it. Only in the mind was it clear.
You turned away, back towards the town, not able to return to the room because of the shame if you were seen slink through the hallway, you'd have to wait till they were sleeping or the dance was over.
In the café, over cups of coffee, in Shop Street, you spent the last part of the night; here you'd sat with John O'Donnell after the Savoy; and tonight he was dancing.
You envied the old waitress, she seemed asleep in everything she did, there were worse lives. All day she served nondescript customers that came through the swing doors, tired on her feet at the end, the one desire to get back to her bed and room, but perhaps it wasn't as simple as that either.
Perhaps nothing was."
" The night was the night of the Jib's dance in the Aula, a new poster was up in the archway, you'd to meet John O'Donnel inside at nine.
The preparations took over an hour, shaving and washing, clean white shirt and collar out of the case, shining of the shoes, brushing of every speck from the suit, the hair flattened with Brylcream, the teeth brushed, the painful knotting and unknotting of the wine tie before the mirror, diarrhoea of tension.
What would it be like, the band, the music, the dances, the women? Would you be scorned by these women?
Because you couldn't dance.
Were you good-looking enough, would they look at you with revulsion?
Would you by watching pick up the steps and rhythms of the dance?
Would you have courage to ask a girl to dance?
Would you find yourself on the floor trampling on her feet, not able to dance, saying, "I'm sorry. I'm not able to dance, I'm learning," and would she leave you in the middle, "You'd better pick someone else to learn on," or would she endure you in stony silence?
What would you talk to a girl about?
Would you be able to endure the white softness of her bare arm, the rustle of taffeta or the scent of lacquer when she leaned her hair close, without losing control and trying to crush her body to yours?
"Off to the dance," they said downstairs as you went.
"Off to the dance," you repeated and pressed your features into an embarrassed smile.
"All the girls will be falling for him tonight, but don't do anything we wouldn't do."
"No. Good night."
Laughter wreathed about their "Good night", and was it mockery.
You crossed the other side of the road, glad of any excuse of delay, the blood pounding at the temples. "Control yourself. Control yourself. It's not the end of the world. It'll be forgotten by tomorrow morning," but it was no use. (...)
A vision of the dance floor came to plague you, naked shoulders of the women, glitter of jewellery on their throats, scent and mascara and the blood on their lips, the hiss of silk or taffeta stretching across their thrusting thighs, and always their unattainable crowned heads floated past.
This was the dream you'd left the stern and certain road of the priesthood to follow after, the road so attractive now since you hadn't to face walking it any more, and this world of sensuality from which you were ready to lose your soul not so easy to drag to your mouth either for that one destructive kiss, as hard to lose your soul as save it. Only in the mind was it clear.
You turned away, back towards the town, not able to return to the room because of the shame if you were seen slink through the hallway, you'd have to wait till they were sleeping or the dance was over.
In the café, over cups of coffee, in Shop Street, you spent the last part of the night; here you'd sat with John O'Donnell after the Savoy; and tonight he was dancing.
You envied the old waitress, she seemed asleep in everything she did, there were worse lives. All day she served nondescript customers that came through the swing doors, tired on her feet at the end, the one desire to get back to her bed and room, but perhaps it wasn't as simple as that either.
Perhaps nothing was."
John McGahern, "The Dark"
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Last news from the debt crisis
" The tragic unemployment rate added to the rental costs in central Madrid or Barcelona (about 13€ per square meter per month) force young qualified people to stay at the parental home. As a side effect there is a new shoplifter profile surfacing with the economic crisis: students who try to save money to pay their driving licence or the last mobile phone”. "
Sorry mujer pequeña, but there are good ways to save money, and bad ways : /
Sorry mujer pequeña, but there are good ways to save money, and bad ways : /
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
As if spanking wasn't hard enough...
No wonder it's getting harder every month for " Mammones " (young adults who still live at their mother's place). The press for women is full of efficient tips... : /
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Dear members, your attention please...
To all our dear members: please note the meeting will start at 2pm next Sunday, instead of 4pm. Many cases have to be judged such as kissing ostensibly in the main street, mocking the statues of our Presidents, skipping Church, and a bottle of whisky found in a prom evening (6 people suspected, all to be punished if they don't denounce the guilty person). Thank you for your attention.
A new victory for the committee for decency !!
“ How disgusting it was to find these explicit pictures under MY roof! And how disappointing to find it in the room of my virtuous son! But later in the evening I convinced him to tell me where he had found these adult magazines (or maybe it was my hairbrush that convinced him? Anyway). The following morning we went to the news stand and I skipped the queue to tell two words to the owner. How did he dare to break the law by selling these evil magazines to my 19 years old son? They reveal far too much of the female body for non-adults. So either he would totally stop selling all these obscene magazines, or I will denounce him and he may have to close the shop. Guess what? You can’t find these magazines in our town anymore. And I’ve heard the local Committee for Values and Decency will reward me with a porcelain tea set next Sunday! ”
Monday, October 10, 2011
Most efficient way to get rid of a romantic bugger
Some methods are more efficient than others to keep away bees and bugs. All kinds of bugs.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Archives : " among women " part deux
If you had any doubts remaning after the first article a few days ago...
Being jobless in the countryside at twenty years old expose you dangerously to your aunt, mother, sister, nanny... well... to anything with a dress and a wicked side !
Being jobless in the countryside at twenty years old expose you dangerously to your aunt, mother, sister, nanny... well... to anything with a dress and a wicked side !
Don't forget the medical visit !
Reminder: If your son reachs twenty years old without sexual intercourse, it's better to take an appointment to make sure everything is normal. Otherwise anomalies that could have been revealed thanks to a partner may be kept dangerously secret.
A quick exam consisting in :
1) global visual check .
2) evidence of no erectile dysfunction.
3) see if balls quickly comeback to their round shapes after two minutes of pressure, which is sign of normal production of semen.
If the exam is not done before twenty-four years old, some minor treatments are not totally reimbursed, so better not wait too long.
Of course if the Doctor is a family's friend, it's better than months on the waiting list !
A quick exam consisting in :
1) global visual check .
2) evidence of no erectile dysfunction.
3) see if balls quickly comeback to their round shapes after two minutes of pressure, which is sign of normal production of semen.
If the exam is not done before twenty-four years old, some minor treatments are not totally reimbursed, so better not wait too long.
Of course if the Doctor is a family's friend, it's better than months on the waiting list !
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