the soundtrack of the hopeful life – aural sex

She may be the face I can't forget
A trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price
I have to pay

She may be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day

She may be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven
Or a hell

She may be the mirror of my dream
A smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell

She who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No-one's allowed to see them
When they cry
She maybe the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past
That I'll remember 'til
The day I die

She may be the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the
Rough and rainy years

Me I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is she

She, Charles Aznavour

life lessons that are priceless – oral sex

Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tir’d with standing though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,
Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals.
Off with that wiry Coronet and shew
The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow:
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes, heaven’s Angels used to be
Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee
A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,
By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go,
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! my new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann’d,
My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta’s balls, cast in men’s views,
That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a Gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made
For lay-men, are all women thus array’d;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Must see reveal’d. Then since that I may know;
As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew
Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
There is no penance due to innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first; why then
What needst thou have more covering than a man.

To His Mistress Going to Bed, John Donne

  

life in the country – counting my chickens

Free range – Herdade do Barquete, Assumar (no, not my chickens, alas)

life in the country – toys for boys

Herdade do Barquete – Assumar, Oct. '14

Do you wish your kids spent less time messing around with the Playstation? Take them to a farm.

life lessons that are priceless– guilt as an incentive to creative work

"First things first: some serious procrastination. I tidy my bench, and in the process more distractions appear: something to repair, or a half-finished project that demands attention. When the sum of the guilt of not getting started is equal to or larger than my ability to stall, I start the proper work."

Two Turtle Doves, A Memoir of Making Things – Alex Monroe

Me, I hang the laundry out to dry, move pencils around, switch the order of books on shelves, check my emails, and then check them again … Any excuse to put off the moment when I finally have to, HAVE TO, trace the first fucking line on a sheet of paper. Agony.

life afloat – up close and personal

life afloat – catch me if you can

life on the hill – crown of thorns

The first chestnuts on the Hill – minuscule and inedible, but a start nevertheless