The Angels are at it again!

EWF Tonight

Let's Groove Tonight at the Boogie Wonderland... A Fantasy, 3 months after September... the venue will be set on Serpentine Fire, even After The Love Has Gone.

Growing Old

One of the perils with growing older is that you start getting afraid and you have fear, because you have more to lose. When we were younger, we didn't have much so we didn't risk much. As a result, life was simpler, decisions could be made quicker. You only really had yourself to think about.

As you grow older, you invest more in relationships, in careers, in decisions. Life starts to get difficult as you find yourself weighing the pros and cons of every situation, every option. Then you start to have people you really care about, which make decisions less likely to be selfish because you actually have to think about the people around you - how your actions may impact them, and if they may actually know you better than you think.

Being an adult has its perks, like having your own apartment, traveling solo, making your own money and creating your own destiny (of sorts). But it definitely doesn't get easier.

Look At Me

We all need someone to look at us. We can be divided into four categories according to the kind of look we wish to live under.

The first category longs for the look of an infinite number of anonymous eyes, in other words, for the look of the public. That is the case with the German singer, the American actress, and even the tall, stooped editor with the big chin. He was accustomed to his readers, and when one day the Russians banned his newspaper, he had the feeling that the atmosphere was suddenly a hundred times thinner. Nothing could replace the look of unknown eyes. He thought he would suffocate. Then one day he realized that he was constantly being followed, bugged, and surreptitiously photographed in the street. Suddenly he had anonymous eyes on him and he could breathe again! He began making theatrical speeches to the microphones in his wall. In the police, he had found his lost public.

The second category is made up of people who have a vital need to be looked at by many known eyes. They are the tireless host of cocktail parties and dinners. They are happier than the people in the first category, who, when they lose their public, have the feeling that the lights have gone out in the room of their lives. This happens to nearly all of them sooner or later. People in the second category, on the other hand, can always come up with the eyes they need. Marie-Claude and her daughter belong in the second category.

Then there is the third category, the category of people who need to be constantly before the eyes of the person they love. Their situation is as dangerous as the situation of people in the first category. One day the eyes of their beloved will close, and the room will go dark. Tereza and Tomas belong in the third category.

And finally there is the fourth category, the rarest, the category of people who live in the imaginary eyes of those who are not present. They are the dreamers. Franz, for example. He traveled to the borders of Cambodia only for Sabina. As the bus bumped along the Thai road, he could feel her eyes fixed on him in a long stare.

- Excerpt from Milan Kundera's "The Unbearable Lightness of Being"

Unspoken Words and Guilt

Without lifting his head from the pillow, he turned to her and nearly gasped: the grief burning in her eyes was unbearable.

"Tell me, Tereza, what's wrong? Something's been going on inside you lately. I can feel it. I know it."

"No." She shook her head. "There's nothing wrong."

"There's no point in denying it."

"It's still the same things," she said.

"The same things" meant her jealously and his infidelities.

But Tomas would not let up. "No, Tereza. This time it's something different. It's never been this bad before."

"Well then, I'll tell you," she said. "Go and wash your hair."

He did not understand.

The tone of her explanation was sad, unantagonistic, almost gentle. "For months now your hair has had a strong odor to it. It smells of female genitals. I didn't want to tell you, but night after night I've had to breathe in the groin of some mistress of yours."

The moment she finished, his stomach began hurting again. He was desperate. The scrubbings he'd put himself through! Body, hands, face, to make sure not the slightest trace of their odors remained behind. He'd even avoided their fragrant soaps, carrying his own harsh variety with him at all times. But he'd forgotten about his hair! It had never occurred to him!

Then he remembered the woman who had straddled his face and wanted him to make love to her with it and with the crown of his head. He hated her now. What stupid ideas! He saw there was no use denying it. All he could do was laugh a silly laugh and head for the bathroom to wash his hair.

But she stroked his forehead again and said, "Stay here in bed. Don't bother washing it out. I'm used to it by now."

His stomach was killing him, and he longed for peace and quiet. "I'll write to that patient of mine, the one we met at the spa. Do you know the district where his village is?"

"No."

Tomas was having great trouble talking. All he could say was, "Woods... rolling hills..."

"That's right. That's what we'll do. We'll go away from here. But no talking now..." And she kept stroking his forehead. They lay there side by side, neither saying a word. Slowly the pain began to recede. Soon they were both asleep.

- An excerpt from Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being

EARTH WIND AND FIRE!

EARTH WIND AND FIRE!!!

We've got on a date on 1st Dec!!! I'm putting on my dancing shoes, and you old farts better put up a good show!!!

La Vida es Sueño

La Vida es Sueño - Pedro Caldéron de la Barca

Sueña el rey que es rey, y vive
con este engaño mandando,
disponiendo y gobernando;
y este aplauso, que recibe
prestado, en el viento escribe,
y en cenizas le convierte
la muerte, ¡desdicha fuerte!
¿Que hay quien intente reinar,
viendo que ha de despertar
en el sueño de la muerte?

Sueña el rico en su riqueza,
que más cuidados le ofrece;
sueña el pobre que padece
su miseria y su pobreza;
sueña el que a medrar empieza,
sueña el que afana y pretende,
sueña el que agravia y ofende,
y en el mundo, en conclusión,
todos sueñan lo que son,
aunque ninguno lo entiende.

Yo sueño que estoy aquí
destas prisiones cargado,
y soñé que en otro estado
más lisonjero me vi.
¿Qué es la vida? Un frenesí.
¿Qué es la vida? Una ilusión,
una sombra, una ficción,
y el mayor bien es pequeño:
que toda la vida es sueño,
y los sueños, sueños son.