Happiness...is a warm puppy!


Daddy, can I get a kiss?


Hey! What about me???

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Ipod

So many things... Life is full of joys, and full of toys...I want to work out more, and I want an Ipod to do it with. I'm not sure anymore which begets the other, whether I want to workout more and so I need the Ipod, or whether I want the Ipod and so I need to workout more to justify buying one. With so many expenses in my life right now I definitely can't just go and buy one, not without first suffering over it and considering a million factors, tossing and turning a couple of sleepless nights, comparing prices and poring over the sales sheets...then going out and buying the first one I see. Either way, knowing myself the way I do, it's already a given that I'm going to buy one. But established procedures must be observed. Whatever. Just thought I'd drop by and try my hand at this again briefly...see if I can summon up the courage to go back to posting on a steady basis. I want to see if I can do this without feeling sorry for myself, and begging for sympathy. Tha
Read more

A red rose for Claudia

Image
I cut a red rose close to the head and removed its thorns. It was small, but fully opened. Its fragrance filled my air and made me think of Claudia. Carefully, I placed it on an open page from the book I bought her. Baudellaire's collected poems. Not very romantic, but we both shared the same love for dark poetry. The rose found its place, evenly pressed by the weight of the pages around it. I kept the book for several days afterwards, to ensure that the rose took it well. When it works, the rose maintains its color and brightness with a trace of its aroma. Mine looked fine. Claudia was sitting alone, reading, at a small cafe called The Place, not far from where she lived. She was still wearing her school uniform, but she had on a thick, white virgin wool sweater over the top. It was the button down type, with big brown wood-like buttons. She looked terrific. Barely fifteen, and she lit my world. She was taking a sip from her tea as I approached. "Hi," I
Read more

San Lorenzo

I recall the beaten path of rocky grass, entrenched by moss covered stone walls. It ran alongside the border of my father's farm, and for many miles farther across the foot of the mountain. El Camino Real, it was called. Too narrow and contoured for any wheeled vehicle, it was only to be traveled afoot or on horseback.   Before the advent of carriages -and later motor cars- brought about the need for better roads, El Camino Real was the only way for the local folk to cross the territory without trespassing on somebody else's property. In rural Colombia, during the early twentieth century, the lands were vast and sparsely populated, and the laws were vague and barely enforced. People brandished machetes and shotguns, and defended their turf by whatever means necessary. Many shallow graves were dug near the riverbank; unmarked and unvisited.     Inhabited mostly by mestizos and descendants of the tribal natives who innocently welcomed the Spaniards and the slaughter they
Read more