Ginger Magnum

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. Escribir, por ejemplo: 'La noche está estrellada, y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos.' El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta. Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso. En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos. La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito. Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería. Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos. Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido. Oir la noche inmensa, más inmnesa sin ella. Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío. Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guadarla. La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo. Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido. Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca. Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo. La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles. No

Non omnis moriar

Membership_-An amusingly shaped boat

Norfolk- A disappointing night out in Yorkshire.

A nook is a corner and a cranny is a crack

"I've always liked extremes, the edges. I like to know where the cliff is, but you only find out by stepping off."- TERRY GILLIAM

The mountain in Chinese imagination is a magical place. An axis mundi where ancient wise men live on a diet of minerals and rare high altitude herbs. These men, called Immortals, have access to knowledge and skills that are unknown to ordinary men.

"The words "down" and "up", according to Fuller, are awkward in that they refer to a planar concept of direction inconsistent with human experience. The words "in" and "out" should be used instead, he argued, because they better describe an object's relation to a gravitational center, the Earth. "I suggest to audiences that they say, 'I'm going "outstairs" and "instairs."' At first that sounds strange to them; They all laugh about it. But if they try saying in and out for a few days in fun, they find themselves beginning to realize that they are indeed going inward and outward in respect to the center of Earth, which is our Spaceship Earth. And for the first time they begin to feel real 'reality."

Definitely fuck a girl in the summer. I mean midday, mid-summer, no air conditioning. Everything good and holy about female sexuality is so totally amplified by heat: that coma-haze of a couple of orgasms is deeper and heavier than usual (have you ever got drunk in a hot tub? It’s like that), and that hallucinatory impasse before coming lasts longer, and a couple orgasms beget another orgasm and another one, and then another one, all of them attended by extra doses of the warm stick of pussy and the fine drip of girl-sweat, and that drugsy, low-lidded day-sex look they’re doing at you after coming so much. At a certain point you’re both just wet, and that’s when you pour the glass of cold water you’re drinking all over yourselves (best/most obvious sex trick ever) and keep going. Also, the only other thing to do in real city heat is go to the movies, so….

"Is God a Cunt?"."no" ....... "God is responsible for all the things I love, the speckles on a brown trout; the sound of Angus Young's guitar, the nape of my girlfriend's neck, the song of the blackcap when he returns in Spring. I never blame God for all the shit, for the baby Rwandan slaughtered in a casual genocide, the ever-present wars, drudgery and misery that fills most of our lives." -Bill Drummond