Heart,Liver, Soul

She will still be beautiful when she gets older, the structure and the economy is there.

I don't know you can use the word economy like that, but I get it. And it feels right.

When a man can describe a woman's beauty like this, you know he gets it and you know he get some real beauty in front of him.

But he then did even better, "She could show lots of heart, liver and soul in time." He is in love with her.

He begain to fall in love with her. She know everything is allright, even they don't talk.

I am in love with her too. I am in love with their love.

Does this kind of story repeat itself in a newer vesion, every tens of years?

His defense only make him in love more. His defenese self defeat.

I knew how that feel, I know when you want to give this all to someone that you want to be with, so much that you hurt just stand besides him, I know how that restraint unleash.

He talk about nothingness, he use this word like I use the world in my unpublished post, clean, and simple word, crafted sentences so perfect and it take you deep into it, wrap you up, let you dream and do not want to leave.

I felt in love reading his words, sharing their secrets, all of them, admiring woman of great beauty and woman of haunting prettiness, youth and soul that is older than her age.

Stubborn longing, take me now. You can not have just what you wanted. He resisted.

That sounds so very familiar. You told me that.

When did he fall in love, he is being presented this love, or long before that.

Can he love some woman and yet in love with another?

Can you love me while you love Trish?

What is our heart telling us? Or what is our heart imagining or want us to believe? We believe what we feel, that is the only thing reliable in this world, so in the end, nothing is.

These words, these love and longing, shapeless and colorless yet, by the only somewhat damaged souls, are so tender and yet so strong that they make you fall, fall when you also rises.

There are people, there are conversations, there are deep thoughts, secretive thoughts, there are attitudes, guesses of intents, there are names of objects and hotels, but mainly there are only souls and desires and love, a word that is very intangible.

There is the tension and tenderness you carry this infront of you, chewing on it as if you are just in love yourself. Like what you lost will be regained just like that, by opening this infront of you, then you are saved and loved.

I know now why Hemingway is jealous.

Life, Sweet Life

Am working on a Return On Investment Point of View deck right now for my client, 10:08PM, and watching (actually listening to) COPA live on a Spanish TV channel, on Sopcast.

I can hardly tell the Argentinian from Mexican, it is that blurry.

But at least, the suspesne won't kill me now.

I took some days off last week, I can not complain.

And when you are this busy, you are less prune for feeling sad. I feel so heart broken last night, being little drunk at daylight did not help.

It has been so long, yet when it hits you, it still suck so much. It suck so much now. Between the deck, the getting by, the trips, the sun, the wine, the poker game, the straight of cards, so well done, stars at night, the quietness of the valley, between the days and nights and looking toward the north and wonder whether you are still there, between all these, I could not forget, yet I also don't remember, only when I do. The ache of missing you shroud me like a veil.

Lying awake at my friend's living room,I feel the loss of gravity. The hasty temper and over delicacy sense of honor as a lover-I should read Sun Tzu better.

I am managed to be amused now, working late and listening to Soccer in Spanish. Deck is doing well.

But someone told me earlier tonight: don't work late, it is never worthwhile. She had a very good point.

It might be true.

Maybe I will take a break to go live in Paris or Lisbon, now that I have a greencard, I can slack a little.

I will play only staright cards from now on. I don't read your face and let's not bluff, I bet with my cards, lying face down. This sounds like a lyrics from Clem snide.

It is all about return on investment, yet, when it comes to love, I don't know how to evaluate it other than say, I feel it, I feel it, but I can not name the reason when it break me, I can not name the reason when it make me smile.

And Argentinian, don't you dare to be beaten.

Ratty Bliss and Others

Ratatouille first came to me as one of the advertising campaigns that we need to report on, in my new job. I told myself I better watch this film for all the hair pulling the team has done to get the number out.

Then I watched the trailer for 20 seconds, the scene on the river bank, when the boy and little rat was staring at each other through a glass jar:

"I can not cook, can I?

The little rat did not even hesitate and shook his little pointed head. I love his pink nose and innocent big eyes.

" You know how to cook?"

The little rat shrugged and opened his hands, like saying "yeh, you know..."

That is enough, I made my mind to see it this past weekend. And I never know the Clearview thearter on W 54 street is so gigantically red.

Pixar movie brought back warm memories, our visit to MOMA, your love of Incredible.

And I love this one not just for those memories, I love it for it is fantastic: the perfect computer created animation, the smart script, all the right and funny and cosy moments.

It has some of the favoriate things of mine: French cooking, Paris, streets of Paris, colors of Paris, mastery animation and lots and lots of laughter, hearty ones.

A little rat having a dream overlooking Paris. It melts my heart.

When the food critic took a bite of the Ratatouille, being instantly transfered back to that little boy, I was laughing, but meanwhile tears came out of my eyes, and I know those tears are not just for the laughing, it is also the tears of longing and gratifying, and warming of heart happening in ultra tensity and speed.

I can walk back anytime to watch it again, and again. I hope you have seen it.

This is a beautiful weekend in New York, no humidity, occasional breezy, city is not as crowded for the out of towners, simply loveable. I rode my bike up to Washington bridge with a friend, overlooking the island.

I saw the glass building that I last saw you in. It is among the dense green of trees. My island is so graceful and calm while I gaze it in silence.

We sat in a coffee shop at Washington Heights, seeing the limpid afternoon flowing. Newly discovered neighborhoods in the city are always lovely.

My shoulder blade was burned again since last weekend's ride in another city. I wait for the uneven tan, carving out memories of sun on the canvas of my smooth Asian skin.

Things I want to write down are: the K, Werner Hezog and Rescue Dawn, short stories that gave me solace, and how small the world is, only not for people who are once in love.

And more Rats! What is the difference between rat and mouse again?