54 • São Paulo, São Paulo, Brazil
Male / ID: 542109
Seeking Female 18 - 35 living within 50 kms of São Paulo, São Paulo, Brazil For: Romance / Dating
Last active: over 12 months ago
American, French, Middle Eastern, Barbecue, Cajun / Southern, Greek, Italian, Southwestern, Mediterranean
Jazz / Blues
Cinema Paradiso, Mediterraneo, Il Postino, The Russia House
Style governs words.
Words govern honesty.
Honest writing makes a masterpiece.
There are, therefore, too many books on my shelves to mention.
Sea-bass, deep conversation, and making love. Montepulciano, Valpolicella, and St. Emilion.
Dress sense: smart casual. Physical appearance: clean.
From the Irish by Ian Duhig
According to Dineen, a Gael unsurpassed in lexicographical enterprise, the Irish for moon means 'the white circle in a slice of half-boiled potato or turnip'. A star is the mark on the forehead of a beast and the sun is the bottom of a lake, or well.
Well, if I say to you your face is like a slice of half-boiled turnip, your hair is the colour of a lake's bottom and at the centre of each of your eyes is the mark of the beast, it is because I want to love you properly, according to Dineen.
One must keep one's interests in all that life can afford
Not only traveled, but lived! Africa, Europe, and the Americas.
But there is one special place:
Lisbon is a jewel that hangs from the long-lined language of a woman's neck to reveal her womanhood. Olisippo, Olissipona, Ulyssippo, Allis Ubbo, Ulishbona, al-Isbunah, al-Usbona - perhaps. Perhaps it is even the city that Ulysses founded. But the poem is Aschbouna.
With my background? Very!
They say the sun shone now and again
but it was probably cloudy with far too much rain.
They say the greatest train robbery in history took place,
who else wants to steal a train.
They say cabinet ministers and osteopaths
were particularly vulgar about this time,
they say babies were born,
married couples made love,
often with each other
and people died, sometimes violently.
They say it was an average, ordinary, moderate,
run-of-the-mill, common-or-garden summer,
but it wasn’t.
For I locked a yellow door
and I threw away the key
and I spent summer with Monica
and Monica spent summer with me.
Unlike everybody else we made friends with the weather,
most days the sun called and sprawled all over the place,
or the wind blew in as breezily as ever
and ran its fingers through our hair.
But usually it was the moon that kept us company.
Some days we thought about the sea-side
and built sandcastles on the blankets
and paddled in the pillows
or swam in the sink,
and played with the shoals of dishes.
Other days we went for long walks around the table
And picnicked on the banks of the settee.
Or just sun-bathed lazily in front of the fire
Until the shilling set on the horizon.
We danced a lot that summer
bosa nova-ed by the bookcase,
or Madisoned instead,
Hulli-gullied by the oven,
or did the twist in bed.
At first we kept birds in a transistor box to sing for us,
but sadly they died,
we being too embraced in each other to feed them.
But it didn’t really matter
because we made love songs with our bodies.
I became the words and she put me to music.
They say it was just like any other summer,
but it wasn’t.
For we had love and each other and the moon for company,
when I spent summer with Monica
and Monica spent summer with me.
"People want the man who is still seeking to have already reached his conclusions.' Albert Camus.
"Europe has what we do not have yet, a sense of the mysterious and inexorable limits of life, a sense, in a word, of tragedy. And we [in the Americas] have what they sorely need: a new sense of life's possibilities." James Baldwin
Having a Coke with you
is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluoresent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I'm with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o'clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles
and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it's in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven't gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn't pick the rider as carefully
as the horse
it seems they were all cheated of some marvellous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it
Did you mean: