another issue proving how antiquated my views are.

the answers are short & simple:
- personally, probably loaded with utensils to live it up...
- a card or parcel, smth to hold in hands.
i'd only call if i wouldn't end up as a deleted message on a voice mail, which is pretty much the same reason why i think felicidades vía email son un vicio and quite impersonal.

so, if i stick with my usual dusty & rusty vintage behaviour, why using a modern and fashionable medium like a blog to show sincere attentiveness? - when the aforesaid seems unadjusted, or when you know the birthday person will have an eager look if there are any dangerous revelations in his/her honor, probably expecting virtual confessions like "how splendid that you are alive!".

therefore. most of you can skip this. its gonna be unbearable syrupy, and if you already think my mind is stuffed with millions of noxious thoughts - this is gonna be the utter unhealthy sugar shock.

this one goes out to the one....

- personally: i guess soon. utensils to live it up: most definitely!
- smth to hold in hands: hopefully already or within the next days.
- on the phone: i shall be waking you up in a couple of hours with a hysteric call from a box.

...but i know you will have a look here as soon as you get up. your head heavy from last night. no one to cook you soup, but you are hungry. and as the real stuff will come through all the other channels, sooner or later, in my usual minimalist ways, why don't i feed you with some exuberant kitsch meanwhile? i could do it only here, on a place where i am not myself, but others/several, and principally grandiloquent. only here: words as sweet as a butter cream cake with heavy fondant icing and sugar flowers, with heaps of whipped cream.

and what a better association could there be, than a culinary one?

you are the icing on the cake. you are the icing to a cake i usually find hard to eat, merciless friendship, seductively you cover my reluctance to open my mouth & heart with a treacly hug.
honey: you are like the sugar i don't need in my coffee. slowly you sprinkled yourself over my life, as i realized i became addicted to your taste.


[interposed question: does that hurt like caries after too many sweets to others too, or just me?! seriously! where i go for salt & spices, the one & only is graving for chocolate. so i've to continue.]

honestly: why do you always make me do things i don't want to do/am not supposed to do?
- you tell me to stay when i am meant to leave. quite impressing performance.
- you tell me to fuck the system which i set up for myself long before you stopped playing with dolls.
- you make me write, talk, although i want to be quiet.
- you make me want, always more, although i rather prefer a restrained frugality.

i am not a person who needs much. not much more than myself. and if i want something: than please: best quality. food, music, fashion, words, [...], movies, work, love.

you are.



you are a really weird person.


we have: a really weird relationship.

only with you i can do really weird things.

the past 6 months with you have been really weird. even more than my life usually is.
my life with you: filled like a brand new box of mints. and like a real red/golden one, this box doesn't only provide the expected refreshing taste, but a little surprise every once in a while.

you know what surprises me most? - not your generosity. not your empathy. not your nursing.
i am amazed by the candid naturalness you gave yourself to me, expecting that you grow in my hands like a sprout to a plant. others would feel challenged in their integrity, maybe sense a step towards a dependent existence. but you want to be taught. you ask me to explain you things, you watch me to learn. you not only want to grow in the same forest, you want me to be fertilizer to your earth, you want me to be the soil for your roots.

i don't know what the future holds for us. the past already brought us from heaven to hell, and backwards. probably we will end up in a small chalet by the sea in iceland. editing mutually our writing. an old espresso machine constantly on the oven, collecting peach, plum, pear and belladonna, preserving cranberries to jam and liquor, picking each others gray hairs. a sustainable, self-sufficient life, in sweet harmony, peace, and insanity....

not sure if i am sufficient. but i'm convinced this blog entry is adumbrating the breadth of what your friendship means to me, as it is already leading away from the syrupy gateau de la mégalomanie towards my very real astonished gratitude for your existence.

and when i'm real, i usually become very silent....but not before i sing you a birthday serenade, of course. and it wouldn't be me, for you, if it wasn't melodramatic.
the chocolate coated cherry on top of a multi-layered cake called raminta m.