Round oranges. Plenty of them. Lying one next to each other, sometimes one on top of the other. Eine auf dem ruecken und eine ueber ihr. Beautiful oranges sitting on that tray. I take one and save it for later. It shall satiate both hunger and thirst when night falls over me without asking if I am done with all my day's work. I shall be filled with exasperation to read those lines that seem to become longer and more complex as my eyes try to catch them.
I will carve my teeth through her skin. Without mercy. Without having pity on ruining such perfect shape or depriving her of garments. I will find her trying to protect herself with that bitter white cover that I will bite all the same, for my desire for her sweet inside will be stronger. And I will proceed to alternate between bitting off the acid peel and the pulp. I will enjoy biting the porous bit of her structure, even if when it makes my lips hurt in an unusual way when the acid is splashed on them. And I will be mocked by everyone who happens to see me soaked in sticky orangy juice but I will not mind. And I will not mind either the persistence of the pain in my lips and the bits of pulp that remain in my teeth even after brushing them twice.
martes, 27 de noviembre de 2007
lunes, 5 de noviembre de 2007
Facebook is the devil
http://www.xkcd.com/355/
It was a Saturday afternoon when he poked her. Yes. In an impulse, he decided to go for it and click the left button of the mouse and poke that woman he had seen about 6 times, sitting usually three rows ahead in phi876h. She usually held her hair back in a ponytail and yawned a lot in class, and dressed modestly, but in her profile picture she usually showed her real self: smiling with a group of friends and showing her qualities with a better angle than the one he could see from back there in the classroom. So he poked. Just to see her reaction. Just to give it a try. Maybe she had also gone through his pictures once and once again in the night, and maybe she also knew the names of all his friends and all his pets. And so a few days went back and she poked back. Oh my god! She poked back.
This was followed by a series of poking back and forward that concluded in the greatest event: they friended each other. And then writing in their corresponding walls began and life was ecstasy. Life was good. They asked each other if they had handed in the essay, they commented on the upcoming social activities, on music. And then, with an email notification, she found that he had sent a message, a private message that none of her friends could see, but would soon receive through a copy paste on a msn message. He was asking her out. And she did not know what to reply. Could she say she knew him? They only waved in class but were very active in their Facebook interaction. Always fast to reply, always had some witty commentary. She said yes.
They had been sitting in a Starbucks for an hour now and the conversation was good. They had relatively enough things in common and uncomfortable silences were not too many to be concerned of.
A month after this encounter, their profiles did not say single anymore, but In a relationship with. But he had doubts. He noticed her staring at that piece of information a few times, probably wishing she had not said yes to: confirm x as your boyfriend?
It was a new Saturday afternoon and she was taking a shower, getting ready to go out with him and some friends. And she forgot to sign out. And he saw it.
A guy she had mentioned before. He was in the basketball team. No, in her French class. Was it him? Whoever it was, he had poked her. And he needed to say something. He asked her for an explanation. She said she had not poked him first nor back. She was confused. She felt trapped. He wanted answers and she was hiding behind lack of proof. And then he asked her to show him her Inbox.
That was the end. It was not only poking, it was also messages, tons of them. He could never continue a relationship with someone who was poking and sending messages to another man. And he erased her name from her Friends list.
It was a Saturday afternoon when he poked her. Yes. In an impulse, he decided to go for it and click the left button of the mouse and poke that woman he had seen about 6 times, sitting usually three rows ahead in phi876h. She usually held her hair back in a ponytail and yawned a lot in class, and dressed modestly, but in her profile picture she usually showed her real self: smiling with a group of friends and showing her qualities with a better angle than the one he could see from back there in the classroom. So he poked. Just to see her reaction. Just to give it a try. Maybe she had also gone through his pictures once and once again in the night, and maybe she also knew the names of all his friends and all his pets. And so a few days went back and she poked back. Oh my god! She poked back.
This was followed by a series of poking back and forward that concluded in the greatest event: they friended each other. And then writing in their corresponding walls began and life was ecstasy. Life was good. They asked each other if they had handed in the essay, they commented on the upcoming social activities, on music. And then, with an email notification, she found that he had sent a message, a private message that none of her friends could see, but would soon receive through a copy paste on a msn message. He was asking her out. And she did not know what to reply. Could she say she knew him? They only waved in class but were very active in their Facebook interaction. Always fast to reply, always had some witty commentary. She said yes.
They had been sitting in a Starbucks for an hour now and the conversation was good. They had relatively enough things in common and uncomfortable silences were not too many to be concerned of.
A month after this encounter, their profiles did not say single anymore, but In a relationship with. But he had doubts. He noticed her staring at that piece of information a few times, probably wishing she had not said yes to: confirm x as your boyfriend?
It was a new Saturday afternoon and she was taking a shower, getting ready to go out with him and some friends. And she forgot to sign out. And he saw it.
A guy she had mentioned before. He was in the basketball team. No, in her French class. Was it him? Whoever it was, he had poked her. And he needed to say something. He asked her for an explanation. She said she had not poked him first nor back. She was confused. She felt trapped. He wanted answers and she was hiding behind lack of proof. And then he asked her to show him her Inbox.
That was the end. It was not only poking, it was also messages, tons of them. He could never continue a relationship with someone who was poking and sending messages to another man. And he erased her name from her Friends list.
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