wine

wine is like music. when you see a musical instrument you immediately fall under its magnificence. with wine it's the same thing. the color encites you just when looking at it. the red of it, the white of it. i never like the color white. i think it doesn't have character. if you argue that it does have a character, it's the character of the rejection of all characters. it's disdain. but white wine... it's not exactly white but nakedness. nudity, not in a promiscuous way but in an innocent and royal way.

always have chosed red wine with my food. it goes well with cigarettes.

i recently saw a movie called: Tout le matins de la Monde. All the Mornings of the World. magnificent. love the cello. it has got to be my favorite instrument. more than the piano and the violin and the harp and the wind instruments. especially when it's deep and brooding. it keeps me grounded almost. it doesn't excite and fool me like most music does. it makes me want to be a better person. kkkkk.

i am tired of myself bitching about everything in this life. when all i have is all that there possibly could be in this world. i have the world at my feet, i have myself at my feet. and yet, i feel that i am scared. and so i back off, almost recoil. why is it that women have this innate fear of being better than our image. fear of stepping out of the frame. or fear of being alone.

i also recently saw the movie The Women. i liked it. i wish in reality life was like that. women actually not backstabbing and pulling each other down. when a man stabs you, it's normal. no matter what you do you cannot save a man from his own fallic ego. but when a woman does it, it hurts like hell, it scares. it freaks. at least it does me.

or maybe i'm just not experienced enough to be talking on this issue and that is the truth.

i know

i know it got quite queer... this is the last thing on icarus that i'm gonna post. kkk. there're not even my things. i don't know. ever since seeing the painting in a lit book in highschool, i haven't been able to forget it. i guess it really tied up with what i was going through in life then... but somehow i have a feeling it doesn't just address to teenage hormonal stage... it's life. remember, the old masters were never wrong about suffering.

but i hope, and this blog thing is in hope of this hope, that one day icarus will fly. without feathers and oil but with his own spirit.

icarus many faces

the sense and sensibility of sweet sixteen

Musée Des Beaux Arts
by W. H. Auden

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind a tree.
In Brueghel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.