Dreaming of Lesbos

April 30, 2020

I can enter the morning with traces of an eternal dream: to live
on a planet of women. we sing in the fertile forest, caress on
lavender hills, bathe beneath cascades of clear waters. and just
like that, nude and wet, we mount each other’s bodies. our
desire is a whale that searches for calm in the depth of the sea.

I smell sex in my hair when I awaken.

the dream perfumes all of my days. I go to the post office and
look for stamps with etchings of flowers and fruits so that I can
send letters to the women who loved me in my sleep.

we are in a world that is not ours. what do we do with the
dreams that touch our consciousness in the nude each night?

our planet of women is nothing more than a dream. who knows
how many of us bathe in the woods or which ones of us have
wings that let us fly with our flesh? it’s not for anyone to know.
fortunately, we always dream paradise, we make it ours. there,
we find each other and live in our collective memory.

and so, I smell sex in my hair when I awaken.

Tatiana de la Tierra

No more fucks to give

April 30, 2020

I’ve tried, tried, tried
And I’ve tried even more
I’ve Cried, Cried, Cried
And I can’t recall what for
I’ve pressed, I’ve pushed, I’ve yelled, I’ve begged
In hope of some success
But the inevitable fact is that
It never will impress

I’ve no more fucks to give,
My fucks have runneth dry,
I’ve tried to go fuck shopping
But there’s no fucks left to buy
I’ve no more fucks to give,
Though more fucks I’ve tried to get,
I’m over my fuck budget and
I’m now in fucking debt

I strive, strive, strive
To get everything done
I’ve played by all the rules
But I’ve very rarely won,
I’ve smiled, I’ve charmed, I’ve wooed I’ve laughed,
Alas to no avail
I’ve run round like a moron,
To unequivocally fail!

I’ve no more fucks to give,
My fuck fuse has just blown,
I’ve been hunting for my fucks all day,
But they’ve upped and fucked off home,
I’ve no more fucks to give,
My fuck rations are depleted,
I’ve rallied my fuck army but It’s been fucking defeated!

The effort has just not been worth
The time or the expense
I’ve exhausted all my energy
For minimal recompense
The complete lack of acknowledgement
Has now begun to gall
And I’ve come to realise that I
Don’t give a fuck at all!

I’ve no more fucks to give,
My fucks have flown away,
My fucks are now so fucked off
They’ve refused to fucking stay!
I’ve no more fucks to give,
My fucks have gone insane
They’ve come back round and passed me
While they’re fucking off again!

I’ve no more fucks to give,
My fucks have all dissolved,
I’ve planned many projects
But my fucks won’t be involved!
I’ve no more fucks to give,
My fucks have all been spent,
They’ve fucked off from the building
And I don’t know where they went!

I’ve no more fucks to give,
I’ve no more fucks to give,
I’ve no more fucks,
I’ve no more fucks,
I’ve no more fucks to give!

Thomas Benjamin Wild

In Hamilton’s The Universe Wreckers…it was in that novel that, for the first time, I learned Neptune had a satellite named Triton…It was from The Drums of Tapajos that I first learned there was a Mato Grosso area in the Amazon basin. It was from The Black Star Passes and other stories by John W. Campbell that I first heard of relativity.

The pleasure of reading about such things in the dramatic and fascinating form of science fiction gave me a push toward science that was irresistible. It was science fiction that made me want to be a scientist strongly enough to eventually make me one.

That is not to say that science fiction stories can be completely trusted as a source of specific knowledge…However, the misguiding’s of science fiction can be unlearned. Sometimes the unlearning process is not easy, but it is a low price to pay for the gift of fascination over science.”

Isaac Asimov
Before the Golden Age: A Science Fiction Anthology of the 1930s (Intro)

So therefore I dedicate myself, to my art, my sleep, my dreams, my labours, my suffrances, my loneliness, my unique madness, my endless absorption and hunger because I cannot dedicate myself to any fellow being.

Jack Kerouac
Letter to Myself – September 5, 1945

The song of angels

April 30, 2020

No one sings as purely as those who inhabit the deepest hell – what we take to be the song of angels is their song.

Franz Kafka
August 1920 letter to Milena Jesenská


April 30, 2020

Always remember, boys & girls, to lose means you’ve stopped fighting.