Lady Astor´s Tea Party

Nowhere

2011-10-17T15:15:00.001-03:00

One day I ceased writing.
The mere act of lifting a pen
Felt like treason.
I was tired.

I feel tired many times.
And only recently
Have I started to wonder…
Is it exhaustion or is it myself?

I’m starting to realize
That maybe I’m tired of my mask.
That the myriad of intricacies
Which perfect one’s personality
Could be tiring me.

I can no longer find myself,
Nor find joy in the things
Which made me happy.
Nothing tastes like Nostalgia.

But she is elusive,
And I can no longer find her
In the torn pages of an old book,
Or in the simple wonder of my garden.

And as I lose myself,
Even deeper in the shadows
Of a mind which rarely gave me
Reasons for a smile
I feel I’m drowning.

All the plans are gone,
All the truths are wrong.
I have lived misled,
Trying to climb a staircase to Nowhere.

The Twelve and the Daily Coward

2011-02-14T12:59:00.003-03:00

Dearest Readers,

I return after a long while, after a gap of silence. It was not really intended, it just happened so… Last year’s end, the bacchanalia of the holidays, travelling and working had me immersed in the realities of modern daily life. My muse took a holiday as well I believe.

Oh well, here I am, doing my usual scribbling, pondering and philosophizing, enjoying a classic cup of tea with milk, sans sugar.

xoxo,
Lady Astor

………………………………….

Are “The Twelve” archetypes
Of the olden Gods
The blueprint for the human souls?
Are we bound to make the same mistakes,
Over and over again,
Until we correct ourselves?
Are we biological sentient entities,
Programmed and thought up by others,
To accomplish a goal in a scheme
We cannot truly comprehend?

These are the questions I asked myself
When pondering of “The Twelve”,
Yesterday alone at lunchtime,
As I watched eager families
Enjoying their Sunday stroll.

Alone in my beliefs,
I try to understand existence,
This intricate puzzle we call life.
I have seen few moments of pure happiness,
Although I cannot say
I have not been fortunate at times.
I have lived though many guises,
Laid my bones in many places,
Known futility in my hunger to learn.
To know the nature of the soul.

I have only but failed
In my obsession
To grasp the unattainable.
The door opens for a second,
Then it’s slammed right in my face.

I have no love for routine,
Care nothing of waking up
At the same time
Every single day…
Guilt and duty make sure I comply.
And I wonder who and why,
Decided this should be life.
Strangled by obligations
Unable to be free at last,
Dependent on time…

Why do we continue
To play the part
In this crazy play
Where there is no gain
Other than coin?
Why do I keep on acting
Like a coward without fulfilment
Letting the days go by,
Giving away my life
And feeling sorry for myself
If the fire of Creation
Is supposedly in my soul?
Or are we created slaves
For the benefit of few
And that is the real ruse?

I think myself,
I think around myself,
I contemplate.
And see no perfection,
But cowardice…

………………………………….

Prometheus and his brother Atlas.

Another Man

2010-11-08T16:42:00.006-03:00

My Friends,
Argentina has mourned the loss of their former president and current president’s husband Nestor Kirchner. My views on the current administration have never been forgiving; therefore, I waited for some time until I posted my poetic views on Mr Kirchner’s demise.
To those readers who see in him something I do not I beg forgiveness, hopefully I am mistaken. But these are my opinions, and as such subjective and maybe flawed, but at least they are fully mine.

Godspeed!
Lady Astor

.....................................................

A rich man passed away.
Today, it was less than a fortnight ago.
I made myself wait
Until I last dared
To write and publish
What I must say.

A powerful man passed away,
As powerful as a man can be,
As cunning as a man can be…
He wielded power with an iron fist.

Yet crying masses of people
Mourned his demise.
Friends and family of mine
Attended the grandiose wake.
The funeral of a Statesman,
A Ruler of these Southern Lands.

Yet I can’t understand
Why the slave cries
Over his Master’s death.
Does the slave not know how to be free?

Huge mass of grey crowd,
Gathers to cry beneath the rain.
This is Plaza de Mayo.
Crowds have cried in this spot,
Mothers have mourned in this spot,
For over two hundred years.

I can’t understand their weeping,
Am I too detached?
This man and his wife exercised power
Like few others before them.

They were unable, however to bring Justice,
To end corruption,
To change the backbone of this hungry land.
Yet they were apt enough
To increase their huge wealth.
And increase their friends’ wealth as well…

Hundreds of thousands grieved for this man,
I can’t understand why…
I respect their pain,
But cannot help to wonder why.

A Machiavellian wonder,
The victory of Saturn over Apollo,
A kingdom of falseness,
The tears of the crocodile,
The Isis of Osiris wears the mask of war,
The Lost Souls of the slave mind weep.

What will it be? Who will we be?
They long for a Father
Then turn for a Mother.
Nobody wants to grow up.

For some an agent of change.
For others a criminal mastermind,
For his party members a lost leader,
For the think tanks a myth to be founded,
For his family the loss of the patriarch,
For the Gods… Just another man.

.....................................................

Ages in Violence

2010-10-22T23:08:00.002-03:00

Full perfect Moon in the night sky, a dark week down South. A dark poem for dark times. Hopefully, violence births a new Era, and silences the incessant lies.

Love as always,
Lady Astor

.............................

Worlds are created by violence
Stars are born through violence
Galaxies are formed.
Dark matter,
Interstellar mass,
Dense gas clouds in full Technicolor.

Stars are born from chaos,
And at the end of their lives
They blow up as supernovas.
Huge explosions!

Life as we know it
As the never-ending,
Intertwining serpent,
Which twirls and bites
Its eternal tail
From Alpha to Omega.

All life is born through violence.
And love is violent,
And sex is violent.
And yet, we fail to see its beauty.

Because darkness can be beautiful,
Like the forbidden taste of yage,
Doorway to the land of Gods.
But beware, beware!
Because the ancient powers
Can punch you in the face.

We are taught to abhor violence,
Even if innate to the human condition.
But do not doubt...
We are violent, because we are alive.

.............................

Death of a Star in Cassiopeia

Going Home

2010-09-19T21:35:00.003-03:00

Dearest Friends,

You might have noticed a pattern lately in my poetry, I am sometimes incensed by the lack of reason and constant repetition of thoughts society displays. I beg you forgive my anger. I feel strongly about things, sometimes too much.

The following poem was written on the plane back home, returning from my holidays in the lovely Patagonian city of Bariloche.
I just had a lovely green tea, after a night of hard celebrations for my 10th year anniversary with my lovely husband, partner, and best friend. It was also his birthday.

Love as always,
Lady Astor

…………………………………………………………..

Going home…
Things always become weird
When holidays are over
And you get to head back home.

“Home is where the heart is.”
If this were true
I would be living in London,
Athens, Cairo or Rome.

Where is my heart?
Where is my home?
I am Ulysses
Forever lost.

I´m just a simple soul
Who tries to wear a smile
As often as she can,
Most of the time.

But to feel the scorn
Of care and love forlorn
Takes the smile away
Closeby, or far away.

…………………………………………………………..

For Manes´sake!

2010-09-14T13:49:00.003-03:00

This poem is dedicated to fellow Argentine poet Belén Iannuzzi, in the hopes she can cease to watch the world in black and white and tunes into technicolor.

From Lady, with love

...............................................................

There is Light
In the deep Darkness
Of the void.
Stars shine
Through the shadows
Of the blackest night.

The beauty of the dusk and dawn,
In which the conflict
Of Light and dark
Becomes more evident,
Can be more delightful
Than the blinding sun,
Or the moonless night.

Yet so many yearn
For a World defined
By black and white.
Unwittingly denying
The many shades of grey
Which lie in both nature and heart.

I want to be the raging sea
That brings the bountiful catch.
I want to burn
Like the cleansing fires
That will later bring the crops.
I want to be the embodiment
Of a blazing star at midnight.

Those who want it simple,
Always yelling "wolf!"
Will never be capable
Of learning the flow,
The fire and ice,
Of the nature’s child.
Neither good nor evil,
Neither “Tis nor Tat”.

Yet you point the finger,
And believe you’re righteous,
Bringing back an Old Persian’s
Flawed and archaic thoughts.
And the nerve to call others “vintage”
In their ways and words!

When you are blind to see
Outside your own tiny World,
I tell you things
are almost never what they seem.

...............................................................

Vincent needs no introduction

Let it snow

2010-08-23T20:23:00.003-03:00

My dearest friends,

I am now sitting next to a sleeping mountain dog, my only companion while I wait for my husband to return from his skiing session. I do not ski, so I brought over my computer to keep track of my friends and family on these idle hours.

I enjoyed these holidays very much, my first holidays in five long years. Too bad they have to end… But as I type along I think of all those who can’t afford to have holidays, those who have never seen, never will see the pure white snow cover the dirt and make it beautiful.

There is much talk about inequity in my country. And it should be an angry debate more than a talk, for most suffer in silence. But those who have the loudest voice, are the very same who rob opportunities to the working citizen, who create the monopolies they accuse others of having, who roam around the Earth in private jets and lavish jewels while hunger and ignorance surround the land they represent.

I will not tolerate the hypocritical banter of corrupt millionaires, who increased their fortune thanks to inequity. I refuse to listen to lies. I refuse to take sides. The current Argentinean government wants people to be with them by any means, and whoever disagrees becomes an instant enemy. But I dislike their enemies too, relics of a past we all want to leave behind.

I am one. I am independent. I write because I can, in the name of all who have no voice, we are all pawns in this insane power struggle. I write in English, modern day’s Latin, so my words can be understood far and wide.

Open your eyes!

Loves you always,
Lady Astor

…………………………………………………………………

Never saw the snow
Like today before.
The bright white,
Bright white light.
Like Christmas in American movies
Where everyone is happy.

I am happy too,
And still I haven’t got the fear
That grips most human souls
At the end of their short vacations.

Holidays are always short
For those who toil
In the never ending rat race
Of modern life.
For we are not rats
But human beings.

Is there something we can do
To end this game?
On some newspaper
I read about the news today.

A proven crook,
Who obediently follows
His master’s voice – a bigger crook,
Tries to scare us by saying
We are being disobedient.
He clearly never read Thoreau…

But still, there is the snow…
The pure untainted snow,
For those lucky to afford it,
Mainly people from abroad.

And the goons believe they’re clever.
To a certain extent they are.
They’re almost as clever as Adolf,
Or Josef, or Ho or old Mao.
Bang!
The shit goes down.

Today I am happy,
But tomorrow will shortly come.
And so I sharpen my pencil…
I´m going back to the field in no time.

…………………………………………………………………

Cerro Otto, Bariloche, Argentina

We must simply exchange our tea for chocolate!

The Troll

2010-07-26T19:40:00.004-03:00

I’m sadly amazed at the levels of violence we humans are using while operating in the free arena that is the Internet. Makes me wonder how life would be if Government and State would cease to exist… And believe me this is cause of grief, because I am an anarchist, and I hate big Government.

Saddened because I encounter this behaviour daily, in posts regarding all sorts of topics, and with people of all walks of life and all sorts of educational levels. It leaves me pondering if we ever will become free of the tyranny of our egos. I know I am to blame as well, because I am also a narcissist, because I want to be right… But at what cost? That, my friends is the ultimate question.

Those in South America may enjoy a lovely cup of boldus tea, but I’m afraid it might be hard to find in the boreal regions of the planet.

My love as always,
Lady Astor

………………………………………………

I hate you
Because I think.
I know what lies within your head.
I am pretty certain,
Just by looking at you,
What is on your mind.

Moreover,
Upon checking out two words you said
I can tell the entire structure of your thought.
Where you are from,
Where you were before
And where you will be.

Because I know.
I know you are wrong.
And I am of course,
Completely right.
And if you haven’t noticed
I can tell all that, with a blink of my mind’s eye!

But you see,
I’m completely tolerant.
If someone ever thought up a statue
To commemorate the most equitable person on Earth.
My effigy would become
The monument’s grandiose face.

Your years of study,
Your abilities
Your contemplation…
Are all irrelevant.
Resistance is futile.
I am right and you are wrong.

Simple as that.
Because I might be a troll,
But I’m also sure,
I’m on the good side of the fence.
I just know I’m right
And you are not.

………………………………………………

The Troll is illustrated by John Kovalic

Friend in Light

2010-07-21T16:13:00.005-03:00

Yesterday was “Friend’s Day” in Argentina. One of those annoyingly commercial dates that count on media manipulation, so that everyone feels guilt should they not give gifts – or phone calls, e-mails, assorted greetings, etc - away to their friends… And by friends I mean anyone from annoying peers at work to your old high school buddies.
I chose to write this poem on the day after. It’s dedicated to one of my best friends, who has also been portrayed in several other poems, which can be found in this very log.
I believe it can be better enjoyed in the company of some ginger tea.

……………………………………………………

Friend in Light
Without fright
Takes a dive
Deep in the night.

Open wide
Your curious eyes
With the spark
Of a newborn child.

Look up
At the changing stars.
Upwards is
What downwards does.

In due time
You will see
That you are
What you will.

If you will
With true love,
You will know
What you are.

Real is not touch
Taste or sight.
Real is existence
In this lower realm.
Which is not absolute.
But changeable,
Flawed
And corrupt.

But ideas are not.
They forever stand,
Perfect in the heavens
Perfect in the land.

This is the best gift
I can give to you.
As a father, as a son,
As a friend in Light.

Dedicated to Juan Sabato
……………………………………………………

Full Moon rising behind the ancient temple of Poseidon at Sounio

Pound of Flesh

2010-07-19T17:52:00.004-03:00

Dear friends,
This is a new venture for me. Never before had I attempted to intertwine my views on local Argentinian politics with my poetry. I spent most of my adult life as an expat and therefore I was active in the society I lived in, keeping the thoughts about my homeland for myself.
But nowadays, with so much hate-mongering exploding like geysers in my land of birth, I sense that if tension is breaking the surface of the unseen, I might as well eject some turbulent thoughts myself.
Rabid supporters of the current government, some of whom I sadly count among my friends, have become angry zealots who defend dogma. I have always stood by the freak of the land, the motherless, the queer, the voiceless… So when things start to go weird, when you have to pick a side because if you don´t, if you dissent, you are consorting with everything that is evil… I choose to pick no side, but the side of reason.

Enjoy your green tea with some mint. And breathe.

Lady Astor loves you, always...

……………………………………………..

You are so damn sure.
You look at me with contempt,
Half smirk,
Shallow eyes,
Random facial hair.

You preach like the priests you hate
And outdark your foes with your lip.
Rewrite the past for convenience,
But swiftly accuse any detractor
With dirt dug from their graves.

Your flag says you stand for the poor,
Yet you side with the wealthy.
Conniving, dark, corrupt…
Relics of a past
That just won’t go.

I am the sepoy.
The traitor you must shut up,
The traitor who lived abroad
And became enamoured with the Evil Empire.
A Lady when you wish there were only pigs and whores.

You tie yourself to old antics,
Still watching the tube in black and white,
While the wild colours of the multiverse
Keep blinding newborn souls
That you haven’t yet touched.

You drone.
You ignorant.
You fool.
Just a tool in the shed of Shylock’s den
Ready to serve.

You are the heckler in my speech.
Shouting obscenities because I don’t believe.
Come up and debate with me,
Share my stage,
Wake up and be free!

Because if you want me to take sides in your binary game
You’ve lost me since the first day.
I do not perform for the blind,
So whatever you hear me say
You will only get it if you wake up and play.

I only wish I am mistaken,
I wish it just for your sake.
I wouldn’t want to be where you are standing.
When Shylock and his aging queen
Demand their pound of flesh.

……………………………………………..

The Coldest Day of the Year

2010-07-16T15:12:00.005-03:00

No preface today, just poetry, in remembrance of Martin Inda.

....................................................

I’m brewing in hate,
The worst of all emotions.
I lose another friend
In such a short term.
I’m tired.

When you lose a friend
That sense of loss
Invades your soul.
Who will be there to tell our stories
When all our friends are gone?

All the images of times spent together
Flood my mind’s eye
In this chilly weather.
It is the coldest day of the year.
Tears warm my cheeks.

Times too hard,
Times too hard are getting to me.
And cold crisp air,
Reminds me of all those friends
Who couldn’t stay.

Who is to tell,
When the time is up?
As the Fates keep spinning the thread,
I wonder,
Who will be next in line for Athropos´s final cut?

....................................................

"The Triumph of Death", Pieter Brueghel The Elder, 1562, Museo del Prado, Madrid.

A Cycle

2010-06-09T15:11:00.002-03:00

Hello my dearest friends,

It is with a bittersweet feeling I take up writing today. I have written about my father in this blog and dedicated poems to him as well. It is with deep sadness that I learn how to deal with a new situation, since he recently had a stroke and is going through what I consider Hell. Unable to move of speak, unable to eat or swallow… a prisoner in his own body, the stature of the proud man shattered forever.

These are times of reminiscing, times of looking at his mirror and thinking about life. What have I done with the life I’ve been given? Have I given more than I have taken? Have I been righteous, have I seized every day? The answer is difficult since we try to do our best and sometimes it just isn’t enough. I fear my father’s situation, and know for a fact he would much rather leave this World than remain as he is. The thoughts that cross my mind are sometimes so ominous they choke me with their tight embrace…

I’ll drink many cups of Earl Grey and milk, to remind me of better times, when I was just a child and everything was potential.

………………………………….

Again,
Up in the air.
Watching the cotton-like clouds
And the tidy fields
From above.

The Peace from above…
No ringing phones
No daunting news
No rush.
Only a capsule in the sky,
Suspended in time.

Times are a-changing.
Too fast paced for me
Those I have known have either departed,
Are about to do so,
Or are just growing old… (As do I)

How did it come to be?
That yesterday’s maiden
Turns tomorrow thirty and three.
That my younger sister,
Whom I held with tiny arms,
Is now with child.
That my strong, hardened father
Is tied to a hospital bed,
His essence lost forever…

So many before me
Have written about time,
The passing of time,
Its fleeting nature
And how it changes the nature of man.

But to endure it…
That’s a totally different thing!
To watch beauty fade
To be called a madam
Instead of a girl,
To lose the reflection of your own self.

These are the hard times
Of growth and endurance.
May the New Year ahead
Bring forth the courage
To accept and embrace
The changes brought forth by time.

………………………………….

Sibling Bliss

2010-04-25T16:57:00.005-03:00

My friends,

The weather has become colder, I have moved to a new house which needs lots of work, I have been toiling incessantly, me and my partner in love and life have started a new venture with which we are not entirely content...Time rolls by as it tends to do, mercilessly. But the most important news from Lady Astor’s World is the recent marriage of my beautiful and always sheltered sister.
The church ceremony and ball was yesterday, with everyone dressed to the nines. Even Rob donned a grey smoking jacket! I was fortunate enough my sister requested I read a passage from the Holy Book - Corinthians 13 - and even when I was overwhelmed by emotion I did my best to make the words sound clear.
It was a happy day I will recall for the years to come. My younger sister is not only a woman, she is now a wife.

.........................

On Love

Love
And hold,
And cherish
And protect.

Forgive,
Forget,
Caress...
Bring forth kindness.

Create the World you live in,
Rather than conform.
The future is yours,
Live in the Now.

Two people wander,
They errantly walk the lands.
They have never seen
Each other’s face.

Until they stumble
Across each other.
And a tiny spark
Is ignited within.

It is the energy of potential.
Of “might be”.
It’s the seed of Love.

The selfless feeling,
Capable of making an egotist
Into a believer.
A gentle vibration
Which invades the Soul.

We are forever changed,
And we no longer walk alone,
When we allow the spark
To grow,
Become a Light,
And guide us through this Life.
Embrace it, nurture it,
Do not be afraid to let your ego fade.
Love is Magick.

.........................

Dedicated to Mr and Mrs Ferrari-Hernando.

The blend of love is Rosehip, a soothing tea which combined with rosehip jam - my favourite - will warm the hearts of those who reside below the Equator.

The Joker

2010-02-12T19:51:00.003-03:00

My lovely ones,

First of all I would like to thank the lovely words I receive in comments and e-mails from those who read my poems. Some of you I met through this space, and even if I haven´t met your acquaintance yet, I sincerely hope to do so very soon.

We are all passengers in the same old ship, we share so much and yet pretend we are above or below decks in regards to our fellows. We are not, and through Art it is that Culture progresses, as someone wiser and older than myself shared in her Manifesto "Active Resistance to Propaganda", I´m talking about Dame Vivienne Westwood. I translated such Manifesto to the Spanish language a few days ago, and it will be published in Galera Magazine for the benefit of those who don´t understand the language of the Bard.

Today I will share a sentimental piece, which is unlikely in me. I rarely share poems inspired by my personal life and the sentiments I feel towards my life partner and companion. But there is always the exception, and since I thought I had lost him for good due to my foolish ways, I hereby present it to the World.

A nice energetic Chinese ginger tea should be sipped through each paragraph to greet the Year of the Tiger. This is my personal recommendation.

Blessed Be
Lady Astor

………………………………………………………

Everything has an ending
Endings being bitter
Tearing our hearts
Drowning our souls with tears.

You look at all the pieces.
The puzzle of the memories
Comes to life.
And then you see the first smile,
The very first kiss.
You were falling in love.

We were young and beautiful,
Full of hope.
And the river of pure life
Was strong and its waters deep.

The little face full of wonder,
As I saw the very place
I had dreamed of all my life – Piccadilly Circus.
And it was the most precious gift
Given to me by anyone.
And it was all you.

I became your wife,
Your partner.
I lost my innocence
In a foreign land.

We fought together
Against forces much stronger
And far wealthier than us.
We lost and we won – sometimes.
But maybe what we lost,
Was that hope we had from the start.

And the river dried
And the bridges were broken
So we couldn’t hear or see
The heart on the other shore.

We were too naïve
We thought love conquers all.
But the World…
Oh, the World isn’t built upon love!
The World is built upon blood,
It’s built upon blood and coin.

So we each fail.
And the root of failure
Is the fabric of our fears.
Our haunting childhood fears.

In me it’s envy.
Fear of being derelict.
Lack of trust.
I miss my father,
Who is too crazy,
Even crazier than my mother.

I become weak
And disappointed
With a life far too normal.
And I really hate getting up.

A job I dislike so much
Brings back resentment.
I have no time to live
I have no place to be me
Then I cease to enjoy life.
I want the time that you have!

Days are monotonous,
They keep piling up.
Until they become months…
And I keep getting up early,
While you keep waking up late.

God is the ultimate Joker.
Today I understand The Comedian.
I have everything a person could want,
But nothing I want.
And I just lost
The only person I have ever loved.

………………………………………………………

A Year

2010-02-02T20:22:00.003-03:00

.....................................

It is today the first birthday of this little space.
A year to feel and share,
To meet new people
To weave a thread like Arachne
That links me to other worlds.

The year of one plus one
Was a year of loss,
Deception and betrayal,
Unfulfilled projects and dreams.

I became aware of my body
I acknowledged the passage of time
I went from Maiden to Matron.
Though still childless…
I grew up.

I wrote thirty-three original poems,
I aided my loved ones and learnt
Humility and compassion,
And found joy in despair.

I saw my biggest fears
Eye to eye
And realized that you can lose everything.
But when you find yourself
Nothing you can lose is lost.

I am again about to move,
In a few weeks only
I will be packing again
And changing the roof above my head.

It is the fate of some
To move, to transform, to change,
To become new incarnations
In this very world.

To all those who ever read these lines,
If they made you think, or fantasize,
I thank you for coming by.
See you later!
Good Year.

.....................................

Heat

2010-01-29T16:34:00.001-03:00

I am much to hot to even address you my pets...

Love,
Lady

........................................

Heat.
On barely clothed refusing to work moiself.
That evil green duck on the screen
Is waiting for me to return
And keep working after lunch.

There was no lunch.
I lied.
It´s too hot for me to eat.
And yesterday I heaved over the lovely pasta I dined.

I have no pool.
Oh, how I wish for a pool!
The crystalline chlorine filled waters
Of a large man made pond.

I feel trapped in my working room.
It is the only air conditioned room
In the whole house.
And it isn´t as cool as I would want.

A large bottle of water
Lies by my desk.
I have poured a million glasses,
I feel faint…
Heat.

........................................

Clumsy

2010-01-21T18:14:00.003-03:00

Dearest Readers,

I have decided to open up a little bit, become less mysterious and cryptic, therefore sharing some of the common pains of the Lady’s life.
Three months ago, after a disastrous summer season in Europe (only business wise) I was forced to take up a job I soon discovered I absolutely loathe. It doesn’t do anything to my self-esteem and the daily interaction with my co-workers leaves me drained. I understand in this day and age everyone – including ladies such as myself – need to take up jobs in order to get fulfilment and also money…
Yes, the dirty coin has become an utmost necessity I’m afraid. No longer a classical education in the Arts and Social Sciences is sufficient to succeed with the current state of affairs… But I digress.
Basically, what I have also discerned is that I am quite incompetent when it comes to routinely mimicking the same boring stuff.

A cool lemonade recipe for the unbearably HOT weather in Buenos Aires:

Lemon + Lime + Water + Ginger + Mint + Lots of Ice

Be well my dears!

…………………………………

My clumsy self!
I sprained my foot
And now it hurts.

It is being soothed by warm water
And lots of salt,
As it sits in a blue basin
On my kitchen floor.

Upstairs
Rob plays disco records
To practice for Saturday night.

I wish I could climb
The stairs in a flash,
But as I hurt myself
I can’t.

I wonder why have I
To be so ungainly…
I have such a will
To have it all done yesterday
That sometimes it makes me sloppy.

I bore easily
And it enhances my awkwardness.
I realize I should learn
How to become more patient
And hence, more graceful.

Although…
I am not as eager
When I read or when I write
I have also realized.

It is only when I have
To fulfil the menial tasks
I am imposed to survive.

Then, if reason comes to aid
I am pretty sure to say
I am unskilled to perform gracefully
The lowly tasks of daily toil.

…………………………………

The image portrays Lady´s own feet.

Ink Stain

2010-01-15T16:20:00.003-03:00

Dear Friends,

A new year has started, a new decade has dawned. We are now enjoying either the cold Winter of the North, or the hot Summer of the South. As for myself, I am now in the Southern Hemisphere, following the warm weather, like I have in the last couple of years.
I will share with you a poem I wrote while flying Alitalia towards Barcelona, in June 2009, and suddenly became aware my pen had burst with the pressure.
Chilled ice lemon tea is suggested, in these unbearable Southern climates.

……………………

An ink stain
While flying over the Atlantic.
The pressure
Made the ink go pop.
Stained finger
As I try to scribble
In a tidy manner
Avoiding a possible mess.

Pen swells.
It’s a fine needlepoint.
Couldn’t handle the altitude
Of the skies beyond the clouds.

It glides softly however,
Nestled in my expert grip.
Years of practice have skilled
The touch of my crooked fingers.

Soaring through the Ocean,
Still five thousand miles to go.
Nobody yet here knows
Which way it may be home.

Easy…
Mitsubishi Pencil Co.
Maybe Japanese pens
Aren’t too fond of flying after all.

……………………

Goodbye Dear Friend

2009-12-09T14:39:00.002-03:00

I have been out of the picture for a while. The year was tough and the return to my homeland terrible. Facing illness and demise from those you love is not an easy feat.
This poem I have read as my last goodbye, a fitting eulogy for someone who is no longer among us.

Bye bye Osky!

....................

Elegía al hombre silencioso, Martiniano Oscar Segovia

Al momento de marcharme
Una luna espléndida
Se alzaba en el firmamento,
Y el cinturón del bravo Orión
Estaba posicionado
Con una exactitud asombrosa
Sobre tu última morada.

Entre la sosegada arboleda,
Caminaba yo junto al menor de tus retoños,
Recordando tu persona
Y observando el fenómeno celeste.

El hombre silencioso,
Me dije a mi misma.
Esta es la despedida
del hombre silencioso.
Aquel que no tiene necesidad
De gran pompa y opulencia,
De afectaciones ni de imposiciones.

Aquel cuya sencillez,
Por lo genuina, asombra.
Quien contaba con multitud de conocimientos
Aprendidos en la oscuridad de un taller solitario,
Y sin embargo rara vez
Hacía exposición de algo más
Que su pasión por el fútbol.

Un humilde corazón,
Heredero de los estoicos romanos,
Que amaba la Historia y la Filosofía.
Y aun así no se desprendía de su pequeña radio.

Hoy despedimos al hombre silencioso
Quien con su sabiduría supo decir
Mucho más que los locuaces.
Un buen hombre, en el medio de todo este ruido.

....................

Happiness: Brief but Good

2009-08-24T14:39:00.007-03:00

..."The beach is a place where a man can feel
He's the only soul in the world that's real"...

The Who - Quadrophenia

.......................

I felt very modern – as in Modernism the artistic movement – while spending my weekend in the amazing medieval citadels of the Costa Brava in northern Spain. As I stayed in Begur, a former feudal stronghold, which was finally destroyed by the canons of Napoleon’s army, I was able to reach out to the neighbouring towns of Peratallada, Palau-Sator and Pals.
The mystique of those old towns scattered within the geography of the sinuous Hills of the North transports you to another time and place, where simplicity and endurance were vital. For such reason, the olden towers still gaze upon us with pride; they will still be there when we are long gone…
The marvellous sound of the Middle Sea under my balcony inspired me to write in Spanish, just one time, and dedicate these rhymes to my mother.
They seldom drink tea in such regions, you may replace with garnatxa wine, at your leisure.
I send my special love to faithful Frenchy Bastarrrd, LUX AETERNA and the lovely Pandora.

.......................

El mar,
Mi madre es el mar…

El Mediterráneo lame las rocas
Frente al castillo de Begur.
Escucho su canción,
Como si las sirenas de Ulises
Me llamaran por mi nombre.

Miro las rocas,
Las tenues luces de la bahía…

Las Islas Medas,
De las hijas del Sol,
Inspiran mis versos tardíos
Cuando en menos de dos horas
Saldrá el padre para despejar la Aurora.

He deseado este sol,
Tantas veces para mi madre!
He ansiado
Tantas veces darle el sol!

Este mítico Mar,
Este “Mar Nuestro”,
Mar eterno
que capturó a César
y a los griegos que nos legaron su cultura.

Las olas lamen la bahía
En la que Napoleón probara sus cañones;
Y sin embargo sus logros
No lograron mitigar la piedra
Del antiguo atalaya.

Mi madre es el mar...
Y a sus ojos profundos
Desearía legar por siempre
Las visiones de todos los mares
Surcados por hombres arcanos
Cuyo único testigo es la roca.

.......................

The pictures are my own. Begur Castle at night plus the view of the Med from my apartment.

Have you ever been afraid?

2009-08-17T11:02:00.002-03:00

"Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?
The Shadow knows!"

...............

Have you ever been afraid?
Have you ever seen the unseen
Peaking from underneath the mattresses
In the death of night?

Has your mind ever fed
From increasing paranoia?
To think you will never escape it,
Yourself and the way that you are.

Have you asked forgone Gods
To aid you and give you safe passage
Through this hell we call Life?

I can answer yes to all.
I know damnation when I see it,
Well enough to know,
I am positively damned.

Uncanny recollections,
And distant echoes from faraway places…
Knowledge begets fear
And infinite respect.

A word to the wise,
Seeking freedom comes with the high price
Of losing your mind.

...............

A strong blend of Ginseng tea can help put away our ominous thoughts...
The image belongs to darklings favourite Hieronymus Bosch, and is called "Death of the Reprobate".

Hello it´s me

2009-08-13T11:56:00.002-03:00

"Hello it´s me, haven't seen you in a while
I wished I talked to you more when you were alive
I thought you were self-assured when you acted shy
Hello it's me."

John Cale & Lou Reed
Songs for Drella

....................

Dear Friends,

I have been missing for a while, I know I am to blame, but as I have been very busy in Barcelona, I believe I might have a bit of an excuse.
Since my arrival things took a turn for the worse, all plans went awry and once again I was faced with no other answer but patience. On the Southern front, a beloved member of my family has come down with a serious illness and might leave this world soon. So, as it is, everything is stalled, frozen and all attempts at change are futile.

....................

I cannot write,
I want to write and exorcize
My inner demons,
My soul.

The hand wanders,
The tip of my nail bangs the letters,
I force myself to type,
I am after all a scribe.

An old remnant of a bygone era,
An analogue being trying hard to survive
In the technoccult world
Of now.

Useless.
My skills are nothing.
Who needs a writer, who needs a scholar?
Who needs a scribe?

I cannot seem to find my way,
How can I be of use,
When all I have to offer
Is hardly utilitarian?

I lose people every year,
The wise ones who need not learn
Any more from this wretched world,
Though I stay.

I stay to bear witness
To the new eon,
When man becomes machine
And poets are useless.

....................

The Wiz Kid

2009-05-20T17:00:00.004-03:00

"Most people are content to put their trust in far less powerful allies, mere men and not equipped with wisdom such as mine. But I that have never ceased to watch over you in all your adventures am a goddess."
Athena to Odysseus, Iliad, Book XX

.............

Tomorrow is the anniversary of my nativity, and I have to admit, it has been a rough ride. As many others in this world, my childhood was marked by great expectations, many which didn’t come to pass. The following lines are inspired by such prospects and how my views on intelligence have changed over the years. I know I will sound presumptuous to those who do not know me personally, but I can assure you it is as truthful as it reads.

A nice warm cup of jasmine tea makes the perfect infusion for these grey Autumn days.
The image depicts an Athenian Owl, symbolizing wisdom and strategy.

.............

Once in the shiny land of innocence,
Where the air smells like gum,
But never incense,
I was told I was a Wiz.

I did not know
What it really meant,
But I did know
That there were higher stakes for me
Than for the rest.

And through the ever changing times
I vowed to please,
I tried to tribute,
What I was meant to be.

I gathered prizes
And collected awards
I peddled smiles for the adults,
Whose world I wanted
To conquer one day…

I endured the cruel,
Grey days of adolescence
Using wit as a shield,
And sometimes even fists.

I have been violent,
Reckless and proud,
But always kept my vow
And as I could I would
And remained number one.

With the mind set firmly
I would look out sternly
At the finish line
Which was always on sight.

Through familiar decay,
Poverty, illness and madness
I kept on going
To prove myself
I was still a Wiz.

Youth came and shone even brighter,
Bright as rays of golden sun,
But as the strife grew harder
It started to dim its light.

Even the greatest of stars
Eventually dwarf and expire,
Within the masses of nebulae.
Being only the surviving core,
The difference between a neutron and a black hole,
Much as ourselves…

Once I was told I was a Wiz,
But a Wiz is as a Wiz does,
And as we grow older
We aren’t as witty and funny.

We are forced into the wilderness
With too much enthusiasm,
Overconfidence and theoretical knowledge,
To understand the main gift of life
Should be resilience and endurance.

Endurance,
Faith and endurance
Faith in endurance
And faith in fate.

.............

Rebirth

2009-05-18T16:10:00.002-03:00

The past month was a strange coming together of dark forces, which I have been trying to dispel. For the first time I faced the uncertainty of our carcasses, and that was exposed in the last poem I posted back in April, “Body is treacherous”. At the same time, nothing went according to plan and I ended nearly scavenging for funds, submerged in debts. As the say goes, when you’re tight and sick your only refuge can be love, and in my case it was…
As cheesy as it may sound to anyone who dares read my words, I rediscovered the simple life I hold together with my life partner Rob, as something more precious than anything external. Comfort is nice, but surplus nevertheless. That seems to be the lesson I was able to snatch from the pits of the Darkness.
Going back to straight tea with milk, to eventually pick up the pace of my forsaken log.

Lady Astor

...............

Fortuna, come hither!
I dance at your whim
Through the tides of time,
Could you at least for once
Give me a beneficial chance?

Sitting and fretting
On the cold grey marble floor
Of the behemoth public hospital facilities,
As I listen to female nonsensical chatter
I expect resolutions for my ailing body.

A connected string of bad omens,
Never been one out of worries
And though my body resisted,
My emotions however
Have proven much less resilience.

With each blow I less expect
And have almost forfeited
The narrow chances of success
I might have had some time ago,
When my spring bore the signs of Hope.

So dear Fortuna I beg of thee,
Bless me with your bountiful smile,
Dress my soul with robes of gold
And repave my path with Trust.
Lest you want this loyal friend
To forever lose her Faith.

...............

Body is treacherous

2009-04-19T17:02:00.002-03:00

I am infinitely thankful for the kind comments poured in my life log. It is here I open my soul for the world to see and gain confidence from the encouragement I receive.
As I sip my English tea – no sugar of course – I salute thee.

Much love,
Lady Astor

................

Body is treacherous…
We are taught it is majorly composed by water,
And as water it’s ever changing,
Fluctuates constantly,
Like the Waters in Heraclitus´ river.

As I watch the skies before the dawn,
I observe the position of the constellations
Which have accompanied the fates of mankind
Since the dawn of time,
And scrutinize their seasonal permutations.

The moon is waning, bright and covered in mist,
Light bathing my body as I keep waiting
For answers as time slips away,
As the firmament of Southern Fall
Makes the twenty ninth star of Capricorn the brightest.

Things are meant to never last,
Though flux confuses our senses
As that which we were familiar with
Fades away with each passing season,
Until we inhabit a house that becomes alien.

Body is treacherous…
We were immortals once and we suddenly discover
The earthly residence we once knew so well
Rebels against our very selves,
As wild horses drive to tragedy our bountiful cart.

................

The Principle of Hate

2009-04-11T17:42:00.006-03:00

Titan! To thee the strife was given
Between the suffering and the will,
Which torture where they cannot kill;
And the inexorable Heaven,
And the deaf tyranny of Fate,
The ruling principle of Hate,
Which for its pleasure doth create
The things it may annihilate.

Lord George Gordon Byron
July 1816

.............

I am sometimes judged as a ruthless, unkind soul. For I have chosen to live passionately, and refuse continuously to conform. I have aged, and yet, the fire within my soul remains untouched. I have changed too much, and wish to change no more.
After being judged, yet again, by someone dear to me, I cannot help but feel frustration. Firstly, of being unfit; secondly of being betrayed. Since for my Gaelic-Roman blood, there is no worse injury than a reprimand on my morals and my pride.
The following rant is a token from the bottom of my dark, merciless heart. Only the very blackest of Krasnodar tea from the Caucasus will portray accurately the feelings conveyed in the following lines.

.............

For light to exist,
Darkness must necessarily be.
How could we then
Be able to tell
The subtleties of shade?

We are binary beings,
Capable of equal amounts
Of ying and yang,
Of black and white.

We continuously preach
To the rest of the world
About peace and unity
And the power of love,
Yet we still detest our neighbours.

We silently curse
The dirt of bums in the street,
And still pretend
Our leaders not to be our reflection.

It is so easy,
Comes so naturally
To point our fingers,
Look at the other…
And exalt the virtues of the Divine.

But who are we
To preach to others
All the things
We certainly aren’t?

We listen to black music
But cringe at the mixed,
Odd interracial couples
When they’re making out nearby.

We boast of having
Sexually diverse friends,
But vote against the laws
Which would make us all the same.

We hypocritical lot!
We gloat at the very chance
Of casting the first hurtful stone.
And after that we plead forgiveness,
To our friends, our parents or the cross.

Then by all means,
Better we’d be if we felt,
Just for once,
The purest love
Or the most visceral hate!

We would be braver
And purer,
If only we admitted
How we really felt.

.............

Shadows and Ghosts

2009-04-10T17:49:00.004-03:00

I was visited by some ghosts last week, visions of white smocks, too close to what I’d prefer. My mother went under the knife, yet again and myself… well, I’m waiting on some news, which could be potentially daunting. Nevertheless, it is necessary to keep walking the path of life with courage, since we have been through worse before and undoubtedly will be tested in the years to come.

I am enjoying the last warm days in this part of the hemisphere, sitting in my terrace while sipping green tea, waiting for the full moon to rise yet again. It is my own blood she craves, as my body swells each month, each passing cycle, for eons to come. I will, as the eternal laws resolve, also become something different. In my time, a maiden, a matron, a crone…after my time is gone, who knows?

............

The death of the hero
Is upon us.
It is the time of the year
To honour the latest avatar
Of our Godly ghost.

Many names he has known
Through the mists of time
And such names,
Still engraved in the stone
Tell of the same unchanging tale.

May it be Hristos or Horus?
The mighty hero returns
In the boreal coming of the Sun
And to his warmth and might
We must recall to sacrifice.

Without memory or reason
Our pavlovian psyches
Repeat the customs of aeons,
As our forefathers did,
Much cruelly, but surely.

For they did know the meaning
Of their moons and dates,
They understood the reasons
We now simply forget
Or turn to fairy tales.

We were once a bright young race,
Beloved by the Gods of yore
And somehow along the way,
We strayed and kept going alone.

How peculiar is it that we,
Even now though strangely repeat
The forgotten sagas,
Or mimic the long lost rituals
In the hope that with each sacrifice
We will be heard,
In the hope that one day
We will know with complete certainty
We are not alone.

............

Fear

2009-03-31T17:34:00.003-03:00

A very short exercise, amid a storm of thought, aboard Cristian´s automobile, swiftly heading towards my abode on Saturday night, scribbled swiftly in the notepad within my mobile phone. So XXI siècle!

Last verse is stolen from magnificent replicant Roy, as played by Rutger Hauer, in the film rendition of Philip K. Dick story Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? Better known as Ridley Scott´s Blade Runner. Please forgive my artistic thievery, I just love the phrase!

...........

I fear.
I fear pain.
I fear dejection.
I fear abjection.
I fear cessation,
Of existence.

I fear illness.
I feel aching.
I fear fading
Away.
To fade away,
Like tears in the rain.

...........

Golden Son

2009-03-30T20:17:00.004-03:00

Dearest friends,

First of all my sincerest apologies for neglecting these pages last week. I’ve been flooded by worries and toil, which muddled my ability to devote to this haven the time it deserves. At the same time, the disembarkment of loved ones in these Southern shores, prompted me to devote physical time to pay them much needed respects. So my love lies with my wonderful in-laws and beautiful ephebe Roman, my remaining spiritual child.

It is paramount to make the ones we care about aware of our affections, since if failing to do so, we could regret it terribly in time of their passing. I was recently affected by this occurrence, having lost my first spiritual child, Diego. I have not yet recovered.

I will leave you with eclectic verses, aimed at those who mean the world to me. An elegy to the parted and a eulogy to the one who remains, so that he is granted the strength to grow, develop and expand.
A warm cup of green tea, to cleanse the body and mind, is proposed to better enjoy these stanzas.

..............

Oh dear sons of mine,
To my life what have you done?
I gave you knowledge,
Though you have given me pain…

…

Golden Sun,
Golden Son.
To gaze in your hair
Is to envision the star.

But reality be told,
You are child of the Moon,
Brother of dark Dionysus,
Cousin of the great God Pan.

When others see light in your eyes,
They fail to see the gloom
I have always recognized
To be your sinister doom.

For it is you who has courted
The nymphs at Lake Nemi,
And battled the keeper of the sacred grove,
And ran ecstatically naked
In the forests of everlasting night,
Snatching ambrosia from the Immortals.

Your fate was sealed,
You should pay your profanity
And when the wrath is appeased
Return to innocence’s rest.

You are now back in the land of Selene,
Where your painful sores will be cared,
It is now time for your mind
To rise from slumberous scares.

Poppy dreams are not a feat
Fit for those who shouldn’t sleep,
But live to tell the tale
Of the Goddess sacred feasts!

..............

Kansas City, here I come...

2009-03-21T17:50:00.004-03:00

When invited to dine at local chow den Kansas, I always feel joyous. I simply adore the insane exaggeration of the place, the wishful Americanization of willing Argentines who deceive their senses for a little while… In their belief that the surrounding poverty is not there, and they are beautiful and privileged, and well deserve the excess.

I am grateful to have been there a couple of times, but I have to say I can only endure that over-satiated hunger only once every two or three months!

As wise Jewish thinker Joseph Aaron well said: …”We should partake, but carefully, wisely. To turn away, to reject is insane, stupid, harmful. But to grab with both hands can be equally destructive”...
The verses that follow are my afterthoughts on last night. I very much recommend a soothing and digestive Lemon Ginger tea, for you to bear the plethora of food related sensations!

The image belongs to the Seven Deadly Sins collection by Jacques Callot

………………………………

Kansas. Meat. Gluttony.
An hour wait
Doesn’t seem too bad
To munch on those sweet bits
Of pork flesh.

I risk sounding barbaric,
For the veggie loving crowd,
But I can’t help to love
The atavistic decadence
Of shredding meat from bone.

Overindulgence…
Voluptuousness in times of need,
Echoes of Roman feasts,
Gorging in the delight
Of olden banquets.

Raucous laughter,
Pretentiousness and show,
Jarring exposure…
From those affluent and crass
Children of familiar fortune.

Pour old Tabasco abundantly,
Devour to the point of excess,
Intoxicate yourself with victuals…
And at the end you will need
To purge, to remedy or rest.

………………………………

The Wild Bunch

2009-03-18T17:51:00.004-03:00

Eerie mix, which were once called "Club A-Go-Go", "The Cool Ones", "Factory Teens" or "Argie Expats in Barcelona"...
My promised ode, to the night at Live!... Can I Get a Witness?

.................

The Wild Bunch was waiting
For the chance
To get back
To the Lime Light…

And so it did,
And so we danced,
And it was wild,
And we got drunk!

And crazy old songs were played
Which reminded us
Of another time
And age.

When we were younger,
And still our dreams
Were afar…
It all became possible
Again
Just for one night.

.................

Remembrance

2009-03-16T14:37:00.004-03:00

I’ve been feeling much too lazy lately; I’ve been feeling much too nostalgic lately… The bitterness of Summer’s end, the staleness of my current activities. The wait… always the wait. And in such a state, I look into my back pages and miss certain friends.
To one of them, while sipping Pu Ehr, I wrote these words…

……………

Oh my Cole,
My own particular Cole!
Such adorable garb,
From the Scottish pretence
Of a drunken lad.

And the Music,
And the Words,
And the Art
Of sharing and living
Bonded us from the start.

Time and toil
Have seen us part,
Then bring us together
For another walk
In timeless gardens and parks.

I miss your wit
And your marvellous spark,
But, as I knew from the start…
We’ll get together again
And share the most wonderful time.

……………

…”Ev'ry time we say goodbye
I die a little,
Ev'ry time we say goodbye
I wonder why a little,
Why the Gods above me
Who must be in the know
Think so little of me"...

A young Cole Porter on Lake Maxinkuckee in Culver City.

Ouroboros

2009-03-06T17:32:00.004-02:00

I had the weirdest dream last Wednesday night, I dreamt of the feathered snake biting its tail. My grandmother Velia and Aunt Mimi were there too, both dearly departed ones. Amidst the fogs of Morpheus, I was able to pick up my mobile phone from under my pillow - dreadfully modern I know, but necessary believe me – and wrote the following phrase: “Unexpectedly, the feathered snake, bit its tail”.
Ouroboros was well known in ALL ancient civilizations and represents the “ALL IS ONE”, the eternal return, the wheel of life, Ying and Yang if you will. I am grateful for this dream, which is something scholars, alchemists and mystics of all ages have strived to achieve.
I toast with fresh green tea for a new beginning, for me and for all!

.............

Unexpectedly,
The feathered snake
Bit its tail.

Water poured frantically,
Jungle like.
Odours and moist,
Subdued by the scent
Of Indian incense.

Heavy slumber
From the wild monsoon,
In the savage lands
Of the World´s End.

Rhythmic fall.
Epic cascades
Over the city,
Denying its civilized flair.

And still…
It smells of Jungle,
Wilderness,
Darkness.

The city will pass.
The daily strife
Of passers by
Will cease to be.
And only will remain
The Wild.

Air
Water
Fire
Earth
Will rise and strike
Again.

The proud egos
Which rule this land
Will be shattered
None will prevail.

Their time will pass,
As I will too,
And so these words
Will turn to dust…

As unexpectedly
As the feathered snake
Bit its own tail.

Pedet finis aborigine
εν το παν

Look for the End in the Beginning
All is One
.............

Heads & Freaks & Mods of the World Unite!

2009-03-02T14:58:00.007-02:00

Friday was a blast... Most wonderful rendezvous ever! I´m as excited as a 10 year who´s just arrived from a trip to his favourite amusement park.

The experiment worked yet again, it worked as smoothly as it did a decade ago. Some faces were the same, some are gone and some hopefully will join us next time. I have yet to organize my thoughts in order to properly chronicle the night, but it will shortly be here. Lady Promise.
Thank you Wild Bunch: Loli, Lolo, Martin, Bimbo, Annie and my dearest sister Lu for being able to turn back the wheels of time to a happier place on Earth.
We deserve it!

The one in the picture est moi, as taken by Lolitown my partner in crime, whilst spinning some floorshaking marvels from my lovely customized polka dotted laptop.

Doppelgänger

2009-03-01T19:56:00.003-02:00

... there is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable:
I simply am not there"...

.....................

During a lapse of almost three years from 2004 till late 2006 I coexisted with my shadow. It was at first, a creation of mine, spawn out of boredom, idleness and despair. I was sitting comfortable in my swanky office at the top floor of Club Otto Zutz in Barcelona when I first had the thought of it. In the beginning, he was to be the character of a novel I never finished - though the manuscripts still remain - and eventually he rose to a status where I was becoming a victim of my own ruse.
My alter ego, Christian was increasingly taking pre-eminence in my daily life and even my dreamworld. It felt as if he were a twin brother, who certainly had a life of his own, his own relations and a very well crafted persona. He eventually vanished, leaving those who had met him confused and saddened.
This is an homage to the existence of my twin, hope he can live somewhere across the globe, happily ever after. He, who fancied himself a bit of a Shelley, crafted these words

Suggested tea choice for today is plain English, the sort that is round and goes right in the kettle.

....................

This is the winter of our discontent, in Shakespearean words I note that it is I who cannot bear a single thought of this existence. The vagueness of thought, the disappearance of the tantalizing moments, which make life worthwhile in exchange for the tiredness of the soul, has drained me all contempt I had for life as it was.
The dreamlike imagination I so much helped grow since my childhood seems to be fading; there is war between perception and the realms of the mind. Which is stronger? Which is finer?
Looking at my back pages I realize youth is like a bird fleeing the warm heart of a home, a home which disappears at some point, becoming a lost Arcadia where we long to return though we cannot. I fathom this is the very point of life, a race where the point of no return becomes the realization that only the start mattered, that there is no winning this race without losing yourself in the course of it.
I have dreamed and longed of so many Utopias, I have fancied myself so beautiful and sublime in my pretty syllogisms, just to become the shadow of what I was, when I thought I knew the point of the race. When I imagined I might even win.
Only now it becomes obvious that the very point of the race is to keep the soul oblivious and distracted from reality. But what is reality? Is it tangible form and matter, is it thought or is it feeling and perception?
You may roam centuries dwelling in these conceptions, attempt to find illumination from better minds, but in the end you’ll come to the pointless realization of the futility of it all. We are but pawns in somebody’s game; as the little mice imagine their little lab mazes to be their world, never noticing the white coat gazing down at them.

....................

Prometheus Unbound
1820
Percy Blysse Shelley

"Ere Babylon was dust,
The Magus Zoroaster, my dear child,
Met his own image walking in the garden.
That apparition, sole of men, he saw.
For know there are two worlds of life and death:
One that which thou beholdest; but the other
Is underneath the grave, where do inhabit
The shadows of all forms that think and live
Till death unite them and they part no more...."

Can I get a Witness?

2009-02-26T23:07:00.003-02:00

I have been feeling a tad nostalgic lately. Might be the time on my hands, or the fact that I´ve taken up to writing poetry again, or maybe that I just realized I have travelled through a decade to find I´m clearly the person I was then.
Am I being too weird?
Certain interesting things have been going on that I believe are more than mere products of chance. I was re-re-re-reading "The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test" and suddenly I got the urge to get a copy of Herman Hesse´s "Journey to the East". Last Tuesday, as I wandered along neverending Corrientes Ave. I found a 1971 copy of the book! Of course I purchased and already finished it...But I digress.
My friend Loli´s birthday proved to be the perfect excuse to throw a psychedelic bacchanalia the sort I used to do in bygone days. Lady Astor back to spinning some records and happiness all around!
Do tag along if you please...

They Say

2009-02-23T18:00:00.006-02:00

Reading the morning papers, as I usually do, I was inspired by an article which spoke of a community orchard which has been sown in a Godforsaken land nearby the railroad tracks in Caballito. I personally found it a delightful idea, seeming to me a preposterous thing to have land left scattered, without it being tended and made fruitful. Apparently, the neighbours find it utterly offensive that people can turn an awful space into a haven and have asked the city government to get rid of it.

Your Lady supports this venture, and wishes for many more to come. This little poem is dedicated to those who brought green hope to this world, while I drink some tea made by assorted blends of herbs from the Cordoba Sierras.

The gorgeous butterfly image was taken at the Huerta Orgázmika and is a clear proof that their deeds are good and necessary. More power to them!

...................

They say,
Why should we share?
There is not enough
For ourselves.

They say,
Why should they enjoy the sunshine?
We spend every day
Enslaved in our caves.

They say,
Why should they be happy?
When I’m weary and sad all day,
Everyday.

They say,
Why should we endure in the city
That foul little piece of dirt?
When I never touched the soil,
And I never grew a plant,
And have no respect for life
But my own.

They say, they say, they say!
But most of them are afraid
Of the freedom and the purity
That little piece of land nobody wanted
Really represents…

Lightning Speed

2009-02-22T20:02:00.006-02:00

I´ve returned from a hectic weekend in which a handful of the usual crew stayed over at Cristian´s pad. We cooked some seafood, which was delightful, and then spent the rest of the night playing Monopoly (which he won) and Trivial Pursuit (which I won). After that, some films and still rapping until it was noon on Saturday and we had been up for over a day! Still young I guess... This is the definitive proof.

Rain was definitely something welcome to all species around this part. And sipping mint tea while watching the rain fall down makes it ever so perfect.

The picture portays a road in the Nevada desert, as taken by Ansel Adams in 1960.

....................

Speed.
Hours and hours and hours,
Playing, talking, attempting to beat the world record
Of hours being awake.

No fear.
Only hour after hour of naked existence,
Of fast talking,
Of baring the soul to the max…

Speed.
You could never make it
Like this on your own
Without the added power.

No saccharine for me.
No diet colas or low fat foods.
Just a raw piece of reality
Eating at your flesh.

No sleep.
Just speed,
Bare and perfect,
Lightning illuminated
By the mind’s rod.

Edge City

2009-02-17T20:30:00.003-02:00

I am not always as cheerful as I seem. Today is one of those days. I happen to be in a foul mood... Hopefully, it will be better tomorrow.

The image that illustrates today´s verses belongs to artist Val Britton and it´s called "on the edge of the continent".

Black, dark chinese tea, no sugar...

.................

I rage at the sight of staleness.
I have never been one to tolerate cowardice,
Never known to show compassion
To a man who can still fight.

If you can still use
Your arms, your eyes, your two legs…
You can still make it to the finishing line.

I have been to Edge City
Many, many times,
I know its dirty, godforsaken streets,
Inside out.

I have stared wildly at the eyes of madness,
Looked down at the abyss of despair
And again shot out to the surface.

I have lost everything
And come back from the dead,
I have been maligned and cursed
And thrown to the wolves…

I always come back,
I always fight,
I always emerge.

A word to the wise,
Live only NOW.
Don’t save your breath,
Cause tomorrow may not come.

So be yourself always,
Love, Run, Scream and Shout…
Be an original.

At least that way,
You may hope to be remembered;
And that the Gods grant you
Fair dwellings in the after life.

Little Terrace Time

2009-02-16T19:37:00.006-02:00

I do not own, like most of the ladies who grace today´s society, a grand garden with a swiming pool, a tennis court or a maze to play hide and seek. I have a small private terrace with a barbecue and a small strip of land. But I do cherish my afternoons there, when I sit right after watering my plants and sip my favourite blends of tea.

I had mint tea with brown sugar today, perfect for such a rainy day!

...................

How many hours have I spent,
Gazing at the simple Nature
Of my minuscule terrace?

Trying to find in the leaves
An answer of some sort;
Being their quest for life
A proof of our own will to survive.

I intently stare at the sky,
Feel the soft breeze in my hair…
Such a wondrous feeling,
For such a tiny space!

A cloud shaped as a dragon,
Which then turns into a snail,
These are the sorts of things
That make us feel more humane.

I sit in a plastic chair,
Waiting for the sun to set…
I’ve done this so many times!

It is my own quiet time,
A cherished little moment,
I am ALL with the World,
And nothing can harm me.

As I wait for the stars
To start twinkling in the early sky,
I feel immune to my problems
And thank the Gods I’m alive.

Faint music and the sound
Of my husband’s hands tapping the keyboard
Let me know I’m still around.
That I’m me,
In my house…

But still the lingering feeling remains
That there’s more to the World
Than us and our earthly designs.

Lupercalia

2009-02-14T15:16:00.003-02:00

My friends,
Your Lady woke up in a sunny mood today, and browsing this vast Babel that is the World Wide Web, couldn´t help but notice the surge of "Valentine Day" related topics and symbols. Me, being a purist, couldn´t help but write a picaresque little poem extoling the virtues of the ancient fête of Lupercal. Which, according to Plutarch: ..."Was anciently celebrated by shepherds, and has also some connection with the Arcadian Lycaea. At this time many of the noble youths and of the magistrates run up and down through the city naked, for sport and laughter striking those they meet with shaggy thongs. And many women of rank also purposely get in their way, and like children at school present their hands to be struck"...

Cinnamon herb tea is perfect for today, its tantalizing qualities will undoubtedly make your heart race.

....................

They tell me it´s Valentine´s Day,
Today.
I should be showing my loved one
A special time,
Today.
Shower him with gifts and dinner…
Or should that all be for me?

In the old days they called it Lupercalia.
When I say old I mean Rome…
It was a massive party on the streets,
Which lasted two full mad days.
Naked youths ran around the city,
Striking the ladies with thongs.
That sure sounds like fun!

These days,
Chaucer and Hallmark
Plotting through the ages,
Invented an obscure “Seynt Volantynys day”,
Binding men to please selfish women
Forever.

Myself, however,
Trying not to be selfish,
Will go back to basics
And try to have my loved one get naked…
And strike me.

Coming of age

2009-02-11T18:34:00.008-02:00

One always ponders on the past, it´s an unavoidable trait of humanity. Today, as I browsed through the pages of an old Moleskine I came across this little poem, I´d like to share now with you.
Nice mint tea could take the edge off these little verses, I seemed to be in a foul mood that day!

The picture is an outline of my shadow at dusk, taken in Sabadell, Spain. This was my very first house of mine own, and I loved it dearly. I was another person then, but without whom I could have never become the person I am now.

.....................

You
You are and have always been
My one true love.
Always have been besides me,
Since I was born,
Day one.

When I cried
You hugged me,
Invented games,
beautiful worlds,
Fictions of my imagination...

Every time all things went wrong
With your mighty wings
You took me away
To the safest place
Near Mount Olympus.

When I grew up
And none of my dreams came true,
You built my armour,
Which shone as gold.
Never to be taken or broken
By a human soul.

Many men attempted
To take my love from you...
Only I found nobody
Could turn me on like you.

Cause even in the darkest nights
If I should call one name in bed at night,
It won´t be God,
Or mom, or dad,
It will always be my mind.

25th January, 2005

At the Forum

2009-02-09T18:16:00.006-02:00

Last Friday I spent my afternoon running errands around the City, near the courthouses. It is an area of Buenos Aires which always reminds me of my childhood, since it was here my father had his most successful office. I had passed many an idle afternoon at that office, and lunching with him in a place at the corner fitly called "The Forum".

I decided it might be wise to visit some of my "ghosts of Christmas Past" and had a lovely ham and blue cheese roll at that restaurant. It tasted just like I remembered...
Earl Grey with milk and no sugar, is perfect today, being Monday and all ready for a trip to Lady´s yesterdays.

.................

Sitting where my father sat
just twenty years before,
ordering the same,
trying to feel sane.

This is where it all began,
Here is where it all went by.
How we came to be
those we are now,
our broken souls...

Days before that fateful date
were filled with blissful smiles,
but as the bayonet flew ´cross the room
we found no reasons why.

The film of our lives together
was burned and stopped right then.
We tried to paste it back,
but all to no avail.

I have to say,
though years have passed,
the food here tastes the same,
these blue cheese, ham and palm rolls
are childhood in a tray!

How funny are we humans,
so often thinking back...
How many of you would think me mad
for sitting where he sat?

History has a funny way
to make us believe she repeats herself.
But any of you
who´s seen life through
will know it´s not the same.

Seasons change,
our lives divert,
the path we knew so well...
most likely fades away.

Only I have known,
I witnessed all,
the triumphs and the fall
of both my parents lives
and only now can share it all.

Feelings kept locked
in the cupboard
at the back of my mind;
Open up, open up!

The rolls and tonic water
they both taste the same,
the wooden chairs and tables
seem to have been changed,
but the picture hanging on the wall
tells the tale too well
Of many like my father,
who sat here raising Hell,
and thought this was his world.

Like a wounded Lion
in the cruel wilderness,
the same way he was discarded,
by those wielding the flag
of unloyalty and pain.

He who loses ALL
and lives to tell
has ALL and is ALL
in the Other World.

February 6th, 2009

The Mystical Company of the Holy Six

2009-02-06T17:12:00.012-02:00

First of all, I´d love to thank the darling friends who follow my musings. You are aware that without your adoration I would cease to exist!
Friday is upon us again, so I am taking the chance through verse, to relive the last of Venus´favourite day. That is last Friday. In which an inner circle of six of us had an ecstatic experience in the fore mentioned Bella Vista Estate owned by my dear friend Johann Sebastiann (since as such he was recently rechristened).
In an eerie note, I´d like to point out that the number six is a loving, stable, and harmonious vibration, also ruled by the Goddess Venus, Aphrodite in Greek (Αφροδίτη).

The picture portrays a mosaic of the God Dionysus (Διόνυσος) riding a tiger, as featured in the Museum of El Jem in Tunisia. Very fittingly, Dionysus is the god of wine, the inspirer of ritual madness and ecstasy and consorted with Aphrodite.

Tonight, I recommend a tangerine tea made from chinese Oolong, spiked with some electric entheogens... Even Ladies expand their consciousness.

..................

The Mystical Company of
The Holy Six
Who all came their own way
To spend their days
Beneath the moon and stars,
Under the water
and under the sun.

Their quest to forfeit
The blatant lies
Of society and city,
And to listen for once
To the subtle music
Of the birds and trees.

In bucolic recollection,
I will give account
Of their trip to the realm
Of the expanded mind,
And the REAL characters adopted
Once egos are left behind.

It is in such Ancient World,
That maenads and satyrs
Wandered across the forests
alongside the God Dionysus...

It was said by the High Priestess,
Who lived within the Forest House
Before the mists of Avalon came to be,
Before Legions trampled on the White Isle,
That those who sought the Horned God
Were pursuited by Him instead.

And with such frenzy it was,
That the seeker became trapped
In a world between the worlds,
Only to return at noon
And once the morning mists were gone.

It all started as a game,
Alas! Doesn´t it all?
And as the players shared
The soma of heavenly delight,
The voices of the night became
Much clearer than those of light.
And in the magic of the moonlight saw,
How players changed from man to myth,
and shed their heads...

Imago is as shadow,
The visible construction
Of the personage.
We play until we remember
Which face, which moment,
Which part?

The Priestess, The Poet, The Pirate,
The Virgin, The Lizard and the Crazy Duck...
Which is which,
And who is what?

Oh, but the stars shone so bright!
Oh, but the guests were so brave!
Oh, the night, such a night!
It will be forever pursuited,
But never will be as that.

They danced
And they sang,
They laughed
And they drank.
They searched for the Holy
And for their lost friend
They cried.

And as each of the Six
Discovered a world of folly,
Each one in their own way
Found the way back home.
And to this earthly realm,
They returned.

Lady Loves the Acid

2009-02-05T17:56:00.005-02:00

Couldn´t be happier today! I heard through the virtual grapevine that Gus Van Sant and writer and producer Dustin Lance Black - who have just finished that jewel of a film called Milk - are currently working on one of my favourite pieces ever: The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test.
It would be an understatement to say that amazing literary juggernaut by Tom Wolfe had an influence on my life... I have been lucky enough to correspond with Ken Kesey himself while he still was among us, and know first hand what a remarkable human being he was. He even took some of his precious time to read some of my poems and posted one in his toilette, so he could gaze at it in his private time. Not to forget Ken Babbs of course, who once sent me a poem by Dante Gabriel Rosetti for my 21st birthday!
This is an amazing opportunity for those younger than myself, for whom the written word can be a tad daunting, to experience a bit of pranksterdom via the silver screen. I trust Mr Van Sant will do FURTHUR justice.
I can´t wait to see who will be chosen to play such iconic figures as Kesey, Babbs, Jerry García or Hunter Thompson!
Oh dear, I need an iced tea pitcher to overcome my anxiety... Maybe some Baldwin´s nervous pills as well!

..................

Think for yourself
TURN ON
TUNE IN
DROP OUT
Of precarious Society.

MY Body
MY Consciousness
We can all become
Our OWN gurus
We can gather as a tribe,
We can BECOME a tribe.

Society is decrepit
and corrupt
Free speech is NONEXISTENT
Your Utopia is our Slavery
Your Wealth is our Poverty

If people only took the time
To experience the Divine,
In their own way,
By their own right,
You would instantly become
IRRELEVANT.

The Nobility of our Fellow Dogs

2009-02-04T21:23:00.001-02:00

My friends,
I was recently lucky enough to get acquainted with three marvelous creatures of the canine sort. Their lovelyness inspired me greatly, since as I strode towards the trees to have a seat beneath the shade - courtesy of my wonderful friend Juan and his lovely Bella Vista Estate - they all followed and kept company at my feet.
In this Arcadian context it was, that I composed these verses I now share with you.
It is an afternoon sunset setting, so the suggestion today would be rosehip tea with a touch of lemongrass and a few drops of honey...

Love,
Lady Astor

Note: The picture pertains to one of the very hounds the poem refers to, as a puppy.
.........................

Soft furry company,
in the flesh
of protective friendly self.

Never demanding or selfish,
perfect in their being,
they lie besides you
in silent company.

Their tender charm,
their childish ways,
their longing eyes...

Golden haired
beautiful creatures of Nature,
Intended surely for our sake.

To guard and protect
our homes and persons,
to love and honour us,
being their candor
truly Divine.

By the Beach

2009-02-03T15:19:00.001-02:00

I recently spent some time by the sea, in the Brighton-like resort of Mar del Plata. This poem was inspired by the spectacle I witnessed from a lonely bench, overlooking Playa Varesse. The pictures were taken from that very spot.
I suggest green tea with a hint of lemon, to fully appreciate the experience.
Hope you enjoy it!

..........................

I let myself go
and see no one.
I couldn´t care less
about the hungry packs
of bottle blondes
that roam the streets,
lusting for the perfect tan.

I see instead
my soul unchanged.
The little girl of yore,
the wife and woman of today.

I sit and behold
the magnificent skyline,
beloved by my mom.
The tender way the clouds
paint the ocean
in patterns and shades of green.

I don´t even have a thought
to spare on greedy sunbathers,
hoping to hog all the sun,
while building invisible trenches
to enclose themselves from the rest,
who are actually their mirrors.

I look above and beyond
and see Blue.
And the realms of Gods,
and all those
who have left these lands,
and now roam
and from Elysian Fields hear my thoughts.

I confront the ghost of those past,
and embrace their invisible arms.
I see smiles from Italian descent,
and the clear shade of old Irish eyes.

As bulky men flex their arms,
while their girls show off their toned abs,
I sit by myself and write,
fully clothed,
an Ode to the Land.
The glorious marvel of nature´s perfection,
which was intended unspoiled.

And though the cheesy sounds
from some faraway speakers
spoil my concentration,
I see them all fade
and no longer care...

18th January, 2009

Summer of Ladytude

2009-02-02T19:10:00.001-02:00

First post, first self owned "blog"...
I actually dislike the word, I prefer to think about it as a virtual board, like old-fashioned blackboards from school. A board where I can post my rants and have a sweet and sour tea party with friends and lovers, depending on my mood.
I´m an anglophile Argentine, a citizen of the world, a defender of Greco-Roman culture and Victorian furniture, a firm believer that a cup of fine Earl Grey can sort out any ailment. Especially if added some previously chilled milk.
I love my husband, who is a pirate and a rascal. I love my sister, who is a priestess of Aphrodite. I love my friends, who are ALL misfits and pranksters.
I hate vehemently all the things I hate, like Nature when she produces hurricanes.
I´m unfair and believe in Justice and Beauty and Knowledge more than anything in this World.
I´m Lady Astor.
Come have some tea with me...