The Danger of Riding Erotic Waves
68
I am writing it and it comes alive
I am in a very strange state -
has is ever happened to you
when things that keep happening
are too much to be coincidences?
It feels like -
I am writing it and it comes alive,
I am writing it and it comes alive,
I am writing it and...
There was tango
There was tango.
There was a man.
There was moonlight.
There was a conversation.
And it was past the midnight.
There was no wine, but there was coffee.
I did not even feel the taste of it
or the taste of the best croissant in Toronto.
I was happy to listen.
I was interested in what
He had to say.
He made me laugh.
He told me everything that I have to know
about myself
and my perfect match.
My perfect match is Che Guevara or Robin Good.
If you had heard the name of my type
You would have laughed
But I'd rather not share it.
He actually read Victor Pelevin and was reciting his verses.
He was sharing his understanding of one of the novels.
It was not even the strangest feeling
But it was bizarre...
Unbelievable.
Things that I am writing keep materializing.
I said "There is no Dulcinea in our story yet
and I will settle for a rose."
In a taxi that was taking me home there was
A ROSE
a white rose
as if for a marriage or from a marriage...
"So? You found a rose in a taxi? What's the big deal?"
I don't routinely find roses.
There was one rose I found once.
It was my birthday two years ago.
It was red and weathered.
This one is white...
I came home
It was 3 a.m.
I write my story
wrapping it around 3 a.m. or p.m.
This is so ...
Just nothing.
But it does not feel like nothing.
So strange.
Everything is a coincidence.
But I was able to dance tango this time.
Even if everything else was a dream, an illusion
This was true.
There was tango.
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My Poetry
- I Prefer Being Out of My Mind
I do hope you keep writing since I really "prefer" your deeper style of thought to so much of the superficial writing that is constantly in our face! (Chatkath) - Discovering Blues
A story of how a simple purchase of a calendar led to a discovery of my poetic abilities. Never stop learning about yourself. Maybe you can write poetry, too. Now I know that I am Blue. And what colour are you? - Jumping Into the Erotic Wave
Everything is left to the imagination of the reader. The automatic thing (a robot?) decided that it was too provocative to add the ads. The story of my life. - Three Inches Was Erotica. Three and a Half Became LOVE.
Tango is my love. My love is... By losing I win, by winning I lose... Yes, this is a poem. About? About being in love and resisting. Resistance is what makes it love.
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Maja, thank you for being the first reader of this ... (no definition) ...
It is just what I wrote, not what I wished for to materialize or willed into being.
But when there is one coincidence, two coincidences, then three and they keep rolling...
then I had this strange feeling.
I even preferred to stay up and record my sentiments as they were at this moment. NOW.
Tomorrow the magic could be gone - my conscience, my analytical mind will find explanations, justifications, ...
I'm a fan. Love your style!
Thank you, rebekahELLE.
Same thing happen to us. Tango, better than Mambo, Lol! More amore than ever before...more sensations to write more. Thanks Kallini, Gracie, merci, danke schoen! agradecido!
LORD
Thank you, Lord.
It is not about love. Even though I was asked yesterday
- What brought you to tango?
- Do I need I reason?
- Yes, you do.
- Then love.
- Who is the lucky ...
- There are no lucky guys, I am too old for that. Love I was talking about was LOVE FOR TANGO.
And funny thing - the man in question (the one that I wrote about) made me laugh when we were dancing - it is hard to be a beginner, laugh and keep dancing. Laughing while dancing tango is in my opinion completely inappropriate. (It is not a laughing dance.)
However, I forgot to think about steps, what my feet did I am not quite sure and while I was busy laughing I realized how many Spanish words I recognized in those songs.
So... It was something worth having.
Love? The lucky guy?
I guess the type that was identified
"The noble robber/bandit". Well...
I said I have never seen them or I have seen them but never recognized.
However, I will continue tango.
If there are no noble bandits, at least
THERE IS TANGO.
A tango, a man, a midnight, conversation, Victor Pelevin, laughter and a white rose to see you home. Noble bandits to ignite your imagination – this sounds like a night to remember.
Now, A Night to Remember, happens to be a title of a book. It happens to be a book regarding the sinking of the Titanic.
Mike, it scares me.
And Halloween coming.
Pelevin & the Man both believe in metaphysics.
When I said about "flying piece", he said - "You'd better be careful. This is your first warning. (1 out of 3)."
I feel like I have to get ready.
I don't know if I told you about "a bad omen" but I feel creepy ever since.
If you bring into it "Titanic", it would be too much for me.
Everything that I mentioned in this "note" is true.
I enjoyed your piece kallini2010, also really drawn to the artwork. I wonder why people don't talk more about the the artwork they use? I am so curious about how these images arrive on the page. Regards, snakeslane
Thank you, snakelane, for your comment.
I am glad to hear that you share my CONVICTION that artwork is an integral part of writing.
I noticed many times that depending on my choice of image (and I manipulate and sway the impression on purpose) the impression and perception change as well.
It is not only necessary to sensitize readers to beauty, but also it is a gift to them as well. It is all done with love, with effort.
I revealed my source of images in one of my hubs and I did not remove the reference. But I was told that it is unwise to share and I agreed. I tend to share, it is a public source and it is a collection that you build or not even build, just browse through and pick whatever you like for the hub, for the day.
However, where there is a will, there is a way. If you are so inclined you will find "your" free source soon enough. Maybe it is even better to have different sources.
My music I find on youtube - where else? But it is also me - without music my articles are not the same.
If you look through my hubs (not read, just look), you will see that for me pictures & songs are ..., they are just who I am. The text without pictures is not the same.
Thank you for your comment and I hope you come again.
A really lovely hub. Svetlana.
I like the poetry. It is so evocative. A hundred little incidents. I feel as if I am entering your mind because this is the way my mind works so very, very many times.
I love the music and the blurred images make it even more attractive. I don;t know how you do it, but your pictures are always so very well chosen.
I had never realised until now how close the Music and the emotion of the Tango is so similar to Zarzuelas. Maybe it was because Placido Domingo was singing there.
Once again. lovely, and of course I have marked it up.
Dear Ian:
Thank you for your comment. When I started writing, it was not meant to be a poem.
The first line was: "Dear Ian, it was so thoughtful of you to send me flowers. 'Yellow' she thought."
I came home at 3 a.m., at 4 a.m. I was writing you a response.
This meeting was so unusual in many respects. I did not realize how I changed since I started dancing and since I started writing. I have to state strongly it was not romantic or erotic. It was eye-opening. It was something I wish I could have with you - face-to-face a cup of anything and real conversation with people who FOR A CHANGE UNDERSTAND each other.
And knowing me, it would be reasonable to expect delving into ALL the important details. However, I was falling asleep and it was an attempt to capture the mood AS IS.
It is never the same after "one sleeps on it".
Of course it is not the same today. A thousand of changes of moods, thoughts, ..., a wave upon a wave... but the rose is still alive despite that there is no water...
And I decided to write it down and then it seemed a natural continuation of the first poem.
There was a conversation.
There was moonlight.
There was a rose.
Two years before this meeting would have been impossible. I was different. I had not arrived to the "Current me" - and it is such a strong current. I can go out to the center of a ballroom and tell everybody "BUGGER OFF!" (long story).
I kind of did - in a way.
It did not make me happy. It gave me hope.
It just confirmed that what I found (myself) is really myself. I keep arriving at the right answers. All this bleeding on HP no matter how lame and no matter how much paper and time I wasted for unpublished stuff - finally comes together as little pieces of a giant puzzle.
As for tango -
tango is not only a dance - it is a philosophy. I saw couples yesterday and not everybody seems to dance their souls. It seems so...
I mostly watched. Like with everything it takes time to get used to, to start liking, so the more you do it, the more you hear. I cannot tell you how I choose - I am sensitive to everything - words, images, smells,
I am oversensitive.
One man put it like that "you have a lot of vulnerabilities" - but it was a wrong word - he meant - sensitivity.
Choice is a matter of doing it a thousand times. The more you read the more you know and the more you differentiate between "crap!" and "this is good, this is gooder, this is to die for" and higher and higher goes the standard.
I am sure I don't have a TALENT FOR SEEING - it was shown to me by others and when we share we grow together. When we compete against each other - we all become losers.
And Ian, you are right - different singers - almost different songs - different feelings
so music and lyrics is not yet a song - you need a voice and the one who plays the music...
isn't it the same with the same text yet different readers?
kallini2010,
Greetings from MAKUSR. When you are a creative person you get inside your characters to feel what they feel and then you give your best because then you are part of your act. But then a creative person has to move forward to a new act, new story. I find your hub true. That's the best thing in it.
Lots of Love,
MAKUSR
A white rose...seem inappropriate for the duple beat of the Tango.I would have preferred a passionate red rose :)But then you found it in a taxi and not a bus :)
Uwah I love your scent, I would have left you a dozen roses but white seemed more your style. The dance, yes the Tango, magnificent. The most romantic dance two sexes could ever experience, the look, the glide, the movement across the dance floor, two angels with wings.
Isn't it so beautiful to be surprised and wonder who that mysterious person was who came calling with a rose? I hope you discovered him. I loved this expression of the Tango and a beautiful exciting video added as well. Bravo, now let's dance my dear, The Tango...
It is not that husbands and bachelors don't understand women.Like buses they are predictable and banal in their circuitous route.And over familiarity breeds contempt. A taxi is a different matter. It conjures image of a lover's tryst and the white rose turns an illicit assignation into a vestal affair. I still have fond memories of sultry nights with taxi dancers. :)
As a poet myself, I understand perfectly, how this writing just comes out of you. This is a very good, and thought provoking piece, of creative writing. Hope to hear more.
Hello Svetlana, no you didn't tell me about a 'bad omen', you have mentioned the flying construction material. In my opinion, any 'flying construction material', THAT FLYS by, is a good omen.
Delete the Titanic remark, we will change course, we will miss the iceberg and sail into New York City, with confetti flying from tall buildings.
Makusr & Silent Reed:
Thank you for reading and commenting.
My poem/notes/accident report is true. There are no characters in it - only I and my vision. My perception. Yes, there was a man.
At the end of the evening - 2 a.m. - I am with a man I see for the first time in my life - night, Toronto.
WE ARE ABOUT TO TAKE A BUS - and we get in and I get off - with "This is NOT MY BUS!!!" It was 320 instead of 97.
Once the bus was gone, I realize that the Route 97 is running no longer - it is too late. #320 is almost the same route but there is no point of transfer to my street. And the thought frightens me - to be standing for at least half an hour if everything is fine or longer as it happened to me before - to wait for MY bus - the bus that will take me home.
So, I say - if there will be no transferring bus - I am stuck at night - I have no money for a taxi. And a taxi should not even be my problem - he invited me and I agreed.
So, there it goes - "To hell with it, let's take a taxi!" He paid. I found the rose immediately. He was indifferent to it. The cab driver took it and was puzzled for ONE SECOND - and then I said "I like things like that - finding flowers or even lucky pennies - almost like a sign of something. The writer in me..."
So, the cab driver said:
"Well, if you like it, why don't you have it then?"
I think even he was more romantic than my "stranger in the night".
Our conversation ended with "Even though it always seems that we (his type and my type) understand each other, WE DON'T."
That was the beauty. The beauty of my philosophy -
"Even though it always seems that we (his type and my type) understand each other, WE DON'T."
Well, Dearest I love the picture,beautiful. is it you? and I certainly can relate to Robin & Che. Methinks thou art in search of a revolution, so your timing is correct. The World is now aflame, with same. Yes, Halloween is nigh, celebrated by my ancient Celtic Druid & Norman Irish Ancestory. Deridhe Samhaine, meaning The End of Summer. Gaelic annunc: Dera Sowna.(my first spoken language & oh so long ago)
Thank you, Saddlerider1:
Without any further ado, if you invite me to tango -
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyfryI0tZFI
and you will see that WHITE is not my colour. My colour is...
see the picture I chose for this hub
or pictures for all of my hubs -
I am no WHITE. I have character.
Isn't it beautiful to find a stranger?
Yes, but I worked hard to make it happen. I've met so many wrong strangers before.
It is a job - finding the one. Have I found him yet?
The question is still open.
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy our TANGO.
Thank you, readexds20, for your comment.
I am not a poet or at least I don't consider myself to be a poet. I like creating poetic experiences. Maybe.
And erotic memories. Only how can one write them?
Mike:
I did even write the whole "hub" about "the bad omen" but it was too freaky. Ever since the messengers came with the suggestion that someone will die soon and I said I felt it would be me (a few days later) a brick flied over my head.
Then my "new stranger in the night" told me - be careful - it is a little bell. The first out of three. I did feel even weirder.
I am trying to forget - yet things turn as if I am at sea - and waves take me wherever they please.
Let's erase the Titanic - there is another reference
Lola is rhymed with "ola" (sea wave). That I like.
===================================================
Lola, como te gusta subir en la ola,
y que los hombres a ti te den bola,
como disfrutas la carambola Lola.
Lola, eres una matadora Lola,
eres una atracadora Lola,
eres una atracadora Lola.
Translation:
Lola, you love going out on the wave,
Getting attention from men,
You love enjoying the party, Lola.
Lola, you're a killer, Lola!
You're an attacker, Lola,
You're an assaulter, Lola.
===================================================
I almost said - I'd rather be drowned in Roman Baths, but then...
I remembered how every wish of mine comes alive.
Before I give you the song - LOLA
now
There was a glass of wine
Past the midnight
There was dancing
Yet I did not dance
Because my shoes were not for me
not my heel size
not the right time
there was a man
who was as wrong for everything as those shoes
yet I chose him, he chose me and
I tried to dance in those wrong shoes
because I just could not resist
It even felt comfortable after a while
the question still remains
change the shoes?
change the man?
change the dance?
I cannot dance my other dances in them
But tango I can try
If I pull myself higher
Heels of the ground
That is the rule for dancing Tango
on the ball of your feet.
True story.
No, my strategy did not work. Only 50%. I am not a general yet, I am in training.
The song:
The stranger stirred your thoughts and mind. Recited verse and made you laugh. So enthralling that you can't remember the coffee or Toronto's best croissant. And then to end with the forbidden dance. This is the most erotic thing I've read from you! Not erotic to me, but obviously it is to you. I liked the ebb and flow in your unique style. Linked.
Thank you, Siroliverdewale, for your comment.
Yes, it is I in the picture, who else can it be?
The woman born on Hell-Oh!-weeeeeeeeeen.
The revolution? Any time. No, I have been told that the Che/Robin Good character is my "shores", I am an ocean that needs shores.
I happen to agree.
Thank you, Augustine.
Erotic? I have never tried, but now I am tempted. Your "erotic wave is growing even higher".
I understand that you do not consider yourself a poet(even if you don't know it...ha ha), but you should realize, that there some poetic aspects to many different types of creative writings, including novels, articles, and also songs. These special gems of writing are rare, enjoyable, and stand out among the other common writings that abound. So again, I commend you, on your humble talent.
Thank you, readexds20, for your comment. Yes, maybe. The label is not as important as the feeling or the expression.
When you speak of erotic waves and of magic you somehow in a bewildering way remind me of this poem by Sarah Helen Whitman:
Warm lights are on the sleepy upland waning.
Beneath soft clouds along the horizon rolled.
Till the slant sunbeams though their fringes raining
Bathe all the hills in melancholy gold.
The moist winds breathe of crisped leaves and flowers.
In the damp hollows of the woodland sown
Mingling the freshness of Autumnal showers
With spicy airs from cedarn alleys blown
Beside the brook and umbered meadow.
Where yellow fern-tufts fleck the faded ground.
With folded lids beneath their palmy shadow.
The gentian nods in dewy slumbers bound.
Upon those soft fringed lids the bee sits brooding.
Like a fond lover loth to say farewell.
Or with shut wings through silken folds intruding.
Creeps near her his drowsy tale to tell.
Thank you, alberich, for your comment and the poem. I don't see the correlation, but if my article made you think of that than it is your impression, your feeling, your vision that counts.
Everybody sees differently and that is the beauty.
I called it "erotic wave" - but erotic waves were so far from my mind. It it not erotic, I was describing my experiences in a "poetic" form. The rose? I still have it. I hope it will inspire another poem or article or at least a photograph.
All the best,
Thank you for your kind respond. Bewildering or not Sarah is also describing her experiences in "poetic" form. I also believe the word erotic is rather missued and the feeling have been rather corrupted as well.
I think love and togetherness dwell within us all the time we have just set up millions of obstacles against it of fear of its inevitable strength. As humans we have the ingredients of reason and decision in addition to merely existing. Reason and fear have been the kings in our world of selection. In the court of fear and reason there are other nobles/ properties, which are powerful and strong yet not in, command. They are properties which are expressed through dance music and poetry etc. These expressions are not just an act of sexuality; they are languages of intuition, instincts, passion of love; as it is in itself. They add meaning and coherence to reason and it is needed because reason just explains a chain of stimuli and response or relations while unity is one of the innermost meanings of the expression of love.
I guess this need no further explaining from me. In short; live and open up yourself, expose yourself, let all the languages sing, because the acting within, on a piece of paper or by you and others are the decisions of living.
Take Care!
Love this. It's true that what we write sometimes comes true.
Thank you, alberich, for your comment.
You gave me a complicated response and I would say that you have drowned yourself in a literary wave. There is nothing wrong with it, but if you try to edit yourself, try to shorten your response to the essence of it. Not for me, for yourself. What would be the goal? I don't know, it is up to you to decide.
I came to the conclusion that words are misused, misleading, confusing, superfluous, unnecessary.
It has nothing to do with you, it is my personal transformation waves. I live now THE TRANSFORMATION.
I will edit your response (this time for me) very simply, I will remove only one line:
"Take care".
I am crossing it out - I am not going take any care. I am in a mode of outgrowing my fear.
It may not make any sense to you, but it does to me, we all can or cannot go through the same stages. Only we have to do it consciously, being aware of what is happening. Not necessarily why, but what. I am conscious about my transformation.
I wish you all the best,
Thank you, carolinemd21, for your comment.
It might or might not come true, my life is playing out so strangely now that I am consciously writing a script...
The rose that I mentioned in the poem - you can see it in my hub:
http://kallini2010.hubpages.com/hub/I-LOVE-MY-DESK
You don't have to read the article, just look at the picture - it is a butterfly and THAT rose.
Wishing you to write a joyous script for your life,
As a foreigner I may use too many words ;-)
-Live!
That was a good line: Live!
A foreigner?
How can you be a foreigner? A stranger?
Canada is my second country as English is my second language.
Using too many words clouds judgment, when you strip down everything that is not necessary it is easier to get to the core.
That is what I meant. We are all challenged in cutting down on "generating too many word sequences and too little sense". I am the first offender.
Have a joyful day,
You too ;-)
Amazing hub, wonderful author. Thank you!
Thank you, senderwollas.
I am joining a real Poetry Club. Real as in real time with real people - that should be exciting, I am so tired of all this ONLINE life.
I don't believe in coincidence--that being said--all things happen for a reason--even if the reason is to merely craft a fabulous write---so well done!
Thank you, AudreyHowitt, for your comment.
Coincidences? I don't know, I don't know. Sometimes it seems I am riding a wave, sometimes it seems that I have drown for good and before saying "Good Bye" to the world, my last thought is "How did I get myself in this situation?"
Majadez Level 5 Commenter 7 months ago
It is no coincidence, I tell you.
What we write - it comes alive.
The moment it's out there - the Earth picks it up and raises your thoughts from the ashes.
It has happened to me before
I didn't know it was so.
But, now I know.
I know.
So, I'll write something else
I'll plan it into a
"coincidence"
and will it into being
it shall be so!
And, when it happens,
when I've proved my theory,
I'll be sure to let you know. ;)