This is a post I've promised a good friend of mine long ago. He's very dear to me, and he's single, and I'm here to spread the wealth (id est, I'm telling other people about him to share him).
He's very intelligent, he has a pretty good taste in music (he likes The Dresden Dolls, Sigur Rós, and lots and lots of gay icons: Liza Minelli, Patricia Kaas, the Eurovision Song Contest &c., as well as musicals―his favourite is The Cabaret), he's a great cook (at least so he claims, I haven't had the chance to taste it myself), he's extremely kind (he can go way out of his way for the ones he cherishes), he's quite wealthy (from Kfar Shmaryahu, one of the places with the highest incomes in the country), he plays tonnes of different instruments, and he speaks fluent English and a bit of French (and he wants to learn Russian). Also, he recently got a haircut, and his hair looks fabulous. Oh, and he's lots of fun when he's drunk.
For fairness' sake, I should mention his downsides: I personally find him a bit clingy at times, he's slightly chubby, and he can show somewhat alarming empathy to those who hurt him (don't you dare hurt him, lest I kill you in your sleep. No, I'll wake you up first to make you feel it). Plus, his parents are rather conservative, although his grandparents are very nice and open-minded (and excellent cooks).
So, if you're from the area or know someone from the area who's interested in a 17-year-old with all the above characteristics, regardless of gender (he's bisexual, though it seems he prefers males), here's his MSNM: [email protected].
This post is too short, and I've promised Felicia to whom this poem is dedicated to write this ages ago, so I have to break my promise to the lad described above and publish it on the same post. It was written overnight, in two hours time (from midnight till two A.M., because it was the ideal time for the inspiration required; in previous opportunities I was too exhausted and lacked inspiration), and it pretty much summarises what I collected from her descriptions of her dreams, with a bit of my own interpretation.
FREEDOM
To Felicia
'Tis night again. She sipped a mug of tea,
She watched a film, she strokes her pet cat's fur,
She wrote online a philosophic thought:
Forsooth she's ready for a good night sleep.
She enters R.E.M. Within her mind,
The vortex that's been troubling her all day
Is taking other forms. First, slowing down;
Then, turning up its tail, rising slowly;
Then, entering its mouth; then, closing on it,
Becoming some odd loop of violet
And swiveling swiftly, right before her eyen.
'Go round, go round, odd loop of violet...'
And on, this loop of fabric or of led,
or leather, wood, or metal... She knows not
What is her kinship with this eager knot:
Is she this loop? Or just its mad creator?
Or just a watcher? She would not know later,
For now a crimson mist does swallow her.
It's sharp like digging claws and soft like fur,
It makes the loop dissolve into a blur,
And pours wine to her senses, and she purrs.
It shows her creativity, her lust,
Her rage, her passion, every secret must:
She is the bold tyrranosaurus rex,
And some poor old chihuahua, mad for sex,
The mighty king and some bohemian poet―
It makes all those one little stack, and throws it.
So now she's standing in a ground-red desert:
The golden sunlight's growing lesser and lesser―
And vanishing. The sky's Behemoth black.
She's all alone, yet folk here aren't a lack.
The space, the sand, the stones here know no end;
Time-space continua can freely bend;
And her imagination can run free
On this sand, free of rocks, or men, or trees.
Wolves come befriend her sweetly, if she wish,
Or bring her food from other warm dunes, which
The crimson mist within her mind created.
An green truck came to take her: that, she hated.
They sealed her in a wooden crate of oak
They ped upon the road, and hence, it broke.
Her head hurts. Then, she hears a flicking lighter:
Ms. Indigo and Harlequin invite her
To join her for some tea and play some Chess.
A blissful feeling does her soul caress,
And they begin to play. The pawns, the rooks,
The pondering and the resilient looks,
Upon this set of fine mahogany,
Grow to the endgame stages O so near―
She must be risen from her sleep so calm:
In half a stound, she is to go to school.
O, but she knows, her dreams to her can grant
What even her imagination can't.
The bursting hues, the purest form of thought―
The chessboard, desert, and the swiveling knot―
Are her true self: they are her viking's oar
To row upstream, they are her wings to soar,
They sing fore her her soul's most secret lore―
They giver her what she wants, she craves for: MORE.
These hues transcend the well-known, simple seven;
They cover widest land and wider yeavon,
The mountains, rivers, field, folk, road―and Heaven.
An Cat Dubh / 春良 ܫܘܢܪܐ
8.10.09
One more thing I should write here: I like the concept of Anglish. Not because I'm some Germanic supremacist, Kot forbid (hey, although I have much affection to the Germanic, and mostly Nordic culture, I am still a proud Slav...), but because I think there's something rather pitiful about a culture saying, 'We're not smart enough to think of our own scientific terms, accurate adjectives, complex verbs, and even very trivial concepts, so we have to take those of another culture.'
That's why I'm somewhat annoyed by the bad connotations the word 'cunt' has. I watched the Sex and the City episode 'The Power of Female Sex' yesternight, in which Charlotte was brought to a great artist's gallery, in which she was shown his recent work that is, in his opinion, his greatest representation of the strongest, most divine force: 'the cunt'. He repeated the word many times, and she found the usage of such a word very troubling, but said nothing. It's saddening to see how English has shunned her own offspring as an obscenity in favour of a militant foreign, Latin equivalent: vagina, a word which originally meant 'sheath'.
That's one of the reasons I'm so fond of Icelandic: they have a word of their own for almost everything. Think about the word 'family', for instance: in English it's family, in French it's famille, in German it's Familie, in Swedish it's familj, and in Spanish it's familia, but in Icelandic it's fjölskylda (fjöl comes from fleiri 'many', and skylda means 'obligation'). Japanese also behaves very similarly to English, borrowing app. 60% of its words from Han languages (in Japanese, 'family' is 家族 kazoku, a compound of originally Chinese 家 jiā and 族 zú). Hebrew has a word of its own for 'family' (משפחה mishpakha), but uses foreign words for scientific concepts almost exclusively: basic concepts, like 'matter' (חומר khomer), 'state' (מצב צבירה matsav tsvira), 'platform' (מצע matsa'), 'protein' (חלבון khelbon) have original Hebrew, but words like 'polimer' or 'atom' do not. Also, Hebrew uses absurd amounts of words of Latin/Greek origin, borrowed through Russian, and even more absurd amounts of words from English. All in all, Hebrew is either spineless or a creole language.
Also, I started learning Icelandic again, this time quite seriously. Now I can even make light conversations almost completely in Icelandic. If anyone's interested, here are the sites I use to learn:
Have fun, proud geeks.
And I just want to say one more time I'm very sorry your special post came out this way, but I've had to write this down for a long while now...
Unum diem...
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