Wednesday, 9 December 2009

Goodbye Dear Friend

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.


Monday, 24 August 2009

Happiness: Brief but Good

..."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.

Monday, 17 August 2009

Have you ever been afraid?

"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".

Thursday, 13 August 2009

Hello it´s me

"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.

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.


Wednesday, 20 May 2009

The Wiz Kid

"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.

Faith and endurance
Faith in endurance
And faith in fate.


Monday, 18 May 2009


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.


Sunday, 19 April 2009

Body is treacherous

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.


Saturday, 11 April 2009

The Principle of Hate

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.


Friday, 10 April 2009

Shadows and Ghosts

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.


Tuesday, 31 March 2009


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
To fade away,
Like tears in the rain.


Monday, 30 March 2009

Golden Son

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!


Saturday, 21 March 2009

Kansas City, here I come...

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.

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.


Wednesday, 18 March 2009

The Wild Bunch

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
Just for one night.


Monday, 16 March 2009


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.

Friday, 6 March 2009


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!


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,

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

Will rise and strike

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

Monday, 2 March 2009

Heads & Freaks & Mods of the World Unite!

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.

Sunday, 1 March 2009


... 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
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...."

Thursday, 26 February 2009

Can I get a Witness?

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...

Monday, 23 February 2009

They Say

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,

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…

Sunday, 22 February 2009

Lightning Speed

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.


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…

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.

Tuesday, 17 February 2009

Edge City

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.

Monday, 16 February 2009

Little Terrace Time

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.

Saturday, 14 February 2009


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,
I should be showing my loved one
A special time,
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

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

Wednesday, 11 February 2009

Coming of age

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 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

Monday, 9 February 2009

At the Forum

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

Friday, 6 February 2009

The Mystical Company of the Holy Six

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.

Thursday, 5 February 2009

Lady Loves the Acid

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
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

Wednesday, 4 February 2009

The Nobility of our Fellow Dogs

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...

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.

Tuesday, 3 February 2009

By the Beach

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

Monday, 2 February 2009

Summer of Ladytude

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...
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