Natural way of being

Sitting still. What an unnatural way of being! When I think about all these people who spend long days stting in their offices, I get terrified. Life is movement and we have to stay still so long time. During many years at school is what they teach us - to sit still and hold our backs straight. While it would be more natural to dance, or, at least, walk...

The Jewels

Naked was my dark love, and, knowing my heart,
Adorned in but her most sonorous gems,
Their high pomp decked her with the conquering art
Of Moorish slave girls crowned with diadems.

Dancing for me with lively, mocking sound,
This world of stone and metal, brittle and bright,
Fills me with rapture who have always found
Excess of joy where hue and tone unite.

Naked she lay, suffered love pleasurably
To mould her, smiled on my desire as if,
Profound and gentle as the rising sea,
It rode the tide toward its appointed cliff.

A tiger, tamed, her eyes on mine, intent
On lust, she sought all strange ways to please:
Her air, half-candid, half-lascivious, lent
A new charm to her metamorphoses.

In turn, her arms and limbs, her veins, her thighs,
Polished as nard, undulant as a swan,
Passed under my serene clairvoyant eyes
As belly and breasts, grapes of my vine, moved on.

Skilled in more spells than evil angels muster
To break the solace which possessed my heart,
Smashing the crystal rock upon whose luster
My quietude sat on its own, apart,

Her waist, awrithe, her belly enormously
Out-thrust, formed strange designs unknown to us,
As if the haunches of Antiope
Flowed from a body not yet Ephebus.

Slowly the lamplight sank, resigned to die.
Firelight pierced darkness, stud on glowing stud,
Each time it heaved a sharply flaming sigh
It steeped her amber flesh in pools of blood.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=szrIVhpe7zQ

From the purest white to the darkest shades of blue, I am born anew like a pearl on the seashore. Like a pebble, I am worked on every day, by life, till the time when I become smooth, handy, tamed...

Somewhere in your heart

He felt her like the most intimate fold on his body. Like the realization of what has been conceived, like something that you cannot translate into words. Somewhere under his heart she was lying, like a small miniature of this real one. He remembered her, close, dear, closer than his heart, somewhere on his bones, in the hiding places of knowledge of her, even before they met. Something so simple, clear, without a language, without words, just understandable, with eyesight, with skin, with ears. Being direct, with all her drawbacks, she was closer and dearer than anyone else - some beauty from a cover. Because she had this warmth, this soul,so earthly, and so feminine. Naked essence, taken unawares. Balance loss. Here she is, the real. How it hurts, and how sweet this is. And so, she made it up to him. She made this push on him. She understood what women understand from childbirth - the effort is hers, it’s she who must act.
Only this way, and no other way, a man and a woman meet.

Uranus in my life

One of the traits of Uranus (in astrology, that is) is to make us change our name. My Uranus, that is in its exaltation in the sign of Scorpio,  has had this effect on me - I have had nicknames in my professional/semi-professional and amateur life. Koshka - French photo model (koshka - photo model), which means "cat", Lovegoddesss, Sensuallady1, LoveWitch, Lily Was Here - my nicknames in video chats. Not to mention Avorodisa, looking so mysterious, but, in fact, just my real name reversed, spelled backwards - in some social networks (hubpages, twitter) and on the blogger, too! It took some time, also, to get used to the pronunciation of my name in French, with the last syllable stressed - Anna. Which is nothing like the Russian variant, stressed on the first syllable. And nothing like the English version, with the wide middle-mouth vowel instead of this deep back mouth one. 

A woman-sensation

A woman-sensation. An expectation of the touch. The mirror with no reflexion. A castle with no ghosts. A genie of a woman. Talking over the relationships - perfumed, ephemeral, unfaithful and occasional. Just the same. A woman on the verge of despair. A woman-memory. A woman-mania. Going back to the resurrection of the old stories. Immunized against the oblivion. In quarrel, a priori. ...with the flow of time. A woman running. Chasing after the running coffee. A woman-professional in catastrophes on the scale of a separate personality. A woman with the efforts of originality, with tortures of routine, with unmanageable tenderness. A hacker-woman who broke through the shell, broke down her fingers. Breaking the access code to your indifferent body, I am dissolved like chalk in milk, like a black kitten, in the dusk... I am melting in the air, like almond smell. A woman - a loop with no insurance. Time heals. Or wounds. Effect of envy because of the dose. 

The border age

30, the border age, the age of border. Life starts at 30. Real life. New perspectives open, both in emotional and external life. Somehow, the deeper I go inside myself, the larger I see around. Psychological issues. Killing inner parasites, vampires, agressors. Meditation. Layers of inner worlds. Imagination. Real landscapes of sorrow and loss, that, chewed upon, wear out their bitter taste and turn into something qualitatively different. Quiet voices inside me. The tighter you close me, the more room I get. Sensitivity. New sources of information. New resources of energy, both inside and outside.