SapraBolt-na-Hamol

You must be wondering what I meant by my girlfriend's curves, don't you? You're getting nervous, I can almost see you drooling over the possibility that something quite perverse will be written here. Well, I must disappoint you, I'm going to be talking about love, pure and simple. But of course, how can one be talking about love without mentioning her long curvy legs, stretching all the way to her statuesque hips - there is something Venus-like in it, if you know what I mean -, momentarily terminating in that mysterious spot where the oval arch of her lovely ass gently unfolds to meet the waist, only to be hinted at again in the slowly undulating line that envelopes her firm little boobs in undeniable unity of force and form. Ah, that lovely thing!

Oh, what a day! Woke up at 11AM, had my daily intake of cereals and went to work. Interesting, ain't it? Waiting for the routine to set in seems to be the most rewarding time of day: your senses still dulled from the night's sleep, you brood over the hidden meanings that are supposed to inhabit your dreams, mildly questioning this assumption until you finally wake up to a dreary, foggy winter day. Stretching between these two points in time is the interregnum of candid speculation, whose vivacity and ambition cannot be thwarted by the mere fact that you had a bit too much of skank the night before, on the contrary. They thrive on the fertile soil of your speculative Geist moistened by the ever-present THC-induced braincloud that hovers gently over the curvy landscapes of your mind. Speaking of curves: have you taken a good look at my girlfriend lately? No? Your loss ...

Haha, I must say that blogging is quite a lot of fun, much more than forums which you can easily get addicted to! Well, let's see in a month or so if blogs are any different: a friend of mine runs his own little place on the web and I think he developed quite an unhealthy attachment to it. He is constantly running 'round his modest dwelling, doing the oh-so necessary maintenance, surfing obsessively to feed this furry raucous - no audio backgrounds on wordpress, but you can guess that those voices are not just in his head - animal the links it craves, and, mind you!, all this to no avail. I normally wouldn't go as far as to describe his behaviour patterns as an addiction, but for the lack of better words, let's assume that we are dealing with an addict here. How would you go about treating this serious mental disorder? Would you talk to him, soothe him, maybe even fuck him, for the good Samaritans you all are, although I don't think he needs help on that front? Or does he? Well, let's steer clear of sexual reductionism, we have already built a bridge over these murky waters where our deepest fantasies dwell, entangled in a web that Sigmund weaved when air was cleaner and sex dirtier ... What a punchline, don't you agree?

Here I am, listening to the latest Laurent Garnier set, just closing with Garnier's legendary and much cited track The man with the red face (once you've heard the lovely unwinding of that tenor sax solo interlaced with Hammond-like synth passages, it becomes clear why Laurent has been one of the most revered artists on the E-lectric scene at least since Manchester's Hacienda closed its doors and electronic music spread to the continent) and watching the snow falling on bleak streets of Ljubljana. My position is an elevated one, however, making the streets seem rather superfluous as my gaze stretches over the vast white horizon, lightly touching the rooftops before wandering towards the Downlands. OK, that's enough for my first post, gotta work!