The 30th Birthday- part2

I don`t know how long I had been looking at her when she glanced at me. I was facing her but couldn`t see her eyes. I only say the arch of her brows that were a bit darker than her strawberry-blond hair. She came closer as she wanted to put out her cigarette in the ashtray. She looked down and her eyes remained a mystery.

"Hey" I ventured. I hadn`t realised how small she was until she looked up at me. It felt like I had interfered with her privacy, I was not welcome.

"Hey" she managed a smile and it softened her sharp facial features. I couln`t help looking at her legs, couldn`t defy whet seemed to be a birth mark.

"Aren`t you cold out here, it`s freezing". (And you`re wearing that flimsy dress reavealing your strong thighs and I `m dying to touch them, I thought).

"You`re wearing a T-shirt , must be equally cold." She was mad for some reason, I could tell. I didn`t give up, though.

"Well yes, but I`m a man..."

Ring the alarm!

The latter gave her such a laugh that she showed me all her pearly teeth in a huge hearty smile.

"You`re a man! Alright. I`m a woman but presumptions are so not today, Mr..."

"Graham. Adam Graham."

"You see, Mr Graham. I am not cold. I was made from Adam`s bone, I`ve got as much of your male resistance as you. Historically speaking, we`re the same. I cannot get cold just because I barely got a dress on. "

"You cannot say it`s history-related. It`s more old testament-related which is basically the best conspiracy that ever occurred to man, which means that tomorrow you might be in need of a paracetamol."

Her eyes glared. She was a cat maybe? Her eyes were of that melted-gold colour that I rarely saw on a human. I saw them on cats. But that wasn`t a relief. That was scary because she started to look like a witch to me. Her hair reached her jaw-line and curled in an angelic sort of way. I was way too focused on her face. Beautiful, she was not. But I was helpless when it came to looking at her, it was extraordinary.

"OK, I`ll be getting in then. Get warm and all."

"It was lovely chatting to you" I lied. It was not lovely, you morron. It was enchanting but not necessarily in the nice way. She feigned a smile.

"Yeah. You`re a bad liar" This time she gave me a sympathetic look. Was it her hair that smelled like mist and ozone or was it November? I was too drunk, November doesn`t smell. Hair doesn`t emit ozone.

She went in and I stayed outside for another couple of minutes. Alcohol is wrong. It is wrong. You see witches and stuff. They smoke cigarettes with their juicy lips and you just feel horny, that`s all.

I decided to forget it all and went in with my friends. The music was so loud I suddenly felt really tired. I was thirty after all, a man of age.

I had almost reached my table when I saw the witch being kissed by a guy who looked not much older than me. She was kissing him back.

to be continued...

phopo:here

The 30th Birthday

Monna is one of those girls that you cannot talk about in the past tense. She is ubiquitous, she populates space just like the millions of ants creeping at the bed of your house. She makes chewing gum bubbles that pop with an ear-splitting sound and you get that urge to slap her in the face for that. Monna has the smallest and prettiest nose and the most chiselled of cheek-bones. I hate that bitch.

***

My ex girlfriend had dumped me so I was a single man in no need of a new romance. Love had taken its toll on me and I was really exhausted from trying to fit that woman`s ideas of Prince Charming. She was no Cinderella herself. Her idea of passsion didn`t go much further than sweating like pig in the gym and getting her muscles super-toned after which she used to come home and fuck me like I was an ice-cold T-bone steak. Not that I felt used and abused, not at all. Sex was ok, she just didn`t provide much more than meeting my basic human needs to copulate. I guess she didn`t see much more in me either because she was the one who demanded we split. At first she was very professional about it, very cool and distanced. We talked like adults but we ended it like kids- almost pulling each other`s hair with wrath and frustration. I always doubt business women`s emotion management because they are heardly ever interested in the primitive. They`re like Pavlov`s dog. Similarly, Jamie was a woman of no control of herself outside her office and her flock of loyal sheep who licked her fit ass any time she laid foot in the room. I was glad she screwd it all for us. Well, wastn`t that glad before I dried a few bottles of bourbon trying to forget her.

Almost a year after Jamie had left me I was back in the game, having preserved but a few good memories from that relationship. Shagging bimbos excessively was ok for man my age but the bells of the approaching thirties were ringing so I was kind of reluctant to admit that my penis was getting bored of visiting places without getting to know them. It lacked cultural experiences, to put it that way.

It was my thirtieth birthday and a bloody cold November night. I was out with my friends clubbing. I vaguely remember details about the place and the setting. I recall the smell of ciggies and women`s fragrance. Their lipsticks flashed in the dark signalling availability. Have you noticed that well -balanced shades of make-up that unavailable women put on? Anyways, another thing I remember is that I drank too much and felt a bit sick so I went outside to get some fresh air and decide whether I`d be brave enough for another shot.

Yes, the air was much fresher outside and no, I didn`t feel I could go for another round because the minute I saw her my guts turned into mash. I saw the 5'2-foot-tall strawberry blonde woman strolling back and forth in front of the club and forcing enormous gasps of smoke into her slender frame. She was wearing her nude-colour fancy dress and looked more like a vision rather than a real person.

Despite her elfine figure, she had those raw facial features that I always found so intimidating about women. When I was a kid, my mother scared the wits out of me when she gave me that unforgiving look. Her brows froze still on her face and her would become stiff. The girl in front of me had the same animal ferocity about her, only she used her generous lips to suck the life out of the cigarette. The lips. I immediately fell for them because they slightly curled upwards giving a mocking expression to her face. Their pinkish thickness gave me goosebumps as I couldn`t match that serious face with such a voluptuous mouth.

It was too dark to see her eyes.

to be continued...

photo: here

Two divided by two

She was sure he remembered everything. When a person remembers eveything, they pretend they are numb and deaf. They don`t need texting, calling or dating to live with the memory as if it were a living creature. A memory behaves just like a woman- it haunts your newly arranged and perfectly ordered life only to let you know you`re a loser.

So, he remembered. She was certain, for she couldn`t let go of the thought of him herself. There was an almost palpitating sensation about this thought- it smelled of him, of cigarettes and all 7 of the deadly sins. She never found him handsome but he had those perfect eyes that you couldn`t really count as sincere. Beаutiful is hardly ever true.

The minute she pushed the massive door of the jewellery store she was hit by the familiar smell and, in a ludicrous moment of self-preservation, she hid her face behind her hands as if preparing to avoid a fist. It took her an eternity of 3 seconds to realise there was not going to be a fire in the shop, it was just her cheeks that flushed at the sight of him. What the hell?!

"Hey, are you ok?", his voice couldn`t help giving out the anaesthetizised intimacy between them but he quickly took control of this frivolous question by not reaching to shake her hand.

Ex-lovers are allowed to shake hands, aren`t they?

"Hey."A short sigh. She somehow managed to look friendly, cool and nonchalant despite the awkward please-don`t-hit-me situation.

"Long time no see. How have you been?"

"Same old, you know. Got promoted at work." What?! Why on earth did you have to say it, stupid cow? How is that of any relevance.

"Good, good. I`ve told you you would go far. You have the chin of someone who knows how to get things done their way. "

OK, a year ago she used to have the chin of a fairy (and the breasts of a goddess) but now she was almost called a go-getter.

"Yeah..." , she decided not to brood too much on the perspective of becoming like her boss. Instead, she decided to swiftly move out of the topic and the shop. At the speed of sound, preferably. "What are you doing here?"

The longest silence on earth followed. She saw his Italian eyes turn darkish and she suddenly found them surprisingly unattractive. Maybe this time he was going to tell the truth?

"I`ve come to choose a ring. I`m getting married... "

A ring. Married. It sounded like he was going to dissect a frog and then analize its viscera. Very matter-of-factly.

"Congratulations!"she felt she almost shouted it at his face but it was already too late to think about her dignity. "Give my best wishes to your future wifey."

At least she managed some sarcasm. She hoped he got it. Apperently he was not completely at ease with the direction their conversation at the jeweller`s door was taking, so he decided to wind it up fairly soon.

"Thank you".

Yeah how about eat shit and die, wanker, she thought.

"Ok, I`ll be going now. Buy the best and dearest earrings you can think of!"

He remembered her passion about statement earrings. Her heart skipped a beat when she added:

"Oh, I`m not shopping for earrings now. I`m getting my wedding ring taken in."

when wine no longer activates my pleasure triggers
I start whining and moaning
feeling guilty
restless, sleepless, less
less is hardly ever more

the ground is a relief when you `ve reached the bottom
you cannot go any further down than that

nocturnal

Astrologists warn me things will start to get more elusive this week. The month of the Fish. We need to be fluid and flexible and dive under the surface. We need to grow gills.

I was offered to publish my 'poems'. They called them poems, I said are they and they replied they could refer to them as recipes if I very well wished so.

I do not do verses, ok. It`s what I call three-dimensional experiences. Still, I must come up with a small selection of poems, send them to the deputee editor of the magazine and then pray the 'poems' are not perceived as a disastrous attempt at getting out of the box.

So... I need to delve deeper into matters, right...Delving into my own work seems to be giving me a real hard time. I rest my case. Good night.

photo: here

on butterflies

I`m afraid I`ve settled in the comfortable position of producing nothing new and just translating or re-posting old stuff. I refrain from calling it lazy. I`d rather go for fastidious (longer words tend to sound more assertive...dogmatic even) . One thing at a time. The thing being nothing in particular. Just read an interview with yoga master Prakash who claimed women were more prone to switching from one state to another easily because they were more capable of feeling nothingness. In that case the latter is certainly a positive word. Nothigness equals relaxation and meditative processes. To illustrate this: a woman, according to Prakash, can be a lover, a mother, a bitch, a friend almost simultaneously for she can use the state of nothingness as a trampoline to various emotionally consuming states of being. Curious, innit...

I haven`t the vaguest idea about the state I`m in and I`m not really trying to define it, I just tend to analyze it without even aiming at reaching an absolute answer.

Prakash also said that a woman produces butterflies. She is the source of butterflies and doesn`t have to get them elsewhere.

I knew it.

photo: here

a thought

The best angle to look at a man is from underneath you. A man deserves to be in the same position as a new-born. A man deserves to be between a woman`s legs and to enjoy the view of her fan-like lashes and milky ways of breasts.

Balkan Supermen

Hellooooo. Here I am, breathing, working out and having enough time to read and watch movies. I`m evolving. In a week or so my private life will go back to normal and I`ll start living as an average 24-year old.

My English friend Katharine came to visit me, so there we were, walking along Grafa street and chatting about our sexual lives or at least what was left of them. She had a laugh when she saw the numerous SexWell shops and was completely flabbergasted when I told her it was not like a WW3 when you had to go and buy condoms. She only blushed-the curse of the redhead- and said: “No wonder Bulgarian girls are sooo beautiful, I guess Bulgarian men satisfy them in bed.” I decided not to contradict the above-mentioned statement firstly because the majority of Bulgarian women are ways prettier than British women and secondly, I was not completely sure why she was speaking about all British men like they were all the same crap in bed. She wasn’t late to answer. She said English guys can shag you for up to 5 minutes, then they get the dumb expression saying uh, I`m about to cum and just before you`ve realized your panties are down, they are through. On top of that, you have to be sympathetic, tell them it happens, it`s ok… 5 minutes? Come on, even rabbits do it longer! I was happy to add another expression to my vocab- brewer`s droop, the expression they use for guys who can`t get a hard-on after a few beers. Seriously?! Lol…

Now`s the time to praise Bulgarian men for their impressive range of sex games is simply. They hardly ever experience the brewer`s droop moment because they are alcohol-resistant and it does take a lot of booze to get them soft. On the other hand, they get drunk enough to keep going, which means there`s more time for us to come. In addition, most guys are really open when it comes to new stuff, educational magazines, toys, porn. This whole set of things increases their confidence and we all know that confidence is good in bed. Bulgarian men are not to be underestimated: when they come too soon, they say it`s because they are too horny OR they cannot come and start giving you excuses like: I`m too busy at work/ I think too much about your ex`s and/or the switch of the oven, the neighbours` dog, blah, blah… Of course, you`re expected to say “Relax, a blowjob will get you back in the game”. Or maybe stroke him like a good dog… Erm, maybe I`m not THAT into you.

Anyway, enough with dissing. To be honest, men are great at sex when they do what we want them to do. Sometimes 10 minutes are absolutely sufficient to see God, but there are times when a woman can`t have an orgasm for 2 hours. Well, she can have one, but that`s for pros. Great sex always leads you to the wrong conclusion that he`s the ONE. Great sex with a great Bulgarian man can make you think that it equals love. I beg every woman on the planet Earth to get this idea out of her head and never say those precious three words during sex. It`s sex, Ok? Right?!

Meanwhile, I concentrate on men`s feet and noses. I have someone`s particular feet and nose in mind and to me it`s just like 200 volts of electricity…like diving…like a shot of aftershock.

photo: here

ha-ha

I am eating doNots and spitting out the Not`s
because they kill,
they can seriously damage my masterplan.
My idea of Doing.

photo: here

Tug-of-two

I`m juggling with the patience

of my last resources and if
anything should happen to it, like
it dies, drowns or wears away,
you must know it tried its best
but couldn`t outjuggle my love.

Message Sent

I`m there to have you
want you and desire you
foolish, selfish, priggish thing
I am.
The multiplied selves of
previous lovers, and their
caresses, slaps and caprices
I am.
The Moon phases,
the disciplined Virgo, the glib
Gemini, the crazy Cancer
I am.
The final throe, the orgasmic
chill, the morning coffee,
the 1-missed-call
I am.
The verb and the agent,
the slip of the tongue, the classic

scenario, the surprise party
I am.
I`m the other half
your pricks of conscience
and whatever you need to feel whole
I am.

photo: here

You`re the broken mirror
that I look myself into.
Shattered.
Cracks and holes.
Deep nothings.

photo: here

photo: here

Give me your blues, their
sparkles and glares
and majestic interiors
and their daggers and feathers
and their velveteen glory.Give me
your blues, and their skies,
and their solar systems
and yes`s and no`s but
never maybe`s. Give me.
Your blues. EYE want them.

To Begin With

I have been a blogger for about a year and a half now but, being advised by an astrologist to go international, I didn`t take my time to take a step. Here I am, teyadiya in English. If you ever get the vague feeling that I might be stealing someone else`s work- you`re absolutely right. I`m stealing my own work and making it global. I was told to broaden my scope, so I am.

Here`s some trivia:

I`m not a journalist, but I`m working as an editor/ freelance writer in my country.

I`m very touchy when it comes to sharing my views.

I`m not a native speaker of English, so I have all the rights to express myself in a simple way. However, mind you, my ideas are grand.

I do not expect anyone to find truth, revelation and a reason to live in my writing.

Everything else you will familiarise yourself with along the way.

No regrets and think NEAT.

MERRYdge

Marry you, I will

I will marry you against your will

you will be merry marrying me

merrily married we will be

just- married once and for all

pop the question and let's roll

to the merry life of "chain and ball".