||[Mar. 10th, 2007|08:37 pm]
The secret is there is no secret.
What do men want? What do women want?
In comes Time
To sweep away the derelict flirts
With his besom broom. And what do they know?
Glitter and shadow.
It was so fine
To be looking down from the balcony.
Our men had reputations so
They muffled their faces.
And laughter: they are sinister
And damn attractive. Even the toothless
Laughter of crones is so damn attractive.
I love that Goya painting. Those two look like they´re on to something, such complicity. But I think the men behind them are the sinister ones.
I love its mystery. There's a story but we don't know what it is. It's like a scene from a movie by David Lynch.
Everyone who's anyone is a Maja nowadays ... fortunately, I'm a nobody.
Tus labios rubí
Dos rosas que se abren a mí,
Conquistan mi corazón,
Y sólo con
Una divina canción.
De tus labios rubí!
I had a phase a few years back when I found myself suddenly in love with anything Spanish- Goya, Bunuel, Lorca- even though I'd never been there.
I'm so easily assimilated.
Goya (possibly my favourite artist), Velasquez, Picasso, Lorca, Miro, Bunuel and more recently Almodovar ...so many artists who speak strongly to me ...strange, because I'm not madly attracted to the place.
(and do you speak a High Middle Polish?)
Polish- high, middle and low- is quite beyond me.
But how did I come to leave Picasso off my list? Perhaps because he belongs, not so much to Spain, but to the world...
I remember a delightful little girl called Daria Sztrybycya ..."I never spoke a human language" indeed.
It's also weird how educated Poles and Hungarians mostly seem to be madly Anglophile.