The EU: Headbang into the proverbial idealistic wall

As the nation state crumbles to the ground with the thick heavy sound of impotence, the praised vision of an integrationist multi-state feeds the hunger of the contextually weaker actors and irritates the conservatory few that still hold on “nails and teeth” to their system of values and beliefs.
But how does the multi-state – or Union – looks from within? Shaped like a tidal wave, it bares the stigmata of confusion and produces an overgrown snail-slow administration that seems to be enticed in spawning hopeless ammendments under the emaciated umbrella of subsidiary law. Like all oversized mega-projects, it consummes resources such as time and money at an accelerated pace, forcing its weaker actors into collapse and heavily increasing the peer pressure on the stronger ones.
It has no exit policy other than threaty violation. Through its social pillar policies it grazes the suveranity of the member states causing intra- and inter- state friction. It uses the media to speculate on the unilateral state decissions shifting the public opinion towards the left or right policy as need may be. It doesn`t pledge loyalty to a doctrine but rather to an yearly interest agenda. It stresses the importance of 27 official languages but only uses 3. It provides a week supra-citizenship that confuses the imigration and emigration laws of the member states. It holds a feeble hand over monopoly market policies and it takes too long to introduce a universal currency.
Since it is nonetheless a very popular ongoing project, it is rather easier to suggest possible resolutions to the above issues than to dismiss it alltogether.
Some efficient solutions would be – fastening the monetary conversion process, strengthening the citizenship, producing policies that contain monopoly and policies that specialise the local industries. Selecting 3 or 4 official languages, strenghtening the suveranity of the union itself and finding a coeherent method of coexistence with the member state suveranity.

Erotica excercise

I’m unclean, a libertine
And every time you vent your spleen,
I seem to lose the power of speech,
Your slipping slowly from my reach.
You grow me like an evergreen,
You never see the lonely me at all.

for 18+ readers.

- Fuck me! she looked him straight in the eyes, and smiled – used the vulgar expression in an uninhibited, natural way, articulating the verb with suppleness, like she was requesting the most ordinary demand in the world.
She took off her tinny white underwear and rolled it on her finger before letting it slide to the floor like a delicate feather. Then she made a pirouette – her skirt unravelling her round, firm buttocks and soft thighs.
Then she gracefully lost the skirt too in one simple move. She was now standing in front of him wearing nothing but a white shirt with a loose collar.
She gave him a satisfied gaze, proudly wearing an irresistible boyish smile.
He was lying on the bed, eagerly observing her every move, inhaling her discreet scent from a distance, seemingly indifferent to her demand.
- Fuck me! she repeated and got closer to the bed, grazing her tongue over her upper lip. She climbed on top of him with a feline grace and started rubbing her body against his while slowly biting his neck.
She could feel his errection, and took the aprehension massaging it with her thighs.
He grabbed her waist and she leaned forward pulling his hands and binding them in hers, above his head. Her left hand kept him there, while she unzipped him. Her slick fingers were now sliding down the smooth skin of his shaft, pressing, rubbing or gently squeezing in an expert pace.
She was laughing – a warm, teasing, laughter of joy – while still rubbing his shaft gently, then faster, giving a sort of urgency to the pace. Her hand going back and forth made him moan. He laid his head between the pillows and closed his eyes, while his penis was twitching in her hands ready to play.

Since she wasn`t loosing her grip, he moaned again, and this time she released his hands and placed her finger over his lips – Patience. He smiled without opening his eyes, and caught her finger in his mouth biting it slowly. She slid slowly on him, and her hair tickled his chest. Then she took him in her mouth, and started playing with her tongue, then smoothly sucking while listening to the rhytm of his moans. She let him go, then licked him once more while her nails were scratching his chest.

He caressed her back with one of his hands, while gently pushing the back of her neck between his thighs. While she was still sucking him, he was licking her fingertips. Then he raised her slowly, until he brought her sex to his mouth. He started licking and biting slowly, while his hands were kneading her buttocks. He felt her arching her back and vibrating, and continued to sip, to sting with his tongue in a rapid rhytm.

She was twisting the bedsheet with her hands while whispering don`t stop over and over again like a chant. He kept kissing her thighs and playing with his tongue between her lips, while losing himself in her scent – then he grabbed her by the whrists and pushed his tongue deep inside. He felt her pulse rising, and her breathe running amok. He released her whrists and wripped her shirt off setting her breasts free. Her nipples were painfully aroused and he made her play with them herself while watching her with the corner of his eye. Then he felt her muscles contracting and then letting go with a soft moan. Her eyes were still closed, and her thighs were twitching. Her muscles were slowly trembling.

He pulled her beside him and kissed her hair, then whispered “spread your legs” with an imperative tone. She obeyed and he entered her, feeling her muscles contracting still – he moaned and kept the pace while feeling closer to climax.

She was still moaning under him, bearing the assault. Then she opened her eyes and with one single move she rolled him under her, then changed the pace to something less alert. She gave herself the full pleasure of having him deep inside her, and she smiled while feeling his muscles contracting. She leaned and whispered in his ear – “come for me” then got down on him taking him in her mouth again, and massaging with her tongue the entire length of his shaft, until she felt him coming. She kept working him until the last shivers of his climax stopped.

She swallowed then kissed his thighs, and he laughed tickled by the sensation, while he was lightly caressing her back.

Expecting the rain

She gazed at the plate on her table – filled with round, voluptous white grapes from which crystallike drops of water were hanging in a delicious suspension. She reached and picked one, and the gracefull movement made an almost silent “woosh” sound through the heated, electrically charged, atmosphere. Her hand picking the grape made a perfect white on white image, leaving a lazy shadow on the transparent glass table.

It was too hot in the room, as if the heat gradually rose from the earth`s melting core to her groundfloor appartment. As for her – she was in no hurry – the expectation was sweeter at this point than the reward itself. She took the grape and looked at it for a second – her piercing black eyes, bordered by long curled eye lashes, sealed the faith of the tinny, perfectly ripped fruit between her marble-like long fingers. She took the bite in an absent-minded glance, and turned her attention to the sky that was ever so visible through the big window on her side. Everything was silent, everything was heavy and thick, waiting to burst – and everything was charged with an unbearable, electrical, anticipation.

She started a staring contest with the thickest, darkest, cloud… minutes elapsed and life was still, in a frozen kodak moment. Then, as the pace grew anctiouss along with her heartbeat and breathing rhytm, her gaze pierced through the thick cloud and she twitched nervously, feeling the exact second when the low and high pressure areas swirled in one another, hearing the distinctive, undeniable and heavy sound of thunder. The release was strong, and lightnings teared the skies leaving instant burn-marks that looked like opened wounds of color.

She smiled and jumped from the couch to run outside, but stopped ten centimeters shy from the door. She gave a quick look outside at the deserted street, then opened the door wide and took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the redeeming scent of fresh, cold, summer rain. It was raining with huge, furious drops, and steam was rising from the thirsty ground beneath her feet. She took her shoes off and went in the middle of that lonely, strange, surrealistically wide street, looked up and waited, with her hands above her head, in a sweet surrender, allowing the water allover her body. Her hair was soaked and she was eagerly sucking on a corner of it, bearing the rough caress of a thousand furious drops. Then she started laughing, she springed and ran, then she danced, surrounded by nothing but rain and steam.

Observation

I just noticed my back has a very gracefull way of arching itself. It`s smooth and spontaneous, and totally involuntary…and the muscles are pretty nice without being too obvious, as for the spine, it`s darn straight and it was about damn time.

Sa destramam iluzia vorace a disperarii

Cand, intr-o seara ordinara de mijloc de saptamana, in care soarele atarna anemic pe cer agatat de-un fir de ata ce risca sa se rupa, ne trezim din nou singuri in fata fiintei noastre. Atunci e poate bine sa innabusim fiorul anxietatii ce ne da tarcoale.
Pentru cei a caror soarta, dintr-un motiv sau altul, s-a scindat de realitatea cunoscuta, pentru cei care se intreaba zilnic cum sa umple golul interior ce le consuma maruntaiele – exista poate numai o singura solutie – Trairea.
A trai practic, a trai concret, a trai in ciuda vidului, pare singura forma unanim acceptata de vindecare. Atunci cand lumea noua schioapata si intarzie sa aduca implinirile sperate, singura solutie pentru a infrange dezamagirea pare cautarea – cautarea activa si reala a sinelui, a valorilor proprii, a fericirilor proprii, dar mai ales a limitelor proprii.
Cautarea inseamna traire – un suflu nou, un suflu autentic, intr-o existenta banala. Rolul acestei cautarii nu pare a fi insa cel evident – al gasirii – ci mai degraba unul mai subtil, al intreprinderii in sine – telul este deci infasurat in jurul lui “a cauta”, iar descoperirile ce apar pe parcurs nu sunt decat bonusuri intrinseci ale demersului intreprins.
Cu alte cuvinte – nu caut iubirea pentru a o impartasi, insa ma bucur daca o pot impartasi la un moment dat, nu caut deci, un om pentru a-i cere ceva anume, ci eventual numai pentru a-i oferi ocazia de a ma insoti in calatorie.

Moving forward

As the van was driving rather fast on the half empty free highway, she heard a bumping sound in the back and imagined it was one of the bags falling over the fragile, shy orchid she had kept out of harms way for so long. The driver gazed at her and she silently added “it`s ok, I don`t even wanna ask”, then returned to her thoughts of going astray, that she tried to silence with plans and clever ideas on how to make everything fit into the perfect setting of the ever so perfect cocoon in which her existence could finally blossom, after a powerfull setback of months. She smiled unconciously looking outside the poorly washed transport van window… or she should`ve smiled.

The road was quick and uneventfull and the unload, faster than the original load. And then the door closed behind the last of the movers and as the door slammed shut a vacuum seemed to be created – she felt the air rushing out the rooms with a “woosh”-ing sound and then the clear knot in her throat as she tried to breath evenly and release the anguish of the empty rooms filled up to the ceiling with bags of old and new and grey and blue, of past, of hope, of whatever seemed to be composing her individual existence. She looked at the bags, started unpacking, then the silence grew, and grew, and grew… she rushed for the laptop bag, pulled it out and anctiously waited as the operating system booted… c`mon, c`mooon…she started playing some music that gently filled up the room, sliding through the empty spaces between the bags – she took a deep breath – “Better”, she said to herself and pulled up the bags, spreading them strategically to all the right places where the contents inside should be.

The work in itself wasn`t that difficult, it was actually methodical and not too heavy on the muscles, since all the heavy stuff were disassembled. That was pretty much a relief since she wasn`t that much of  a strong person.

***

(to be continued)

Anticipation

In-Between by Tate Hemlock

Anticipation is what makes the muscles contract and traps the lungs in a long exhale, just long enough to suck your stomach in and bring forward the firm hips line, while you wait lying on your back, for calculated kisses given by a pair of warm lips, or for a caress with silky fingertips.
When played right, anticipation is what puts you in the mood, makes sure you are open to receive and eager to give – like an avalanche that needs nothing more than a silent sigh to burst free and flood the whole valley with its white, soft snow.

Tu ce zici?

Lois Royo Women

+18

Vreau sa ma trezesc si sa trebuiasca sa ma strecor din bratele tale, prin asternutul ravasit si cald; sa-ti sarut gatul si sa simt gustul dulce-amarui, si profilul muschilor destinsi si lenosi dis-de-dimineata.
Vreau sa fi in dimineata asta terenul meu de joaca, sa-mi strecor limba printre dinti si sa urmez cu varful ei linia fina dintre stern si buric. Vreau sa-ti gadil cu dintii pielea fina de pe solduri, ghicindu-le conturul cu buzele, vreau sa-mi strecor mana printre coapsele tale calde si sa le ciupesc incetisor.
Vreau sa te dezbrac, sa te simt gol langa mine si sa-ti ghicesc erectia impungand cearsaful. Vreau sa-ti ling varful penisului, desenand cercuri in juru-i; sa te iau in gura, masandu-te cu limba, sa te sug ritmic, din ce in ce mai alert, pana te-aud gemand in somn, sa-ti simt muschii contractandu-se de placere. Sa ridic ochii si sa-ti intalnesc privirea impaienjenita de somn si excitata si sa am satisfactia de-a te vedea trezindu-te intr-un orgasm.
Vreau sa-ti aduc apoi cafeaua aburinda, si-o tigara, si sa-ti spun “buna-dimineata”.

A need to write

Aired schedule

A need to write is tickleing my fingertips since yesterday I believe – probably due to a sustained amount of reading and just one week of relaxing half-vacation. For the moment I`ll stick to general thoughts issued this morning on a bit of a self-analysing trend. The rest – the actual “literature” that corners me at times and manifests its need to be spread on a piece of paper – will of course come later, if time allows me to give the new idea a decent text-like form that is comprehensible to others (as the comprehension part is rather important since I can`t go on forever saying that it makes sense in my head).

Now, to cut the string of meta-text analysis short, and to get to the actual text – here`s what I`ve been thinking – since it is about myself mostly, of course it might be rather dull for others, and of course, viewer discretion is advised – it might be a public blog but it still holds my thoughts on it so if not gentle, than people be reasonable since I grant you the priviledge of never judging, I expect at least half of the same esteem in return.

I come to realise today how rather unreasonable I`ve been with myself lately (or always – that I still have yet to discover) in terms of managing a resource that I really administrate poorly – and it is a shame that I do, since the resource is a rather one - No, unfortunately I did not stumble upon an unknown raw materials deposit, and no I am not administrating my goldmine - but my time.  And, for the sake of the above mentioned argument – boy, do I suck at it!  As I spend alot of time on station peers, I started noticing the clocks and how slow they go – and with that I came to realise that I am burning out energy on a much too dinamic rate, risking a collapse due to poor time management. The problem is that either I go too fast or too slow with the planning – normaly I come up with this absurdly busy schedule that encompasses tasks that are separated only by a few minutes – while I forget to add at least 15 minutes for a shower or a brunch and I find myself at the and of the week famished, tired and somewhat dirty without realising that I have myself to blame for the lack of a decent planning skill. There is another topic linked to that – and that is – should I or should I not cave in to the inner probably normal feminine endeavour of spending hours for the morning/evening little pleasures – the truce with myself was that as soon as I have my life slightly ordered, I will de-prioritise some of the tasks in favour of some relaxation time (hopefully that will come soon as I start to run on empty). The other extreme I tend to fall into, usually when I realise I am herassing myself with extreme tireing schedules, is to go too slow – for example, this morning I realised I have two new writing projects that I haven`t started correctly yet, so I decided to grant them a little time – 1 year!! And then it hit me – I can be so indulgend with things I should maybe start and so intransigent with me… giving me next to no time to breathe… This needs to change, and if anyone has a special recipy to apply – other than 3 blackberries and an alarm meowing cat – that do nothing other than serve as environments for creating a busy schedule and not sticking to it – please feel free to express yourselves.

I quit!

I QUIT!

Time has come to give it a good and fair try, since my heart is not too happy with the amount of stress and toxines it needs to take from me daily.

Therefore, here we go – Hi, I am Milena, I was a smoker for almost 6 years, and today I QUIT.