Este blog não possui nenhuma afiliação social, empregatícia, financeira ou política a não ser comigo mesmo. As opiniões expressas aqui refletem meu ponto de vista sobre assuntos aleatórios e nada mais. Comentários são mais do que bem vindos, são encorajados, positivos ou não. Até prefiro comentários oposicionistas, afinal um mundo que pensa igual é desprovido de inovação. Portanto, sinta-se em casa. Espero que ler minhas verborréias esporádicas traga-lhe o mesmo prazer que tenho produzindo-as.
P.S. Algumas vezes algo que eu quero expressar não pode ser dito (apenas) com palavras, então vai parar em meu fotolog ao invés de aqui. Confira-o de vez em quando.
sexta-feira, 8 de janeiro de 2010
Lizzy drove to Andrew's apartment and they took the B from 7th Ave. Station to Grand St. From there they went to this karaoke bar in Chinatown where they could have some drinks and laughs. It was a very slow night and for the first hour or so they had the stage mostly to themselves. So they laughed and teased and sang songs from back when they were freshmen, happier times when Andrew fell in love with her and she was too dazed out of a relationship to think of him as anything but a friend. Andrew reflected things were not so different from a couple of years ago.
They took the Q on Canal St. back to his place and Lizzy announced she was plastered and could she please sleep on his couch. So Andrew went into his room to get her some blankets and the pillow he kept just for just these circunstances and she was smoking on the balcony when he got back. He snuck past the balcony, got a couple of beers in the fridge and came back to sit outside with her.
- Are you trying to make me even drunker than I already am ? - asked Lizzy
- I don't believe it possible, Elizabeth.
- You're so predictable, Andy. You always call me Elizabeth when you're trying to kiss me.
- I do?
- Every single time.
- Is predictable bad Liz?
She stared into his eyes as she answered - No, Andy, it isn't bad at all. - And so he kissed her.
They lost track of time in the balcony, their beers long stale, just enjoying each other's company. It must have been at least an hour before Liz finally spoke. She once again stared intently into Andrew's eyes and asked:
- Pick a number, Andrew: one or two ?
Andrew mused - One might be a lonely number, but it's my lucky one.
- You win - answered Lizzy - Lets bring this party to your bedroom.
Then he thought about his own sex life again, its ups and downs. The bleakness of those times when he'd lean on sci-fi to fill the empty nights. The sheer joy he'd get in those rare moments when he'd hit the perfect trifecta of great looks, great sex and great brains. He'd always fall in love with brains first. Were those rare, perfect moments less utopic than the writings of Asimov ? And most importantly, thought Andrew, were the downers less interesting than his favorite dystopic cyberpunks ? Was his worldview right now any less interesting than Sterling or Gibson ?
That's it - answered Andrew out loud - I'm gonna write, starting tomorrow! I'm going J. G. Ballard on my own sex life.
That night Andrew dreamt of a car crash. And he woke up aroused.