Strasbourg

Roule, poupée, roule.
Serrée entre les cuisses,
Appuie, amante en cuir,
Laisse-moi glisser, coulisser,

Pédalant dur, je me tiens fermement,
Le vent dans les cheveux, la main sur la sonnette,
Je roule pendant des heures,
Descends et sens
L’odeur entêtant de selle usée.

Genoux pliés, dos cambré
Je l’étreins, proche, je freine,
Et quand je presse le guidon
Elle pousse des cris de plaisir.

Bousculade, jaillissement, je continue à propulser
Sur son cadre
Et quand la ligne d’arrivée approche,
Le caoutchouc brûle de chaleur.

Arrête, entre les
Jambes, elle est mise sous clé,
Personne peut la toucher,
Avant que je roule encore…

November

It's November, which only means one thing: it's National Novel Writing Month. These past few months have seen me move back across the channel to my much-beloved France. My current humble abode is a beautiful farmhouse nestled in the heart of the Limousin. During the intensely hot Indian summer, I revelled in divine solitude, read books for pleasure (a novelty, indeed), foraged in hedgerows, made chutneys and jams and contemplated the wonders of being entirely removed from the oppressive society I once inhabited. You may wonder what precisely is wrong with me. I'm not entirely sure, myself, but I am certain of one thing: I had to escape.

I know that the pressures of my final year at university pretty much drained my soul of any joy I'd ever had. It was a horrible year; one I will never repeat, and prefer not to think of. Embarking on my new life in France has restored me to my old wonderful self. I am no longer trapped by microcosmic university life, or arbitrary standards of living which demand a certain type of behaviour. Living alone is vastly underrated by the vast majority of people. I'm not bothered if I don't wash up one evening, or if I decide to blast music through the house, or sleep 'til noon.

No, instead, I choose a frenzy of writing. My target: 50000 words by the end of this month. I wonder if I'll succeed.

Make It Easy On Yourself.

...as the Walker Brothers so concisely put it. Easier said than done, perhaps, in this day and age. Naturally, we salute the wonders of modern-day social networks such Facebook, Twitter, etc, in love’s first flush. Seemingly, stalking is rendered socially acceptable if carried out on Facebook, but one mustn’t transgress the boundary of what has become our second ‘virtual’ reality and transfer such behaviour into our immediate reality. No, no. Nonetheless, this kind of behaviour is a great way of eradicating those post-first-date thoughts, like “is he attractive? I can’t remember what he looks like!”, and, most importantly “is he a freak/pervert/misogynist/loser/fuckwit?” Of course, there is a school of thought which maintains that Facebook has killed romance. We have become throwaway regarding our potential partners. His profile picture isn’t attractive enough. His status updates are boring. He doesn’t have many friends.
A few years ago I met a gorgeous guy in a bar, chatted for ages, flirted wildly, and developed a bit of a crush. Later that night, he added me on Facebook. I didn’t like his profile picture. He was dressed as a skeleton. I decided I didn’t like him after all. He messaged me “Hey, how are you? Really nice to meet you last night. Xx.” I responded a week later with the most bland and dismissive message imaginable. I blush now to think of how ridiculous I was/am.


On a more serious note, however, Facebook can be a source of unbearable pain. I recently wrote of an obsession that haunted me. It ceased to be enjoyable about a month ago, for reasons too painful to disclose. Needless to say, seeing his name in my list of ‘friends’ was, and still is, a problem for me. I can’t bring myself to cut him out of my life. Seemingly, if I delete him from Facebook, it means an infinite end will be brought to our ‘relationship’ and any link to a life I once had. When I talk of any heartache amongst friends, the immediate response is “DELETE HIM!”…as if this would suddenly cure all evils and represent some terrific act of revenge. No. To sound trite, I won’t give him the satisfaction.
Facebook is Fakebook, after all. We project a false image, a public persona, based on what we want others to think of us. We mock those who reveal too much of themselves online and make sure we never expose our true identity online.

Break-ups are awful. If you have the strength to do it, delete that person from your life. Not for the reaction such a gesture will surely engender from the party in question, but instead for the liberating feeling that will ensue! If you can’t bring yourself to do it, which is perfectly acceptable, find a brilliant distraction to prevent perpetual perusals of your ex’s wall.

But, the best thing to do, of course, is to get the hell offline. Make some coffee, grab a cigarette and think “Yes. My life is so much better without him.”

The Beauty of Addiction...

"Really?" I hear you ask. Yes, actually. For me, there is something thrilling about an addiction, especially if your substance abuse problem concerns a person, not a drug.


No, what I'm talking about is the absolute frustration, the all-consuming, mind-plaguing, adrenaline-rushing crush that I have not been able to shake off for one whole year. It sounds pathetic -- believe me, I'm fully aware of that. But this particular addiction haunts me. I do want to get over it, stop the perpetual obsessing. But, I enjoy my addiction. Perhaps I don't enjoy it all the time, particularly that moment when concentration is paramount, but the thought of him naked just takes you away to an oh-so-wonderful place. In all honesty, the beauty of the addiction lies in the hope that it will lead to something good, something worthwhile. Otherwise the crush ceases to be thrilling, but turns into despair, and empty obsession tainted with its own unrequitedness. I detest my own impatience concerning this crush, the desire for something to happen IMMEDIATELY, without further ado. I want it NOW. And, this just leads to more frustration, more questioning "does he like me?". Perhaps I will never know the answer to that question...but isn't it nice to wonder?