=> As my blog's stats show, dozens people visit my blog every day; some of them do it many times, and--no comments. Oh well… Leave comments! They make me happy :)
Usually, when I’m online or writing a blog, I’m sexless. I don’t believe in sex online or in the virtual life, and don’t understand it. This is a dialog on the topic:

*A Chat*
“Hello. Would you like me to love you right now?”
“Hello. Can you do it?”
“Well, right now, no… at a distance, online, it’s not so interesting, I think”.
“But it’s possible to feel love at a distance”.
“How so?”
“Do you like ice-cream?”
“I prefer whipped cream”.
“Good. You have not whipped cream at the moment. But you love it anyway. It means your love for whipped cream is boundless”.
“Indeed. I even can imagine how I eat it… It’s so tasty!”
“That’s it. This is love at a distance”.

And yet I don’t understand a virtual sex--but utterly.
Usually I visit my page and then go away, back to my everyday real life. If you write a comment or letter to me, I’ll reply. I don’t live online or on the Net.
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my young kitty
She is so playful. If she doesn’t sleep or eat, she plays or examines unknown things for the purpose of using them as her new playthings. As I’ve said in one of the previous posts, she appeared at my place in the past midsummer, being impregnate. Soon after she brought in the world three dead kittens, she began to play again as though nothing had happened. She wants more and more playthings; frequently she plays her food. When her playthings are lost under the furniture, she begins to hunt for my feet and hands. From time to time I give her my hand--she enclasps it and begins to gnaw it delightfully and to fight, however, without shedding my blood. She enjoys having such a big plaything, a big living victim, and showing how sporty, courageous, aggressive and bloodthirsty she is. I call her my little vampire. If she were inclined to contemplating like some cats, then that would not bad at all--but she loves playing, loping and fighting better, and I encourage her in every way. Because she is a cat and she is beautiful. Bimbo bello.
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do you love rains?
Do you remember Verlaine’s:
“Il pleut dans mon coeur
comme il pleaut sur la ville”.
his most beautiful lines apart perhaps from “Et o les voix d’enfants chantant dans la coupole” which is unspeakapably lovely to me.

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poem for myself
Take other train;
be like a wind;
stop caring about a ticket,
for the golden leaflet is in your hand,
and your past will catch you up
never again.

poem by Charlotte Bronte
Speak of the North! A lonely moor
Silent and dark and tractless swells,
The waves of some wild streamlet pour
Hurriedly through its ferny dells.

Profoundly still the twilight air,
Lifeless the landscape; so we deem
Till like a phantom gliding near
A stag bends down to drink the stream.

And far away a mountain zone,
A cold, white waste of snow-drifts lies,
And one star, large and soft and lone,
Silently lights the unclouded skies.

Charlotte Bronte, the author of Villette, one of three sisters Bronte, the famose English writers. Three sisters. Chekhov’s Three Sisters. Three sisters--northen skys--literature--pulmonary tuberculosis. I love Emily's Wuthering Heights. This is one of her poems:

*At Castle Wood*
The day is done, the winter sun
Is setting in its sullen sky;
And drear the course that has been run,
And dim the hearts that slowly die.

No star will light my coming night;
No morn of hope for me will shine;
I mourn not heaven would blast my sight,
And I ne'er longed for joys divine.

Through life's hard task I did not ask
Celestial aid, celestial cheer;
I saw my fate without its mask,
And met it too without a tear.

The grief that pressed my aching breast
Was heavier far than earth can be;
And who would dread eternal rest
When labour's hour was agony?

Dark falls the fear of this despair
On spirits born of happiness;
But I was bred the mate of care,
The foster-child of sore distress.

No sighs for me, no sympathy,
No wish to keep my soul below;
The heart is dead in infancy,
Unwept-for let the body go.
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vampires again
I’ve read the book The Tale of the Body Thief (1992) by Anne Rice, and I like it much more than her Interview With The Vampire (1976), and yet--and yet I won’t read more her books, because am afraid to be disappointed.
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off topic
Lately I’ve stumbled across the online discussion “Is homosexuality a sin?” My reply was: “The sin is to regard homosexuality as a sin. Recall what they in Iran and Moscow do with homosexuals”.
I seek to avoid politics but I have some views and political convictions. I hate Moscow but Iran I hate yet more. More about worldwide news and politics you can read here:
http://direland.typepad.com/direland/
Now--my declaration of love for USA. I believe in the American military force. Moscow has supposedly stopped to be the empire of evil, but there are a lot of problems more, for example: who will protect us--all of us, human beings--from terrorism and the islamic nuclear ambitions? Who? The governments of the states where most of us live? I believe not. Personally I put my hopes on the US military force.
regards,
Lara

P. S.
”Tales to Myself”
A person who lives solitarily and spends time thinking of sad things and shedding tears is believed to be a looser. What if this mode of life is his/her choice?
“The neighbours knew nothing of him; and since, in the human inferiority’s opinion, the insolent and silent life like his is an infringement of customs and a kind of magic that helped get rid of its slavery, they regarded this reticence as malevolence, restrained by the fame of his enormous riches. This duplex magic of gold and silence was he all over.” (Henri de Regnier)
That’s true, but… However, let it remain as it is.

*novelese*
What twists the plot is doing… and lines of fates
are cunning by the dots;
and eye will poison, and a sense will answer.
To delve in words, to bead them, to admire
the manner of the man whose heart was stripped.
The mystery and the imagery, brighter than brilliants,
merge in nuance, curling, stirring, winding.
Darting to refinement, ciphered whimsy phrases
create a nugget. Suspense cries;
its voice and smile dupe the dupable ones.
Touch it--and the buffoonery will burst.
And all is shaky here;
a suspension-bridge is ground--but the fire
is blazing brighter in the dusk.
All the barbed arrows have been aimed--at whom?
Laughter is heard--yet nothing arrogant.
To search a scanty honour at the bottom;
to find it being desolate.
How meandering the road that leads us up to sources.
The audience is as though electrized,
for everyone is waiting for the final.

So let it be! Que soit-il! Che sara!
“’Come what may’ is neither our motto nor a refrain of our song. Let’s kiss and make up!” (Anthony Blanche)
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if you like reading parables you can read one here:
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/10/03/gleanings~3081240
my vampire themed blog posts:
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/10/29/while_sitting_darkling~3211002
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/11/03/sybaris~3237760
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/09/01/what_s_new~2904202
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/07/01/vampire~2551799
fancy-pansy post has been updated today:
http://ohlala007.blog.co.uk/2007/04/14/fancy_pansy~2093231
promoting my book--and myself:
http://stores.lulu.com/store.php?fAcctID=935938
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