Out of 44 US presidents, at least half spoke other language proficiently. Then it means I would become the first president who spoke English proficiently enough to become the president of this Spanish speaking country.
My other language, native Polish – is the language of the only people who conquered London (with Dutch), Moscow (second time with French), Berlin (with Russians who stole the credits), Chicago (that was part time). If America votes for me I will learn Italian by December and German by next century.
I think US needs a president who, in his genes, carries the memory of these victories and by the way, we saved Vienna from the Turks. That’s why I am qualified for the international part of US politics. Zbig Brzezinski is not my family I only studied journalism with a guy whose family he was. Also Brzezinski. But we are both from Warsaw at least. On the national front I am for Monarchy and I got you a Queen ,US, already.
She is amazing. I will reveal her to my subjects only after I become what president Obama is now – The King of Illusion.
What is not an illusion, doesn’t exist.
OK. I will elaborate on the Queen of US.
By now she must hate me for this blog.
She also thinks that no one reads it.
She must consider me delusional for thinking I am running for US presidency but I have no choice. It is my destiny.
When I first opened my eyes after realizing I have eyes, I saw a sign in the sky – You are the king.
It was right under an even bigger sign saying; Coca Cola. I have no clue why it was there and what it means but I will have secret service figure that out after I am the president.
For example it figured out that current president was born Hawaii.
Who could tell?
There is nothing that is impossible for the secret world agents.
Back to your Queen, America.
You have one of the cutest Queens this Earth has ever provided for Humans, Nephilim, Gerbers and Fallen Angels period.
And I have picked her for you, World because I feel like I have been all of them at some life.
You should try to quit smoking. Saw you smoking once and you smoke the way addicts do. It kills.
I once dated a woman who smoked. Out of all the women I dated only one who smoked. She was a doctor or a pharmacist.
Don’t remember. Had very long legs. Beautiful body. The very first night, she came out of the shower naked and lied in bad, waiting like some mechanical doll. She was not a great lover. I think she was looking more for a husband than passion. Had some barricades to defend herself, in her brain, as far as sex.
Beautiful body on a beautiful face. She tasted like cigarettes. I like the smell of cigarettes. Occasionally I would smoke a good cigar while having some sweet liqueur, when I lived in Fort Lauderdale. Especially there. Not even whole of it. Maybe half.
I would get a terrible headache the next day. You smoked that cigarette like my mother used to. Before cancer.
So the girl tasted like cigarettes. Taste of a cigarette is way different than the smell of a cigarette.
We didn’t break up because of it and I have never said a word about it. I tried to keep her busy with fun and sports, walking my dog together, a crazy runner and pure mad-dog once outside, especially by the water, so she wouldn’t have time to smoke.
We broke up because she was looking for a husband, not passion. And the barricades. But I have always used that as an excuse since: You were right Bob, she was desperate and remember how she tasted?
I didn’t look like the guy in this video but she did look like the woman. You should try to quit smoking for yourself. You look better and move better than the girl in this video. I know what I am saying.
Trust me. There must be hordes of men who want you. Anyway – still do it for yourself. I am not saying that you have one life. We have many lives. You just don’t know which one is supposed to teach you what, till it is over. Maybe in this life you are supposed to meet the momentary but still the greatest love of all of them and he will not complain, will not say a word but will suffer a little because you taste like a cigarette. He will not say a word. He won’t. I did to help him.
Day of little.
Little importance.
Little meaning.
I am getting a little tired of it for being what it is.
I could use my 10 minute little talk to change the day into a Hero among days.
Heroes die first but they are heroes.
It must have to do with stupidity. My stupidity.
This is what 10 minute talk does to me. Debussy was my teenage love. It is too sensitive for me now.
Maybe a little of Debussy can be the 10 minute talk. Not more.
The day will get more interesting. The girl has finished the logo, it is almost what I want it to be and I have recovered one of the domain names that pretty much got stolen from me.
-God, you have promised to make one woman for each man. I am not an Arab. I will be OK with one. Could I please have this one?
– For how long?
– God, don’t ask me, ask her.
– She doesn’t want any old man.
– I see.
– Don’t get upset. Believe in me. Is one night enough?
– Doing what?
– The usual: sex in bed, Jacuzzi, on the kitchen table, island, area rug, window seal.
– No.
– Two nights? One week, two weeks? Hawaii, Bahamas? What do you want?
– How about two years of talking to her once a week for ten minutes?
– Is that all?
– Yes.
– Are you sure?
– Yes.
– Listen Bob. Don’t ask me, ask her. That’s sounds fair.
For all the stuff you will give her.
– What would that be, God? I have nothing now.
– She will become immortal. What is her name?
– Ashley.
– You son of a bitch, you always pick the best, what about the other men?
– You are jealous, God, aren’t you? Admit it.
– A little. I spent a lot of time on this one. Did you see her with no make up?
– Yes.
– She doesn’t need it, right?
– Right. Excellent job, God.
– Thank you Bob. I tried. I really tried with this one. Did you like her laugh?
– She laughs like no one else on this planet.
– Of course not. I got few ideas from Venus, even Cassiopeia.
– I see. So? What about me?
– Tell me you believe in me.
– I do.
– Thanks, I am a shallow God and you are so similar, Bob. So similar I sometimes think you are my son.
– I had a father.
– I know, I know. Another lucky son of a bitch. Got your mother.
– What about Ashley?
– Bob, my dear and loyal friend, how about this: you die, I will have you reborn in 9 months and you will have her at twenty.
She will be what, forty two, forty five? Are you OK with it?
– God, you have just made my day. What would I be?
– Well. Let me think. You will be a handsome model because she is going to be a famous photographer by then and she will hire you.
– Could we have sex then, in the studio, right away?
– Sure, Bob, you dummie. I love to watch. You – at twenty and Ashley forty five, that’s why I made this place, stupid, that’s why.
– But how will I look? Will she love me?
– Just like you did. Just like you did Bob. I spent a lot of time on you. I still do. In other areas. It is just the timing. I got the timing wrong. I am sorry, Bob, you have to go through this.
– Don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again, OK?
– OK. How do you want to die?
– Well. .. I become the first, officially foreign born US President and during my first visit to Israel I am killed in a terror attack blamed of Egyptian terrorists.
– That’s a problem. I have run out of terrorists from Egypt. How about you are kidnapped by Space Aliens who have just started invasion of Earth?
– Just kill me off with a flue shot.
– There is no dignity in going this way, Bob. I thought you would want something special, bombastic.
– I sail around the world and disappear in Bermuda Triangle.
– Come on. It was good thirty years ago. You are an astronaut meant to land on the Moon and you burn in a cabin fire before the launch.
– Sounds like a hoax. Airplane crash?
– We had too many this year. Maybe next year.
– Can’t wait that long. What if I freeze during expedition to South Pole?
– There is no South Pole.
– I am kidnapped while driving through Area 51?
– By who?
– Mexican drug lords?
– No. I like Mexicans. Can you wait till tomorrow, Bob? I have to sleep over this one.
– Can I talk to her at least?
– Only telepathically. It is more honest. What time?
– I will send her a thought of me at Noon today.
– What will it say?
– That I miss her.
– Don’t do that. Call Veronica instead. It is healthier.
-No.
– What do you want to do today, then?
– write something good.
– why?
– that’s my plan B.
– and?
– she knows. God, she knows.
– I know she knows.
– Is she scared?
– No. She is thinking you are a nut.
– Am I a nut God?
– You are a lot like me. Unpredictable but good.
– That’s because she doesn’t know me.
– She possibly will. Give it time.
– Jesus. I feel like I am infected with time, time here, time there, time everywhere, time as an epidemic. Take me out of it. Cure me.
– Tomorrow, Bob. We will talk about it tomorrow.
– Where is tomorrow?
– Here, waiting.
– for what?
– for me. Let me talk to tomorrow now. I will mention you. And Ashley. I promise.
This is my most loved piano piece. I would change few notes. If I knew how.
But I can hear it in a different light sometimes. A little less nostalgic.
A little warmer. A little softer, where he places accent I wouldn’t.
I am thinking about how well it describes few of my feelings from the past and of today.
Yes, this is an obvious sexual harassment what I am doing now. I can listen to it for hours for the piano, guitar, orchestra.
When it is silent it is still in me. It has always been in me like the image of someone I would be attracted to. Image comes and goes, revived by real women.
It has happened three, four times during my life.
I was also explaining to the Associate today what chemistry is.
You have a pill of menthol and a pill of aspirin. They can be manufactured to look the same.
So alike looking you could not tell any difference. But what each pill does to a bottle of Coke is very far apart.
Because of chemistry. Chemistry is energy really. I am a vampire for your energy. Or am I a tree for your energy? I would love to harvest your smiles.
That’s sexual harassment.
I still didn’t finish one my previous posts. I will some time.
The Associate said that it is not important what the menthol pill does to a bottle of Coke but why did the menthol pill meet the bottle of coke and which one of them was asking for it more, subconsciously.
It was already after the dusk that the boat left the save heaven of harbor, a curious child leaving the arms of its mother for some mature, sudden adventure, into this vast, angry lake and started its frantic dance on a dark, liquid matter, as a matter getting darker with every second, its surface boiling with anger against the fallen night and any unwelcome invader on its surface. Last night the lake had a vicious mind of its own, tried to suck the boat down into its depths, where the hungry for human flesh space aliens bases are, no one dares to talk about. They don’t tell you about the many bodies of decomposing sailors whom aliens secretly eat through their skin for months at a time, down there at the bottom. At thought of it I thought I would throw up but I didn’t.
Motoring sucked so we put gene up to get a hold of some balanced better reality but being in the middle of hateful Chicago fall is not for those who are afraid of aliens or their digestive system, living inside the belly of this body of water.
Only one other boat, a sailing mad-man like us, kept moving along the dark horizon of flat Middle-western Earth towards Monroe Harbor for the Venetian Night. One of the girls has explained to me the idea of Venetian Night as she traveled to this Italian wet land during the original Venetian Night in Venice. She was not masked for the occasion, seemed honest:
– So it is about making dreams come true. What is your dream or who is your dream. Think about it now and wish for it and it will come true, go for it.
There was nowhere to go without drowning in minutes so I stayed on the boat and dreamed about … you.
With all my powers of dreaming.
Impossible dream that was, so I have settled for a dream of night out together only: dinner, theater and sex. OK. No sex.
I chose to believe in the self-inflicted lie of being too old for you. Anything I say is sexual harassment at this point. I know how it works I have been harassed many times.
Who talks eternity? Who talks bonds and shackles? Piracy and slavery? If you love someone set them free…etc.
The conditions that must become, appear for the consumption of the contract, in my mind, I set so high – the contract seems almost impossible. (It is very possible if I want it hard enough, I hope I do, we will see);
Life consists of moments lived through and acknowledged during the life-long process of learning eternal spirituality with many lives past, present and future. The last ones awaiting.
I just want to be a moment while I last in this process in this life.
I have been still Venetian dreaming about you till now, when I am writing these words, after waking up today in this morning, sick with cold already. I could use hot tea.
I could do use hot tea. Earl Grey or Earl Gray or English or Irish Breakfast. Lady Grey wouldn’t hurt. Or Gray. I never know. To me it could be Grai.
Back to the night.
The Venetian Night was cancelled, probably due to weather and obvious alcoholism of most sailors during the event – I guessed safety won. We only watched fireworks, got recommendation from Water Birds (Police Boat) to move away to safer distance from harmless white phosphorus in the skies and later sailed next to Navy Pier Beer Garden for free live music and to have hot Red Borscht followed by dessert of grapes, rum and whiskey. Vitamins are crucial and proper. Watched blonde on the other boat dance by the mast, frantically holding on to anything that seemed firm enough while she moved wildly around. Couple of hours later we sailed back into the night but now piercing the waves with the bow, wind already sleepy and gentler. We were the only boat on the lake last night. She drove me back to my car. The girl I know to be really nice. If not for her sex appeal she could be mother Theresa. Always smiling and ready for a joke.
