history

I used to think falling in love was the racist behavior of a fool who thinks that one woman is better than all other women.

until I met Mary Jane.

I don't think she is better than all other women.

just smarter and more beautiful.

she also has the best sence of humor and is kind enough to laugh with my stupid jokes.

February 14 2013. the historic date that MJ confided over the phone that today she misses me a little.

"just a little is enough" was my joyous reply. it's the nicest thing she's ever said to me (apart from that other nicest thing she told me in the Fall of 2012. she made me swear we would never discuss it, thus we won't).

after our conversation was over as the fool I have become I kissed the phone that brought me her voice. the damn phone for cryin' out loud.

the guys that were on deck fixing a rusted bollard looked at me with disdain, or was it envy?

now I'm sitting in my cabin. as Elvis Costello sings "I'm not going to get too sentimental like those other sticky valentines" I write these words:

only three scientific facts I'm aware of

A. the earth is round. somewhat

B. laughter will keep you young. and healthy

C. love will take you higher.

love.

everyday.

as for today's celebration it is a fine excuse to share chocolate with someone who has taken you higher and that makes it ok.

loving you is an integral element of my personality and demeanor. you are an integral element of my personality and demeanor.

I open my eyes in the morning. your smiling face comes to mind.it's like opening a window and the sun is you.  I get overwhelmed with sensations of joy, love and enthousiasm for live.
joie de vivre , I think the French call it.
that's what you are to me.
I am aware how unrealistic my words sound. if you didn't know me you'd think I'm some creepy pervert* hitting on you.
but you do know me.
you know that my words sound extreme and unrealistic only because my feelings are extreme and unrealistic. please note that their hyperbolic status does not render their veracity null (neither the words nor the feelings).**
I remember your stupid theory that these feelings would deflate with the passage of time because they were only by-products of my then newborn lust.
even my lust wasn't genuine to you but a mere symptom of my middle age crisis.
I was insulted with how easy it was for you to disregard anything I had to say. 
I remember how easy it could have been to retort by calling you a young cynical bitch.***
I chose to swallow my pride (which believe it is the hardest thing a man has to do).
I know I'm not writing anything new, anything you don't already know. it's just that the moments that I think of you are so great in numbers and so immence in stature that I want to share them with you.
the life span of the feeelings, of the moments is a mystery that only time will solve.

allow me to love you with the passion of a madman until then, Mary Jane



*sometimes Ido feel like a creepy pervert when I'm around you but that's your fault because you are so damn sexy.
**maybe I have being watching too much "Big Bang Theory. I am starting to sound like Sheldon.
***I also remember with the greatest amount of nostalgia how sweet and innocent you loooked at the time (and young and bitchy)

Me arrodilla y estas feliz

I have no reasons to be optimistic.
I don't need reasons.
just a smile.
on your face.
your face is thousand miles away.
because it's attached to your head
which is attached to your body
which I love.
I know you don't like it when I talk like that
it makes you unconfortable
you've made it clear
that you are not in love with me
nor will you ever be.
I agreed for us  to be best friends for the simple reason
that I cannot live without you.
you are an addictobsession.
my addictobsession.
other men on the ship blow their money on gambling, on drugs
or they wait until we are on port and they blow it on women, gambling and drugs.
I stash all my money in a box.
my box of dream.
in which dream you take me up on my offer,
you throw some clothes in a suitcase, we buy a shiny car with a loud stereo
and we drive across America all the way to San Diego.
while we are on the ferry to Coronado island
you reach over and kiss me
"Should I stay or should I go" is playing on our loud stereo
you whisper in my ear "stay Charlie stay".
at that moment your eyes are shinier than our car
shinier than America
shinier than any sea
I reach over and kiss you.
that's what I live for.
I have no reasons to be in love.
I have no reasons to be optimistic.
I am.

the maternal capacitance (s2e15)

best episode of "the big bang theory" ever !!!
the one where Leonard's mother (the neuroscientist) pays a visit.
the only sad thing about it is that she hugs her son the same way you hug me (attempt at humor?).
I never thought watching a sit com would make me realise how much I miss you.
until now.
I miss you Mary Jane.
terribly.
happy new year.

transformer

thank you for the birthday card.
I am surprised you remembered that yesterday was my b-day, even more surprised that you were nice enough to send a card after the way  I treated you last year.
   I don' t know what comes over me sometimes and I behave like such a penis-head.
Actually I do know and I have to be honest enough to tell you.
    once upon a time there was a seven year old Charlie,well a six  year old Charlie about to turn seven. his mother in a rare instance of soberdom and in sudden impulse to play the proper mother card decided to throw him a party. she decorated their trailer with about a million balloons  and even bought Batman party favors for all the children.
   Kenny from next door showed up and played happy birthday to you on his fiddle as everyone sang and Charlie blew the candles wishing for this moment to never end.
later on the grown ups were listening to Lynyrd-Skynyrd records and the children had separated in Batman-teams and Joker-teams and were staging mythical Gotham city battles.
Charlie's mother as a proper hostess had to go on a beer run around midnight. on her way to her boyfriend's pick-up she came across her son, ran her fingers through his hair and whispered "momma loves you, birthday boy". her breath smelled like a moonshine factory, that was the last memory Charlie would have of his mother.
it's the reason that even though Charlie has smoked-snorted-injected-swallowed every drug known to man he has never consumed a single drop of alcohol.
near sunrise after everyone had left Charlie made some french toast which he drowned in maple syrup. while unwrapping his present, a shiny bat-mobile, the sheriff walked in accompanied by the social services lady, a young Aretha Franklin look-alike.
Charlie spent the next eight years in a chain of state institutions at the same time becoming a expert car thief. before he had a chance to be promoted to an armed robber or something even more prestigious by a stroke of luck he enrolled in a restaurant business course offered by the Jacksonville juvenile correctional facility.
   after a semester of potato peeling and shedding tears over a mountains of onions he was given an oppurtinity to unveil his uncanny talent for gourmet food creation.
talking about a blessing in disguise . the fact that his alcoholic mother never cooked, turned Charlie in some kind of kitchen-Mozart. he made his first western omelette having to stand on a chair so he could reach the frying pan, fefore turning five. he made meatloafs, cajun shrimp casseroles, a mean spaghetti carbonara, honey-roasted chicken and his specialty southern-fried veggies dipped in melted cheddar cheese.
   after his mother's departure to the great bar in the sky he was derprived of the joy of cooking. now after all this years as he found himself surrounded by pots and pans, the familiar aromas of spices and crates of fresh vegetables ready to be diced and sliced he felt born again.
you pretty much know the rest of the story. 
Charlie is me
and Charlie loves U.
I just hope now you have a better understanding why I threw the tantrum when you suggested that we go see that Batman movie last year. I have never seen a Batman movie. or why the stray dogs of the neighborhood ended up eating the cake you baked for my birthday last year after I tossed out the window.
sometimes I can be such an immature shit
pls love forgive me
thanx again

wizards

I know I ain't smart but so what.
I know even though I got a fancy title like "sous chef" and an even fancier paycheck it don't mean shit.
I am learning a lot from Alex right now about the health benefits of oregano, about stuffing goat's cheece into squid and decorating it with basil leaves. He is teaching me to pay attention to detail.
   he says we are not mere cooks, we are wizards who create magic potions of happiness.
   people eat food everyday, they eat food at their homes, at the tacky fast food restaurants they go on their lunch breaks, at their family gatherings on sunday afternoons.
   they eat vulgar food drowned in salt and cheap mustard and barbeque sauce.
   for once in their lives by luck or destiny they come on our ship. they get the rare privilege to taste our magic potions and if the stars are positioned right and the moon is an giddy mood and the gods are feeling benevolent that one random person from Hackensack New Jersey or Akron Ohio mesmerised by our potions will go on to discover the cure for cancer, or ice-cream that doesn't make people fat or extraterrestrials will be impressed by his augmented intelligence and will finally come in contact with humans.
   that's how the book of life is written, Alex says.
   that is his favorite expression. the book of life.
everytime he comes up with a crazy story about us being able to tap into the collective spring of creativity it' s always written in the book of life.
it' s written on the bottom of his ouzo bottle if you ask me.
  anyway, I wanted to tell you how he almost fired me this morning for oversleeping and missing the breakfast prep, but this story will have to wait.
                                                                       until tomorrow
                                                      love love love for my MJ.

do you wanna dance?

all ships have their ghost story. Alex is the head chef, that makes him my supervisor. not a bad guy. he plays the greek music too loud and puts oregano on everything (even on damn french fries, which actually makes them taste pretty good I must admit) but other than that he is ok.
   according to him on our ship the ghost lives in the very kitchen we work in. he started telling me all about it but he was called to the captain's quarters to discuss provisions.
  we will stay docked in Richmont for another week for maintainance and then we sail for a Caribbean cruise.
   what do you think of them apples, Mary Jane?
my very first Caribbean cruise.
   I miss you more than I love you and I love you so much that it hurts.
   downloaded and listening to Rocket to Russia by the Ramones. did you know that Joey was diagnosed with OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) when he was 18? he is the ultimate punk voice of america. he looks like a damn cartoon being so skinny and all but the music has so much energy. it sounds like sixties surf rock but there is something very dark and sinister underneath.
  I mean, listen to the way he sings do you wanna dance? there something in his voice like he is fed up with the bitch and dancing with him is her last chance or else he'll punch her in the nose and throw her in the mud.
    my favorite tracks are: Sheena is punk rocker, Rockaway Beach and I don't care which is another angry song. my all-time favorite Ramones song is I wanna be sedated but it's not on this album. enough talk about music.
you must write and tell me what is new with you.
   also send a picture and tell me if there is anything you want. the picture I will put on the wall over my hammock so you can be my official pin-up girl and the last thing I see every night before I fall asleep
 
hey Mary Janey wave bye-bye to your tired sailor