Well, no, this is no reminiscence of the World Cup and Germany’s shattered hopes of a championship (congratulations, Italy, thanks for bashing France 
).
We are going? to Berlin. My man, my boy and me, and only the dog stays at home (don’t worry, she’s cared for). We’re going to visit loved ones, and how I am looking forward to that!
So there will be no entry for one week, but you will survive that, won’t you? 
Subtitle: Sometimes I just cannot believe how uptight and stupid some people really are…
What comes to mind when you read the title of this entry? Hardcore porn? Wrong! Read on, and you’ll learn about the depths of idiocy.
Here is the story: A little magazine, a freebie giveaway you can find at Baby’s supply stores, features a cover photo with a baby suckling on its mother’s breast. This is according to the title story, “why women don’t nurse longer”. Have a look at the picture:
Look at it real hard.
What you can see on the picture is a really cute little baby’s head. What you also can see on the picture is the curve of its mother’s breast, as the wee one is currently being fed. What you can NOT see is anything even remotely reminding us of porn. Why, there’s not even a nipple! At least none to be seen.
But what happened in the US of A, the land of the brave and free, when they saw the title of this little magazine? An uproar! Shocked and hurt phonecalls and emails!
“I was shocked to see a huge breast on the cover of a magazine”, a woman from Kansas writes, “I feel offended by it, and my husband felt very awkward when he saw the magazine in our livingroom”. (more…)
Here is my little boy, exploring the mosaics laid down in the Cathedral of Cologne. I love the way he dives into the experience with all his senses, that’s why it’s the Picture of the Day.
“Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot.”
Dream, in SANDMAN #19: “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”
(by Neil Gaiman)
What is it that makes us burn?
Desire is a feeling that rises from nowhere. Whence does it approach, unbidden when you least expect it, and yet to stubbornly deprecating when you want to invite it? In what region of our body or soul is it hatched?
Go back in your memories and try to find moments of purest desire. Are they not strange, unmasked moments? Desire, in the moment of its initial, inflaming glory,? strips us from every other sentiment. Or have you ever felt desire along with something else? Yes? You had it wrong, then. Need proof of that? I have proof, the purest there is: Grammatical proof.
Desire exists as a noun and a verb. We do not have the adverb “desiredly”. You can do something passionately, with passion. But not with desire. Nothing really works along with desire. Desire always is alone. If you need an adverb here, you need to make it desirable –> desirably. You see?
Did you ever read the Sandman series by Neil Gaiman? No? Poor, deprived soul! Begone to the nearest comic shop!
If you did, though, do you remember Desire?
“Desire smells almost subliminally of summer peaches, and casts two shadows: one black and sharp-edged, the other translucent and forever wavering, like heat haze. [...] Desire smiles in brief flashes, like sunlight glinting from a knife-edge. And there is much else that is knife-like about Desire. [...] Never a possession, always the possessor, with skin as pale as smoke, and eyes tawny and sharp as yellow wine: Desire is everything you have ever wanted. Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Everything.”
From SANDMAN: “Season of Mists”, episode 0
When you search for quotations about desire, most of them agree that desire is dangerous, serving the baser human instincts, an enemy to be faced, fought and vanquished. Desire is seen as a cruel master shackling us to our earthly chains.
Only few seem to think that desire is a source of creativity, of strength, of power, giving us wings to outgrow ourselves.
So which is true?
I admit it: I don’t have an answer. Never said I had one, did I? If I made you think, it was worth it.
Charming little vampire girl after a night of pleasure and delight … hm, probably not so delightful for every participant, but well … people are different.
I did this little chibi creature with a pencil and added the … errr, gory details in PSP 6.
I read the Lord of the Rings when I was a girl (well, who did not? Apart from those who were boys, of course, and who read it when they were b… argh! *senseless babble slap*).
Where was I? Oh, yes, the Lord of the Rings. Needless to say that I loved it, and that Aragorn, Legolas and Frodo became permanent childhood companions. Aragorn and Sam were my favourites, by the way.
But that wasn’t the topic today. What I wanted to talk about is that I read Tolkien’s bio some years after, and I was very impressed to read that before he reached adulthood, he spoke no less than nine languages! Old ones like Latin and Greek included. And yes, she actually really spoke Latin – he was in a Latin debating club at university.? Jeez – what do they teach us at school nowadays?
Having gathered this information as a child, I decided that I would do the same and learn nine languages before I finished school.? I even knew which ones:? English, French, Spanish, Latin and Greek, of course, Italian and modern Greek (which can be counted as independent languages as they are very different from the old ones), Turkish and Japanese. And if there was time, I wanted to add Arabic and Swedish.
Oh well … modern school systems just do not work that way. The whole educational system doesn’t work that way anymore. *shrugs* I learned English and Latin at school, and did fairly well in both, and I started at French and went a year to France after school so that I could perfect it, and I learned Ancient Greek at the University (and loved it), but: I did not learn all those languages, and seriously: Though my life is full of losses and failures, I do not regret many of them – but I really regret that I never managed to get these nine languages into my head. *sighs*
Sometimes, I get out my old Greek books and revise a bit. I do it secretly and tell nobody (except you guys, now), because I think it’s kinda silly and I’ll never need ancient Greek anyway, I just love it so much and it’s a pity that I have forgotten so much of it.
Hey, does anybody feel inclined to teach me Japanese? Swedish? Arab? No? Dayum.
A brilliant idea, vivid characters.
Chrome, read it or you’re doomed.
All others, read it if you’re open minded enough.
ISBN: 0765342987
When I was a little girl, I was able to read thoughts. Not that I really cared. I wasn’t even aware that reading thoughts might me extraordinary. It took me a while to find out that not everybody could do it.
They weren’t very clear. It was not that I would look at someone and suddenly know the wording of what he was thinking, as in “oh, I need to buy broccoli and cheese for diner”. It was a strong transmission of the feelings this person had, together with some random snatches of thought, like paper shavings of a torn up piece of newspaper. And before you ask: Yes, I did a check more than once. I was permanently bugging people by asking them “What were you thinking right now?” Even strangers.
During adolescence, it got stronger, confusing and intensive as all things during adolescence are. At times I wished I would know how to keep them out. At other times, it was beautiful. I remember a sun-floated classroom after school, a classmate and me. We had sneaked in there because he had promised to play the piano for me. He played, and I sat there and felt his feelings, clear and true, along with the music. After a while, I even began to send … and his music changed, reflecting my thoughts and feelings as well, now. The guy wasn’t even a good friend, we were not that close and weren’t after the experience, either. But something was shared, there, some wonder, and I never forgot. Don’t know what the guy is doing these days, I hope he makes a living with his music – though I suppose he doesn’t.
It got lost somewhere along the way. I couldn’t do it anymore, at least not willingly. Perhaps all the big and little requirement’s of an adult’s life numbed the sensing devices (whatever they were). Perhaps I learned to build safeguards against it. Perhaps the antennae were nudged once or twice too often, like those of a snail that shrink back and pull? back into its very flesh. Perhaps it was a bit of everything.
No, I am not sad about losing it. I’ve got enough left to last me a lifetime of feelings and empathy. And sometimes, it flows back to me. Not all of it, but a memory, a reminiscence, a sudden knowledge, like the last spume of a great wave rolling onto the shore.
It reminds me that nothing is ever lost.
… and what now? 
ok, here is the picture of the day:
And the book of the day is Carol Berg, the “D’Arnath’s Bridge” series. Just finished the fourth (and last) book. Great stuff.
Song of the Day is Evanescence, Bring Me to Life.
What else do you want to know?