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Luis Buñuel may have…

22 Mar

… too deeply impressed my imagination with Belle de Jour, but I find this picture insanely sexual:

The sluttishness of the "Claudine" round collar


Update: impossibly cool coincidence?

In the Navy…

18 Mar

… is just where I’d like to be, sailing the deep blue waves, far away from this leaden sky and that never to come spring.

Or maybe I’ll just dream about the Flying Dutchman, listening to the wind in Wagner’s overture. Had I to meet with the dreaded Captain, I would wear the following.

First, a red striped marinière

Saint James

… and of course sailor pants…

Junya Watanabe

… striped shoes to match the top…

Tabitha Simmons

and a navy coat on top of that…



And since I’m clad for the Fliegende Holländer, here’s a classic version of one of the greatest innamoramento scenes in the whole history of Opera. Senta meets the Dutchman, he looks for redemption, she looks for a destiny, they recognize their own fate in each other… which is as good as tragic: they will soon die together.

Hans Hotter and Birgit Nilsson are arguably some of the better Wagner interprets ever, and boy one can hear it! Try at least to reach 6″30, when the entanglement of their compassion reaches a first peak. I cannot hear it without feeling the tears rise to my eyes.



The slow and irresistible process of their falling in love, the over-present marine element in the Opera, all of this by some mental association lead me to this sublime poem by D. H. Lawrence, The Elephant is Slow to Mate.

The elephant, the huge old beast,
is slow to mate;
he finds a female, they show no haste
they wait

for the sympathy in their vast shy hearts
slowly, slowly to rouse
as they loiter along the river-beds
and drink and browse

and dash in panic through the brake
of forest with the herd,
and sleep in massive silence, and wake
together, without a word.

So slowly the great hot elephant hearts
grow full of desire,
and the great beasts mate in secret at last,
hiding their fire.

Oldest they are and the wisest of beasts
so they know at last
how to wait for the loneliest of feasts
for the full repast.

They do not snatch, they do not tear;
their massive blood
moves as the moon-tides, near, more near
till they touch in flood.


That’s it for today, my little shrimps.

Joho ho hoe!

A Top-5 of male DNA providers…

14 Mar

… may come handy in those times when world news are slightly apocalyptic. When I ask my own gametes where should I look for a match (a question, my little shrimps, you know to be quite distinct with the question of beauty), here’s what they have to say.

Don’t expect anything fancy: DNAs are a boring bunch, always looking for the same old features Manolo (who tends to be a Platonist) think are written in the Heaven of Intelligible Ideas. Or equivalently, that’s what life wrote in my lady parts to look for in order to make babies. Which is gross.

#5: David Bowie, even better after Let’s Dance.

Beau Brummel does rock

Of course lots of rock stars are hot. But Ziggy’s in a league of his own.

#4: Vincent Cassel, anytime since La haine.

French candy

With a distinctive touch of french mauvais genre.

#3: Brad Pitt, circa Fight Club or Snatch.

Yeah, I know I'm alone on this one.

Hollywood hasn’t offered anything to top that in terms of gamete-hysteria-inducing bastard.

#2: Sean Connery, in the sixties.

So classic it hurts

Well, actually, Hollywood gave us Daniel Craig, who is hot as sh*t. But the competition is too tough here, even for the mean blond Bond.

#1: Steve McQueen, in the seventies.

The guy was even hotter than the actor. Who can top that?

You got me at the freckles, sonnyboy.

#0: Rudolf Noureev, anytime but especially circa 1965.


Nec Plus Ultra

Here we reach the point where my ladyparts literally melt. This guy is arguably the greatest dancer of the 20th century, if not the greatest ever. And he was certainly the most beautiful (yeah, here I say beautiful) XY chromosomes bearer ever. My ovaries think he was a god.

Do I see a pattern? Muscular and lean and angular faced and badass, with a great aging potential. Oh so DNA…

Isabella Rossellini…

11 Feb

… had it easy. Not everyone gets the genes of Ingrid Bergman and Roberto Rossellini. So she was more or less doomed to be beautiful and talented. And one of her talents is undoubtedly to be beautiful. She’s not in the überbody league, I fear, even if she does have an amazing face (thanks mum). But she always managed to convey intensity and hidden drama, which requires much more than good looks. In the hands of Mapplethorpe, the result is a kill.

Silent Wonders

Therefore it’s not surprising she put a spell on David Lynch, who has a sharp eye for odd beauty.

Subtle danger

We knew since Death Becomes Her that nothing could stop her, and she could get away with improbable roles.

Greatest. Bathrobe. Ever.

I’ve always admired her sense of being feminine even when making fun of herself. But, my little shrimps, I would never have guessed she could pull sexy against this kind of odds.

A true role model. Do not miss the snake, the dolphin and the praying mantis. Who would have thought that God’s creation was filled with such filth?

She did it again

27 Jan

I don’t want this place to turn into a Gaga worship joint. I really don’t. But I’m a victim of circumstances here: I didn’t chose today for this news to hit the fan. You know it already I’m sure but according to some rumor (it doesn’t really matter if it’s true), she wanted her new fragance to “smell like blood and semen”. LIKE BLOOD AND SEMEN, for fuck’s sake!

She’s just too good for this world.

First, as I said, it’s not important whether it’s true or not. It’s just that she’s the only one who could have been associated with such an idea, which is per se a mark of the outstanding.

Second. I flatter myself to have a not-so-bad olfactive memory, and I believe I can imagine the combined smell of these two not unfamiliar notes. Like the meat dress, it could perfectly work if placed into the proper hands.

Third. She’s got a singular talent to find a way to the glamorous uneasiness that’s becoming her signature. The paraplegic on the rise in Paparazzi‘s video as well as the sartorial butchery were two other instances of a same fundamental idea: it’a all about sex and death. I couldn’t agree more.

Andres Serrano, Blood and Semen III

Assuming all this is more than just the usual internet BS proliferation, would you try this perfume? I pre-ordered mine.

The stuff of legend

25 Jan

True Grit


Oh boy. They don’t make them like that anymore.