Friday, April 27, 2007

Number Three

Orpheus Falls In (The Alternative View)
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

Number Three

It is pleasing
to know my touch

to know that it reaches,
it piques, achieves;

that it cleaves
much like the parting of
the swelling Red Sea;

It is pleasing
to know my touch

that it now stands
upon a pinnacle
in the pantheon of man
and the somatically surreal;

it pleases me to know
that my touch
can steal a breath away.

Yes, it is pleasing
to know my touch

teases with raw excess,
softly peddling, pleading, softening,
until it can pack a punch.

It is pleasing to know
what Prometheus and Pygmalion;
Midas and Adam, reaching
across the Sistine heavens,
all felt.

And it is pleasing
to know that my touch
can melt.

I know Rosebud now;
I know the secret of the dying breath,
the final utterance that met
memory with fate, the sweet taste
between rose hips,
whet petals petaling, softly saying—
Rosebud, Rosebud…Rosebud.

It is pleasing
to know my touch

that it teases till raw excess,
softly petaling, softening,
to pack a punch.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

(Getting to) The Sweet Core of You

Appealing To Her
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

(Getting to) The Sweet Core of You

i look forward to
restorative anaerobic feasts,
tonics for souls deprived of sucrose
for far too long, bacchanalias
made for gluttons with bad intentions;
and invigorating symposiums
debating the wherefores and why-nots
of culinary depravity and abandon.

i look forward to
forks full of thousand-layered pancakes,
sips at tall glasses of ice-cold orchata,
and bites of those little baguettes that whet
the appetite; the bánh mì rife with
strings of pickled carrots, daikon,
cilantro and savory charred-pork.

i look forward
to answering the unanswered
great questions about what
makes what and this and that,
weaving slow entanglements
of limbs lost in each other.

i look forward to
to the lathering,
to the frothing,
to steamy, hot
and spicy pots of
Abuelita’s soothing brew—
canela, piloncillo
vanilla, y cocoa con leche

i look forward to
silver pots of coffee,
into thick pools
of dulce de leche;
confiture de lait, cajeta, arequipe—
Ca Phe Sua Da.

i look forward
to eatin’ pee-can pie, and Breyers
dripped with hot caramel,
and trying to pronounce them all,
correctly, while eating—
kar-uh-muhl or kahr-muh
vuh-nil-uh or, often, -nel-uh
and pee-kan or pi-kahn
at least, according to Websters…

i look forward
testing your patience,
to peeling away the layers—
the rind, the albedo, the membrane;
picking out the pips,
and feeding you
each pearl of pulp—
one by one, each a juicy seed
of angiospermatic sensation.

And i look forward
to peeling away other layers too—
of your psyche, of memory, of the future,
of resistance and the undulating to-and-fro
of knowing why and where we must go
before I reach the core
of you.


Other orange-flavored appeals:

Please Have One

Vive L'Orange!

Orange Tears

The Orange Skirt and Her Entourage

What is Most Appealing

Her Orange Shoes

Appealing To Her

Ow, That Hurt

Ow, That Hurt
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

I Am Not A Bird

I jumped without a parachute—

I keep convincing myself
that I can fly,
that I can soar
that, somehow, I can glide,
and still stay afloat,
without falling.

I am only human.
I am not a bird.
I am merely—
a man.

even though
every time I jump
I usually just hit the ground,

“Ow, that hurt…”

somehow, somewhere
down the line, I’m inclined
to jump again.

Usually, It’s a bird that inspires me;
she, with her tweet-tweet,
me, with my Caw! Caw!

I am only human.
I am not a bird.
I am merely—
a man.

I think I can.
Thus, I often do,
if only, because
I can,
and not
I think.

I jumped without a parachute

The Cat Walk

Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

The Cat Walk:

Today I had the privilege of having lunch with Keri Dae at the Waldorf~Astoria. The Canadians had invited me to a fashion show and they were kind enough to serve us a nice cut of succulent, perfectly prepared, Alberta beef. The string beans were nice and crisp too.

Later on that evening, my friend Cathy, a painter of exquisite old Spanish houses and California landscapes, treated me to some Manchego cheese, proscuitto, Cabernet and Spanish almonds at her beautiful loft in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

I took a few photos of one of her cats, Smally and Biggy.

Both meals were deletactable, if only because of those who shared them with me.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Ink of Choice

Ink of Choice
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

Ink of Choice

She asked me,
“What is your ink of choice?”
I wanted to answer,
“The kind that gets under your skin.”

“The kind where my words
make you want and feel;
The kind that peel away the fears
of peril, the fear that if you go
beyond, you won’t be coming back.”

“The kind of words that
make you desire—insatiably;
make you ache, interminably,
and pine to write me, if only,
for more of my words.”

This is my ink of choice.

Instead, I answered,

The color of taboo,
the forbidden,

Blood red,
Crimson, Scarlet Letter A red—

Anisidine, poison red,
Madame Bovary

Bombay India, Vatsayayana,
Sir Richard Francis Burton


After a moment of silence
shared between us, I asked,
"So, do I get to choose…?"

Saturday, April 14, 2007

One Thing Impossible

One Thing Impossible
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

(Orginal Photo)

On Rainy Days Like These

April 14, 2007, Lost in Transition:

“There’s only one thing impossible—that is to love and part.”
~ Mr. Emerson ~

“Yes, it is easy to feel lonely on rainy days like these,” I said in an a lazy attempt to console.

She half-smiled in reply.

However, her eyes belied the truth—heavy and drawn downward, they spoke of the heaviness in her heart.

She had recently ended a relationship—he had half-heartedly betrayed her. He had asked for commitments from her, but then, ultimately, decided that he was only half-interested himself.

Albeit, he was only half of what she had been looking for, she decidedly had given him everything. She had decided and told herself, “Why not?”

For once, she wanted to feel and give and love with all of her, sans reservation. She didn’t want to compromise her innate desire to love unconditionally anymore. Thus, he would do.

She explained, “I was tired of being cautious, tired of loving others at arms length, for there is no true satisfaction in loving safely.

Once and for all, I wanted to fall in love, be in love, simply love, love, love. I wanted to fully embrace someone and not fret over why or for how long. I knew that to love meant letting go, and really never knowing where you were headed to.”

Alas, as wise as she was, she also learned, as we all learn, time and time again, that our desire to love does not always align with those of others.

“We started out dancing splendidly together. And it was a truly wonderful, delightful dance. It really felt quite natural and pleasant to be with him.

But then he began, little by little, to grow tired of the dance. His heart gradually wandered elsewhere. And although he was being honest, he spoke callously about his feelings, or rather about what he wasn’t feeling, and eventually this got to me.

At first, I erroneously thought I could handle this impassion, that it was just ‘a phase,’ that he was lost in transition, and that I could simply hover in the background while he discovered whatever he was looking for.

Yet, I was quite wrong though. I couldn’t, and it hurt. Especially when he didn’t call or write or attempt to communicate for days on end.

And then, when he did, there was such a lack of enthusiasm in his voice that it was highly distressing. I kept quiet about it, I deceived myself into believing that it was simply because he had ‘a lot on his mind.’

However, the last time we spoke he professed ‘I’m sorry I don’t know what it is. I truly care for you. When I’m with you, everything is great. But then when we are apart, nothing is there.

In my last relationship I couldn’t wait to come home. I ached to see her. But with us, I’m not feeling that, something’s not right.’

Of course, as you might imagine, I was a bit frazzled that he was so blunt about his lack of desire for me.

Thus, I took it upon myself to end it there and then, once and for all. Much as I had decided to love him so unconditionally, I would stop doing so as well. I just couldn’t bear to accept his half-ass attitude about us any longer.

Yet, admittedly, even though I’ve had weeks—weeks—really plenty of time to get over this, I still ache from time to time, especially whenever I am inadvertently reminded of him.

Ironically, I’m inclined to think that another fast and furious affair is all I really need to break this torrid spell. Except that this time I just won’t put my whole heart in it. This time I’ll lust more than I would prefer to love. This time I’ll play it cool, rather than the fool that I so foolishly was last time.”

She then half-smiled again, but this time she looked at me, rather than down at the table. She then took a sip of her coffee and said with an even bigger smile, “I think the caffeine is kicking in. Maybe that is really all I needed to feel better…that, and talking to you of course.”

I put my hand on hers and squeezed lithely. I thought, “Yes, maybe…If only a cup of coffee could so easily remedy the woes of our heartbreaks.”

She seemed genuinely happier despite my thoughts though, at least for the moment. So, I kept these thoughts all to myself.

Instead, I said, “You know its easy to feel lonely on rainy days like these.

Yet, regardless you’ve just got to remember how fortunate you are—you’re bright, if not utterly brilliant; you’re incredibly talented; you’re in good health, in great shape and naturally beautiful to boot; and you’re absolutely extraordinary in so many ways. Moreover, you’ve got great friends like me to remind you of all this.

So, I’m confident that soon enough someone else will come along. And despite what has occurred, despite the pangs of loss that you feel now, you’ll be able to love again just as fully and unselfishly as you did before. You’ll forget your fears and plunge back in again.

Granted, it hurts now, but aching is the price we must pay sometimes for the privilege to love.”

She looked at me with smiling eyes over the brim of her cup, and after taking another sip, said cheerfully, “You’re right. I’ll accept my feelings gracefully; I’ll accept that it is okay to feel lonely on rainy days like these and feel consoled knowing that there will likely be many others who I will love and who will love me in return.”

I smiled. I smiled in return.


Charlotte: Mr. Emerson says it all his fault.
Mr. Emerson: Because I told him to trust to love. I told him “George, love and do what you will.” It’s what I taught him. So, you see it is all my fault.

~ A Room with a View, E. M. Forster ~

Sunday, April 8, 2007

I Can’t Wait

Feeling Subzero
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

I Can’t Wait

I found a strand of her hair,
strewn across my suitcase,
while I was waiting to leave—
Air Tran, Flight 53, to Orlando.

I’ve been waiting to leave her
for a long time; or at least in my mind
that’s how it seems, when
you’re waiting.

I’m waiting for the day I forget,
when I don’t let little things
like random stands of hair
remind me.

I can’t wait
to forget.


Read more essays, stories, musings, poems and prose like this at Literary Central!.

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Oprah’s Gonna Make Me

Everyday, in Everyway, Beauty
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

Oprah’s Gonna Make Me

It’s going to be a good summer—and a great year. I can feel it

I’m going to be on Oprah…

Or at least that’s the dream. That’s my get-recognized and get-rich-quick scheme.

Well, why not?

Recently, Rayner dreamt of me being on the show; and a stranger, just a few days ago, told me, rather unprompted, that she envisioned me sitting next to the wonderful Ms. Winfrey.

Admittedly, even though I was excited about the confluence of my literary aspirations with this woman’s whimsical visualization, I merely responded with a restrained smile and acted surprised instead, saying, “Really? You think so?”

Oprah’s gonna make me. She’s going to make 25 Lessons the next Secret (Note: the musing I recently posted about this book was recently removed because TS Inc. (i.e. The Secret, Inc.) filed a complaint…that’s kind of scary), and lorenzo the next household name.

Why not? Right?

God knows Harpo Productions needs a male in its arsenal—Oprah, Rachel Ray…lorenzo.

A man with a mononym no less, and a hot-blooded latino to boot. One that is always excited—excited to simply be alive, excited about everyday I get to get up and make the most of life and every opportunity that comes my way, excited about pursuing all my passions and making my life meaningful to me in turn, excited about the chances to work hard to make my dreams come true, excited about having fun, and excited about loving without trepidation too.

2007 is going to be a great year. I can feel it

Always Pack A Pair of Earplugs

Beauty is Everywhere
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

April 8, 2007, New York City, NY; Newark, NJ; 33,000 feet; Atlanta, GA; and Orlando, FL, 8 PM:

Always Pack A Pair of Earplugs

The Super Shuttle picked me up half an hour late.

While I waited, I watched a number of their trademark vehicles pass by my street, perpendicularly whirring up and down Broadway and Amsterdam.

Thirty minutes after the designated pick up time, I called for an update. The dispatcher told me “8-9 minutes.” Once again, I tried to sit tight and just wait.

Alas, with each subsequent passing of their distinct blue van with yellow lettering, I couldn’t help but think, “What the fuck is going on here?” After the fourth sighting I was sure the driver was lost, and was simply going about in circles.

Finally, one of the vans turned left onto my street and picked me up. Luckily, at 2 PM there was very little traffic.

So, after we picked up the woman with the big black handbag that looked like a big pirate’s treasure chest made of leather—it literally had randomly placed gold chain links and a big fauxly-rusted padlock on it—we hit the West Side Highway at a healthy clip, and sped south at what felt like a hundred miles an hour.

After cruising through the Lincoln Tunnel, we got onto the always-depressing New Jersey Turnpike and made it to Newark International in record time.

Without asking, the guy at the check-in counter kindly offered me an earlier flight into Atlanta, where I would have to change planes to Orlando. Subsequently, the unexpected extra-hour made me pretty happy.

Alas, happiness is as fleeting as love is fickle, because an hour later I had to sit on the plane next to an old Indian guy who smelled like caramelized urine.

Moreover, there was also a big boisterous Southerner who sat directly in front of me and proceeded to try and make friends with everyone.

He would later flash his Super Bowl—or something like that—ring at me, just to make sure that I knew he was “somebody.” The fact that this bozo was flying economy just like the rest of us nobodies, only indicated to me that, if anything, he was no more than a has-been. And truth be told, I really couldn’t give a fuck who this guy was anyway, for I’m neither a sports fun nor very fond of loud-mouthed folks who unnecessarily impose upon other people’s airspace.

Then there was the little boy who was screeching incessantly, just to my right of me.

His mother merely smiled in order to dodge all the darted looks that our fellow passengers were shooting her way. Apparently, she believed in free-range chickens and the inalienable rights of children to cluck away at will.

Usually, when it’s a baby crying you’ll cut the parents some slack because the air pressure on their little ears can be brutally painful at times. However, if junior seems fine and is merely wailing because he is whining or having a good time, I think it behooves the conscientious parent to shush them up just a little—merely a minor common courtesy when you’re stuck for a few hours at 33,000 feet and the innocent bystanders about you have nowhere else to go.

Thankfully, the unusually rapid and rather shaky take-off one experiences when flying on a small Boeing 717-200 jet helps one forget, if only for a moment, about the surrounding din and stench.

Moreover, fortunately I’ve flown enough to learn a few lessons—pack lightly so you can take your bags with you; drink lots of water and don’t drink the coffee; and always pack a pair of earplugs.


Landing was just as rickety as the little voyage had begun; we literally teetered back and forth a bit, from side to side, just like a see-saw, as the captain attempted to get his bearings on the ten feet of pavement they gave him to land his 60-ton bird on.

Thus, ultimately, with my trusty ear plugs, a somewhat startling start-and-finish and the requisite fantasies about chatting up and charming the pretty stewardesses (uh, excuse me, you mean umm “flight attendants”), I quickly forgot about the dissonant everything-in-between.

If only unrequited love was as easy to forget…

Saturday, April 7, 2007

Stalling Inhibition

The Eagle Has Landed
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

Stalling Inhibition
(not this time)

She thinks were just friends.

Blame it on the wine,
but suddenly, I’m inclined
toward more.

Suo marito è qui con lei?
I dreamt of saying
after swaying,
after we kissed hello.

The kiss goodbye
was even better—
whetter, with the wine
kicking in.

But I know better.
I know the sting of her wrath already;
I know what this woman can do.

Hence, I will not pursue, you, this time
I will not pursue this minim of infatuation.
Even if your “tired” phone-voice did slowly
peel away a layer of my inhibition
this afternoon.

Even if, admittedly, I swoon
if only a little,
a little,
every time I see you.

No, not this time.

Wine, you devil you,
you demon,

Not this time.

Stalling, Part II

A couple shots of whiskey later.

I imagined she had whispered,
“Take me away, with you.”

Instead, she had really only said,
“I wish I could go with you,”
—I felt she actually meant it though.

I felt she was yearning for a night out,
her consolation being
she’s going away on business

Working, but at least, away.

Her aching was almost palpable,
I felt, I feel,
here in soused retrospect.

Something was amiss
when she stuck her head out the door,
to say goodbye again.

Not anymore.
I understand.

I imagined she whispered,
“Take me with you.”

I should have said,

Friday, April 6, 2007

no matter (Your Brain on Love)

Your Brain on Love
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

Original Photo

no matter

I am
still in love.

For no matter
who comes and goes,
I still love life.

Life will always be
that lover
unlike all others.

For she never tires of me,
she feeds me when I am hungry,
she heals me when I am bereft,
she entertains me
and makes me cry,
and scream for joy.

I am her toy
as much as I am her master;
for she obeys me
as much as I humbly succumb to her.

She will always mean the world to me;
I can depend on her,
she loves me unconditionally
and gives me more than I need.

I will always love her
no matter
who else comes and goes.

Thursday, April 5, 2007

The Haptic Smell of Spring

The Haptic Smell of Spring
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

The Haptic Smell of Spring
(to want to dig)

Seems like
I’ve met somebody new.

Not the kind I’ve known
or grown accustomed to,
feeling as if, “Hmmm,
I’ve known you before.”

Not the kind of information-whore
who drags out the dregs of where
and when and how many times,
and where have you been?
With whom?

No, somebody new.

A new scent
unlike others.

Someone like,
yet unlike—

Someone damp,

Thoughts of whom
stick to me like glue.

Someone who
last night,
with tidbits and small tales
of making books, wanderlust,
and caverns of cheese,
pleased me enough
to want to pursue—
to continue digging,
to pry open,
and find.

I’m inclined
to a slow discovery—this time;
a kind that patiently trowels the earth,
until the spade punctures and piques,
releasing the redolent aroma of promise,
that rare perfume trifulaos are privy to.

Seems like
I’ve met somebody new.

Albeit, seemingly,
there is no symbiotic growth
between our roots;
there is no hard wood (yet)
that whets and savors;
we share a penchant for the grass
that grows between our toes.

And although,
we have only hunted for a day,
I must say, “Maybe, just maybe…
I’ve met somebody new.”

I’m praying for April showers,
that way she won’t hide,
that way she’ll want to come out and play,
and smell the damp earth with me.

I’m dreaming of tumbling below the oak,
rolling like estrus-soused sows,
plowing eagerly at soil,
searching with exuberant toil—
scraping, scratching, at the scent,
at the smell of sex.

Seems like
I’ve met somebody new.

Wednesday, April 4, 2007

The Cleansing of the Soul

The Cleansing of the Soul
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

The Cleansing of the Soul

I dropped off my dirty laundry, clipped my nails, threw out an old train schedule to Bronxville and went for a long run this morning.

As soon as I got to work, I also called my doctor to schedule my annual physical.

And next week I’ll be on vacation in Florida, Monday through Friday, instead of being holed up here in the office. I just couldn’t wait for spring any longer.

On the whole, inspired by a few recent events, I’m taking action to cleanse the soul.

Along with taking the boys to Disneyland one day, I plan to run everyday and play a lot of tennis with my estranged wife while I’m away.

Even though we are residentially and emotionally separated, we’ve agreed to a few things to “keep us together” so to speak and to keep things congenial—the kids for one, and “love” on the court, especially when I’m serving and the score is 40-love.

Moreover, after 40 years of loving I’ve learned that it is important not to burn bridges. Albeit many have not been traversed in a while, I feel confident that most of my bridges are still intact.

Alas, there are always exceptions to all rules, especially if you’re the one making them.

After a while you learn that sometimes you’ve just got to make a clean break, especially when the bridge is already in peril and liable to fall apart; especially when you’re the only one interested in holding it together in the end.

Ultimately, I believe that the individual makes the difference—find a good match and circumstance merely becomes just another obstacle to overcome or merely a formality to schedule around.

Whether it’s someone you partner up with at work, play or love—chemistry is paramount, that certain intuitive understanding of one another that facilitates a smooth ride over time. Once you have this, everything else is fairly inconsequential.

However, if you begin to look beyond or overlook the core of your partner and rely on circumstantial evidence to hold things together—you’re eventually going to falter, you’re inevitably doomed. For even all the king’s men, ain’t gonna put you two back together again once the love is gone.

Thus, although it is never easy to say goodbye, once and for all, sometimes other people make bidding adieu, farewell, good luck and good riddance an easy thing to do.


Y Uno Aprende...
By Jorge Luis Borges

Después de un tiempo,
uno aprende la sutil diferencia
entre sostener una mano
y encadenar un alma.

Y uno aprende
que el amor no significa acostarse,
y una compañía no significa seguridad.

Y uno empieza a aprender...
que los besos no son contratos
y los regalos no son promesas

Y uno empieza a aceptar sus derrotas
con la cabeza alta y los ojos abiertos

Y uno aprende a construir
todos sus caminos en el hoy,
porque el terreno de mañana
es demasiado inseguro para planes...
y los futuros tienen una forma de
caerse en la mitad.

Y después de un tiempo
uno aprende que si es demasiado,
hasta el calorcito del sol quema.

Así que uno planta su propio jardín
y decora su propia alma,
en lugar de esperar a que alguien le traiga flores.

Y uno aprende que realmente puede aguantar,
que uno realmente es fuerte,
que uno realmente vale.

Y uno aprende y aprende...
y con cada día uno aprende.

Comes the Dawn*

After a while
you learn the subtle difference
between holding a hand
and chaining a soul.

And you learn
that love doesn't mean leaning,
and company doesn't mean security.

And you begin to learn that
kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises.

And you begin to accept defeats
with your head up and your eyes open
with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure...
that you really are strong,
and you really do have worth.

And you learn and learn...
with every goodbye you learn.

*Albeit Internet legend attributes authorship to various authors, including Veronica A. Shoffstall (in 1971) or Judith B. Evans, the original “Comes The Dawn” poem was written in Spanish by the Argentine writer, Jorge Luis Borges, who is often noted as one of the foremost literary figures of the 20th Century. He wrote his poem Y Uno Aprende… sometime between 1919-1929.

Tuesday, April 3, 2007

Put a Plug in it

Put a Plug in it
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

Photo taken in Philly (Philadelphia) on Saturday, March 31, 2007.

April 3, 2007, New York City:

Put a Plug in It

I woke up this morning at 5, and hit the snooze.

Suddenly, I was pitched into a dark and hazy moment where I was at home in Jersey taking care of the boys. Then the phone rang. It was my (eventually to be former) mother-in-law.

I told her, jokingly, that her daughter was out on a date, picking up her future mother-in-law in Park Slope (Brooklyn).

Nancy responded, seriously, “Yeah, she said she was a little nervous about it.”

“Whooaaa,” I thought, “I was only joking.”

Apparently, the joke was on me.

Thus, suddenly startled awake by this curve ball of a dream, I immediately got up knowing that I had overslept my oversleeping.

It was now 5:20 and it was time to get the hell up and make something of my life, for I was tired of sleeping on the job, I was tired of being utterly bored and blaming everyone and everything else, when the only person there was to blame is—me.

In other words, it was time to put a plug in it, it was time to start shutting up and doing something about it, rather than dying a slow death of compromise, complacency and ennui.

Fuck that.


For the last couple of weeks I’ve been feeling as if things weren’t going my way, as if I weren’t in control, as if I couldn’t go with the flow even if I wanted to—because there wasn’t any stream to float in, the creek bed was all dried up, and I, I was just sitting moping in the middle of it.

Specifically, lately, I’ve felt as if I were at the bottom of someone else’s totem pole, delegated to the back of the bus, behind a half a dozen of her other priorities.

Like I said, fuck that.

Admittedly, I’ve been feeling my own special-brand of Attention Deficit Disorder—the kind that spurs me with incessant prods to my slowly deflating ego with, “What about me-me-me?” Alas, no Rit-fix or dose of amphetamine was going to fix this personal brand of ADD.

The only real solution was to retake the helm of my destiny—to press on, move forward, don’t stand still and don’t look back.

So, bye-bye baby and Honey, Here I Come.


Yesterday, I read an interview of sorts with Muhammad Ali and the lessons he's learned.

He said: Watching George come back to win the title got me all excited. Made me want to come back. But then the next morning came, and it was time to start running. I lay back in bed and said, "That's okay, I'm still the Greatest."

Well, I've yet to achieve any such acclaim, which is why I roused myself up this morning, regardless of my greater desires to do otherwise. After I've actually achieved something notable I'll let myself indulge in the luxury of sleeping in.

So I got up, got dressed, and went to the gym.

“Wisdom and love have nothing to do with each other. Wisdom is staying alive, survival. You're wise if you don't stick your finger in the light plug. Love—you'll stick your finger in anything.” - Robert Altman -

The Pleasures of Solitude

The Pleasures of Solitude
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

The Pleasure of Solitude

This was an interesting assignment.

My friend Christina called me up two nights ago on April Fool’s Day and said, “I need you to take some pictures for me.”

I thought, “Sure, why not.” Little did I know what I was taking photos of…

Apparently, Ms. C got an assignment from the women’s magazine she writes for, to review seven of the top vibrators on the market.


The array of what is offered today is pretty impressive. There was The Rabbit, which understandably has a reputation…There was one that you plug into your iPod and that vibrates according to the bass of the song playing. There was one that retails for $265 because it comes with software with which you can program specialized grooves for and then send them to your loved one from afar. Apparently, some happy couples are into that…

Anyway, after listening to what each one can do, hearing about how each did, and then actually feeling them vibrate in my hand, it was easy to see why a woman might think, “Now, what do I need a man for?”

Of course, I’m being wholly facetious. Men are useful for many things like…like…hmmm, I’m having a little trouble here. Can anyone help me out here?

Nonetheless, I immediately concluded that today’s woman has got it made. Who needs human love and affection when you’ve got toys like these?

We all know the answer to that question—we all do. For there’s nothing like the real thing.

As often as we find ourselves wanting to replace each other with the indifferent joy of playing with tools and toys, women and men will always still need each other.

Monday, April 2, 2007

I Like to (Lust) and Love

I Like to (Lust) and Love
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

i like to do

All remains the same for me.
I still love and desire much the same.
I have no one to blame for the woes
that pang therefrom, but me.

I create the failed expectations;
I engender the elations and the pain
more than those that don’t.
I love more than I should—
yet, I harbor no regrets.

I let myself feel,
much more than most,
because I know time heals
all wounds, regardless of how deep
they run.

Thus, I cannot complain.

For there is no shame in feeling.
There is no shame in loving,
if only from afar; there is no shame
in giving unconditionally; there is no
shame in knowing desire that cannot be returned.

I experiment all the time—
life is a sublime lab for that.
Besides, we are all rats in the lab of love
we are all running on the wheel,
we are all running through the maze.

It is nice when we find our way though;
it is nice to have a day without shocks
and clocks that remind us that time
is running out.

Yes, I have my doubts, much like
all the other mortals; but I have my
fair share of glee too. It is nice to see you
for one, it is nice to see you for two.

We should not be conscious of being
as much as being. Consciousness being
mostly an afterthought, after we have done,
and not asked, for those that don’t—think too much.

I like to do.

Regardless of the pangs,
regardless of the clamor,
regardless of the void
left in the wake of glee.

Because by doing
I get to have what I desire,
and thus continue to be inspired
to lust and love.

Sunday, April 1, 2007

Testing "The Secret"

Testing "The Secret"
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

Testing The Secret

So, I read The Secret.

For some serious fun, I'm going to try one of the exercises recommended in the book, which suggests that all we have to do in order to have what we want is to Ask, Believe and Receive.

Sounds easy enough, so why not?

So, as per the prescription, I'm going to lay out my wishes here and now. And periodically I will report here in this space whether or not The Secret is working. Thus, if it does in fact have an impact, I will be a living testimony to its power.

You are encouraged to list your very own silly and serious wishes below.

1. I want everyone around me, especially family, friends, and acquaintances to be inspired, to laugh often and to genuinely be happy, more often than not.

2. I want to live a physically and mentally healthy life until I'm 100.

3. I want a million dollars by the end of this year, 2007.

4. I want to receive 10 million dollars within the next two years.

5. I want to make a 100 million dollars with the next 3 years.

6. I want to earn one billion US dollars (not monopoly money) in the next 10 years.

7. I want to write and take photos full time by the end of this year.

8. I want to write 20 books over the next 20 years.

9. I want to travel and live all over the world.

10. I want to read, write and speak 7 languages (English, French, German, Italian, Japanese, Portuguese, and Spanish) within the next 7 years.

11. I want to be extraordinarily happy the rest of my life.

12. I want my children to be happy, love strong and to live long, productive and prosperous lives.

13. I want to have a healthy and happy love life.

That's not too much to ask for, is it?

According to The Secret, there are no limits unless we create them ourselves...