|Re: My Woody Allen moment... as an Assyrian|
- Wednesday, August 28 2013, 4:36:13 (UTC)|
from 22.214.171.124 - 173-13-27-45-Michigan.hfc.comcastbusiness.net Network - Windows NT - Mozilla
Thank you for sharing! I enjoyed your story.
My Persian friend, Dr. Ali told me that in Farsi there is not a word for "him" or "her", is that true? He said that he's been doing research and the majority (if not ALL) of the famous Persian poets were actually gay and they wrote their love poetry for other men.
>I'm a loner. But I know many people. Mostly women. So I took a trip from L.A. to SF with a girl name Tina. Right away I knew she was a hustler. Once in SF, at a friend's party, we all took LSD, and I flew my own way -- away from Tina.
>She was real sexy. Her sexiness made me look good, leaving the rest of the ladies wondering. To make the story shorter, I left the place and found refuge on a piano (I'm no pianist, but I was on Acid), so were every one else. So they thought I'm some sort of avant-garde John Cage type.
>Tina got lost: in mind, presence and everything else. While I was making love to the piano (only folks with the LSD experience will understand this), a gorgeous French girl who introduced herself as "Simone" kept approaching me and repeating "you're amazing", which began to make me feel quite nervous.
>As a loner, we like to hide in the shadows observing and analyzing the crowd. So, the party came to an end at around 4 or 5 or 6 a.m.... I couldn't tell... you can't read time when you're tripping. So... Tina was gone (probably indulging in the ritual of blow-job-gang-bang... good for her!) Now, it was time to sleep. I was utterly tired... about to find a corner to collapse, until my friend suggested if I mind sharing a Futon with .... Simone. I pulled my famous Brando, and mumbled something like "yeah... sure".
>We undressed, our bodies touching one another, my heart was pumping excitedly... I offered a message. She accepted. Then, we kissed... and one kiss led to another and BOOM! I turned into deep-sea diver Jacques Cousteau.
>She was moaning and scratching my back, then her soft fingers began to go were no man (or woman) has gone before: The Black Hole. I pulled away... she understood. Then we proceeded to make passionate love, and in the moment of fire and sweat, she said: "Talk to me in Italian... or whatever language you speak"... I couldn't help but laugh, remembering Woody Allen's film BANANAS, when his partner says "talk to me in French... and Woody's character, Fielding Mellish replies "I don't know French... how'bout Hebrew?" Which is what transpired in my experience: 'I don't know Italian... how'bout Assyrian?" To which she trembled: "Yes! Yes! Assyrian!"
>It took less than a minute of Assyrian-Sex-Talk for me (not her) to lose my Nimrud. Why is Assyrian so un-sexy? Persian, on the other hand, is so fuckin' beautiful... filled with poetry, pain, love of the Beloved: Movlana (Rumi), Hafiz (pronounced Hafez by Iranians)... Here's a small sample of Movlana's poem:
>“The minute I heard my first love story,
>I started looking for you, not knowing
>how blind that was.
>Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
>They're in each other all along.”
>― Rumi, The Illuminated Rumi
>Whereas, what I've read of Assyrian poetry, it's so right-wing, militaristic, masculine, fascistic, like the poetry of the Italian fascists who preceded the late, poet, essayist, filmmaker, and openly gay man, and communist, Pier Paolo Passolini. When I spoke to Simone in Farsi, she melted... and asked "please don't speak Hebrew again when we're doing it".
The full topic:|
User-agent: Mozilla/5.0 (Windows NT 6.1; WOW64; rv:23.0) Gecko/20100101 Firefox/23.0
Accept-encoding: gzip, deflate