Monday, 7 July 2008


I want to tell you what drives my attention lately, let's say in the last 15 years, apart from training and bouldering.
It's tits.
I am crazy for them and I worship women for that. It's something beyond me, how they get my eyes locked on them everywhere, and I dare to say without being falsely modest, that I am a gourmet. The joy I feel when I am blessed by the sight of a beautiful breast moving with grace with the girl he belongs to, really makes me smile.
Could it be a sign of God's existence? Definitely not, for at least two reasons: first there are, sadly, also horrid breasts, and second I can't touch all of the beautiful ones. Should God exist, we would live in a world full of perfect tits of all forms and dimensions, and they all would be free for everyone. Amen.
Anyway, I'm sure you will think "Hey I want to know what his likes are, maybe I can help him find some joy!" - the second sentence only applies to women - and I will tell you.
I like all what's beautiful.
I would like to have the writing ability of a Kafka, or Dovstoevskij, or Proust to describe all the form, shapes and movements that I love in breasts. Some may remind you the gentle hills of Tuscany, inviting you for a nap in the summer afternoon hot; some others may be like alpine peaks, nervous and shaky; some others powerful like a muscle car, calling for fast and furious acting.
One thing is absolutely crucial, and can make everything perfect or wasted: the tits have to be 100% coherent with the girl they belong to, and I don't mean just physically coherent, I mean deeply, globally coherent, like the Solar System coherence: a coherence that simply has to be. Finding that coherence when it's hidden and you feel lost, is a great pleasure, a mission, a reward. Again I lack words to perfectly tell what I mean, but I'm sure you get the idea every time you see a girl with a breast that seems to belong to someone else. It doesn't necessarily have to be a fake breast, sometimes nature and DNA are curious, it can simply be something out of place. When it happens, as you try to shift your eyes and attention from the bulgy forms up to the face of the girl to get the full picture, everything loses its meaning, something is lost forever and the only joy will be in the perennial memory of the moment you saw those perfect things, before realizing incoherence and chaos were liying behind them.
So my friends, go around the world in search of beautiful, perfectly coherent tits everywhere, and when you find them never let them go until the only thing you can actually think is "My job here is done, let's search happiness somewhere else, let's donate happiness somewhere else."


pascal said...

I once wrote something about the trinity... but I was talking about Ben, Jerry, and Malcolm! ha ha.

I might be in Italy in late August, east coast, in Grottomare. I'm thinking of driving down from Switzerland for a week. In fact, I'll email you details of my plan!

Ghostface said...

This is the blog entry of all time. I'm taking it to a publisher for you. Not even Proust could write such wonderous prose. I felt mesmerised by every last word. Seminal. Simply seminal.

Oh and I love the tits also.