My Words are Flat and Harsh

I am a movie whore! I'm willing to trade my precious hours of sleep for movies. I have even degraded myself by watching films in pirated DVDs and in those crappy online video streaming sites.

Warning: Gut-wrenching drama is waiting for you after this sentence

But things changed. To avoid being redundant, let's just say that everything in my life took a 360 degree turn.

This is where the drama ends.

Anyway, all I wanted to say is that I don't have the time to watch 14 movies in a week anymore! I have watched Boondock Saints and Reservoir Dogs this October. That's only two movies in one month! How pitiful is that?

Reader: Crap, I just don't get the point of this post. Why did I even bother to read this?

Ode to a Beautiful Nude
pablo neruda

With a chaste heart
With pure eyes
I celebrate your beauty
Holding the leash of blood
So that it might leap out and trace your outline
Where you lie down in my Ode
As in a land of forests or in surf
In aromatic loam, or in sea music

Beautiful nude
Equally beautiful your feet
Arched by primeval tap of wind or sound
Your ears, small shells
Of the splendid American sea
Your breasts of level plentitude
Fulfilled by living light
Your flying eyelids of wheat
Revealing or enclosing
The two deep countries of your eyes

The line your shoulders have divided into pale regions
Loses itself and blends into the compact halves of an apple
Continues separating your beauty down into two columns of
Burnished gold
Fine alabaster
To sink into the two grapes of your feet
Where your twin symmetrical tree burns again and rises
Flowering fire
Open chandelier
A swelling fruit
Over the pact of sea and earth

From what materials
Agate?
Quartz?
Wheat?
Did your body come together?
Swelling like baking bread to signal silvered hills
The cleavage of one petal
Sweet fruits of a deep velvet
Until alone remained
Astonished
The fine and firm feminine form

It is not only light that falls over the world spreading inside your body
Yet suffocate itself
So much is clarity
Taking its leave of you
As if you were on fire within

The moon lives in the lining of your skin

Listen to Rufus Sewell's reading of this poem.