>rah rah constantine
>this is how men discuss sex:
“did you go out with that girl last night?”
“you fuck her?”
this is how women discuss sex:
“oh it was magnificient, his penis was like a baby’s arm holding an apple. it was just divine. it tasted like a mocha frappuccino from starbucks.”
which gender do you think is more graphic?
yesterday the heat in rome was debilitating. like a sweat bomb exploded and the muggy air wasn’t interested in prisoners, just casualties.
i flounced over to the colloseum, wandered about the ruins where gladiators had limbs torn like defective circuits, where wild beasts clawed their way through the blood. thumbs up, thumbs down, the flavio is covered in the soot and dirt of 2000 years. the muses like clio smile weakly from behind the granite and stone.
i grew angry. the ruins aren’t alive. the ruins are stunning but they are devoid of life, it having been stolen sometime in the past century. i want to feel the rush of a crowd thirsty for the theatre of spectacle and sport, and all i found were american tourists in cheap reebok shoes.
next to it stood constantine’s arch (gotta love the great pagan king who inadvertantly institutionalized christianity), erected in the 4th century after he won some amazing battle against some long-dead rival.
the arch felt like a moment frozen in time. like the voices are trapped inside the limestone. a carving with prints embedded in the rock.
don’t ask me to describe it anymore, my reasons no longer exist.
remember that scene in roman holiday where audrey hepburn and gregory peck visit the mouth of truth, they slip their fingers into the mouth, and he pretends to have his hand bitten off? she shrieks in girlish fear, until his hand emerges from inside his sleeve to shake hers with a “hello.” she laughs like a school girl, pounds on his chest, and skips away . . .
or how about that scene in only you where marisa tomei and robert downey jr re-enact that scene as they fall in love in 1994’s rome?
i visit the mouth of truth . . . la bocca della verita . . . i’ve told many lies in my life, but i’ve still got all my fingers.
everyone in rome rides a vespa. but never alone. there’s always someone on the back, skirt dancing in the air, arms wrapped, holding on tight.
i want to zoom through the streets, wind blasting me back and forth, eyes up in the sky, never looking back.
hold on tight.