The latest books I've read [excpet Frankenstein] curiously are somehow sexual themed. The last one, A Casa dos Budas Ditosos, by João Ubaldo Ribeiro, is about a 70-year-old libertine. It's a genius piece of comedy that follows the stream of consciousness of a fascinating woman, a true feminist that had as life-goal to satisfy her lust.
My next book is [maybe] A Spy In The House Of Love, by Anaïs Nin, which makes me wonder: am I really that honry? Well, the imediate answer is yes, and that's probably why all my last readings [and even movies] have strong sexual connotation. I don't make much inner-fuss about it, especially after reading "A Casa". Its protagonist is so freed about sex that not even my craving for it irks or worries me. It's normal and I admit I'm needing a good fuck to liberate energy and hormones.
But all this gossip about sex is kind of nonsense and boring. I have bored myself with my constant horniness and boy-checking. What's concerned to boys I'm still zero, but at least I've been bumping on some interesting and amusing books and films. The other day I saw Barbarella, but about that another time...
[Song: Let It Will Be - Madonna]
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