There’s a line in a movie which goes something like “pain is good, it lets you know you are still alive”. The obvious question that I can hear you asking is “So when the pain goes away you know you’re dead?”  This inevitably leads to a conversation about life after death.
Now that topic can be dangerous if you don’t walk away from the conversation quickly enough, at one of “those” parties, you know the ones; the one you would not have gone to if you knew that the person who invited you believed in the power of healing crystals. So as the bottles of wine get emptier, the part time philosophers get louder and more opinionated about everything from the existence of an afterlife to what was the “real” message behind the final episode of M.A.S.H. And yes, I have been unfortunate enough to actually hear some overfilled part time philosopher postulate a well thought out, theory on the subject at an Italian restaurant in Brisbane and unfortunately was only up to desert so could not escape without missing out on coffee and Muscat and cigars. It was a tough call though.  Ah smoking in a restaurant, those were the days, now where was I?
So given the opportunity to choose an activity which you know involves pain, i.e.: Rugby League, running a Marathon, Childbirth or  listening to drunk part time philosophers at parties, why would you knowingly throw yourself into any of these extreme sports? Well maybe because the rewards of the end result are worth the pain involved during the activity. So that cool night in that Italian restaurant I sat through Scott’s theory, not knowing at the time if the pain of the story was going to be offset by the quality of the temptations to follow desert. And so that leads me to the reason for writing this. A friend of mine recently wrote. “Apparently any given situation can look good if viewed from the right angle. Sometimes I get cramps!”
Well my friend the Muscat was good that night, the coffee rich and earthy and the cigars cheap but free. Scotts actual theory is long gone from my head but the memory of that Muscat coffee and cigars lingers for twenty years.
I am lead to believe that cramps may be a symptom or complication of pregnancy, kidney disease, thyroid disease, hypokalemia, hypomagnesaemia or hypocalcaemia (as conditions), restless-leg syndrome, varicose veins,[2] and multiple sclerosis.
So, given that if in fact it turned out that you had one of these afflictions and the cramps lead you to discovering this fact, I would say the cramps; like my terrible dinner experience, viewed from the right angle looks good! Now off to the doctor with you, I’m off to the bottleshop.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

(A poem to be recited by actors)*

I

[Salome]

Jokanaan, such is my desire for thee,
The moon and stars hath turned away their face
I thirst to kiss thy sullen lips, softly,
I love thy lips, thine eyes that darkly gaze.

Fain would I strip thy garments all away
Replacing each with kisses to thy skin
Just as the dark of night becalms the day
Mine open arms shall gather thee within.

I burn to taste the kisses of thy lips
Just as the hummingbird sips from a rose
Stealing thy nectar with such tender sips
As melt thy sternest aspect, till it goes.

O let me taste thy kisses, holy man,
And quench desire as only woman can.


II

[John The Baptist]

Depart from me, daughter of Babylon,
That look'st on me with such covetous gaze!
Siren of *****'s mire, harlot, begone!
Away with thee and all thy wanton ways!

How canst thou speak with such depravity
Addressed unto a holy man of God?
How canst thou dance in merry liberty
Where our forefathers, seers and sages trod?

Look not upon me with thine eyes of lust,
With salivating, ravenous desire!
Love's purity shall outlive mortal dust
When thy dark soul burneth in Hades' fire!

Harlot of Babylon, strumpet, begone!
I am not thine to crudely gaze upon.


III

[King Herod]

Salome dances, circling the hall,
Gold lamplight shimmers in her dove-like eyes;
Her flame-red chiffon swirls with each footfall,
She glides like a bright bird of paradise.

Behold, she throws a veil onto the floor,
Exposing but a fleeting glimpse of breast;
Allowing but a small promise of more,
Another veil she throws, at my behest.

She sinuously sways her slender hips
And not one moment do her eyes leave mine;
She dances closer, smiles play on her lips
Those lips that could be sweet as Muscat wine.

And still she dances, ravaging my sight,
This light-skinned girl with hair as black as night.


IV

[John The Baptist]

Behold! She dances now before the king,
Whose eyes are full of lust incestuous;
For *****'s daughter, wildly gyrating
Whose very presence here is blasphemous!

I hear the music from my dungeon cell
Her light footsteps, distracting me from prayer,
She dances like a dervish sprung from hell,
I reel with loathing, knowing she is there.

Beware thy sins, Herod, Herodias!
Thy fall from grace approacheth like a storm!
Beware daughter of *****! None shall pass
Beyond the pit, the flames, the locust swarm!

Thy kingdom shall be cast into the flames;
Thy souls struck from the book of living names!


V

[King Herod]

Ah! Now the last veil flutters to the floor,
Her body holds no secrets from mine eyes;
Like ripened fruit making me thirst for more,
But I have promised more than may be wise.

Now I make good my promise unto you,
Salome, fairer sister to the moon;
Come now, I am thy slave; what can I do,
Name thy reward, and thou shalt have it soon.

Come hither, precious girl, I wish to share,
Take from the riches offered up to thee;
Choose from the sweetest wines beyond compare,
The rarest rubies of my treasury.

From treasured gems to pleasures of the vine,
Pray name thy heart's desire; it shall be thine.


VI

[Salome]

My heart's desire cares nothing for my love
What jewel can ever love me in return?
My regal beauty's deemed as not enough
For Jokanaan. I see him, and I burn.

I spurn thy earthly treasures set in gold,
I yearn not for their dancing play of light
There was but one pleasure I could behold
And he regaileth me with words of spite.

Thy precious cellar brimming full of wine
All taste divine; yet never quite as sweet
As luscious lips of he who can't be mine
Whose savage beauty stings me like defeat!

Therefore I say, reward me if you can;
Bring me the severed head of Jokanaan!


VII

[Herod]

Salome, you have asked a dreadful thing,
Such monstrous words flame from thy pretty lips!
I offer thee my finest emerald ring
The choicest clipper from my fleet of ships;

Thou canst prevail upon me for my land
My fields and vineyards all lain at thy feet;
Stables of horses all at thy command,
All of these gifts might make thy joy complete.

But do not ask of me the baptist's head,
His eyes disturb me far enough in life;
I listened well to everything he said,
His death would be a curse; a flaying knife!

Salome, quell the anger in thy breast,
I beg thee, reconsider thy request.


IX

[Salome]

Thou shalt not swerve the purpose of my mind,
My mind is set, this action must be done.
There is no greater gift that thou might find
Than that Jokanaan's eyes forsake the sun.

I prithee, take that scurvy **** away,
His eyes stare so, his tongue derides my name;
Silence his prating tongue, he's had his say
Now he must suffer for his words of flame!

I shall not sleep with that voice in my ears,
Sever that head, that mask of insolence!
He rants of prophecies, preys on thy fears,
Now he must make his final recompense.

I danced for thee. Reward me like a man,
Bring me the severed head of Jokanaan!


X

[John The Baptist]

A famine on thy fields, monarch of shame!
Locusts shall take thy vineyards and thy corn!
Rivers of blood have stained thy royal name
Thou art forever doomed, thy kingdom torn!

Thy family are coiled like nesting snakes
Thy daughter whispers with thy feckless queen,
They die along with thee, when the earth quakes
And fall into the bottomless ravine!

I hear thy soldiers storming through the halls
Approaching now, to my decrepit cell;
I shiver at the sound of their footfalls,
Though I'll not be the one condemned to hell.

May God send Raphael down from the sky;
Take me to somewhere better when I die!


XI

[Salome]

Ah now, thine eyes that once held so much fire,
Forever hide their light of righteousness;
I almost miss that shiver of desire
I once felt in their presence, I confess.

Thy tongue is silent now, that once cried out
In shards of venom, wounding blades of words;
And I'm at liberty to pluck it out,
If I desire; and throw it to the birds.

Thy rosy lips, as sullen as thy brow,
Soft petals, rendered harmless in repose;
They spurned me once, but I shall kiss them now,
As easily as one might steal a rose.

Thou once dared to refuse me, holy man,
Now I will kiss thy dead lips, Jokanaan!



The End.

Buy me chrysanthemums
Not lavandula or geraniums
Or phalangium with their low hanging bulbs
Why don’t you know I love chrysanthemums!

Chrysanthemums, Dahlia…Hera…Willow?
Lillian! Lillian,
How could I take chrysanthemums from Lillian?

You should know. I shouldn’t have to say anything! You should know.

Buy me Viognier
Not Muscat or Chardonnay
Or Furmint with its corky taste
Why don’t you know I love Viognier!

Viognier, Vionnier…Vienne…Vienna?
Dalmatia! Dalmatia,
How could I take Viognier from Dalmatia?

You should know. I shouldn’t have to say anything! You should know.

Dalmatia, near Sibenik
From where I dine on scallops,
Or do you not know that I love scallops?
If not then you should know that I love fickle, false and fair
It’s my nature and you are my nurture
If you did not know then know this, love’s a hapless farce

Seagulls peck away at forgotten remnants.

A knot of women gossip and giggle
as they admire the young man up the shore
performing pullups, sweat rolling down
the lines of his back. Two men walk by
holding hands, sharing a kiss
before the sunset. A woman relaxes with
an ******-mystery-thriller and a
Jennie of Morris Muscat all for herself.

And an old man lies on the sand, ****
and propped on his elbows, his toes tickling
the rising tide as he stares out into the sea.
He always hated his body. Hated being
underneath his skin, his fat, the hair
on his back, his inadequacies. This old man
plans to die here, in this new land, his senior
getaway. But at least he will spend his
final days at this beach, wetting his feet,
taking in the rising moon’s cool breath.
And he’s around people who understand
his need for freedom, who wouldn’t
make him feel ashamed for being him,
for just being born human.

A young man arrives, staying in the backshore.
He strips to his boxers and hesitates,
looking towards the waves for strength.
He then throws them off and plops down,
holding his knees to his chest, a smirk on his face.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow
(Alek the Poet)

Celui qui croyait au ciel
Celui qui n'y croyait pas
Tous deux adoraient la belle ()
Prisonnière des soldats
Lequel montait à l'échelle
Et lequel guettait en bas
Celui qui croyait au ciel
Celui qui n'y croyait pas
Qu'importe comment s'appelle
Cette clarté sur leur pas
Que l'un fut de la chapelle
Et l'autre s'y dérobât
Celui qui croyait au ciel
Celui qui n'y croyait pas
Tous les deux étaient fidèles
Des lèvres du coeur des bras
Et tous les deux disaient qu'elle
Vive et qui vivra verra
Celui qui croyait au ciel
Celui qui n'y croyait pas
Quand les blés sont sous la grêle
Fou qui fait le délicat
Fou qui songe à ses querelles
Au coeur du commun combat
Celui qui croyait au ciel
Celui qui n'y croyait pas
Du haut de la citadelle
La sentinelle tira
Par deux fois et l'un chancelle
L'autre tombe qui mourra
Celui qui croyait au ciel
Celui qui n'y croyait pas
Ils sont en prison Lequel
À le plus triste grabat
Lequel plus que l'autre gèle
Lequel préfère les rats
Celui qui croyait au ciel
Celui qui n'y croyait pas
Un rebelle est un rebelle
Deux sanglots font un seul glas
Et quand vient l'aube cruelle
Passent de vie à trépas
Celui qui croyait au ciel
Celui qui n'y croyait pas
Répétant le nom de celle
Qu'aucun des deux ne trompa
Et leur sang rouge ruisselle
Même couleur même éclat
Celui qui croyait au ciel
Celui qui n'y croyait pas
Il coule il coule il se mêle
À la terre qu'il aima
Pour qu'à la saison nouvelle
Mûrisse un raisin muscat
Celui qui croyait au ciel
Celui qui n'y croyait pas
L'un court et l'autre a des ailes
De Bretagne ou du Jura
Et framboise ou mirabelle
Le grillon rechantera
Dites flûte ou violoncelle
Le double amour qui brûla
L'alouette et l'hirondelle
La rose et le réséda.


La France.

They began to sit away from the cruel gods, from those gods who deny their children who were engendered by the cruelest and most chaste reconversion by staying on Olympus as guests, as opposed to sitting at this table of gratuity, of the very precious elixir with the invited Phrygian deities who only laughed and fostered the secrecy of the loaves of eternity, and well-being that was subject to the conscious tolerance of those who wait for a lavish banquet on a table, in these conditions with mood and prolonged perspective with tablecloths of penance and cross in exotic chores. They watered the hanging sheep on the branches of the fruits that hung from the cornucopia, and from the bakeries that made altering the enzymes of some harsh dissolution against Asia, to which Leiak devises benevolent sorcery by giving it to sip water from the drinking sea of ​​Asia Minor. in front of the illuminated Troy. The table made of seven bread baskets, seven mistletoes that escorted the gluten bread that dusted strong winds of Persephone, when falling precipitously yearning to meet Demeter; She picks it up from the gale and with her feet, she pulverizes the soft grains of the Hapalos Artos, with the goat's milk and olives that she would anoint on the very nails of her daughter Persephone, by constituting clean them with white sheets of the spongy mass. It used to be called Cappadocian yeast until it reached the shores of the noble bread that were installed on the table like Lakhma bread, as a metaphysics of the Eucharist that was carried out on the white tablecloth, which shrunk every time they took it as a domestic bread rolled around the angry parts of the Mataki tablecloth, for healings that continue the protective actions of those who enjoy a good alliance of water, and bread on the table with bad thoughts, which enrage the battered thick curtains of the abundance of the prosperity of evil. The Iaspis or Jaspes, resembled supra-scalded of natural belonging and of glittering authenticity, in the rarity that made no more than to make jesters of a Southeast Asia and not of Asia Minor. The greenish flashes spoke of life in full force to fit followed by a wisp of flash deposited by Zefian, coming and gliding in the sapphire, holding on to veins of the Alikantus sapphire eyes that were adapted to sip on the dense spring that floated by. the atmosphere of the Mataki, and then pour it into the chalices, absorbed by Leiak's sorcery, speaking of higher lapses than any known numeral, but the seventieth preceding the current one. This martyrdom of the Mataki made Leiak's esophagus segregate with the desire of a sommelier, who sips the distilled water from the glen over the cups that lessened the cruelty, badly criminal of those who do not savor food for another dinner, congratulations, if there was the failure of a Caucasus, where elixirs of mistelated and sanctified muscat wine are brought out from under the table of St. John. Everything was of ascending ambition for any liver that coveted this table of Mataki, for whom he cordoned off the mountains and made those of the valleys embrace one another, for the uniqueness of the Dodecanese islands. The totality of those who let go of their shyness, and did not allow them to refer to drinking or eating, deposed by putting a sacred ear to Zefian when he arrived on Patmos as a physical, and not spiritual, tasting, becoming effective in who toast with muscat for all the star maidens that followed him. above, violating the seals that held them, prisoner, then just then the eye of the Iaspis was made of the carats to recalculate, submitting them to the guard to signify and meet at this time between seven polyelia, and seven diskopótira, immediately to the bag of the fasmatémporos or Breadbasket Enchanted to taste.

suppose we were as wine
differences, yours and mine
confidence of a Cab strong
seductive as Muscat's song
Merlot's slight temper swings
the warmth Shiraz brings
Pinot's finicky fickle mood
and Zinf's friendly attitude
Malbec's soft kiss on the cheek
Tempra's velvet dress so sleek
Chard always has a smile
Sauvi is forever in style