Dr. Krugger glances absently at the menu, without really looking. He wants noddles, and nothing else, but the chinese waitress has another plan. She always has. Looking intently into the doctor's eyes, she diagnoses:

- Nooddles, no no no, Sil... The coloul of youl colnea say youl system is lacking on calcium and fibel, Sil... May I leccomend anothel thing, Sil?

She is quite attractive, although some self-imposed neutrality in her deamenor takes away some of her potential splendor. While examining Krugger's cornea, she sounded both doctoral and playful.

Dr. Krugger knows her, and likes her way. She has that particular blend of nutritional knowledge and typical asian modesty the doctor finds intoxicately erotic. He has been here a number of times. Lately, almost every lunch and dinner. Not that he likes particularly chinese cuisine. He likes her. He calls her Lu, in his fantasies. Dr. Krugger has plans for Lu.

The atmosphere is hot. The mixed aromas of the kitchen fill the restaurant area. It is very hot outside, the air conditioning is off, to save money, and the bag the doctor carries let out a faint rotten smell.

Dr. Krugger works as an anatomic pathologist. Recent events in his life, namely a divorce, have forced him to take a second job in another hospital, in order to help him pay his many bills. Yes, in the league of Dr. Krugger, more autopsies and more post-mortem organ exams mean more money. Besides, he supplies under the table selected body parts from unclaimed corpses to some unscrupulous members of the Medical Sciences Academia, a function that helps him greatly to balance his checking account at the end of each month.

Many would think that in this type of job you do not take work home. But unfortunately, this is not the case for Dr. Krugger. And this is precisely one of the most stressful parts among his duties. Not only for him. The former Msr. Krugger could not take it anymore. The sight of her kitchen turned into a gore laboratory was too much for her. But, alas, she was a vegetarian, it needs to be said.

-I am always open to your suggestion, dear lady. It would be very unwise on my part to disregard the accumulated wisdom of your ancient civilization, specially in matters concerned with health and nutritional science...

He smiles with charm, and the smile is about all Lu understands of all his parlament. She smiles back. The man is always nice with her. She looks at the doctor's bag, and represses all but the briefest grin of dismay.

He should have thought about this. He should have taken the bag home and put it into the fridge... But the urge to see Lu was stronger. Besides, he did not expect this liver would start rotting so fast. "Maybe the hospital refrigerator needs to be switched to the maximum power during the summer months. Or perhaps the liver was already rotten when the guy was still alive. Some people don't know how to drink with moderation, really", he thinks, half-amused.

-In my opinion, Sil, youl system would be bettel with oul chinese almonds and cucumbel stlips, and oul tofu chunks in spicy and numbing sauce. With some white lice and gleen spouts, Sil?

-Yes, yes, whatever you say, Lu... Lady. That will be allright. And tell me... how do you like it your work here?

-Yes, Sil, good, Sil.

-Come on, take some time and speak to me, won't you? And you don't need to call me "sir", please. My name is Alfred, Freddy if you want. And yours is...

-... Well Sil, wolk it is vely tiling, Sil, and the Boss ask to wolk a lot, many houls, Sil, always wolking, no flee day to lest, no Sil ...

She looks sideways to the kitchen door, as if checking the flow of orders, in truth trying to locate the boss to avoid being caught in conversation. Boss is a mean man.

At times, this gracious waitress feels somewhat limited in her understanding of the english speech, particularly when it goes beyond the limits of the restaurant menu. But she tries, she tries... Actually she studies hard at night, and is already showing some proficiency in her understanding. When she feels no pressure, she can have quite decent conversations.

-My name is Fred... Freddy. What is your name?

The girl smiles widely, losing that air of learnt officiality that threatened to neutralize her beauty. Krugger is thrilled. It is as if her whole being was suddenly taken by a charming spirit of the forest.

-My name is Lu Lin, Sil Fleddy. Lin means folest. Please let me take youl oldel to the kitchen, and I will be back soon.

The good doctor cannot believe the coincidence. He thought that idea about the spirit of the forest, and two seconds after, she says that about her surname, without being asked. Krugger looks at her figure as she walks away. "Amazing", he thinks. "There must be a billion names in China, but hers had to be Lu. Lu Lin". His reflexions don't take more time, because the odour coming from his bag is growing more and more noticeable. He is angry with himself for not foreseeing that possibility.

He tries to seal better the bag, using another auxiliary plastic he carries in his suitcase. But his movements only succeed attracting the attention of other clients, who had already noticed the nauseating smell.

Krugger is tired of his stressful life. Every day like this, running from one hospital to the other, carrying organs, working at home at late hours, in a lousy laboratory he managed to improvise in his own kitchen...

This is not a life. His system is crying for some relief. She looks at the kitchen doors and catches Lu's figure, speeding up with professional flair, carrying in her porcelaine hands one million orders, in her face the most charming and effortless smile. Krugger feels the excitement mounting, and suddenly he envisions the solution for his problems. Time to talk to Lu. Miss Forest. With some luck, maybe take her home. Now or never.

The girl darts with elegance among the tables, like a telecommanded rocket, delivering with precision in each table the fruits of the Chinese Garden. Krugger marvels at her speed without rush, the efficient elegance of her movements, her personal, corteous service, without excessive cordiality nor subservience.

Above all, he feels a desire to spend some quality time with her. That's the thing. Quality time. At last.

Lu has left Krugger's order to be the last one. The doctor takes it as a privilege, and gets ready to seize his opportunity.

She arrives to his right side, smiling, looks at the man briefly in his eyes, and starts reciting the names of the dishes. Just as she always does. But today she is not performing her machine-like declamation. Krugger notices a very faint undertone of grace and subtle intention in her voice, something mildly seductive. Discreet, but so powerful.

-Thank you so much, Lu Lin. I am delighted by your grace and ease at waiting all these tables by yourself. Listen, I have some things to ask you. Would you please sit down with me?

Lu looks around. She won't be needed soon. Family conversations have drawn to an halt, as every table initiates the milenary ritual of opening spring rolls, filling them with soja sauce, sharing sweet and sour delights, tasting Pekin ducks and chop-sueys. Everyone seems busy. The boss is out. She sits down facing the man. She smiles sweetly.

-I will try to be clear and simple, Lu. You are not happy here. I need an assistant. You seem to be a very bright girl. I suspect your education went well beyond waiting tables, with all due respect.

-Yes, Sil Fleddy. I have a Mastel in Nutlitional Science, and I am a doctol. Chinese medicine. Beijing Univelsity.

-This is marvellous! Well, well... I greet you as a colleague! I am a anatomic pathologist, work in two different hospitals. I often need to carry... well... parts of my work, if you know what I mean, from one place to another, also to home, at night. I have build there a modest laboratory, but it needs reforms and maintenance. And juggling everything is too much for myself.

He looks to the stinky bag at their side. She smiles, looking very happy.

-You would be perfect in assisting me in that logistic, and probably also as a qualified laboratory collaborator, at home. I will gladly double the pay you are getting here, more if I can, depending on how business goes. I would be glad if you accept my offer of a room in my house, free of charge. What do you say?

She does not answer immediately, but she looks as if she had already made a decision.

-Well, if you accept, we have two options: you share this wonderful food with me. But before, please would you place this bag on your best refrigerator? If you don't mind. Then after the meal, you can quit the job, say goodbye to Banana si-fa and ducklin crepes. Second option: forget the fridge, and we will take the food home, in the purest chinese style.

Lu has understood everything, and smiles with her most enchanting smile. She picks up a tofu chunk with her fingers and eats it with delight. She is simple and behaves without any artifice. Krugger understands that her tiniest gesture will bring wordless meaning to their brand-new world.

-I like you much, Fleddy. You can say you like me too. I know you do.

She tooks an almond with delicate fingers and put it slowly in her mouth. Krugger is speechless. She stands, takes the liver bag.

-Please stalt. I am going to lemove this stupid unifolm, put youl meat on the flidge, and I will be back... You ale leally a vely handsome man. I take the job.



The sensuous swimmer looks like a goddess today. I doze under the blazing sun. Meanwhile, she owns her liquid dominion. 

She calls my name from the water, waves hello with slender arms, wide open, her swimming motions more like flying, now. I would spot her easily in a crowd. Life itself speaks eloquently through her charms.

The swimmer yearns for an aquatic partner. Her voice takes me out of my nap as she smiles to me from afar, in the deserted beach. From the waves inciting me (enthusiastically gesturing, hurrying me to give up the firm land of my towel, to join her in her element).

Persuasive sensuous swimmer... Waving with the enthusiasm of a child, she is quite a sight. I stare at her, store her image safely in my memory, and do nothing but absorb her entirely, with incredulous eyes. 

From the distance, she highly praises with melifluous voice the delightful coolness of her waters,  the cristal-clear, paradise-like seabed... it is really a paradise. "She is a paradise on her own, no need for palm trees, mojitos, choral reefs and white sands", I consider.

(in other terms, how a man in his senses could resist her call?)

I know her well, and she is no dream, nor the byproduct of a feverish, sun-induced dellusion. And yet, being myself still dozing, anchored to my hot spot of sand, she looks too good to be true; she might as well be a mirage (doubt strikes, since the sun has hit me hard with its vertical slap, and I feel hot and dizzy).

But no, no, no, she is real, although I would accept that her heavenly charm might well come from another world. 

I will not follow her to the pelagic depths. I have a much better plan: I will find a comforting shadow and block the bright light with my shades. Then I will wait for the sensuous swimmer to come to me, to give up her element, to set her feet on my sands.

And eventually the sensuous swimmer makes her way back through the land. I would not miss her return for anything, the water sadly kissing goodbye to her as she emerges fully by the seashore, her slow walk, her bare feet caressed by the last waves, the naked legs that the waters wisely kept concealed, her smile growing wider as she approaches her devoted observer.

There are no reproach, no hard feelings for my apparent lack of answer to her invitations. There is no room for words in this huge NOW of ours. Just the moisture on her skin, the well-known motions to dry her hair, my shameless look to her fully exposed neck.  She knows, I know.

Coincidentally (nature is wise) she feels cold while I am burning hot. 

Then the spark, the luminous idea, the perfect exchange, the deal.

As she leans her body over me, cooling my hot body like the softest rain (and firing my passion as well, oh my), finding herself in me the warmth my body stored for her, and only for her.



Every song, every poem, every performance
(no matter how convincing)
leaves ALWAYS something out of sight

It's the mystery.

(the fragment you hear here comes after the music builds up to a raging chaos, and it's impossible to feel fully without it)

(the comment of a listener, which I transcribe with deep respect and awe):

sometimes....when i lay on my bed and i listen to music i'm so deep into it..especially when i concentrate on it very much and get tired.....i really forget everything around me.... i'm feeling the music..i'm dreamin it.... its awesome...when i listened to this masterpiece...i felt like beeing in a dream...tears ran down my face instantly. keith jarrett is THE musician for me=) the feelings he evokes with his music in me.......indescribable



The evening breeze caressed the trees, tenderly
The trembling trees embraced the breeze tenderly

Then you and I came wandering by

and lost in a sigh were we
The shore was kissed by sea and mist tenderly

I can't forget how two hearts met breathlessly
Your arms opened wide

And closed me inside

You took my lips you took my love so tenderly



Everyone knows how dreams
are fragile and ephemeral things 


W to forget her feet, ever...

the dancer's, the one at the left

[the charming one with the peacock feather
and all the air to be very clever;
she has all the features a dancer may need
but right now I am totally in love with her feet...]

[... released from their shoes to play naked,
white and free in their lustful gleam
I am already feeling half-baked
in this foolish charlestonian dream]
Wondrous Woman
On a
Wordless Wicked White Walk

Someone stop her please
Or then
Someone stop me!

[to tease me dearly she goes
Spirited and Wild and Tender
with those Mesmerizing Toes
I am ready for a Sweet Surrender]

And here I am, 
her true Footman

The Man at her Feet

[left me wondering how would it all 've been
if I had dared to barely brush her skin
or to accompany her hands' joyful dream
or to glance at her aquamarine]

Goodness me,
such steamy thoughts, what a sin!

Oh my, please god please

Gorgeous Glamorous Danseuse
Ocean Child Délicieuse
Don't ever allow this dream into oblivion



Yes, loved she was, and quite so; subsequently, all the nearest planets altered their rotational axis and their orbital paths. They had to. The tides also answered to that love with typical tidal, femenine confusion. Some birds' migration patterns changed as well. Butterflies. Absurd climate shifts. Raining toads. You name it.

But this is just normal. 

As soon as he felt the sparkle that ignited it all, that massive, vertical NOW like a ball of blue fire, his life filled up with symbols. Suddenly, he started needing things: like knowing the exact boundary, the sandy line where the earth ends and the ocean starts. Which is something he never had thought before. Also the need to absorb all the azur marine.

He also needed belonging to a place, and that place was ready for him, and the seagulls' heads all pointed in the same direction, the pier, the ship. After owning a ship, acquiring navigation know-how became an all-important matter; the magnets turned red like carnations, the compass went crazy at times, the undercurrents were hard to predict. But he had his senses and his spirits. And a handful of songs he knew by heart. And even a garden, for the quietest moments. All previous thoughts turned into feeling.

All things considered, it was a bewildering spring. Many songs spoke directly to their ears, inhabiting their days and nights. Words travelled at cosmical speed, forming streams, meticulously carving the souls into new shapes, new forms of perceiving everything.

At some point, she did not feel like steel anymore, and noticed some movement, like a click, in her insides. Something warm and distinctively human, something that she felt was hers, as she recognized pieces of her own fragmented memories. A touch. It was his hand, trying to reach her. Their world was filled with concidences that made them smile and joke. In their dreams, they met with lips and hands. They painted worlds from afar, drew brief sketches of their normalities. Disembodied and a bit lost in their own distances, they opened wide windows over the roofs, found a stream of affection and emotion in each other's words, flew to imaginary, shared spots crying to be inhabited.

And perhaps their souls were pulling sideways, in opposing directions, and perhaps that precisely may have fashioned their peculiar, seemingly eternal alliance. She shone her light on his present, like a winter moon, muted, veiled, a star of unseen beauty, casting her comforting shadow on him. He turned that serene, pale light into a red-hot glow that burns like fever and obsessions do.

Her gentle, elegant thrust, always catching him off-balance, wetting his paper flowers, undressing him of his poor words, the irrelevant, the unessential. He is becoming a wave now, up and down, cruising the ether, gaining its full amplitude. A wave that reverberates with turmoil in his spiral love, in his endless desire... Sometimes, he fears the void that feels in his heart like a splintered bundle of mirrors.

But there is also a Present, a perfect zenit without shadows, gorgeous and deep like her eyes, shining with a brand-new insight. For him, that NOW is the frontier between land and water, where all the blues reunite in a radiant embrace, if only to dissolve again and again, battered by the waves.



Like a monk, chanting, my voice filling the echo chambers of the old library, humming your incantations. I wear the night on, and it suits me well. My soul, transfixed, rocked by the fireplace embers; your eyes, my illuminations.

And my song is unlike any song. It starts as a thread of my voice and then it grows gradually into something that has a separate life, a responsability of its own, a reason to be. It could be mistaken for a psalm or a prayer, but it goes deep, much deeper than any psalm ever heard. 

I will sing until dawn, most probably.

Sitting by this axis of yours, measuring the mystery of your symmetries, the science of your beauty.

Fruit of passionate observation and note-taking, tireless calculation, sweetly obsessed devotion, unfatigable dreaming. Yes, the long-concealed secrets, at last revealed:

The final equations of your walking, the variables of your balance, your ankles' diminute rotation angles, the exact tilt of your head, the definitive blend of blues.

All is there, and this monk is proud. And tired. Up there, in the library towers, over his workspace, he allows himself to drift into slumber.

Then, the twilight, and the lovers' souls will keep on criss-crossing by the first shades of the morning.

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