The Birth of Web Venus©

Walking through Venice I felt an irrational desire to touch the city. Feel the walls that surrounded me, as if my eye had spied a softness in them that I had never before experienced.

Once you come off the tourist track Venice becomes a sensualists dream and the idea that water passes through everything takes you with it.

Monica and I lay in our gondola, silent, taking in the surroundings. Suddenly I saw a familiar face staring at me from an overhead bridge, we glided beneath it and he was lost. As we came out on the other side I turned to look for him and saw that he had crossed the bridge to do the same.
His face looked exactly like it did so many hundred years ago, except for a boyishness that was of this century. We held each other’s gaze until the endless labyrinth of canals swallowed us up.

My breathing became so shallow that Monica turned to see if I was all right.
- Are you ok?
- I saw Botticelli*.
Monica was used to hearing things like that when she was in my company.
- And now?
- I don’t know.
I didn’t remember all of my past lives all of the time. Whenever someone surfaced, it all came back with incredible clarity.
We continued to explore Venice throughout the day and finally settled to have wine in a small piazza that was frequented by locals. As expected it didn’t take too long for him to find us.

The most welcome of images. His golden mane, full of ringlets, his blue eyes and that body I once knew so well. His smile warmed the piazza and pulled me in.
Our eyes were moist but we laughed and hugged and let our palms fill with each other’s hair and neck and face.
- You’re here again, he said.
- You called out to me and I came.
- The last time you left too early. You won’t leave?
- No, I won’t. I smiled and touched his face again, not being able to control my appetite for him.
- I painted you in everything for years. He said.
- Shhhhhhhh. I know. I know

A few hours later I was curled up, sitting on the white bed in the middle of his studio. Botticelli put his hands around my ankles and looked into my eyes.
- I asked to be buried at your feet**, he said dragging me down the bed towards him.
I felt so small and feminine, as though my entire body could fit into the space between his arms and torso. Then there were no words for hours. We breathed each other in and out until we emerged in the morning, our mouths dry, our bodies raw from pleasure.
I got up to fetch water for us.
- Open the window and let anyone that it lucky enough to be passing by see you. You are my masterpiece and the most beautiful sight to behold in all of Venice, he said, his body rising from our sheets, intoxicated by his own passionate rhetoric. Then a change of thought appeared across his face and he lay back on the bed to watch me.

I crossed the room and opened the window to stand on the balcony. The zephyrus wind blew in from the Adriatic waking my skin and brushing the hair off my shoulders.
My body adored being naked in the open air. I was suddenly bathed in an overflowing sense of freedom. Botticelli came out to wrap me in a silk robe embelished with spring flowers and take me back into the warmth we had spent the night creating.

I had just been born again.

*Sandro Botticelli 1445 – May 17, 1510 An Italian painter of the Florentine school during the Early Renaissance. Details of Botticelli's life are sparse, but we know that he became an apprentice when he was about fourteen years old, which would indicate that he received a fuller education than did other Renaissance artists. He was born in the city of Florence. Among his best known works is “The Birth of Venus”.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Sandro_Botticelli_083.jpg

**Simonetta Cattaneo de Vespucci, nicknamed la bella Simonetta 1453 – 26 April 1476. Simonetta was discovered by Sandro Botticelli upon arriving in Florence. She died in April 1476, She was only twenty-two at the time of her death. Botticelli finished painting The Birth of Venus in 1485, nine years later. Some have claimed that Venus, in this painting, closely resembles Simonetta
It is suggested that Botticelli had fallen in love with her, a view supported by his request to be buried at her feet in the Church of Ognissanti - the parish church of the Vespucci - in Florence. His wish was in fact carried out when he died some 34 years later, in 1510.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Sandro_Botticelli_066.jpg

Waking up at Midnight in Italy ©

I woke up as the plane touched down in Marco Polo airport and sleepwalked into Monica’s arms who was waiting for me at the arrivals hall. I hugged her until I realised that the people in the airport were giving us inquisitive looks.
Two double espressos and a car ride full of stories later we arrived in Udine*.

Even though it was past midnight the Italians stood outside the bars that populated the little winding streets; drinking, smoking and gesticulating.
- This street is so beautiful. Look at the rusty-coloured shutters. I looked it up while I was in the airport; This part of the city was built during the Renaissance. And the air, it’s so clean. I love it here.
Monica laughed.
- You’re weird. Udine could excite no one else. Wine?
- Si, Grazie Bella

She brought back wine and a small army of local men. Sergio, Gianni, Andrea, Tomasso and Lorenzo. In a small town like Udine people preserve the natural curiosity about newcomers that is extinct in London.

They spoke very little English and even though I have about five words of Italian we understood each other perfectly. They talked about vino (wine), grilliate (grilled meat) and Sergio’s pantalone. I asked it they meant Commedia dell'arte** and they fell about the place laughing.
They had been talking about Sergio’s new trousers but now I had apparently come up with a new nickname for him. I was very happy to have succeeded in making them laugh with one of my five Italian words but Sergio didn’t seem very happy to be called Pantalone*** from now on.

I was about to buy a round of drinks when Gianni excused himself. It was late you see and he had to go home and make love to his wife.
I looked at everyone’s faces. What a sweet, uncomplicated bunch of people and how easily they spoke about pleasure. When Gianni left, the conversation returned to grilliate and the problem we tried to solve was if they should have the meat before, after or with the pasta.
My sudden urge to come to Italy was becoming very clear to me. What a fool I was to think Dionysus was gone when clearly he was inspiring my every move.
I heard his voice say: "Etsi apla"/“It’s that simple”.

There were very few streetlights on the way home so the next morning I woke up to discover that we were in the middle of a beautiful green field. No wonder I slept like a baby.
Monica had coffee brewing and a feast of cured meats, cheese, fresh bread and eggs, all layed out for breakfast. Begin as you mean to continue, I thought to myself.


With cardigans and woolly socks it was just warm enough to sit outside. We planned our trips to Venice, the nearby villages and the best little eateries in the area.(Always plan the next meal before you finish the one you're eating. An Italian tradition that proved very easy for me to embrace)
We talked about the mysteries of life and how it is that people can live so far away from each other and yet feel a connection that has nothing to do with the amount of time they spend together on a daily basis.
And we hugged. We hugged like we were giving thanks for each other. It’s only when someone goes that we understand how precious every single person in our life truly is.

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Udine
**http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Commedia_dell%27arte
***http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pantalone

DIONYSUS

Every summer when I return to Greece Dionysus serves me ouzo and fresh tomatoes with a spinkling of salt. He finds it hilarious that after being away all these years that's what I miss the most.

Then he offers me Karelia cigarettes and the two of us sit back and pretend we are really adults.

One night many years ago Dionysus and I sat opposite the Parthenon letting the Ouzo go to our head.
It was warm; a slight breeze came from Piraeus port and caressed our limbs with its feathery touch. It brought with it stories from the Aegean islands that excited the blood. Dionysus chanelled them and tempted me with tales from Mykonos. Suddenly he stopped, bit his lip and smiled.

- Pame?

(Will we go?)

We rushed home in taxis, packed lightly and met at Piraeus port at dawn. The next evening we were the toast of Pierros Bar*. People would approach me to ask about the beautiful boy I was with.

Do you remember that Dionysus? I was so proud. It was when I realised we were not children anymore. You had gone off and turned yourself into a swan when I wasn’t looking.

Your exit three weeks ago was just as hasty as the decision to go on that trip to Mykonos. I don’t know how to write or be about it.

I will try not gloss over your spicy, colourful life with the sadness that has come to sit on all of our shoulders like a heavy cloak we just can’t fucking get rid of. But we don’t want to get rid of it.

BECAUSE YOU MY LOVE, ARE WONDERFUL.

Nothing is more sensual than the way you walk.
Your vibrant full strides, your gorgeous stance, the way your turn to look at us.
You are always seducing us, always capturing our gaze, even when we don’t know it, we are breathless. Your perfect face, you say the harshest things but your eyes speak only of warmth.

Your voracious, healthy, unashamed appetite for sex. Where will I start with that?
Sex is always where you are.
It’s where the conversation begins and where it ends.

It’s the undercurrent, the meaning and the punch line.
It’s underneath every play we discuss, it’s in the food you prepare, it percolates in the coffee that is brewing as you drag on your cigarette, it’s in the water you offer me, it’s in your movements, it’s in attendance when you choose your clothes, it’s in the bottle of Jameson you keep for the night. It’s all around you. It's you.

And you ask me did I do it with that guy I’m seeing.
I say “No”,
You put your eyes up to heaven and say: “Aaaaaaa eise Ilithia”, which means “Oooooooooh you’re a moron”.
I laugh because we have a different code and you laugh because you know there is no code.

When we were kids I felt nervous around you. You were too quick witted for me. You became my training ground until one day I forgot I was a person without wit and could effortlessly banter with you. You did that, you trained me.

How can I explain what you are to me? Can you help?

Remember back when we were 15 and I came to your house upset?
You took me into the kitchen and handed me a glass.
- Break it, you ordered me.
- I can’t break it. That’s wrong. Said the timid little girl I used to be.
- Yes you can, now just do it.
I told you my Mum gave out to me when I broke things. You told me your Mum only gave out to you if you broke things by accident. If you broke them on purpose it was all right. I was in awe of this way of thinking
I threw the glass into the granite sink three times and three times it bounced back into my hand. We looked at each other as though we were witnessing some kind of miracle. Glass breaks when it's smashed onto granite, right?
Finally you broke it and I broke another one you gave me. Two glasses and a lot of Greek music** later you had released me.

When I think about you being gone it’s like someone is squeezing my heart.
You see, I thought you’d always be here.
Remember I told you that I would make lots of money and buy a massive villa on a Greek Island?
You would help me decorate and all of us that grew up together, as well as those we collected on the way, would gather in this exquisite house by the sea.
A beautiful home full of art, food and love. All the people I love under one roof.
That was our last conversation and you told me to wake up from my dream.

I keep waiting for you to come and meet me in that dream.
Tell me I’m eating too much and grope my breast to prove your point. Then worried that you might have hurt my feelings tell me I’m beautiful and ask me what I want to eat.
Get annoyed with me if I have moments of weakness and don’t recognise my own worth. Then switch places and look at me like you think the advice I give you is the wisest thing you’ve ever heard.

I remember sitting at the restaurant in Plaka three weeks ago. I felt you and turned around to watch you walk towards me. My nerve endings try to pierce my skin every time I think I won’t see you walk towards me again.

I LOVE YOU.
*http://www.pierrosbar.gr/ **http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PctAepLJolE