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Wednesday, July 11, 2007

The Ocean Is Snow

Dear All,

Letting you know that I will be in combat training/deep meditation for
the next few days and will not be using the internet.

Feel free to keep writing messages. I will read and check them all
when I return from my Jedi Training. Haha.

"May The Force Be With You."

I love you.

Here is something I wrote yesterday:

"Today the ocean looked like snow. The frothing of the wave foam, a fine
cappuccino. Such beauty, its too perfect. Its so damn perfect I want to
scream. I sat on the benches above the mountain on top of Maunganui and
stared into the pinkish blue horizon. The wind was serenading me. Calling to
me with its tender embrace. The vibrant coral of the rock was as brown as a
gypsy's back. Its red tones moved me unspeakably. The entire spectacle cost
me tears and a stiff, cold face. My lips pinkified, my cheeks rosened. The sea
was an ocean of snow, violent and angry, yet wise. I stuck my finger in a
droplet of foam which floated up above the waves onto the beach mountain
dirt. It tasted of salt and amnesia. A man came and sat on the bench I was
nestled on. He sat on the further end, his eyes spoke of many journeys and
many lost loves. But his aura spoke of silence. A man not to be touched, not
to be listened to, not to even be noticed. He wished to be invisible
and I could
sense his nervous hesitance at picking the place beside me. Hoping that my
lips would remain shut. And they did. His blue jacket rustled in the dark wind,
and I occasionally got up and ran in place, doing jumping jacks to raise my
temperature. The man and I shared something. As all strangers do. An
unspeakable acknowledgement of a connection. But one that must never be
talked of, or given a business card to . One that must only be reserved for
places such as this, for moments of the mind. A 40 year old man. A 20 year
old woman. Yet we are like the ocean, with all of our colours, intertwined and
dependent upon each other regardless of our deepest gestures to make it

A pack of runners passed by me on the trail. They smiled in that hithering
look males give to pretty women. I felt as if I was in Italy, wearing
a dress of
white, with long eyelashes and a mouth that frequently smiled. The men were
handsome, strong, friendly. Full of life, full of laughter. I felt so
old beside
them. A lolita with the eyes of a thousand years lived. A child, yet an anomaly

I had a turkish coffee and a sweet cappucino, with milk so womanly it
reminded me of my mother's teat. The warmth, such radiance in a liquid. It
creamed my soul and my memories. I thought of many. I thought of Ryan. He
frequents my thoughts now almost daily. And when I hear "From Yesterday",
by 30 Seconds to Mars, the band I introduced him to, I feel his breath within
me, I remember his eyes on top of me as we laced our bodies together. He is
still to this day , the first man I made love to. He is part of Sui
Generis, and it
is in my blood. Has he forgotten me? Has he forgotten our story? Our story so
fresh, so ravid, so hungry and bitter. Always Ryan, Always, I do remember.

I thought of Mike, and of Igor, and of many lovers who have came and gone,
smoothly and softly, like the stream of flowing milk running down my throat.
Their semen, so delicate and pungeant. The aroma of the sea, as I sat on the
beach leaning on a gnarly tree, cried to me and with me. It Knows. It all
knows. Even if all have forgot. I come there often, the sea. It is my only true
friend. Full of history, and yet never hating me for my past. Only embracing it
like a wise old man with twinkly eyes and a cane to beat pigeons away.

The cappucino and turkish coffee were purchased from a Turkish to go, the
only cafe open at 6ish at the mount. There was a happy man, and a woman
from Hungary with arched eyebrows drawn by a caramel pencil. Her eyes
hinted of deep sexuality. I would have liked to fuck her. The man was kind. A
jovial 20 something=er. He asked how many sugars I would like in my coffee
and I told him 4. He laughed. "I like it sweet". We shared a smile, yet another

Tomorrow, or maybe the days after tomorrow I will come again and buy
another cappucino from his sweet hands. It was one of the best I have ever

I fried myself at the tanning salon. The room was intriguing, but the posters
of pin up models tanned and taut on the walls did not match the otherwise
serene nature of the private room. Outside, children laughed and yelled,
frolick hour at the Salt Water Pools. I listend to the brilliance of
Graeme Revell
off of the soundtrack of Aeon Flux. "Destroying the Memories".

Tanning my skin, my beautiful skin. I caught a glimpse of myself in the long
mirror. In the UV light, in the pale glow, I looked miraculous. An angel of
perfect proportion.

Such glorious music to inspire me on my adventures, my horrid paths in the
underworld, masked by the face of an innoccent.

Such beauty, too much. Such sound, such laughter.

The eyes of every man I see walking by. The scattered nature of the woman,
too shy to look me in the eye.

I do love them all so. My minions, my saviours.

Gladly, I am home, if there is such a place.

A hotel apartment on the beach. A covered shelter in the shattering cold of
the night air. A tanned woman with a complicated history.

And a mouth that tastes of bitter and sensuous coffee beans.
Such is Life. Such is My Life. Oh how I love it."

-Liliana Alam, 7ish pm, July 11, Mount Maunganui, New Zealand

P.S I have attached for you all a photo my father sent me from

you can see it here on its original website:


after reading my short story yesterday. The work is of a brilliant photographer. A brilliant photographer who somewhere else in this vast world has captured an image which I saw today. And my father has linked us both together. May all you Dreamers Fly, may all you Lovers Roam. May all you travelers someday find your final destination.


"What you dream is already your reality. You have to believe in it
enough to see it." -Liliana Alam

realize that what you are is undefinable in any terms which surround
you, nor is anything which surrounds you definable. free yourself of

"1 hair on your head is not enough, but 1 in your soup is too much"-
Albert Einstein on relativity


everything is nothing is everything....

why did the chicken cross the road? because thats what everybody told
you, and you believed them.-TheAI

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