SHE PUT A SPELL ON ME

August 28, 2009

WomenSpellUSE THE LINK BELOW TO LISTEN NINA SIMONE WHILE YOU READ

http://www.psychicbozo.com/files/Nina_Simon_Screamin-Jay_Hawkins__-_I_Put_A_Spell_On_You.MP3

She took the photograph of me and anointed it with sage honey.

She sprinkled red rose petals over the photo and misted the area with sweet perfume.

She had built a small altar over black river stones and adorned it with a lacy white G-string from her lingerie drawer.

She placed a small white porcelain plate decorated with hearts on the altar.

She lit a candle and, holding it over the plate, she prayed:

Lord, from now on, I’ll be for him not one woman, but all the women of the world.”

She gave me her hand and her understanding.

Forgiving me for all my past behavior, she helped me to see that there was no right or wrong and fucked me as if she were betraying her husband. She prayed:

“Lord, make this man think of me alone and feel no desire for any other woman.”

She decorated her room with candles and flowers, prepared our bed as if it were a divine temple, kissed me as her legs looped around my waist, and pulled me inside her sacred chalice.

She gave me shelter in her generous womb, granting me all of the love I so desperately need.

And she prayed:

“Lord, grant that this man be mine, only mine.”

She told me that she loved me and that I was her only man.

She said that she admired my sensitivity, my kindness, my generosity, my power, my humility, my intelligence, my creativity, my masculinity, my talent, and my capacity to give her pleasure.

She prayed:

“Lord, please bring this man to believe in everything I say and give him wings, but shackle him just the same.”

She told me that in my presence she sensed the divine, and that every time I touch her she feels as if she comes to know the unknown.

She said that with me, she dies and is reborn.

She promised me that she would be my salvation every time I penetrate her, with passion and melancholy.

She prayed:

”God, give me another lover and compel the man before me to despise me.  Make him a slave of his own jealousy and bind him with a visceral necessity of affirmation, stripping him of all his self-esteem.”

She put a spell on me… ‘cause I am hers…  And I stopped doing the things I did… I ain’t lying.  No, I ain’t lying anymore. I know she couldn’t stand it… I was running around, looking to fill the void… looking for something I never understood… She couldn’t stand it ‘cause I put her down…  But the truth is that she put a spell on me… because I am hers…  I know she used to love me… but I know she doesn’t love me anymore…But I love her anyhow…and I don’t care…if she doesn’t want me.  I’m hers right now.  You heard me…she put a spell on me.

I’ll give my life to her ‘cause there is no use in being alone.

All I need is her love and her forgiveness.

I recognize my mistakes.

It was my fault, all my fault.

Now I know that one woman is enough, ‘cause she put a spell on me.

Just one woman is all I need, only one womb is enough to give me life.

I know she couldn’t stand it.

It was all my fault, but now I’m glad that she put a spell on me.

I’m her slave now, a perfect man…and I don’t care if she doesn’t love me, I love her anyhow.

She put a spell on me… oh Lord, bless that woman that I love.

ART BY ADRIANA TANGANELLI

ALSO READ: He had promised himself he would never have another drink.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Antonio Costa Neto is freelancer writer and has worked in some of the most important ad agencies in Brazil and the United States. He now lives in Miami where he owns and operates a marketing consultant company. Throughout his career in advertising, he has won top international awards in the Cannes, London and New York festivals, as well as in the Clio Awards and many Latin American festivals. Antonio Costa Neto has written numerous plays and screen plays in Brazil.
Womb Wrecker Syndrome is his second book.

twitter:acostaneto

facebook: Antonio Costa Neto

Advertisements

The Desert

August 13, 2009

latinos2004-54x80[1]One morning, as Josh Samsa was waking from anxious dreams, he discovered that he had changed into a huge stretch of dry desert.

It seems absurd that a person could become a thing such as this, an inanimate part of nature.

But it was real, as real as his anguish, as real as his despair and his feeling of solitude.

His body was a great extension of flowing sand, without head, limbs, torso, or stomach, without any parts that form a normal human body.

Josh was dry, as if his physical transformation were verily a metaphor of his inner state.

The only motility possible for him was an involuntary movement resulting from the wind that shifted part of his body, forming dunes of different sizes and shapes.

His mind, the part of his body where his thoughts should come from, had no definite place in his body.

Josh Samsa had no head.

His thoughts appeared in different areas of his body, contradicting each other in a sequence of association over which he had no control.

The fact that he didn’t have a head brought to him a surprising impression: his whole body was able to think.

He tried to form a picture in his mind of how the shape of his body should be and to direct his thoughts to a particular place that he would call head.

It was futile.  His effort resulted only in frustration.

His thoughts didn’t follow his commands and they arose sporadically in different localities with no pattern or logic.

After a few wretched moments of assessing the situation, despondency ensued.

He realized that he was powerless over his life and his destiny.

There was absolutely nothing he could do to escape from this condition.

He suffered woefully.

His anguish was material and different from his thoughts in that it did have a definite source.

He found that he possessed a center of gravity, located somewhere in the middle of the desert which he had become.

The condition he was experiencing was in fact an impression of himself.

For the first time, he perceived himself the way he truly was.  He was pure desolate anguish.

“I am a solitary man,” his thoughts echoed, “and as a cynic, I don’t believe in life or the things that some individuals consider reasons to live.  I want nothing.  I don’t believe in love or family.  I don’t have sexual desire or ambition.  I don’t want money or prestige, yet I deem myself superior to all human beings.”

Night fell and the temperature dropped below zero.

Josh could not move, did not feel.

He was a dry and cold desert now.

He felt more solitary than ever. Yet he wasn’t unhappy at this point.  He was simply indifferent.  He didn’t care to live, nor did he wish to die.

He understood that deserts are not supposed to have feelings and desires.

He accepted this reality perfunctorily.

This acceptance of his condition gave him a semblance of peace; and when he fell asleep in his dream, hope appeared like a desert rose in the sand.

The wind blew and repositioned his body, casting him to the air and redistributing him to different places to  form golden dunes.

Hope again. A hint of desire.

He visualized parts of himself traveling, flying over barren land to find an oasis.

At this oasis, he would glimpse his own image reflected in the water.

This image would reveal not a desert, but a joyful man full of energy, full of life with focus, plans, and clarity.

This man would be called Josh Samsa.

But it was just a recurrent dream, a mirage.

Every night, he dreamed that the desert he in fact was, saw an image of the man he wanted to be, reflected in the oasis waters.

But when he awoke, another reality superseded this fancy.

The next morning, as Josh Samsa was waking from anxious dreams, he discovered that he had changed into a huge stretch of dry desert.

ART BY: LUIZ CAVALLI

ALSO READ: He had promised himself he would never have another drink.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Antonio Costa Neto is freelancer writer and has worked in some of the most important ad agencies in Brazil and the United States. He now lives in Miami where he owns and operates a marketing consultant company. Throughout his career in advertising, he has won top international awards in the Cannes, London and New York festivals, as well as in the Clio Awards and many Latin American festivals. Antonio Costa Neto has written numerous plays and screen plays in Brazil.
Womb Wrecker Syndrome is his second book.

twitter:acostaneto

facebook: Antonio Costa Neto