No matter how much moles think they understand the land they dig, the alluvium will never understand moles and most of the times, the tunnels are lost or clogged up . However, the mole will persist in its blind and stubborn plan to dig as far as possible, with tireless and unshakeable determination.
A mole’s tenacity is one of the most amazing qualities to adopt. It can literally make golf course caretakers go mad and force them to take extreme measures in order to exterminate them.
This quality is not based on belief, but on instinct.
When did us, humans, forget to get attuned to this drive, this incredible sense of what has to be done, here, now? No procrastination, no hesitation. Just digging.
Txema Rodríguez
photographer
The digger
So lost
At the firtst sight, she reminded me Jane March cooking naked in Bruce Willis’s kitchen.
I didn’t even realize that my wife was about to arrive home with the groceries. Of course, she was not naked under a white apron with embroidery flounces and not baking cookies for me either, but I was speachless, paralyzed by her arrogance and candor to break into my kitchen like a burglar, covered only by a thin, almost transparent T-shirt, no bra, and a pair of jean shorts, soaking wet.
‘Who the hell are you?’ I asked in a harsh whisper, as if someone could hear us.
She was leaning on the marble worktop and adopting a naughty, deceptively naive and seductive pose. After a calculated silent lapse she said ‘I’m so lost’.
Don’t ask me how a grown up man, a married man, a self-made man, a father, a responsible adult could let himself get caught in a trap like that. I have no clue. I used to be one of those claiming life sentence for child and teen sexual offenders.
She seemed like she used sex to get a fix, to ease some kind of deep emotional pain. She seemed to be hooked on it, she craved me like an addict craves drugs. And she acted older than sixsteen. I know it’s not an excuse, but she acted older than sixteen.
We did it in less than five minutes, fiercely. And in those five minutes I had a blowjob, a soggy hookup and a back door raid better than anything before in my whole life. I came into her, groaning like a beast. Such a bang, such a seizure, such a liberation. The garage door opened just when I was making up my suit. My wife was asking help with the bags.
All of a sudden I realized she wasn’t there anymore. I came out from the trance like if someone punched my stomach. My heart was pounding wildly, my face felt feverish, and my clothes were wet. I filled a jar with water and I smashed it against the tiles, trying to arrange a plausible scenario to justify my messy looks. My wife didn’t notice the tiny footsteps, but she found a bra on one of the deckchairs by the pool and nail tracks in my back a few hours later.
I am sleeping on the couch and she is giving me a silent treatment, while she decides if I deserve to be forgiven or not. And if you ask me if I deserve, I say I don’t.
But I can’t take her wet, tiny, juicy body off my mind. I can’t think about anything else.
It’s killing me.
Excuses
The older I get, the more I realize that we only accept what we think we deserve, we only do what we can -and want- to do, and procrastinate what we can put off until we can no longer accept what we get from others, until we proclaim we deserve more and better, until we positively know that there’s no more time to lose, that things delayed won’t be easier later, that happiness is a choice and morality often a disguise for cowardice or listlessness.
If there’s a deed or a need, there’s a way.
Traveling lights
I’m pretty sure that true success (happiness) comes down to the decision to shift from frustration and fear to curiosity and fascination, and I always feel as if I am a step away from cloud nine, yet not knowing what is keeping me stuck or making me walk around with this heavy burden of uncertainty and half belief.
Next time maybe I will let things just flow at the speed of trust, abdicating all enquiry about the causes and reasons of the unfolding.
Soap Opera
He is looking around for her -or should we say him?- among the others in the noisy small square, resisting the urge, postponing the ultimate daring, the boldness to ask her to hide from the world in whatever the nearest and darkest building highway available.
On anyone else that flashy attire would be too much, but on her it looks perfectly attuned to her nature, and even exquisite. Look at her gorgeous hair.
This is the closest he has been from being in love. Since he saw her for the first time, working the street from the bathroom’s window, trying to catch the wireless signal of neighbors with the laptop on his knees, sitting on the toilet, he has spent hours watching her meeting the clients, appearing and disappearing in about five or ten minutes, lighting countless cigarettes with lost and dramatic eyes, or chatting with other rent girls and boys of the district.
Isn’t it love when you wake up and fall asleep thinking of somebody? Isn’t it love when you fantasize to rescue and save her from all harm and affliction? Isn’t it love when you notice a thick lump in your throat every time you see her in the arms of others?
A bundle of anticipated guilt, doubt and regret is paralyzing him. Look at his face, look at him swallowing saliva and cleaning his nervous sweaty hands on his Levis. I bet he is shaking inside, with panic and desire.
Now he is walking towards her. Now they are talking. Now they are leaving. Now they are sneaking in that filthy entry. Wait. I bet he is now opening up to her. Oh, my… I would pay to see the moment, to get the exact words. How long have they been there already?
I don’t know. Not more than five minutes.
It feels like an eternity. Have you heard what she said?
She said: ‘Do you want me to continue or what?’
God bless your ears. And what the hell does that mean?
Well, I don’t know. You are telling the story.
Both look heartbreakingly sad. Maybe she was a father in Brazil, before the surgery I mean. Maybe the little son or daughter is fighting for his life in a hospital and he is making the money to pay an expensive treatment. That would make this love impossible, wouldn’t it?
Look at the knocked flat expression in his face walking away without looking backwards.
Or he finally got a blowjob and he is trying to get over it. Wasn’t he dating a girl? Maybe he is bisexual and he wanted to try what is it like to get a blowjob from a trans.
She has just spit and used a mouth refresher. And now she is redoing her lips and her wig. Remember Grissom. Stick to the evidence.
You love to ruin all my fun, don’t you?