Over Inspired

The reason I haven't been blogging isn't a lack of inspiration, or being too busy. I have actually had too much inspiration. Countless times I have sat down at my laptop, opened up Blogger and stared aimlessly at the screen until I decided to just go look at Facebook because I wasn't going to write anything. To alleviate the situation, I decided to by a small notebook in which to chronicle my thoughts. So, from now on instead a play-by-play recap of my time in Spain, it will be selected notes and observations. Enjoy:

10/22/08 on the train heading back from uni:

If Philadelphia is the city of Brotherly Love, then Madrid is the city of Platonic Love. This city drips lust and sex out of every one of its pores. The smell of the city and the prostitutes lining the streets create a city-wide horniness that manages to perverse every facet of our collective being. You can call it culture or obsession, but what ever it is, everyone feels it. Maybe it was the 30 years of sexual repression under Franco's regime, but there is definitely a sexual revolution occuring in Spain.

The evidence is in the streets.

There, lovers, prostitutes, and lovelorn singles cross paths everyday. Although most are looking for love, and some for the kind that can be bought, many have already found it. Perhaps it is the sexual acts I've seen in doorways, on street corners, and in the Metro on late weekend nights. Whatever it is, it's everywhere.

Ironically, this culture which displlays such affection towards those who are familiar, gives a cold shouler to outsiders. Glaring looks are received after accidentally bumping two entangled lovers. In this momoent they turn their love in to seemingly pure hatred for you. Hatred because you ruined that shear moment of passion, hatred because you existed, just pure hatred. They never resort to violence, but their death glares envoke the same amount of damage as any knife could.

This is the duality of Spanish love: passionate love balanced by nonverbal physical hatred. Viva amor.