Manuela Cardiga's Blog, page 40
July 14, 2015
The essence of a successful life is not in the achievemen...
The essence of a successful life is not in the achievement of wealth or status, but in the fight for what you believe in.
MC
MC
July 11, 2015
HOW DO I LOVE THEE,LET ME COUNT THE WAYS“It’s not that I ...
HOW DO I LOVE THEE,
LET ME COUNT THE WAYS
“It’s not that I don’t love you enough,”
He discoursed as he lay on my bed:
“Rather I may love you
Too deeply for comfort, and
In quite an obsessive way.”
“Oh,” says I, and level on him
My admittedly amused eye
“How do you love me?
Shall we count the ways?”
“You love me that I comfort you,
You love me that I lift you
From your soul-deep mire,
You love that I awaken your desire
And bring you back
To a long forgotten fire,
You love the dizzy drunken pain
Of believing you love again,
You love mostly believing
That I love you just the same!
But oh my dear, that hesitation,
Wavering twix will and will not?
Tells me one thing I knew,
And you thought I had forgot.
You love me but a little
And yourself quite a lot…”
Oh but that, I must confess,
That is as far as I got…
He left, alas, and forgot his socks.
And the moral of the story is
(And don’t you ever, ever forget),
That her heart may be engaged
But a woman’s brain is not dead.
Manuela Cardiga
LET ME COUNT THE WAYS
“It’s not that I don’t love you enough,”
He discoursed as he lay on my bed:
“Rather I may love you
Too deeply for comfort, and
In quite an obsessive way.”
“Oh,” says I, and level on him
My admittedly amused eye
“How do you love me?
Shall we count the ways?”
“You love me that I comfort you,
You love me that I lift you
From your soul-deep mire,
You love that I awaken your desire
And bring you back
To a long forgotten fire,
You love the dizzy drunken pain
Of believing you love again,
You love mostly believing
That I love you just the same!
But oh my dear, that hesitation,
Wavering twix will and will not?
Tells me one thing I knew,
And you thought I had forgot.
You love me but a little
And yourself quite a lot…”
Oh but that, I must confess,
That is as far as I got…
He left, alas, and forgot his socks.
And the moral of the story is
(And don’t you ever, ever forget),
That her heart may be engaged
But a woman’s brain is not dead.
Manuela Cardiga
July 8, 2015
My little folk-story drawing on my Jewish heritage "...
My little folk-story drawing on my Jewish heritage "THE GOLEM OF PRAGUE" is rocking on AMAZON!
AMAZON RANKS:
#556 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Literature & Fiction > World Literature > Jewish
#615 in Books > Literature & Fiction > Genre Fiction > Historical > Jewish
CLIC FOR THE GOLEM!
July 4, 2015
HOMAGE TO WILL S.THE ONE MANWHO TAUGHT METO CALL THE MALE...
HOMAGE TO WILL S.
THE ONE MAN
WHO TAUGHT ME
TO CALL THE MALE
OF THE SPECIES
BLESSED
Upon my soul
I do declare,
There is no more
To desire in this life;
No fire of ambition
No can compare
To the ecstasy
Of gazing into your eyes
And seeing the spirit-flame
Of mirrored passion there.
MC
THE ONE MAN
WHO TAUGHT ME
TO CALL THE MALE
OF THE SPECIES
BLESSED
Upon my soul
I do declare,
There is no more
To desire in this life;
No fire of ambition
No can compare
To the ecstasy
Of gazing into your eyes
And seeing the spirit-flame
Of mirrored passion there.
MC
July 2, 2015
Dark is light and light is dark depending on your sight,&...
Dark is light and light is dark depending on your sight, which is why dervishes spin like planets, to grasp the essence of the universe: 5 dimensions and not 3.
They do it because the revelation is ecstasy.
Conversations with Ivan
MC
They do it because the revelation is ecstasy.
Conversations with Ivan
MC
You are not in control of the world, you are not in contr...
You are not in control of the world, you are not in control of your body's cells, you are not even in control of your own emotional life unless you are a hermit and live withdrawn from people and love.
You are only in control of how you react to that very lack of control.
If you admit this to yourself, you may find a large measure of your anger and anxiety draining away.
Manuela Cardiga
You are only in control of how you react to that very lack of control.
If you admit this to yourself, you may find a large measure of your anger and anxiety draining away.
Manuela Cardiga
DUO SUNTDay and NightDark and LightBewilder sightAm I the...
DUO SUNT
Day and Night
Dark and Light
Bewilder sight
Am I the angel
Or the devil in a spin
Prancing on the head
Of a pin?
Manuela Cardiga
Day and Night
Dark and Light
Bewilder sight
Am I the angel
Or the devil in a spin
Prancing on the head
Of a pin?
Manuela Cardiga
July 1, 2015
Embrace self-knowledge and the change it brings. Pain is ...
Embrace self-knowledge and the change it brings.
Pain is transient, growth is not.
Manuela Cardiga
Pain is transient, growth is not.
Manuela Cardiga
June 25, 2015
"Desires's Detective" is in the TOP 5000 for Historical Mystery on AMAZON!
Excerpt from "Desire's Detective" by Desirée Cronson and Manuela Cardiga
Desireé bounced out of her bed, and onto her knees. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to her prayers. She missed the quiet routines of the convent; the safe patterned life. Mostly she missed Matins: the morning prayers that seemed somehow to cleanse her soul and affirm her faith; her strength for facing life’s daily challenges.
She rose to her feet and stripping off her nightgown, proceeded to wash herself vigorously with the cold water in the laver by the bed. She was washing off the last of the soap when a tiny noise behind her made her spin on her heels. She was face-to-face with Jean, the King’s brother!
He stood with one hand on the door, his mouth opened; his eyes riveted to her body, on the small high virginal breasts, the taut pink nipples pearled with water. With a cry, Desireé grabbed for her gown where she’d left it at the bottom of the bed, and pressed it to her chest. Something fell from the gown’s silken folds: a box.
A red lacquer box inlaid with mother-of-pearl rolled across the Persian carpet, spilling its contents at the Duc d’Orleans feet. Jean bent down gathering the box and its contents, using the moment to mask his perturbation at the sight of the girl’s nudity.
Desireé ducked behind a Chinese screen and quickly pulled her gown on over her wet skin.
She heard an exclamation and peeked out to see Jean bent over the desk, examining the box: her curiosity was definitely stronger than her embarrassment. She slowly approached the table and peered around Jean’s bent back to try and catch a glimpse of what he’d found.
He looked up at her, black eyes snapping with excitement. “Where is Noelle? Quick, call her.”
Desireé crossed the sitting room and knocked on her cousin’s door.
“I don’t think she’ll be up at this hour…” To her surprise Noelle opened the door immediately. She was fully dressed, immaculately made up and coiffed, and with a feverish gleam in her wide eyes.
Astonishing.
“Good morning Desireé, Jean…I thought our meeting was set for 10 o’clock…I was about to go to her Majesty’s sitting-room to help serve her morning chocolate.”
“Forget the chocolate.” Jean’s eyes glittered, “Look at this… Declarations on the birth of a Royal child, a Diploma signed by the Court Midwife, who reports that the Royal Tattoo was placed as is usual on a presumptive heir, but the date…This was eight years before Louis’s birth.”
“The child obviously died…” put in Noelle.
“You don’t understand! There was no other male child. Only three girls, one born dead, one dead at four, and one who is supposed to be deformed, she was sent to St Cyr (we have an aunt there too); then two years later Louis was born, and then last, (but not least!) myself.”
The three stared at each other in bewilderment: another Royal Heir, and older than the King. He would take precedence; he could overthrow Louis XV and take the throne…
Investigate Desire's Detective HERE!
Desireé bounced out of her bed, and onto her knees. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to her prayers. She missed the quiet routines of the convent; the safe patterned life. Mostly she missed Matins: the morning prayers that seemed somehow to cleanse her soul and affirm her faith; her strength for facing life’s daily challenges.
She rose to her feet and stripping off her nightgown, proceeded to wash herself vigorously with the cold water in the laver by the bed. She was washing off the last of the soap when a tiny noise behind her made her spin on her heels. She was face-to-face with Jean, the King’s brother!
He stood with one hand on the door, his mouth opened; his eyes riveted to her body, on the small high virginal breasts, the taut pink nipples pearled with water. With a cry, Desireé grabbed for her gown where she’d left it at the bottom of the bed, and pressed it to her chest. Something fell from the gown’s silken folds: a box.
A red lacquer box inlaid with mother-of-pearl rolled across the Persian carpet, spilling its contents at the Duc d’Orleans feet. Jean bent down gathering the box and its contents, using the moment to mask his perturbation at the sight of the girl’s nudity.
Desireé ducked behind a Chinese screen and quickly pulled her gown on over her wet skin.
She heard an exclamation and peeked out to see Jean bent over the desk, examining the box: her curiosity was definitely stronger than her embarrassment. She slowly approached the table and peered around Jean’s bent back to try and catch a glimpse of what he’d found.
He looked up at her, black eyes snapping with excitement. “Where is Noelle? Quick, call her.”
Desireé crossed the sitting room and knocked on her cousin’s door.
“I don’t think she’ll be up at this hour…” To her surprise Noelle opened the door immediately. She was fully dressed, immaculately made up and coiffed, and with a feverish gleam in her wide eyes.
Astonishing.
“Good morning Desireé, Jean…I thought our meeting was set for 10 o’clock…I was about to go to her Majesty’s sitting-room to help serve her morning chocolate.”
“Forget the chocolate.” Jean’s eyes glittered, “Look at this… Declarations on the birth of a Royal child, a Diploma signed by the Court Midwife, who reports that the Royal Tattoo was placed as is usual on a presumptive heir, but the date…This was eight years before Louis’s birth.”
“The child obviously died…” put in Noelle.
“You don’t understand! There was no other male child. Only three girls, one born dead, one dead at four, and one who is supposed to be deformed, she was sent to St Cyr (we have an aunt there too); then two years later Louis was born, and then last, (but not least!) myself.”
The three stared at each other in bewilderment: another Royal Heir, and older than the King. He would take precedence; he could overthrow Louis XV and take the throne…
Investigate Desire's Detective HERE!
June 22, 2015
GROSS BY ANY OTHER NAME...Ginny Johnson Got upset When sh...
GROSS BY ANY OTHER NAME...
Ginny Johnson
Got upset
When she discovered
Her real name
Was not Virginia
But Vagina;
And her brother
Pitched a fit
When he saw
His birth certificate
Named him Prick
Not Dick.
(This is what happens
When I don't get
My caffeine fix)
MC
