Cocktail on the Molten Rocks

Idleness is the queen mother of all virtues, according to the magazine I was reading as breakfast, so… here are some holiday sweets to cover up the bitter taste of sleeplessness, of relentless work and mulled-over thoughts while the rest of the world is forgetting its own existence in a cutesy nonchalance. Crowded beaches are definitely an uknown and forbidden dreamland for whoever has to deliver the last drops of stylish syrup dripping from his words. So, the madcap I pretend to be switches on his computer screen to hide the crudely cruel reality that holds us in its arms like a goddess holds tight the corpse of her lifeless, sacrified child. When we -the restless left at some godforsaken office- are rehearsing our upcoming smashionable and trashionable speech for september during white nights in anonymous, oblivious p(a)laces, others are tasting the innocence of summer and this idea can be enough for me to get up, try to draw a smile on my dry lips and work out what I have to do. What’s left on the long list on my desk. I have to be sincere and had to ask twice who was Rudiney Graczyk before I understood he belongs to the happy few male models at Eskimo, but you can easily imagine I didn’t ignore who was the gorgeous young lady next to him, merely trying to hide her shiny and contagious wholesomeness behind vintage sunglasses. Solange Wilvert seemingly has a homemade recipe to turn photographs of her into a panacea against your stressful moments, heartaches left in Paris Rue de Seine and daily weltschmertz. Or, to sum it up, nothing compares to a solangelic smile to cheer yourself up on a busy week.