Posts By: Jeronimo

  • GULAg - before Fairy Tales

    GULAg – Episode 6

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    Stuck! Not having come across any more frozen corpses on the streets since my first encounter a couple of months back, I was feeling quite chirpy. I had survived camp. The summer was over, which meant I wasn’t sweating like a pig anymore, and I had made a friend! YAY for me. After having changed… Read more »

  • GULAg - before Fairy Tales

    GULAg – Episode 5

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    To be or not to be (at) camp Being asked to leave Moscow and to move to the countryside for a couple of weeks was sweet melody to my ears. I was dying to escape this hell hole of a city so I jumped at the opportunity. I had pictured cottages picturesquely planted across a… Read more »

  • GULAg - before Fairy Tales

    GULAg – Episode 4

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    The Sad Truth Millions travel everyday by tube, sitting on plastic chairs or standing up packed in like sardines; they ignore their surroundings, isolating themselves deep within their corporal boundaries, switched off as if they were nothing more than some sort of a device. Shells being moved around by the current. I have done as… Read more »

  • Fairy Tales

    Perroflautas – May 2010

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    Sometimes, you just feel as though you’ve lost yourself somewhere along the road. I experimented with drag (bye bye Chérie Bakewell), I reinvented myself as a moderna, and I partied like it was 1999, but something deep inside felt wrong. I’m not a drag queen. I’m not a moderna. And I’m not a party animal…. Read more »

  • GULAg - before Fairy Tales

    GULAg – Episode 3

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    What the Russians do better – well, so far anyway ONE – LESBIANS They’ve taken over the entire city or so it seems. They’re everywhere. So many, sweet Jesus! So many of them! I remember an ad from the century past of a Jesus, standing arms open wide in the desert, surrounded by thousands of… Read more »

  • GULAg - before Fairy Tales

    GULAg – Episode 2

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    A month has passed and for the first time in my life I now understand what Madonna means by time goes by so slowly. Up until I reached Limbo, I always dreaded looking at my watch, being each and every time shocked by how quickly minutes flew by before disappearing into oblivion. Now, I will… Read more »

  • Bonus Fairy Tales, Fairy Tales

    Lady Poo – Bonus April 2010

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    Never truly believing Kylie to be a princess or Madonna to be my queen – I know I’m a bad fag. Shoot me! – I wasn’t thrilled when Lady Gaga first showed up on our dance-floors but willing to give her a go. At first, her songs did appeal to me. At first, I didn’t… Read more »

  • GULAg - before Fairy Tales

    GULAg – Episode 1

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    Over a week ago, I landed in former USSR, Moscow, Russia. What can possibly be said about this city that has not been said before? Oh! I know: IT SUCKS!   The women, elongated sticks figures with no souls, all suffer from the Carrie Bradshaw syndrome. As for the men, they have not yet discovered… Read more »

  • Journal Intime d'un écrivain

    One night stand

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    ‘And the next ten minutes, till the morning comes. Then just holding you; might compel me to ask you for more…’ Holding his body still shivering from pleasure, these words brought a tear to my eye. He moved. He moved oh so slightly but enough, the gap in the bed had become a crevasse. The… Read more »

  • Fairy Tales

    I miss dancing – April 2010

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    Shagging my way back in (see previous columns for full details) hadn’t been enough and I was forced to obey my saviour’s will by fear of being banned from Chueca again. A fate I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy – not even on Lady Gaga. And that’s all I’ll say about that. However my… Read more »

  • Journal Intime d'un écrivain

    L’enfant est mort

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    D’aussi loin que je puisse me souvenir, l’enfant, rieur et taquin, gardait sa porte ouverte. Une souris verte qui courait dans l’herbe, je l’attrape par la queue, je la montre à ces messieurs. Ces messieurs me disent: –            Cette souris n’est pas verte. Elle est blanche –            Que Nenni, elle n’est pas verte. Elle est… Read more »

  • Journal Intime d'un écrivain

    Le tas

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    La noirceur, cette délicieuse confidente, fidèle amie de mes égarements, sous l’anonymat de la nuit a dérobé aux rues sa clarté. Indifférences générales des hommes et des femmes du jour, doucement endormis au sein de leurs aimés. La lumière éblouissante, aveuglante de lucidité a cessé son emprise sur mes sens. Momentanément. Le silence étourdissant, dissonant,… Read more »