Waking Life

The film, like eating coconuts, works well the first 30 minutes and then we realized how important it is to dream, is be yourself.
The inmate believes to conquer the world, and the truth is that fear dominates, but not to those who dream.
What the scientists are superficial and are the "gurus" today.
All those who want loudspeakers, and the money they give. And more than you eat a coconut.
TRUTH IS NOT THAT A TIME TO SAY IF THAT IS ALL IF THE EXISTENCE. WE ARE THE DREAMS.
The extraordinary sequence of the critics, monkey, which is the animal that best represents them. Iris thanks for having discovered this, though a bit late. Well chosen either because the drawings are identified with the drawings.
Terrible the need for arms. Sequence short but impressive.
"AIDS NO. Let's use a condom!" And while the TV blah, blah, blah.
"They say that dreams are real duration. They could say the same for life." That is the mistake, life is not real.
But they can take advantage of our dreams? If they do not tell anyone. The lapel pin is great. In the end it does not exist.
It has always been defined cinema as a factory of dreams. And that is, "the production of reality". I recommend this movie to those who believed in film as the factory of dreams. But let some time pass since he began to judge her. A film is a mixture of a story that account, which means the history and the image it has, and here combines all the elements to make a film. Another thing is not a movie.
What to say about the use of Lorca? Never in another movie, perhaps in "An Andalusian Dog," has understood better Lorca.
The love is there in life that dream?
My own life do I have to dream it?
Let me here. I need more time to answer those questions.


PS : Some movies make me think, ALOT!! 'Waking Life' is one of them.

The Ongoing WOW! That Is Happening Right NOW!

City That Does Not Sleep

In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins.
The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream,
and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will meet on the
street corner
the unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of the
stars.

Nobody is asleep on earth. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
In a graveyard far off there is a corpse
who has moaned for three years
because of a dry countryside on his knee;
and that boy they buried this morning cried so much
it was necessary to call out the dogs to keep him quiet.

Life is not a dream. Careful! Careful! Careful!
We fall down the stairs in order to eat the moist earth
or we climb to the knife edge of the snow with the voices of the dead
dahlias.
But forgetfulness does not exist, dreams do not exist;
flesh exists. Kisses tie our mouths
in a thicket of new veins,
and whoever his pain pains will feel that pain forever
and whoever is afraid of death will carry it on his shoulders.

One day
the horses will live in the saloons
and the enraged ants
will throw themselves on the yellow skies that take refuge in the
eyes of cows.


Another day
we will watch the preserved butterflies rise from the dead
and still walking through a country of gray sponges and silent boats
we will watch our ring flash and roses spring from our tongue.
Careful! Be careful! Be careful!
The men who still have marks of the claw and the thunderstorm,
and that boy who cries because he has never heard of the invention
of the bridge,
or that dead man who possesses now only his head and a shoe,
we must carry them to the wall where the iguanas and the snakes
are waiting,
where the bear's teeth are waiting,
where the mummified hand of the boy is waiting,
and the hair of the camel stands on end with a violent blue shudder.

Nobody is sleeping in the sky. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is sleeping.
If someone does close his eyes,
a whip, boys, a whip!
Let there be a landscape of open eyes
and bitter wounds on fire.
No one is sleeping in this world. No one, no one.
I have said it before.

No one is sleeping.
But if someone grows too much moss on his temples during the
night,
open the stage trapdoors so he can see in the moonlight
the lying goblets, and the poison, and the skull of the theaters.


by Federico García Lorca
Translated by Robert Bly

"On this bridge, Lorca warns: life is not a dream.Beware, and beware, and beware!And so many think because then happened, now isn’t.But didn’t I mention, the on-going WOW is happening, right now!We are all co-authors of this dancing exuberance, where even our inabilities are having a roast! We are the authors of ourselves, co-authoring a gigantic Dostoevsky novel starring clowns!This entire thing we’re involved with called the world, is an opportunity to exhibit how exciting alienation can be.Life is a matter of a miracle, that is collected over time by moments flabbergasted to be in each others’ presence.The world is an exam, to see if we can rise into the direct experiences. Our eyesight is here as a test to see if we can see beyond it, matter is here as a test for our curiosity, doubt is here as an exam for our vitality.Thomas Mann wrote that he would rather participate in life than write a hundred stories. Giacometti was once run down by a car, and he recalled falling in to a lucid faint, a sudden exhilaration, as he realized at last, something was happening to him.An assumption develops that you can not understand life and live life simultaneously. I do not agree entirely, which is to say I do not exactly disagree. I would say, that life understood is life lived. But the paradoxes bug me. And I can learn to love, and make love to the paradoxes that bug me. And on really romantic evenings of Self, I go salsa dancing with my confusion.Before you drift off, don’t forget, which is to say remember. Because remembering is so much more a psychotic activity than forgetting. Lorca, in that same poem, said that the iguana will bite those who do not dream. And, as one realizes, that one is a dream-figure in another person’s dream: that is self-awareness!"

Timothy Levitch, monologue from Waking Life

untitled .

Hey it’s me. Do you remember me? We haven't talked for some time, but i'm not sure if you have forgotten. I've noticed something in you after the past few days. As the minutes feel like hours to you, it must have been a while since we've spoken. What could have caused such a delay in you? Or just an emotional swing? I noticed in your world, are you taken something to cause you to be in this state? But I fear to ask, because when your emotions are spinning...its like us who care don't count.

No matter what you do, you won't be able to run from it. Tell me this? Can you run from the sun? Or can you just hide under the shade until its gone? You won't be able to run from it as much as you try. It'll always be there. I fear you've forgotten what the sun even looks like? Well my friend, you can't hide from it. I know you want to, but you can’t. You’re probably not following this, because you weren't made clear that this is actually for you, and that the sun is my care for you.

My friend, I just wanted to tell you that i'm here for you. You may leave me for thousands of years, and come back. You wonder if i'll shut my door on you for that long? No, I'll welcome you even more. I'll welcome you with warm arms, and a place to sit and recoup. Here my friend, we shall talk.

Tell me what is wrong, now that I have your attention finally. I was worried that maybe you really have forgotten. I worry about you, my friend. I care for you too. This maze you are walking through is not a joke, it's filled with traps, and I can clearly see you are lost. I can’t pull you out of the maze, but you may take my hand, and I may help guide you. Will you, my friend, accept my hand for guidance so I can help guide you out of this?

When it comes time to go, you may leave, but never forget, my friend, my door is always open.

metamorphosis

They are unstable.
I know, I feel.
Lately, everything is able to influence my thoughts, my actions.
I have always known that, in life, I would have had to fight, to fight for everything, and I soon accustomed to the idea of being a fighter, in the years refining my techniques in order not ever be defeated, leaving always triumphant from every battle I had to face.
Lately I feel unstable, as if I had left a part of me hidden somewhere that does not visit more, buried under the rubble of a black ash, which is to reclaim my soul, as it meanders in a volcano. Vain my attempts to eliminate it, so that our co-enforced no break ever.
Day after day, I am deprived of something, I am more and more away from that the unattainable goal that is happiness.
I see my reflection, smiling so misleading, and then someone scale a rock against the mirror, making it collapse into a thousand page.Complete but always a missing piece, someone has stolen a moment of distraction, which is appropriate for bringing down me too.
Ever since I began to define my being, someone tried to do so, trying in every way to rip my personality, often even my tastes, my preferences.
Copies and nothing but copies.
But increasing every day, and each of them because I am a state of malaise that can not ignore, and pieces of the mirror continue to disappear under my eyes interim. Deprivation stopped me, I fixed a majestic statue and enviable closed room most beautiful castle of a huge and fascinating, so high that only the terror strike vista.Un-fortified castle, with great difficulty that I managed to build around me.
A castle that is falling, despite the solid walls that surround it, despite the deep ditch that separated from the rest of the world, protecting it.
I should rejoice, should observe the debris and think of being free at last, the statue is returning to walk, their breath still run under the heavy armor, the uncertain pace, the painful limbs.
Instead collapse with him, every defense that I've created with suffering is now empty, useless, and vandals come to plunder my soul, the rooms of the castle, looking in the mirror room to steal even fragments, climbing up to the highest tower to watch the world from absolute masters and feel.
I have always said a sentence to find the courage to move forward, not to kill me by any difficulty: "Life is beautiful because it is pain."
I am afraid of having to correct, I fear that it could not be fair nor accurate.
The life and 'pain.
I just have to rebuild the castle, that the apathy now lost, and mobilize all the other statues to eliminate my enemies, looters to nothing but more painful is hell and eternal.
The flames devour every room, with them inside, but not destroy the walls or large screens.
The flames will be the new security and the castle will shine, rising once again after yet another impressive attack.

a disease called morality.

With truth lingering inexplicable to the individual, and the soul oppressed by the external forces of misconception, we can certainly infer chaos is existent. You see the human collective which is already contrived lacks the essentially and primary premise of the philosophical truth. I surmise this is so because the individual was conquered maliciously by the primitive minds of the emotionally distraught. Thus they form a means to designate appropriately to their manipulated perceptions, and contrive objective truth that the individuals cannot dissipate from. And so with this misconceived society ensuing the reconciliation of morality and truth is embedded in the oblivion of human consciousness.
Truth is unfathomable; the collective embraces it by manipulation and moral application.

When one speaks of complexity the perquisite of simplicity must be brought forth. Though upon discerning the simplicity we infer that a resolution is not present to the simple question. Perhaps contortion of the initial or traditional thought. For example Aristotle speaks frequently of the inferiority of women being the cause of mans divine will, and moral obligation. This inquisition, or more so previously concurred theory has now been contorted and abused. Perhaps due to the efficacy of a more dominate belief and moral efficaciousness. Now the society sees this previous consciousness of women suppression as being redundant, furthermore ludicrous. And thus the collective designates this theory as being primitive, or invalid. The invalidity of Aristotle’s theory is now the simplistic, and is dismayed. The perplexity of this is that we assert a revolutionized manner of contemplation and belief. And the repercussions of such an assertion are the later intricacies that entail. With all complex hypothesizes complexity imminently occurs. And so the collective is distraught by a perhaps new concept that rises, and instead of bringing forth the opposite and dismissed perspective, they contrive another one. So instead of inquisitively conjuring the now “simplistic” theory of Aristotle to resolve this new contention, they dismay caused by moral position.

The morality is a development of the collectively acknowledged belief, and application of principals associated with the present nature or historical nature of the human. With such a flabbergasting conglomeration of theories, and applicable emotions to such theories the morality bestrides its essence oppressing the ideal of inexplicability, which is truth. The morality of the collective is a governing law, a systematic lost philosophy (I speak of modern society) that dictates the obligation of human nature by means of manipulation. And because the philosophical premises is lingering lost in the abyss of dismay, like Aristotle’s theory on women, the collective ceases to reconcile it’s self by using the oppressing theory that defies the morality.

The collective is so immersed and enthralled with its oblivious position that external objectives are the mandate and human lot. The demise of the human is his lost philosophy. Essentially the individual unconscious submits himself to the collective which is a governing force dictated by moral laws. And thus is subject to the vanity of philosophical dismay, and perpetual irrelevancy he is oblivious too.

Morals cannot be justified unless acquiring the fundamental moral oppositions. Even so, even after attaining the opposition, you are still most certainly debating the same concept merely in a different perspective, which is truth. And such truth cannot be ascertained by human cohesive comprehension, and the emancipation cannot occur under the moral suppression of the collective. Good and evil, purpose and vanity, such facets cannot be constricted to the parameters of human moral observation and designation. The human must seek the simplicities long excused to acquire the truth of the self, and this is by means of abnegation as previously stated.

Morality is a plague and a disease. It assists the putrid vile human in resolving the questions of this so ambiguous existence. It is the conductive law and principled procedure to dismay and acquire content belief lacking logic and spirit. It may be stated that it is the morality which is most correlated with the spirit. I disagree because such divinity ceases to pertain the human extra nauseousness of contemplation and self. Morality coincides individuals with the collective, whether it is a theological, scientific, secular collective.

The morality is an emotional means to divulging conflicting feeling that derives from bewilderment. And unlike the existentialist we should not excuse this abstruse bewilderment, but ratify its existence. And not by means of platonic deductive absolute, but by means of intuitive subconscious implementation. Be means of becoming this abyss of ambiguousness. Morality is the ally of the inferior, the philosophically inept, and the collective mass. Morality coexists with the barbaric primitive impulse to survive, thus it is the enemy.

I am obliged to elucidate and thus I shall. The human existence is inscrutably insoluble, immaculately misconceived. And to exist to acquire comprehension of such truth is more relevant, but not the objective or as what I see to be pertinent universally. The objective is not to seek objective, for that would only limit the individual to a consolidated perspective and mandate, but to exist by liberating the concepts of objective. And such liberation, or human emancipation can only occur by the reconciliation of the human burdens, and emotions. By doing so the constructed moral premises of existence is not dismayed but understood, and the individual becomes one with the vanity.

For example, a soldier of a War endures the loss of his family members. First of all the repercussions of his blissful ignorant indulgence with such family members is his suffering. Nonetheless the solder is embedded amidst this repugnant atrocity, the war. Enveloped by the corrosive stench of putrid decaying bodies. And in this trench as this soldier contemplates, he infers none live to welcome his struggle. There is no cause for his struggle, but he is obliviously interjected into this struggle against his will, much like we are into life. Before the war this very moment was unfathomable, and now that previous moment is long diminished, much like the eternity prior to our faulted existence. And at that moment when the commanding officer says solder charge, that solder runs to his demise, or shall I say liberation. He has ascended beyond man be means of emotional resolution, and of conceptual comprehension that this inexplicable cause must not be understood conventionally, not felt irrationally, but coexistent with himself. I would debate that at this moment when the war country charged up from beyond his disdainful dilapidated trench was the only moment he was alive.

The morality world deprive the soldier, the morality would intuitively imbue him to return to his indulgent lifeless consciousness, of bliss and its inevitable ally misery. And thus morality should not be excused as previous stated, but understood in a transcended state of reality by means of emotional reconciliation, and subconscious truth.

Music is the wine that fills the cup of silence !

So, i just happened to remember some quotes :


“Without music, life would be a mistake.” - Friedrich Nietzsche

“Music was invented to confirm human loneliness.” - Lawrence Durrell

“Music is the shorthand of emotion.” - Leo Tolstoy

“Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.” - Victor Hugo

“Music is a moral law. It gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything.” - Plato

“A painter paints his pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence.” - Leopold Stokowski

“See deep enough, and you see musically; the heart of Nature being everywhere music, if you can only reach it.” - Thomas Carlyle

“Music can name the unnameable and communicate the unknowable.” - Leonard Bernstein

“… In the end, I think of music as the saving grace for all humanity.” - Henry Miller

“Music is well said to be the speech of angels; in fact, nothing among the utterances allowed to man is felt to be so divine. It brings us near to the infinite.” - Thomas Carlyle

La musica es arte… es vida.

in my time of need

I can not see the meaning of this life I'm leading,
I try to forget you as you forgot me,
This time there is nothing left for you to take,
this is goodbye.

- in my time of need (opeth)

I want to write, I need to write, but I can not ... I feel like in those long nights of insomnia, which is however not get tired to sleep. Flimsy words drown me, my steps, meaningless, take me to places you do not want to go. And your voice, your voice still rumbles in my ears no longer laugh at my eyes. My lips, pales, I remember the taste of your kisses and the anxiety of your mouth.

The scenes move so quickly around me that I seem to look surprised (when I'm actually terrified). I left my shadow, but I still walk penetrating increasingly in the cold, waiting to appear from nowhere and make me feel safe, though most only see the thick darkness that hides shyly the glare of the black candle Blue hold my hands. I just kept up the scent of your skin in the mine and the absurd hope that you could topaz later ... a little later in the cold.

But not, so I stop trying to silence me choking tears, I am so tired, I got so scared. The wind plays around me and I sing sadness hearing, saying it did not come, mocking me, so I still clean clothing and walking barefoot, filling my pockets and leaves pensandote, as always, despite the swarm of flies flying around my head and smoke that haunts me incessantly. I wound sewing thread with ice.

The flash is becoming more tenuous, but still there. Believe it or not see, but do not want to see it, is still there.





- I'm sad
- Why?
- Because ...
- I'm sorry
- I'm not, I'm just sad ...

Manuscript Found In Unmarked Grave

Through the whole void of night I search So dumbly crying out to thee But thou art not, and night’s vast throne Becomes an all-stupendous church With star-bells knelling unto thee, who in all space am most alone.

Dil Hoom Hoom kare*

Dil hoom hoom kare, ghabraaye / My heart is gasping, it shivers in fear
Ghan dham dham kare, darr jaaye / The clouds are thundering, my heart becomes afraid
Ek boond kabhi paani ki mori ankhiyon se barsaaye / A drop of water sometimes flows from my eyes
Dil hoom hoom kare, ghabraaye / My heart is gasping, it shivers in fear



Teri jhori daaroon, sab sukhe paat jo aaye / When I spread (open) your bag, all the dry leaves come
Tera chhua laage, meri sukhi daar hariyaaye / When you touch me, my dry branch (body) becomes green
Dil hoom hoom kare, ghabraaye / My heart is gasping, it shivers in fear


Jis tan ko chhua tune, us tan ko chhupaaoon / The body that you touched, I am hiding that body
Jis man ko laage naina, voh kisko dikhaaoon / The mind that you saw with your eyes, who do I show that to?
O more chandrama, teri chaandni ang jalaaye / Oh my moon, your moonlight burns my body
Teri oonchi ataari maine pankh liye katwaaye / You are up on a high balcony; I have cut off my wings
Dil hoom hoom kare, ghabraaye / My heart is gasping, it shivers in fear
Ghan dham dham kare, darr jaaye / The clouds are thundering, my heart becomes afraid
Ek boond kabhi paani ki mori ankhiyon se barsaaye / A drop of water sometimes flows from my eyes
Dil hoom hoom kare, ghabraaye / My heart is gasping, it shivers in fear

* \Gulzar/

post # 200.

well, what, why, where and how ? and how come ?



post scriptum :

let's get lost somewhere, in the world, with the world.

locus

I know why I’m here now. Just another man destined for the grandness of living an ordinary life. Touched by lives and touching others’ lives, the brevity of life makes peculiar, the meaning in all things monumental. The simplest things make meaningful, the seemingly inconsequential. The truest make life bearable. Condoned by insignificance, my dreams are cumbersome. Excited by the humanness in others, discovery was the beginning of my journey. I embrace unwillingly, my chance just to be. My chance to see what ordinary men see. To see that which inspires them to reach for the extraordinary. The bravest are not the fearless. They are the ones refusing to surrender to fear.
This life is a place of equivalents. Endlessly equating what is mine with that of others. So it may seem that I deserve the sympathy. So it may seem that I deserve the kiss, from fair’s fairest maiden. Maybe to believe that I am destined for heights mere mortals have never seen. Frustrated by things, hope keeps me tempted. I fail sometimes, but only because I can succeed. Waiting for that moment to unfurl mine and take to flight like the fanciful. I use my ordinary days to find the joy estranged from my tears. Though distressing sometimes, each breath surrendered comforts; because what I take rewards with a chance to give back. Expressing the full measure of how I feel, in the limited confines of words and ink.
I took to life like the earth to the universe, patiently evolving.
To make a permanent home for those I love. For losing this place would make this, pointless. And make wisdom a lonely kingdom.

haiku # 10 : breath

Life is
The living poem
Just breath

/

guess the title from the prose - II

Harsh. Unfair. Unjust. Taunting. Cruel.
Everyone knows that.
Fun. Bright. Rainbows and butterflies?
Um, maybe. Sometimes.
“Humans have a knack for choosing exactly the things that are the worst for them.” True. But we also do the same thing to everything else.
Life is just that: life.
YOU CAN”T DEFINE IT! You won’t be able to, just accept it.
Ah, but we can’t, and we know it.
We want to believe that life is happy and shiny and cheerful, but it isn’t.
Don’t get me wrong, I know that it can be. It’s like a poisonous flower: beautiful until you get just a bit too close, until you catch a whiff of that lovely, sickly sweet smell.
Resistance is futile at that point (unless, of course, you can’t smell anything, like me), so you pick the flower and bury your face in it. There might only be a bee or spider inside, to sting or snap at you. You drop the flower, disappointed and just a bit disillusioned. But later, you pass the bush again, and decide to give it another try.
There may be another bug in there, but there may not. The thought of last time just twinges a bit, so into the flower goes your nose. Ouch! There is anther bug.
This goes on for ages, but each time you try again, the previous times sting a little more. Finally, you have the sense to check for bugs first. None? Let’s try again.
Oh no, you got some of the pollen up your nose, and it burns, damn it! Drop the flower and jump on it, break it! You want to, but alas, you don’t. Coward.
You must absolutely loathe flowers at his point, huh? Thought so. You still can’t bring yourself to walk by, ignore it, or just take a different route home next time.
Life is addictive, that’s a fact. No one can be happy unless there is something for them to focus on, to push at, to try. Ok, last try. Keep your eyes on the sidewalk, don’t look at the bush. The big, beautiful bush of the most wonderful-smelling flowers ever... too late, you looked. Moron.
No bugs, shielding nose, check. At last!! You smell it... and then you realize something: it was the bush next to this one that smelled so good. This flower doesn’t have a scent.
Conclusion: you were abused by bees, bitten by spiders, burned by pollen, and for what? I’ll tell you.
You learned to avoid that bush.
Fascinating? Yes. Useful? Yes. Satisfying? No. Rewarding? No. Fair? Are you kidding? Of course it isn’t! now you have to do it all over again with the next bush!! Isn’t life just a ball?
Sometimes you do need to think: is it worth it? Is it worth the bug bites, stings, burning nose, and now tearing eyes? Is the answer yes? Or have you figured out that the bugs and pollen were warnings, screaming “Go away, you big, ugly beast. Get your nose out of my house!” You know that now, so it’s time for something else: ice cream, movies, tennis,football, rea-

Hey, is that a flower?

life !

Life is a stage
And I've got one hell
of a script.

book meme 123.5

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don't search around and look for the "coolest" book you can find. Do what's actually next to you.

'Good evening!' She said.

P.G.Woodhouse - Big Money.

mar adentro **

Mar adentro, mar adentro,
y en la ingravidez del fondo
donde se cumplen los sueños,
se juntan dos voluntades
para cumplir un deseo.

Un beso enciende la vida
con un relámpago y un trueno,
y en una metamorfosis
mi cuerpo no es ya mi cuerpo;
es como penetrar
al centro del universo:

El abrazo más pueril,
y el más puro de los besos,
hasta vernos reducidos
en un único deseo:

Tu mirada y mi mirada
como un eco repitiendo,
sin palabras: más adentro,
más adentro,
hasta el más allá del todo
por la sangre y por los huesos.

Pero me despierto siempre
y siempre quiero estar muerto
para seguir con mi boca
enredada en tus cabellos.






The sea inside, The sea inside
and weightlessness fund
where dreams are fulfilled,
two will come together
to fulfill a wish.

Life turns on a kiss
with lightning and thunder,
and a metamorphosis
my body and my body is not;
is like entering
the center of the universe:

The embrace more childish,
and the purest of kisses,
Reduced to us
in one sole desire:

Your eyes and my eyes
like an echo repeated,
without words: more indoors
more inside
until beyond all
by blood and bones.

But I always awake
and always want to be dead
to continue with my mouth
entangled in your hair.


** - Ramón Sampedro

drown with me

Drown, drown!!
Turn around
Slipping in and out of sound
Lips missed
Smeared kiss
Drown, drown!!
Upside down
Feel the—
Steal the—
Heal the—
Drown, drown!!
Let your passion slip
Let those dreams dip
Drown, drown!!
Slipping in and out of sound.



iLove Porcupine tree, i love their lyrics, and of course, yes! i love her. :| :)

words !

sometimes i like to think that thoughts we lose take trains which derailed long before their time, and travel to far-off destinations like the backs of our throats; taking precarious steps back from the tips of our tongues as though they wish never to be spoken - only to be lost in the childish rasps and whispers that escape in stutters as we fumble for words that hide behind tonsils swinging like pendulums, tick-tocking like clocks that count down the time we have left until we find ourselves lost for words.

trains !

Stepping off the train,
home, away, all one
arriving and continuing
to arrive
destination always here
and also there.


And you are the next and every other station

the piano !

Is this the sound of the piano that I hear?
Here the sweetness, melancholy and horror.
Here are the hands and diabolical instrument.
Whoever shouts of his soul sufferance of the world.

Everything is gray, always. The sky and my heart fade when I lose myself in these exhilarating notes.

My sense of control, and I'm so pale these scaffolding hands and beat faster and stronger.
Calm now, and tears flowing. Where am I? Only with music.

And now I play, it speaks and I play. It dictates and I write. Nothing is left of my soul that my thoughts for you.

I play, knock faster and stronger. I shout my despair and I fight, I fight. And my hands bloody frenzy by this wonderful instrument soil.

Silence, everything is party to oblivion played its role despicable. I am only addressing this piano.

Nobody plays

dance with me

Dance with me. Hold me close in the shelter of your arms. Move with me, as one, through eternity. My soul, I willingly pledge to yours. In doing so, I hope you understand that you and you alone hold the power to crush a vital part of me. Would you ever willingly pledge your soul to mine? I'll never know. I have no right to ask; I'll never have that right.

Is happiness a fickle thing? It's up to me and only me to live a happy life, right? I used to think so. I never realized how much that single emotion, that state, is codependent. Happiness reflects connections: connections made, connections lost. It only takes one. Those lights that wander through, some glowing bright, others a dim flicker; the only evidence of their existence – the lingering reflection of its passing. They all dim, eventually, in one way or another. Voluntary suppression can dim them just as easily. I don't think you know how brightly you glow; how full of life, love, and passion you are. I can't voluntarily suppress yours from deep inside me. I wouldn't know how or where to begin. I didn't even see you coming.

Regrets: ones you have, or had the power to control and others you don't. Others you must endure. You cannot comprehend how many you have until they come back to haunt you. I'd love to be able to say that fate is playing a cruel joke only; it's not a joke at all. The timing is off. No matter that I'd be willing to wait an eternity, the timing will never be right. Every tear that falls strengthens my convictions. You'll never see them. I want you safe and happy. You have so much ahead of you: a life to live and love to share. You are blessed. I can only be a small part of that. I'll never truly tell you my feelings for you; you don't need to know to have everything you deserve. It wouldn't change a thing. I wouldn't dare take that from your or hinder it in any way. I'll ask for just once; one request – take me in your arms.

Dance with me, Please ?

imaginary friends, imaginary conversations !

“What's your definition of love?”
“Love? I suppose it's..different for everyone.”
“But for you.”
“Well..I've never really thought about it, I suppose.”
“If you don't know, then..how can you say you love me?”
“...”
“I've heard people say that love isn't a..feeling. That it takes work.”
“You mean you actually have to try.”
“I suppose so. But when I'm with you, I get a..feeling..”
“Yeah, I get that too. Like a warm, flip-flop stomach feeling.”
“..No. It's a..cold feeling. An empty, desperate feeling. As if..as if there's a hole in me that nobody else can fill. And then.. I don't know. A sick feeling. But sort of in a good way.”
“..sort of?”
“Well, I..it scares me. That I need you so much when you don't even know if you-”
“I do. I said love is different for everyone. Just because we don't feel the same way doesn't mean it's wrong.”
“I..suppose....But then..nothing lasts forever, does it.”
“Maybe it will.”
“No. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing.”
“Then what's the point?”
“I..don't know. That's why I asked you in the first place.”
“Well you certainly have a bright outlook, don't you?”
“...”
“It's all a matter of how long you want it to last.”
“Yes but..that won't last forever either. At some point, you won't want me anymore.”
“Perhaps. But it doesn't mean that we shouldn't enjoy it while it lasts.”
“But-”
“Maybe we break up in a couple of months, maybe in a couple of years. Maybe tomorrow. What we do is we make it as good as we can while we still can. That way maybe the benefits of what we shared will outweigh the loss.”
“...But in the end we'll just forget each other anyway. It doesn't matter how much we enjoy ourselves now if there's nothing left later. If it won't last.”
“Are you saying you'd rather stop this?”
“Well, I..no. No, but...”
“You can't win, love. Everything has two sides. No matter how much you enjoy yourself, there will be times when you wish you were dead. And that's just how it works.”
“So if..are you saying we just accept that it'll end and go on regardless?”
“Of course. Because otherwise, what's the point in doing anything? Why go to college if you're just going to die anyway?”
“..Tell that to my mom.”
“Tch. See, that's just not how it works.”
“..Yeah. Yeah, I see what you mean, but..”
“But?”
“Oh, I dunno. You're confusing me.”
“Maybe you just think too much..”
“Maybe you should make me stop.”
“That's an interesting proposition........”

theYODAwisdom

“Do or do not… there is no try.”

“Feel the force!”

“Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you? Hmm? Hmm. And well you should not. For my ally is the Force, and a powerful ally it is. Life creates it, makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us and binds us. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter. You must feel the Force around you; here, between you, me, the tree, the rock, everywhere, yes. Even between the land and the ship.”

“[Luke:] I can’t believe it. [Yoda:] That is why you fail.”

“Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.”

“May the Force be with you.”

“Happens to every guy sometimes this does”

“Yes, a Jedi’s strength flows from the Force. But beware of the dark side. Anger, fear, aggression; the dark side of the Force are they. Easily they flow, quick to join you in a fight. If once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny, consume you it will, as it did Obi-Wan’s apprentice.”

“Ready are you? What know you of ready? For eight hundred years have I trained Jedi. My own counsel will I keep on who is to be trained. A Jedi must have the deepest commitment, the most serious mind. This one a long time have I watched. All his life has he looked away… to the future, to the horizon. Never his mind on where he was. Hmm? What he was doing. Hmph. Adventure. Heh. Excitement. Heh. A Jedi craves not these things. You are reckless.”

“The dark side clouds everything. Impossible to see the future is.”

“Ohhh. Great warrior.Wars not make one great.”

“Named must your fear be before banish it you can.”

“Use your feelings, Obi-Wan, and find him you will.”

“Soon will I rest, yes, forever sleep. Earned it I have. Twilight is upon me, soon night must fall.”

“Death is a natural part of life. Rejoice for those around you who transform into the Force. Mourn them do not. Miss them do not. Attachment leads to jealously. The shadow of greed, that is.”

follow me

Who leads the way in the foot?
A soul rests between the three
A pinch of malice, a bit of joy
Something that relaxes the senses of life
A cloud on my shoulders
A far cry from
I listen to my moans
Not be where I am
Who survives the pain without talking?
Who gives hope until no more power?
Exceeds my fears, fly alone
Raise the light, look at your spirit
Who follows someone who has no track?
Which path is followed by an adventurer?
Tell the life, thought conversant
Think about it tomorrow
Talk to the stranger who takes you on your back
A guitar that guide your words
The God who tells you what to do
Follow me as far as anyone knows that there is the air
Move that bled while not being laughed where getting caught
The skies not move unless you let fly
The mountains will laugh
Expectations die
Continues until you think the future is intact
Right where you left off, in my window
To be able to see throughout the soil
I can watch the wind, not just feel it
And the valleys moved the ground along with the memories

baran

Her name is Irony
Her name is Definitive
Her name is Sua Sponte
caught at midnight in jelly jars
by the light of the wind

Her name is Applause
Her name is Caprice
Her name is Chimerical
fields of turtle-shaped clouds
with bronze sea gulls tied at foot

Her name is No One
Her name is Eternity
Her name is Unwritten
snowflakes melting into the wind
like crushed fireflies, like old paper lanterns


Her name is sung by cicadas
as she paints the streets in honey


Her name is Resolution.


(Her name is Rain.)

guess the title from the prose !

I just write. I want my fingers to speak in cipher and symbol, in character and punctuation – I want them to speed across an empty slate, filling it with idea and passion. I want others to read it and I want them – for a brief fleeting moment – to see what I see. Understand the world through my eyes, and be brightened, saddened, twisted, bent, gyred, spun, and transformed. It is not ego that drives me so – there is nothing inside me so great that I must stop at nothing to get it out, no explosion of math and science and passion that threatens to tear me at my seams. It is not sadness, madness, or gladness that makes me write these things – it isn’t some overwhelming fire of humanity. My life is not a particularly interesting one, my struggles not particularly unique. And yet – there is something here. Something inside me, chewing away at every thought – fattening like a worm in an apple – driving some arcane wheels in my head. Turning some dust-covered gears and animating my fingers to write, write, and write. It is through this writing that you and I can grasp up to the heavens of our own design, and sit for a while, enjoying the gentle passage of time, like two idle lovers caught up in the healthy currents of life. I can turn to you, and as my fingers speak to you in confidential tones, you can see things. Simple things sometimes, the gentle swell of sea on a shore, the delicate sway of a single strand of grass caught in the wind, eyes shining with starlight. Complex things too: an ant-hill overflowing with activity, a million times a million engines of desire performing those tasks which define them. I will say: Can you see this all? Isn’t it beautiful? And then you might understand why I write. Then you might see what it really is that drives me forward, as surely as an electron spins itself into eternity. The ants, the beach, the grass, the people, the laughter, the light, the stars, the everything. Things which are neither bad, nor good – nor do I wish to ever think in such black and white, love and hate, destroy and create terms. Things, which just are - which in our tremendous winding up of life, we seem to miss. We don’t treasure those tiny moments of time where the only thing that should matter is that single blade of grass, or that lovers shy glance, or that wave breaking gently on the shore.Torpid currents of life swirl us into balls of hate and envy, and darkness, and those moments are past. But they give birth to more light and laughter, and we ignore those too – we Hunger too much, we Pain too much. And one might think that my avoidance of the truth – repelling from my words like corresponding magnetic fields – is because I don’t have the truth. This of course is partially true, just like everything is partially true – just as this phrase itself is partially true. And even before my words swallow themselves in a twisted-eight swirl of infinity – I am still here, and my words still flow, and my purpose still exists. I don’t write because I mean anything, I don’t write because you mean anything. I write because everything is beautiful and nothing is, simultaneously – as if by a magic that everyone practices but no one understands. I write because when I write, I trap those lost moments of time like insects in amber, and I hold them up to the brightness and I make available that spark of mankind that is so transient in our busy lives. I write because I am godless and naked and alone, and tired and sad, and frightened and terrible and thirsty. I write because we are all those things, all of us in our own ways, and because this is one of the few ways in which I may drive it off for a while. One of the few ways I can say Hello to the specter of death that hangs over every dew-drop that hasn’t yet been born, that wreathes me in a crown of my own thorns, and whispers to the sun in words of violet and orange. I write because it allows me to cheat death at least for one more day, to proclaim in my own little, tiny, fleeting voice that everyone can be a beacon, can be a light in the planes of the lightless, and can Shepard their brothers through the valley of darkness.


Most of all, I just write.

words, anyone, please ?

Do you ever have trouble finding the words you want to use?

You have a thought and it's so profound that your mind doesn't even know how to process it? You feel such great hope, but you don't know what you're hoping for? Or maybe it's fear. Indignance. Or maybe it's something beyond the emotional range. Maybe it's a sense of morality, justice, or duty. But you don't know why you feel it, or what it's directed towards. Sometimes, you may not even know WHAT you're feeling.

...But how?

How is it possible to have a thought that your mind can't even process?

...I think it's because we're locked in boxes. We don't have to comprehend anything more, so we don't, and when we have thoughts outside those boxes, our minds don't know how to handle them. It's like when you try to open a file in a format that your computer doesn't recognize.

But we aren't computers. We aren't machines. We can advance ourselves. We can further our own understanding. And the world would be better that way. Could you imagine if our thinking wasn't limited by the utter mundaneness of our lives, or the mendacity of what we've been told?

...Of course it's hard to imagine that. Itt's outside what you're used to. It's outside what I'm used to as well. In fact, expressing this, right now, is straining me. But I'm pushing forward. Pushing myself. It's hard. It takes effort. Will-power. But that's the point of what I'm writing. This is the first step of making good on it. I don't want to tell you to do this, then not do it myself.

If only we could break out of these boxes, these mental limitations that have been put up, that WE'VE put up... If only we could make ourselves that much better. If only... If only...

Sorry, I'm having trouble finding the words.

../**

Hum deewanon ki kya hasti
Hain aaj yahan kal wahan chale,
Masti ka aalam saath chala
Hum dhool udaate jahaan chale ||

Aaye bankar ullhaas abhi,
Aansoon bankar beh chale abhi,
Sab kehte hi reh gaye, arey!
Tum kaise aaye, kahaan chale ||

Kis or chale? Mat yeh pooncho,
Chalna hai bas isliye chale,
Jag se uska kuch liye chale,
Jag ko apna kuch diye chale ||

Do baat kahii, do baat sunii,
Kuch hanse aur phir kuch roye,
Chhak kar sukh dukh ke ghoonton ko,
Hum ek bhav se piye chale ||

Hum bhikmangon ki duniya mein,
Swacchand lutaakar pyaar chale,
Hum ek nishaani ur pe,
Le asaphalta ka bhaar chale ||

Hum maan rahit, apmaan rahit,
Ji bharkar khulkar khel chuke,
Hum hanste hanste aaj yahan,
Praanon ki baazi haar chale ||

Ab apna aur paraaya kya,
Abaad rahe rukne waale,
Hum swayam bandhe the, aur swayam
Hum apne bandhan tod chale ||



** Suryakaant tripathi was really a nirala man.

jkgfyurftedrdgv n,nkl'i9y97567tyb nvgxdfzaste fch b

Its a circle you know? It will go around and round, this pain. You feel. For her, for him. The pain will never go away. Even when you look back on it 50 years from now, its gonig to hurt. That pain, right there. No...no to your left a bit. Yes right there where you ribs are where your heart would have been if she didnt break it. Where yo heart would have been if that bastard of a male didnt cheat on you. And i didnt want to be the bad guy, but i swear it me and not you, and i still want to be friends i just dont want to ever talk to you again. PLEASE DONT GO. now..Now is the time that we will rise...we will rise to our feet. We wil wipe all the shit off our face and redem the ideas and thoghts that we right down. Becuase we wouldnt the people we are today if we didnt fele the paint hat we felt yesterday. We wouldnt be the people of tomarrow if we were the childen of today, and yesterdays news paper is still news if you read it today, and never heard of it. ITs all a circle can you see? im not wanting to live ina reality. That wasnt suppose to rythme, but you know what? She wasnt suppose to leave me.
Its hard somtimes i know, to get over there. ANd its hard somtiems i know to feel like the world is understanding you becyuase they are not. Why do we ask for understandment and constenrly bitch about how no one understands us when infact, i have no idea whats running through my head right now, i have no idea what i am thinking right now, im letting flow acorss the page word for word, you ebtter make it count, she might slap me in the face. Adn dont you see? We can barely understand ourselves. Dont judge, but be presistent and be secure. Dont understand anyone, if you do, they become boaring. If you think you understand them, then your just a cocky know-it-all bastard. THen in itself, your just a bastard, and im a dick.
Maybe if we all stopped at one point and took 3 steps backwrads, everybody in teh world, would that turn back time? Would that be traveling through pysichal time? Time moves on, that clock still ticks, but everybody replays the last 3 steps. Why 3 you ask? Becayse anything more then 3 would just hurt to much.
Have you ever typed a word instead of the one you meant to type. When you go to type "heart" but you type "hurt" thats when you know you have to stand again, and fight some more. I swore i deamt last night i was banging on the walls and I dreamt last night that i dreamed. I never dream but when i do its over fast and its never fun.
I thought you knew me, i though you were the one, i swear i dont want to hurt you, i just want to be friends.
If you wanted to be friends then you should have been more clear on what you think freinds are.
In time, i wil come to hate you. After that time i will fall in love with you all over again. Then i will begin to hate you for being so god damn fucking beutiful. Then i will fall for you all over again. And each and every time i fall for you, i fall face flat into the cement and get a taste of blood, and im just itchin for more, please tell me there is more.
Now its a circle here, remember? 360 degrees, its not gann hurt untill you come all the way back. A mile is a mile, but a step is closer to death. Now when you truly think about it us humens are not only stupid, but oblivouis. No...no you dont care for me. You ahve never looked into my eyes. And if you looked into my eyes, you were looking at my pupil, you saw my iris, and the rods and cones....But you missed my soul. its right there in front of you, plan as day, and clear as halite. It doesnt doublt refract images so now you know defintly its not calcite. Just dont put acid on me, i have already done that with my tears, flowing all the way down to my belly button, and still counting. YEs, im crying that much, and Yes, you have been here before. And now, you do not have a scar of a cross in your left forearm, but do you want one?
You know sombody noticed it once. And now its when you leave me alone, forget about me, move on with your life and you have wasted another hour of your life thinking like i do.
I cant stay on a subject but i will never stop thinkign about you. And i will ever quite on loveing you becuase i jsut cant.
Welcome to a place where time stands still...no one leaves and no one will. I will never let them leave. But please get me out of here.
Its a circle, you have to go throgh it, every degree that there is. Just keep going, dont stop, dont stop, keep going. It hurts alot seeing you, kinda go like someone puttin heavy rods of iron into my stomach and splashing them around a bit.
Circle, thats very importent, please when your done with this dont forget that cirlce.
DOnt sit down on that iether that is bad for you. Iw ant you to remember me, for everything i did.
I am a person that stands alone.
I am a person that stands byhimself.
I stand outside, can not get the open air.
I stand outside, can not go further through time.
Circle. Sanitaruim. Circle. Thats imporent.
All things liveing in nature will come around and come together complete there paths complete ther jounries.
Im searching for that line, that line in this prose that iwll make it perfect, it is you you are perfect, the reader will watch this show.
Read my now.
Good.
See me now?
Good.
Hear me now?
No....no you dont.
ITs a circle cant you see? We want to live in one line, keep on going in a stright line liveing life in each speerate experiance, opps not i curved a bit. No i am not gay, but thanks for asking.
My mmind is like a crowded tunnel. I do not knwo where i am. Litterally. There are all these people and personalities aroung and i cant find me. Tis is why i am alone. This is why she left me. I never asked to be hooked up to machines and i never wanted to be asked stupid question. I just want to hear her scream my name and yell for mercy, i wanted to get teh satifaction of knowing i won.
And my friend, in the circle of life.
We all loose.



PS : god save ashok's keyboard!

gdfchgfdsrthnkm />\k;klhuiftx vv m

the path

I’m so tired, I must keep moving.


The path cuts from the cleft of a shadowed valley and gently meanders into the shade of a curious country where little grows and less thrives. It is night, and the sky is a sheet of black steel. I look up, my gaze entranced: are they stars up there? Or a million points of hope never to reach me?

I’m so tired, I must keep moving.


The air is fresh and sharp; like a knife made of glass. My gaze wanders back down and my perception is struck; the sky may seem like dark, illuminated steel, but the land around me is darker still. It is a void, solid underfoot (on the path), but so dark a mere stones-throw away as to not exist at all. I could walk off the path and explore, test my theory, but, in the back of my mind, among its recesses, resides the thought that all is lost should the path be, and my will is stayed.

I’m so tired, I must keep moving.

I walk the path, or stagger, should truth be told. The night presses in on me like the arms of a hungry lover, and I think of the sun, and what it felt like, once.
From time to time, my eyes are drawn to the shadows. I can see things out there, perplexing things. They have wings and eyes of melancholy light; they peer at me, but have no discernable motives I can feel. They are like stone, but stone that can feel and hope, yet will never feel or taste. They are wretched.

I’m so tired, I must keep moving.

Slowly I stumble, fall to my knees and then to my face. The path is cold against my cheek. I feel pain, but my next reaction is surprise, for it occurs to me that from here my eyes are given a new perspective, so many centuries have passed while I stumbled along the path, trying to divine and trying to keep moving; and now, down here, I am finally given the chance to see, and not be shown.

I see.

I was wrong.

I grow.

Another step taken.

Literature, Philosophy and Love.

I wish to think like Socrates
with wisdom most profound
caring not for material wealth
simply the friends that stick around.

I wish to think like Plato
a student of one so great
stretching into the abstract world
having seen the cruelest forms of hate.

I wish to write like Shakespeare
sonnets and plays filling my fingertips
both comedy and ironic romance
coming to me bit by bit.

I wish to write like Emily Bronte
to please my mind above all else
literary characters that burn the soul
and die knowing my truest of selves.

I wish to rest feeling loved
by that one person in my heart
who won’t expect me to achieve greatness
she’ll have known right from the start.




PS : too much of literature, philosophy and lovelorn-ity cause such rubbish out of you!!!

may be . . .

you packaged yourself
in a sensual container
something that no man with any sense
(sight, smell, touch, taste)
could ignore or fight against.


i clothed myself in the garb of a man
who walked the city streets alone at night,
seeing stars drowning in the dark abyss
(is there a god
within that void?)
and sensing his place as little more than
one
small
solitary
being
within a pool of many.

i needed to be needed.
craved both to be craved
and to crave another.
i longed to be longed for.
desired another to desire.
prayed to that
(possibly non-existent)
deity within the cosmos
to gift me with a lover to both love
and to be loved by.

and there you were.

too beautiful to ignore;
too enchanting not to be spellbound.
i am a man of many senses
and you captured them all with promises of being
needed
craved
longed for
desired
and loved.

too timely to be mere coincidence.
you left me with the answer to the
most profound musings of the universe
by showing up at exactly the moment
i needed you most.

if prayers are wishes and
dreams are our heart's desire
being spoken to the heavens,

may be, there is a god after all.

:of the sea, the sand and solitude.

The Sea

Endless waves
Beat against
Eternal shores,
Broken hearts.

Beauty hides
Cruel intentions
Danger lurks
Behind kind smiles.

Save me now
Before I drown
In the sea
So deep and dark.

Save me now
Before I lose
Who I am
And the world I love.


The Sand

Golden dust
A lifetime’s walk
Where water meets
I come and go.

Imprints on
My changing face
Soon wiped clear
Forgotten.

I’ll keep your secrets
Faded dreams
The time you smiled
Pure joy so true.

O whispered hope
Along the wind
Don’t leave me alone
Forever.



Solitude

How sweet it is
To be alone
And not be hurt
By others.

To sit and think
Imagining
Of things beyond
The real.

No harmful words
Will ever come
To scar your mind
Forever.

And so I’ll fade
Oh so alone
Into the dark
Of night.




Pic : \google/ and consider the request of enlarging the pic!

Awake! Awoke! This heavy gloom.

Death state penitentiary for awoken from the fragile coma! requiem (for a solitary man) with the aftermath refrain and a drone crescendo of silence and storms.

Enjoy Eternal Bliss!


PS : all 'song titles' taken from the album 'awake!awoke! this heavy gloom' by 'yndi halda'

..because 'nothing' is also an art

Nothing,
Silent, suppressed,
Setting like the cold sun,
Oh, how warm is the void's caress,
Nothing.

to be or not to be ?

Be good; be well-behaved.
Oh yes, I know the drill.
Be wicked; be depraved.

Remember how they raved
Last time you did them ill.
Be good; be well-behaved.

You cannot be saved,
You’re already in the swill.
Be wicked; be depraved.

The acceptance that you craved
Is yours, and can be still.
Be good; be well-behaved.

Your mind is not enslaved,
Not yet - you have freewill.
Be wicked; be depraved.

After everything you braved
To be liked… to fit the bill.
Be good; be well behaved.
Be wicked; be depraved.

Last Dance with fireflies

Your hand was cold in mine as we walked among dying flowers, memories flowing from our eyes like shadows before an unwelcome light. Fireflies twirled around my fingertips as the stream at our feet ran red, dancing on a dream lost to reality.

We kissed - your lips were like blood. I asked why and you answered with a sad smile, your bright eyes finally letting the darkness within burn through. Beneath the starless night sky, I understood, a tiny light flitting across your face with the innocence of a homicide. My arms encircled you, and we danced to a silent song only we could ever hear. Blue and gold remembrances became forever lost in the scent of incense and dew-matted hair.

The fires surrounding us illuminated our sorrow, and we were beautiful.

The chill night wept for our beauty, consumed by lovers' despair. Through sanguine tears, you told me our poison was rooted in love. My eyes closed against pleading lights, but I opened them to you with the evening's last kiss. As we danced, the fireflies cast lengthening shadows, falling to the water and enkindling the night.

I held you to me as flames lept around us, a smoldering heart in the eyes of angels.

We burned.

Our eyes reflected passionate memories, and the smoke swallowed our shallow breaths.

In the eternal soundless instant before ashes, I heard a firefly weep for the first time.

Together, we burned.


When the smoke cleared, there were no fireflies. There was no 'him' or 'her.' Just ashes...

.

181..!!

fuck. silence again.

His eyes are closed, his fingers knotted in anxious anticipation. Her eyes are focused on the floor, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt.
His cheeks are flushed as he takes a long breath. She searches her mind for a reply to his question.
He asked the unthinkable, she has no idea how to reply. She opens her mouth, but no words escape her lips. He does not see this, for his eyes are still closed, concealing dark brown orbs.
She bites her lip, but still makes no sound. She knows she cannot decline; deep in her heart, she does not want to anyway. Not knowing what to say, she slowly, silently, walks away.
He is losing hope, his eyes open at last. Rejection is clear in his dark eyes, now shimmering with unshed tears.
He sees her turn the corner, he sees rejection. He hears nothing but rejection. Silence.


PS : try the pic's full view.

Life

life.
what is life, if in only a heart beat, in only a blink of an eye, it can be wiped out?
what is the purpose of living, when all you are truly destined for is death?
and saying that, what is death but the consumption of all that is living?

Why do we need to live, just to die?
Eventually all will die, everything will be gone, and whatever we worked so hard for will have dissipated into nothingness.
Why is the world, if it will only implode one day?
To have nothing, yet everything out there, whatever is out there, be they aliens, gods, puppet masters with strings, a child's dream; laughing at us for working and giving everything we are to just one small thing, only to have it ripped from our grasps when it comes time to give up our life to another, for whatever reason they choose.

What is life, to those that have nothing, then?
They couldn't work enough to get what they needed, what they wanted, their goal too far away to reach.
What of them?
They die unsatisfied and alone?
And what is death? Some sort of nothingness, leaving us to float on in space, our spirits or ghosts or whatever just wandering the universe? Or is it something more, something like what you religious folk say, heaven or hell or whatever? A place to go after you die to find those that you once knew, once loved, or to go into the unknown looking for someone to befriend after you've died, even then looking to be thrown into whatever 'groups' that are there.


Life.
Death.
It's all a game, isn't it?
Just a simple board game,
No winners,
No losers,
Just players that, like in monopoly, get thrown in 'jail' for a while, then come back out sometime later, once again new to the world, a different world than they knew, and yet the same.
There is no death, there is no life, only existence in this miserable place of an Earth...
Maybe that's why this world is now dieing.
Maybe that's why this world is now nothing.
No one is living anymore, no one has a challenge to live to.
There is no fighting and squabbling for the right to live.
As humans, as 'the better species', we've pushed those that have the right to live on this Earth with us away, killed them, taken them in and forced them to live as we see fit, because we're just so much superior to them, aren't we?
We've come, we've conquered...
and now what...?


Eventually, there will be fighting within our own ranks,
Eventually, there will be fighting within our own minds,
We'll turn to our neighbors, our brothers, our sons, fighting,
Fighting those who are different, fighting those who don't fit in,
We'll be making up whatever excuse it is that we can to fight, to conquer, to kill.
And what will be left when that happens?
What will be left of our superior race of humans then?

Life shall be extinguished, death hath consumed all.
Nothing will be left on Earth itself, save for maybe the trees and water, though even that could have died as well.

But what will it matter, in the big picture?
In the big picture, even if you're the biggest, best, richest, smartest, most famous person on Earth, you've absolutely nothing in this universe.
When we all die, when the Earth is dead, things will still go on as normal. It will have changed nothing in the long run, in the big picture...

And so, I ask again;

What is life, if only to die?

Tragedy.

Tears. Smiles. Promises.
You join together with that person… in that place, at that time…
Secrets. Memories. Confessions.
They tie you together, even stronger and gentler than before…
Partnership. Empathy. Compassion.
Joining together. Attachment. Tears… Tragedy

words of a madman

To have a lot is to have had nothing
To have nothing is to have had a lot!

So to have nothing is to have everything but nothing, but your not supposed to know that! Yet you do know that, so that is not good, not good at all. How you know that I do not know and neither do you. Or maybe you do? Bah, never mind that back to my insessive rambling!

Now to have a lot...well that's just to have a lot, maybe you should have nothing? Then you'll have everything! Except if you have nothing then you will have nothing but nothing.

What you read is nothing but everything, yet nothing. So to see nothing is to see everything, again you’re not supposed to know that, so forget what I said! Now let you’re mind unravel and I shall say to you, well done! For only a madman who speaks nonsense shall unravel this, which is everything but nothing.

phi-LOVE-osophy.

What is true love if not talked about?

And what is feeling if not expressed? Only a useless bundle of thoughts one can constantly put aside or use in the midst of a passionate moment.

And tell me, dear people; what has age have to do with it? Age is the barrier between those who lived and those who are living; an easy grudge to hold. Age does not immediately determine who understands and who doesn’t, which is easy to see. Only perspective matters in an equation of such extreme thoughtfulness such as love.

And such a simple emotion it is, really. One experiences it at birth, and through life, loving family, friends, and soon those closer. Love is an acquired taste one understands if willing, and if not, an even simpler emotion to cast off. For as long as I have lived, I have seen more than once someone cast off love as if it is a tissue of no more use because they don’t believe. But never have I once gotten a simple answer as to why.

Society tells us (snidely, may I add?) that love comes with time. But maybe it’s the other way around. With love, time passes as fast as either lover lets it. Love is such ecstasy (if you let it be) that it swoops you up in its gentle wings and rushes you farther down its path. The common phrase, “Time flies when having fun” has never been so true as it is today. I believe with time comes maturity, and with maturity comes a more serious love, but must love only be true when it is “serious?” And who determines how serious a feeling is; an outsider? Only you can determine the feeling you have, because it is yours. If one lets another tell them how they feel, that take away the freedom of passion, a truly heinous crime on both participants’ part.

Love, the four-lettered word for such a simply complex feeling one has, cannot be determined by anyone but yourself. And you can either claim it or leave it. And that, I believe, is what determines true love.

Dreams

It's such a strange thing when you dream about a person in your past; a person who stole so much affection from you at a time. It always hurts in the morning when you remember that they exist only in yesterdays and that no matter how brilliant the dream, it was neither real nor present. They will never do for you in reality what they would do for you in lucid dreams. They could never love you in consciousness like they can love you in slumber. They can never be what you so needed them to be... and dreaming about them they way you wish to see them only hurts when sentient.

Dreams can be so lovely and yet so devastating. They gently stir sleeping memories that were laid to rest for reason. They leave you with the work of suppressing that nostalgia once more only to be faced with the knowledge that it may only be a matter of time before the memory is revived again to taunt you.

It’s a bittersweet thing, dreams. A double-edged sword – you hate to remember the love you must forget. And yet, despite the consequence of the dream when you wake, for a moment you can be truly vulnerable to your past. You can really live with no regard to your future, as it exists only as you see it.

Truly, dreams are a beautiful disaster.




PS : this fear of dreaming dont let me sleeep.

Of life and death.

Of Life
What’s life? Some say that life is existence - if you exist, you live. This is not true. If one exists that does not necessarily means he lives. To be alive one has to feel – to feel love, hate, desire, disgust… To be alive one has to have aim in life, something that gives sense to his existence. Only then one is truly alive. And when one is truly alive, he must learn to live freely. What do I mean? I will explain. There is only one thing which can hold people back and that thing is fear. And all our fears are the same, because the only thing men fear is death… everything else can be overcome. And why we fear death? Because we do not understand it. But one should remember that his life is slipping away with every second. From the day one was born he is dying. Life is nothing more than a word used to replace ‘dying’. Every second brings us closer to the end… But this should not sound pessimistic! That’s the way things are and we cannot change them. One can only accept them and only then one would live freely. And if one has lived for real and he was free – then, maybe, he has fulfilled his task in this world.

Of Death
What’s death? Some would say that death is a complete nothing – total darkness and emptiness. I would say that death is nothing more than a lack consciousness and memories. Death is like a deep sleep from which one never wakes up. Does it hurt? I doubt you even feel something… But what bothers my mind is whether one dreams in death. Sounds crazy but just think about it. This would be a world of your own, a perfect world in which one can live forever. This could be a world of magic, honour and valour - things forgotten in the real world. There one would be able to find his love ones and everything ever desired. And because one is no longer alive the real world does not exist anymore - the dream world becomes reality. Thus one lives forever – a whole eternity which suits one best. And if death is like that I dare to say it won’t be that bad…

Whether I am right or wrong I do not know. One day, like all people I shall find out. But even though I am dying, this day is far away… and still I live.

Solitude.

Sweet sweet solitude
Why do you keep chasing me?
After so long,
Your presence became closer than a friend.
More than a shadow you’re part of me.
Filling me inside...
Solitude,
Yet you taste so bitter tonight,
Like a grain of coffee...
But i can’t live without you
Because you’ve glued yourself to me
Making so hard to let you go away...
My dear Solitude,
For so long you became my close friend
Now i consider you almost like a lover
‘Cause you’re the only to stay
Persistent you can’t abandon me...
Making you the only one who understand my bitterness
And my selfishness.
My lover,
With you i can share my curse...
My pain, and my sorrow.
My Sweet Solitude take me away with you
Together we’ll sail on your sea of sorrow...
And hand to hand,
Maybe we’ll find the meaning of our own existence.
Solitude...
Sweet but bitter word,
The main one of my dictionary...

de ja vu

I’m listening to that song again
The one that reminds me of you

I was alone then
With you
Miles away
Sleeping like the world
While my mind tortured me slowly

Is this de ja vu?
Have i gone back in time?

Once again I’m tortured
Once again
Your not here

While the song caresses my mind
I need your arms
To hold back the tears

But you're not here

No…

You're not here

People. Life.

People. People you love, people you hate, people who are just there. They'll always be everywhere and there's nothing you can do about it.
You learn to live with people. You learn to live without them. People you love. People you love so much it makes you sick. People you rely on. People you need. You need people. Everyone needs people. You don't need the restrictions and judgements of society though.
Limitations people put on you. It's your choice whether you will fit their mould or completely destroy it. Will you be the person they shape, someone with your very owen barcode that marks you as "society", or will you be a fleeting image of what people should be; unrestricted, unrestrained, untamable by silly views that tape you down to the chopping vlock to be carved into a neat little box of shallow, biggoted opinions? Will you fly? Will you fall?
The crash and burn. When you realise that everything you've ever been was made to mock the big picture. That you never really were yourself. When people you can't live without become people you must live without. When you miss someone so much it makes you even sicker. When all of the little wounds in you heart join togther as one huge, gaping hole that reveals just how shallow you really are. An ache so intense you forget to live. You forget about people, you forget about reason. You forget about life.
Falling deeper. People forget you, people ignore you, people hate you. You eyes are clouded by that mould you once tried so hard to oblitorate. Your barcode is showing through... And it hurts so much that you just let it. You surrender before it's too late, but it doesn't make it any better. It still hurts. Your gaping hole is getting bigger because you've betrayed yourself to people.
Then, there's that moment. The moment when you connect your mouth and your mind, and everything freeflows in a monsterous tidal wave that engulfs your very soul and fills up that gaping mess of a heart. It burns away all the pain and insecurity and fear away like salt water. It hits people. It swallows some people, it bowls some people over, it merely washes over some people. But it effects people.
Then there is that brief moment when you are so empty that you can't speak, yet parts of you are so full that you feel like a child again. It's the transition between the states of living and being.
Open your eyes. Go on. Really open your eyes. No more pretend. Tell me what you see. The faces of the people who were behind you the whole time, but you were just too sick to turn around? Now you can see them all with a cleared vision. The poeple who were always holding your hand, the people who pushed you along, and the people who were following you, whispering "I Love You" in your ear the whole time.
Louder than words, emotions roar through your veigns, swallowing you up. SOme good ones, some bad ones. But now you have people again.
People. People you love, people you hate people who are just there. People are everywhere, yet sometimes they are nowhere to be found. People you can't live without. People you love so muchy it aches.
Maybe you can understand how I felt. Maybe it's beyond your comprehension. Maybe you've been out there in the warground like me. But, just remember this. Keep breathing, keep living, keep being. Let the experiance make you a better person. Let it help you understand other people. Let it help you grow. Nothing is worth giving up on. Nothing can destroy who you are.

Smile!

“Who am i?” Should be the question.
“Why am I here? What is my goal?”

Unlike many others, ironically lucky enough to bathe in a pool of blissful ignorance, I am perfectly aware of what my goal is: making people smile… laugh, cry, think, suffer, doubt, sing, hate, possess, LIVE.

And then just disappear from their lives. That is what I was born for.

Sounds sad, doesn’t it… Being caught in my own ephemeral existence, with no escape, no fleeting chance of hope, which, theoretically, is supposed to spray eternal.

I am merely a pragmatic passenger through this long, bumpy journey called life. Here to observe, take notes like a perfectly raised 7th grade student, fixing what needs to be mended and destroying what needs to be ruined.. Then disappearing in the dark like an actor who has finished saying his lines and gets thrown off the stage against his will.

Why? I wish I could answer that engaging question. Sometimes I fight. Struggle to stay in their lives, to be something more than a vivid memory. But as I was given to find out, it’s impossible. My role is to change. I am the hero.

The powerful drug which opens your eyes and makes you feel alive, a drug which you will soon try to get rid of, because you realize that if you’re addicted to it for too long, it’ll destroy you.

But there is one thing nobody ever noticed during all these years of continuous struggle for survival. Heroes need to be saved too.

Someone once told me you don’t need anyone to save you. Wrong. We all do, one way or another, at some point in our lives. We all scream inside, sending out silent moans into the void, hoping that someone will hear them.

All I know is that I’m proud of my role. And for the rest of my life I will keep trying to make the ones around me smile. Because this, my friends, is the best job anyone could ever have.

And yet, heroes need to be saved too…

Are You There ?

I'm looking at you...But are you there?
The essence of which I see...feel...taste...hear...
Are you there?
Or are you an astral projection of what I'd like you to be,
Just because my feelings exist.
Are you there? Can you hear?
Pause. for one minuscule second, just to reckon,
Or rather, recognize...
The true...bonafide..depth of our lives.
Entwined within one another forever,
Till death, or until the ties are unanimously severed.
Remember....when I asked....
Are you there?
Can you feel my heart?
Beating in tune with yours,
Ever...
So...
Softly.
Come, closer, closer, I need you...
Closer.
Far off in the distance, no use to one like me...
When I need you...
Closer.
Are you there, on the other line,
Soaking in the sweet nothings that mean something,
Because something....something,
It just HAS to be something....About you.
Coming to the conclusion that I cannot,
Under any circumstance,
Spend another day without you.
So, tell me....are you...
There?
My sweet, my precious,
My jewel.
Shine, shimmer, glitter, glow,
Glimmer.
All words that cannot come CLOSE,
To the truest cognizant description,
Of who you truly are.
Mentally, physically, spiritually,
We are bonded.
Like chemicals that are no longer their own,
But a compounded substance,
Our ties not yet at their strongest.
I'm dreaming and dreaming,
Your face is recurrent.
I'm swimming and swimming,
To keep up with this current,
But currently, suddenly,
I'm back to the board,
To draw...
But the lines make up....You.
Yes, again, over, again, over.
I try not to, but it happens regardless.
I think I'll sue cupid. I'm love-retarded.
But in all my emotional retardation,
Three words I can hear...
I can see, feel, and touch you...
But...
Are...
You...
There...?

Shall i Compare thee

Shall I compare thee to a world's ending?
An uncertain quiver that shakes the core,
That ushers with its furious rending,
A promise of silence and nothing more.
Promise me a world of cracking concrete,
Of empty cities and of soiled skies,
Where we strolling down the purposeless streets,
Speak of the ashes in our hair and eyes.
I wish to creep across your grey-clad heart,
Like the ivy across the tumbled stones,
And in a dying world not worlds apart,
We will go walking through the city's bones.
Though the greenest seasons fool lovers' heads,
In a wasted world we shall make our beds.


Very much inspired by sonnet:18.

. . . .

But i am glad that we at least speak through thoughts!

Black Rose Immortal.

A lone leaf fell from a now bare branch, twirling around in the breeze before landing gently on the ground, the soft grass cushioning its descent. Ends curling inwards, its death was a haphazard mix of red and gold, with a hint of its previous green barely peeking through.

“I witnessed your beauty, felt your death…”

The murmured sentence was followed by a low snort, the derision of the taller of the two evident.

“Please. Don’t compare me to a leaf.” It was nothing short of a sneer, pale eyes narrowing further as cracked and blistered lips curled slightly, his skin a pale and hollowed out picture of what it used to be.

“But you were beyond all help…”

Those eyes, always so cold, widened fractionally, a hint of madness and a fury unimaginable only just perceptible. Those hands, now thin but still strong, reached out to run its palms across the silken hair of the other, before clenching into fists and pulling tight.

The pained hiss pleased him.

“I was ruined before you knew me, poet.” The acrid scent of chemicals filled the air between the two, a promise of decay.

And yet he continued. “With your embrace, so tainted…”

A growl; he’s provoked. “I’ll show you tainted… Tainted is what we did last night, tainted is when you beg for it, tainted is when you just sit and watch as I pump that shit into my veins.” The muscles in his neck are pulled taut, his back is rigid, and his teeth are dull accessories in a mouth now grinning in some sort of satisfaction only understood by someone else as ill-wired as he.

And yet he still smiled, his hair caught within the grip of pure volatility, and his eyes caught within the gaze of a man unwilling to claw his way back from a life dependent on the smaller and smaller rushes given to him by those muddy rocks. It was barely a whisper, but it was heard, and it was hated.

“A lamentation I sigh, again and again…”

The scent of iron assaults his nose as a fist hits its target, and the poet stumbles, his footing lost and his face shouting of something wrong. His eyes lift upwards, to see golden strands caught between the fingers of those pale, thin hands, hands with burns and calluses, hands with an uneasy past.

And yet he once again asks for it, for the sweet rush of pain, for the hatred of the other to flood over to him. A lick of his lips assures him that it’s blood flowing from his nose, and it only drives him to take the final step.

“In the name of desperation, I call your name…”

A bite, a scratch.

“At night I always dream of you…”

A rip, a pull.

“Am I to bid you farewell?”

A push, a shove.

“Why can’t you see that I try…”

A gasp, a cry.

“When every tear I shed, is for you?”

A kiss, a lie.

“I love you… somehow.”






\OPETH/ : )