Doua cântece diferite, lovindu-se amestecindu-se,
doua culori ce nu s-au văzut niciodata,
una foarte de jos, intoarsa spre pământ,
una foarte de sus, aproape rupta
în infrigurata, neasemuita lupta
a minunii ca esti, a-ntimplarii ca sunt.
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| getgamegroup.com |
8 zile de boala – tuse, stranut, frisoane, transpiratii, ceaiuri, usturoi, migrene, supe, ici-colo mancare, somn si nesomn, si nu am slabit nici macar UN (1) kilogram…
Mitologii… cand ciocanelul din ureche se transforma in ciocanul lui Thor si iti loveste tamplele si ceafa…
Traiesc o asemenea temperatura, incat ma astept ca in orice moment totul in jurul meu sa inceapa sa se topeasca; un ghetar urias, in diverse forme si diferite culori: incepanad cu laptopul meu, care nu rezista functionand mai mult de o ora, si terminand cu peretii camerei, care parca au inceput sa respire viu, cald. White heat. Ma gandesc la Dali, Poe si Camus in timp ce adun bucati din mine intr-o galeata…
“Cine îşi jură sieşi cu patimă înfocată, o să aibă parte de ce îşi doreşte. Poate că şi eu o să am parte de tine într-o altă viaţă.” (dictionarul khazar – milorad pavic)
Provocarea primaverii este sa o tii in suflet in pofida ninsorilor si furtunii.
La fel si cu sentimentele de drag…
copii zburand pe biciclete.
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| gizmag.com |
Da, imi voi cumpara o masina de scris. Pentru ca gandurile mele vor capata forma pe hartie si voce cu sunetul fiecarei litere pe care o voi bate…
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| sursa: pinterest.com |
”De ziua ta, mamico,
In dar ti-am adus inima
si crede-ma, mamico,
Un dar mai frumos nu se putea.Am vrut sa-ti culeg o floare,
Un mic ghiocel frumos,
Dar pana la urma moare
Si cui e de folos?”
* cea mai vicioasa – cercul
* cea mai prostovana – patratul
* cea mai inselatoare – (t)romb(on)ul
* cea mai eco – conul
* cea mai muzicala – sfera
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| blogspot.com |
“In the shop window you have promptly identified the cover with the title you were looking for. Following this visual trail, you have forced your way through the shop past the thick barricade of Books You Haven’t Read, which were frowning at you from the tables and shelves, trying to cow you. But you know you must never allow yourself to be awed, that among them there extend for acres and acres the Books You Needn’t Read, the Books Made For Purposes Other Than Reading, Books Read Even Before You Open Them Since They Belong To The Category Of Books Read Before Being Written. And thus you pass the outer girdle of ramparts, but then you are attacked by the infantry of the Books That If You Had More Than One Life You Would Certainly Also Read But Unfortunately Your Days Are Numbered. With a rapid maneuver you bypass them and move into the phalanxes of the Books You Mean To Read But There Are Others You Must Read First, the Books Too Expensive Now And You’ll Wait Till They’re Remaindered, the Books ditto When They Come Out In Paperback, Books You Can Borrow From Somebody, Books That Everybody’s Read So It’s As If You Had Read Them, Too. Eluding these assaults, you come up beneath the towers of the fortress, where other troops are holding out:the Books You’ve Been Planning To Read For Ages,
the Books You’ve Been Hunting For Years Without Success,
the Books Dealing With Something You’re Working On At The Moment,
the Books You Want To Own So They’ll Be Handy Just In Case,
the Books You Could Put Aside Maybe To Read This Summer,
the Books You Need To Go With Other Books On Your Shelves,
the Books That Fill You With Sudden, Inexplicable Curiosity, Not Easily Justified,
Now you have been able to reduce the countless embattled troops to an array that is, to be sure, very large but still calculable in a finite number; but this relative relief is then undermined by the ambush of the Books Read Long Ago Which It’s Now Time To Reread and the Books You’ve Always Pretended To Have Read And Now It’s Time To Sit Down And Really Read Them.”(Italo Calvino – If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler)
cer aramiu in noapte
de toamna. oare si sufletul
lunii sangereaza?
In addition to the beauty of his books, he left me this advice.
The task of art is to continuously transform what is happening to us, to transform all these things into symbols, into music, into something which can last in man’s memory. That is our duty. If we don’t fulfill it, we feel unhappy.
A writer or any artist has the sometimes joyful duty to transform all that into symbols. These symbols could be colors, forms or sounds. For a poet, the symbols are sounds and also words, fables, stories, poetry.
The work of a poet never ends. It has nothing to do with working hours. You are continuously receiving things from the external world. These must be transformed, and eventually will be transformed. This revelation can appear anytime.
A poet never rests. He’s always working, even when he dreams. Besides, the life of a poet is a lonely one. You think you are alone, and as the years go by, if the stars are by your side, you may discover that you are at the center of a vast circle of invisible friends whom you will never get to know but who love you. And that is an immense award.
Scrisul face parte din mine, din viață... ca de altfel, arta în toate formele ei!
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Educación, reflexiones y cultura general.
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When the Universe manifests itself through Poetry...
Impresie. Albastru inefabil... 