Monthly Archives: January 2013

Agnostic Manifesto…

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Banned,
from all begging songs
were I…

As morning came,
and buds broke free
their long awaited colours,
I listened for another hush…

but dumb my soul remained,
in silence other than my own,
to paint the shade of unseen colours
yet unborn,
yet silent…

as the Ruach,
unchanged through aions
would usher yet another dreamlike
flower in existence.

“stay, watch and see…
it’s me…”

The one to be, or not to be…

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“Not dark… yet… ” – Schizophrenica Magna


I would remember
any time available for thought.

I could avenge all memories
chewable,
or less…

I should attain
for nothing more
than senses…

I?
Me!
Why?

Why’s no one else
available for thinking?

Why so alone
am starving here
for waitings, I…?

Bye…

Just me and I…

Dali…

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Poor eyes,
framing a storm of melting senses,
painstakingly written
all over a canvas of dreams…

Poor brain,
hunting a hoard of images
too pure to remain
sounds of a melting echo…

Poor heart,
unbeaten by what order
would have murdered for…

Perfect it seemed,
and bound to freedom…

with, and without the Salvador…

Silence of the lamps…

…on existentialism

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Of scars and bars I am remembered,
Long time ago when sheep we were, and lambs;
When every “tender” felt like thundered,
Within the silence of the lamps…

Some other moments I may wish to follow,
But there’s no “other”, there’s no “that”;
Just crumbs of an existence, shallow,
Like the perspectives of a rat…

…lia

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Do you remember …lia?
How I used to wait
every Transylvanian spring
just for your velveted self?
The air
was still rare
there
up, where snow
and the sky below
shared the dripping thinness of May…

Grandma always dragged me all the way through
the park,
for the bark
and your purple stained white…

Do you remember?
The pine cried amber,
like ginormous grains of sand
on the forgotten shores of my closing eyes…
Whys
and sighs
and lies…

Are you still there …lia?

Or some angry god has burnt you away
like everything else we love?

Worry not …
’cause if I’ll burn in hell,
I shall swallow all my tears,
to water within
each memory of your leafless scent…

Castro vs. Guevara…

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It was hard to decide a nominal primacy in the title; as hard as any attempt to do “justice” in times when simple concepts as “justice” have long lost their original meaning, if at any moment of their history, any… In the end, I left it to my musical ear to decide, and it looks like some “justice” has been done, to the alphabetical order as well.

For those of you with an interest in this foremost classical example of mediasaur-free politics, who have never seen Steven Soderbergh’s “Che”, starring Benicio Del Toro, please do so, if you would want to emotionally grasp my tittle’s depth of what same-ideology adversity means… Because the lives of these two ideology giants were so identical, yet completely different, like the life of a Cuban cigar…

You see, a Cuban cigar (or any other cigar, even if no other tobacco leaf roll seems to be worth truly of the “cigar” title) has two, vitally important ingredients: Cuban tobacco leafs and fire; and while both are necessary for the rich smoke to tickle the smoker’s fancies, it’s only the leaves which would ever come into an intimate contact with the addicted lips, leaving the passionately burning tip at a desirable safe distance.
This has been the case for Castro and Guevara: both burnt passionately, yet only one of them remained to kiss as long as allowed, their beloved island country’s battled shore-lips.
Of course, a comparison is not, and it should never be an end in a political profiler’s tool box, being nevertheless -if properly managed- a versatile ally, in our case a means of understanding a core issue of -probably- one of the world’s most socio-politically controversial countries.

It is very unfortunate for any nation’s historical future, that their most passionate ideologists seem to never learn the use of sanity-dictated limitations to their burning, either because they may think such limitations could quench the driving force of their dedication, or simply because they are incapable of such. It’s always them who will fall victims to the inescapable cleansing/purging mechanisms of any revolutionary process, either by internal means, as it was the case of the French or Russian events, or external, as in Guevara’s case, because one of the seldom to be found qualities of a revolutionary genius -so badly- should be some self-imposed limitations, without which their passion turns into an all-consuming, ultimately destroying blaze.
Revolutions are mighty fires, and fires must be controlled in order to remain useful. Otherwise they will invariably destroy the very achievements their passionate heat have ushered in.
What do I understand by limitations? Well, exactly what “limitation” conceptually covers, a deliberate set of boundaries, implemented in order to make the difference between order and chaos, sanity and anarchy.

Would the Cuban revolution have been the same without any of it’s two giants?

I don’t know, but if you’ve got the privilege of holding with your mortal lips a Cuban cigar, never forget asking for the fire…

memento mori…

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As time goes by,
“and”
slowly becomes
eternity’s pathetic
substitute…