بوی باران، بوی سبزه، بوی خاک
شاخههای شسته، باران خورده، پاک
آسمان آبی و ابر سپيد
برگهای سبز بيد
عطر نرگس، رقص باد
نغمه شوق پرستوهای شاد
خلوت گرم کبوترهای مست
نرم نرمک می رسد اينک بهار
خوش به حال روزگار
خوش به حال چشمه ها و دشتها
خوش به حال دانهها و سبزهها
خوش به حال غنچههای نيمهباز
خوش به حال دختر ميخک که می خندد به ناز
خوش به حال جام لبريز از شراب
خوش به حال آفتاب
ای دل من گرچه در اين روزگار
جامه رنگين نمی پوشی به کام
باده رنگين نمی بينی به جام
نقل و سبزه در ميان سفره نيست
جامت از آن می که می بايد تهی است
ای دريغ از تو اگر چون گل نرقصی با نسيم
ای دريغ از من اگر مستم نسازد آفتاب
ای دريغ از ما اگر کامی نگيريم از بهار
گر نکوبی شيشه غم را به سنگ
هفت رنگش میشود هفتاد رنگ
--فریدون مشیری
That which the traveler in his journey experiences will eventually shape his identity. So, here are the events as they unfold ....... © copyright by firstcomet
3/20/13
3/18/13
Among the crowed
Among the crowed
And then there're those moments
When you feel the presence of another body
Next to you,
In a party,
Among the crowed,
And she tells you,
Please do not misunderstand
My arms touching
Your wide, manly shoulders ...
I am here to depart,
And to give you
One last special attention;
That you may cherish, and never forget
As you get back among the crowed
Where a Palestinian girl has found a lover
Of Zoroastrian origin,
In an evening of Persian new year celebration,
A Romanian and Serbian reunite over their perfect bodies,
A professor sheds tears out of his loneliness,
In a space where a Basque man, once, called home
I carry the weight of these hours;
Only made bearable
by that one last special attention.
Getting back to the crowed
For soon going back to the ground,
Where the Hyacinth roots
Awaiting another resurrection!
2/18/13
From Ordinary to Extraordinary
The weekend magic was in another liberation from homeostasis
In a beautiful Japanese girl who took a bath
In a planed evening laughed by Gods
In a clandestine Walgreens purchase
In discussions of meaning and happiness
In a ordinary person meeting an ordinary person
In land of snow and ice
Recovering from the wreckages of a bygone day
In clarity of purpose
In caring, in Philo, in lobsters, margaritas
In understanding the difference between red and green
In a journey to determine what 1 gant can buy you
You may start with your first $12
Loose your rhythm and give in to the streams of consciousness ...
11/1/12
To Andre
Boy! Your eyes, wide open, was intensely trilling and humbling, simultaneously.
You brought a sense of flow and continuation that was absent from my years of intense struggle and isolation to define my “self”.
You were a reminder that mortality is as much real as a fallacy
of the limited representation of self as the ultimate reality.
That from time to time we may seek solace in the cycle of life-and-renewal
that brings a sense of stability to our representation of nature;
the eternal oak trees and roses.
I also realized that if all goes well, you’ll be there at my funeral
with your 10 or 15-year old, telling him/her stories of your idiosyncratic uncle.
And if not, you’ll be having pop-corns and watching Oscars,
or having sex and celebrating life,
as that mortal singularity that defines my existence dissolves and my body returns to the mother earth.
You brought a sense of flow and continuation that was absent from my years of intense struggle and isolation to define my “self”.
You were a reminder that mortality is as much real as a fallacy
of the limited representation of self as the ultimate reality.
That from time to time we may seek solace in the cycle of life-and-renewal
that brings a sense of stability to our representation of nature;
the eternal oak trees and roses.
I also realized that if all goes well, you’ll be there at my funeral
with your 10 or 15-year old, telling him/her stories of your idiosyncratic uncle.
And if not, you’ll be having pop-corns and watching Oscars,
or having sex and celebrating life,
as that mortal singularity that defines my existence dissolves and my body returns to the mother earth.
10/30/12
By moon, by Sun
I watched a thousand drops of rain
Pour into these hands again
Flooding very rivulet
Where destiny begins and confines
In love and indifference
In life and death
By moon
By Sun!
Pour into these hands again
Flooding very rivulet
Where destiny begins and confines
In love and indifference
In life and death
By moon
By Sun!
10/12/12
Facts
The fact that clouds scud across the sky is a fact
The fact that somebody just took a bite off an apple is a fact
The fact that this crisp air is adulterated with cigarete smooks is a fact
The fact that the flu shot has delivered the poetry virus into me is a fact
The fact that autum is here is causing the leaves fall,
falling leaves make the birds fly,
and flying birds must fly is a fact!
The fact that this autum sun is keeping me warm and cooling down my tea
reminds me of
The fact that the world is more complex than simple maxims and partial facts!
But, since when I smile, I smile in fact
The fact that your smile makes me smile is always a fact!
The fact that somebody just took a bite off an apple is a fact
The fact that this crisp air is adulterated with cigarete smooks is a fact
The fact that the flu shot has delivered the poetry virus into me is a fact
The fact that autum is here is causing the leaves fall,
falling leaves make the birds fly,
and flying birds must fly is a fact!
The fact that this autum sun is keeping me warm and cooling down my tea
reminds me of
The fact that the world is more complex than simple maxims and partial facts!
But, since when I smile, I smile in fact
The fact that your smile makes me smile is always a fact!
9/30/12
9/25/12
Fly
Fly down to that dungeon;
where no bird can fly,
where no window can bear
the unbearable weight of the wall!
Set up a stand;
where you may attend
to your restless mind,
and confront that which resides
in the dark dungeons of your mind!
Let alone that heart;
let it sing of no regard!
let it take those deep sighs,
let it tumble on its own rhymes
where no bird can fly,
where no window can bear
the unbearable weight of the wall!
Set up a stand;
where you may attend
to your restless mind,
and confront that which resides
in the dark dungeons of your mind!
Let alone that heart;
let it sing of no regard!
let it take those deep sighs,
let it tumble on its own rhymes
8/26/12
POETRY OF THE HOUR (or a little Monroe Moment)
Your voice was the poetry of the hour
Like the half moon
my heart half contentment
half pure desire!
Just as the ringing bells
reminded us
of another passing day....
We were being filled by feelings;
Of a summer night,
Of smoothie dates,
Of meeting of lovers,
Of melting of souls,
Of Life,
Of being Alive!
On top of the green hills,
where wind comes to pilgrimage of wild roses;
gently caressing one petal at a time,
in a moment of unbearable lightness,
barely long enough,
bare enough,
Heaven's promise of beauty and grace!
And I will Always remember
the color of your petal tiered dress.
Like the half moon
my heart half contentment
half pure desire!
Just as the ringing bells
reminded us
of another passing day....
We were being filled by feelings;
Of a summer night,
Of smoothie dates,
Of meeting of lovers,
Of melting of souls,
Of Life,
Of being Alive!
On top of the green hills,
where wind comes to pilgrimage of wild roses;
gently caressing one petal at a time,
in a moment of unbearable lightness,
barely long enough,
bare enough,
Heaven's promise of beauty and grace!
And I will Always remember
the color of your petal tiered dress.
8/13/12
friendship
"Do not be content with showing friendship in words alone. Let your heart burn with loving-kindness for all who may cross your path …" ~ Baha'i Writings
8/2/12
The American Mashed-Potato:
The egalitarian mindset of America- which for sometime now has been desperately trying to reconcile itself with the dominant economic ideology of Capitalistic Christianity, i.e., believing in salvation through financial success- has resulted in a cultural milieu of rotten-mashed-potatoes served on every party dining table:
Tiny little sprouts, a few white spots, and an oozing nasty brown liquid are good signs that a potato is not edible. Cook it for a while in a POT and smash it for a few decades under the heavily commercialized dominant pop culture of “get this cheap entertainment till you eventually realize your American Dream, You Bitch”, and the outcome is the 5-to-95 percentile of the youth in this country. Their favorite party activities: Movie Trivias; the ultimate intellectual teaser for this couch-potato generation. The ultimate fantasy of the liberated @Bostonian-girl is to suck on Oscar Wild’s (or some other 1880 counter-culture) #bonner-dick, as she shamelessly tweets it to the world. The Southern-Jewish-medical-school-intern-girl can’t wait to get on that time-capsule to finally meet Moses as he raises his “rod” and shoves it up her tight ass-hole. The white-blonde girl flirting with the muscle-douche is sure she’ll meet both of them at the local mall tomorrow; and yes, those extra small Ballerina Flats and Skinny Jeans are a bit loose on her delicate feet and thighs, but comfy nevertheless!
ps. In no event shall the American Mashed-Potato LLC, its affiliates and its third party providers be liable to you or any third parties for any illness or damages of any kind, direct or indirect, arising out of, or in any way connected with, your prolonged exposure to our cultural products. Consult the appropriate pharmaceutical drug companies or see a shrink for necessary tranquilizers before dropping by, wasting your youth and losing your sanity. We appreciate your business.
The egalitarian mindset of America- which for sometime now has been desperately trying to reconcile itself with the dominant economic ideology of Capitalistic Christianity, i.e., believing in salvation through financial success- has resulted in a cultural milieu of rotten-mashed-potatoes served on every party dining table:
Tiny little sprouts, a few white spots, and an oozing nasty brown liquid are good signs that a potato is not edible. Cook it for a while in a POT and smash it for a few decades under the heavily commercialized dominant pop culture of “get this cheap entertainment till you eventually realize your American Dream, You Bitch”, and the outcome is the 5-to-95 percentile of the youth in this country. Their favorite party activities: Movie Trivias; the ultimate intellectual teaser for this couch-potato generation. The ultimate fantasy of the liberated @Bostonian-girl is to suck on Oscar Wild’s (or some other 1880 counter-culture) #bonner-dick, as she shamelessly tweets it to the world. The Southern-Jewish-medical-school-intern-girl can’t wait to get on that time-capsule to finally meet Moses as he raises his “rod” and shoves it up her tight ass-hole. The white-blonde girl flirting with the muscle-douche is sure she’ll meet both of them at the local mall tomorrow; and yes, those extra small Ballerina Flats and Skinny Jeans are a bit loose on her delicate feet and thighs, but comfy nevertheless!
ps. In no event shall the American Mashed-Potato LLC, its affiliates and its third party providers be liable to you or any third parties for any illness or damages of any kind, direct or indirect, arising out of, or in any way connected with, your prolonged exposure to our cultural products. Consult the appropriate pharmaceutical drug companies or see a shrink for necessary tranquilizers before dropping by, wasting your youth and losing your sanity. We appreciate your business.
7/24/12
I have a Dream
“I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.”
King invokes a colourful landscape (the red hills of Georgia), stocks it with human characters (the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners) and gives those people something to do (sit down together at the table). Not until the end of the sentence does he deliver the abstract noun at its heart. Brotherhood, King shows us, is not just an empty ideal but a place, an action, a shared meal.
King invokes a colourful landscape (the red hills of Georgia), stocks it with human characters (the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners) and gives those people something to do (sit down together at the table). Not until the end of the sentence does he deliver the abstract noun at its heart. Brotherhood, King shows us, is not just an empty ideal but a place, an action, a shared meal.
7/15/12
Today
"Yesterday is but a dream, and tomorrow is only a vision. But a today well-lived makes every yesterday a dream of happiness and every tomorrow a vision of hope."
7/10/12
Do Not Stop Writing!
"Do not stop writing," he said
Since your blood is dark green
and it makes a good ink,
when you mix it
with your deep turquoise heart.
"Do not stop writing," he said
Since your pericardium is
broken, cut open on the top,
and it makes a good bote de tinta
Or else, it's of no use.
"Do not stop writing," he said
Since when I said goodbye,
when I cried and cried,
you looked through me
as if I was not there already ...
How do you wash your eyes
off your lackadaisical soul
if not by writing?
How do you cry out your heart
if not by scribing?
I felt how heavy it was
and you're no champion lifter
Just sit and pour it out
Since you are not a drifter
Write my friend, and do not stop writing!
Since your blood is dark green
and it makes a good ink,
when you mix it
with your deep turquoise heart.
"Do not stop writing," he said
Since your pericardium is
broken, cut open on the top,
and it makes a good bote de tinta
Or else, it's of no use.
"Do not stop writing," he said
Since when I said goodbye,
when I cried and cried,
you looked through me
as if I was not there already ...
How do you wash your eyes
off your lackadaisical soul
if not by writing?
How do you cry out your heart
if not by scribing?
I felt how heavy it was
and you're no champion lifter
Just sit and pour it out
Since you are not a drifter
Write my friend, and do not stop writing!
7/4/12
And so you were born
As of 2012
Between 12-23% of new mothers
Carried certain feelings with them:
They were happy and persistently sad,
As their hands caressed their babies’ vulnerable flesh
Their bodies extra sensitive to the little one’s needs
They slept through their cries
Excited and anxious
The heavens were made for all mothers;
Some lost in feelings of guilt and worthlessness
And the song writers wrote their songs:
Some will win
Some will loose
Some with always sing the blues
Maybe you have been born into such a life
Many years passed you by
And you wondered what just went wrong?
Since your life was normal, to you
Since your priors were in fact YOU …
Between 12-23% of new mothers
Carried certain feelings with them:
They were happy and persistently sad,
As their hands caressed their babies’ vulnerable flesh
Their bodies extra sensitive to the little one’s needs
They slept through their cries
Excited and anxious
The heavens were made for all mothers;
Some lost in feelings of guilt and worthlessness
And the song writers wrote their songs:
Some will win
Some will loose
Some with always sing the blues
Maybe you have been born into such a life
Many years passed you by
And you wondered what just went wrong?
Since your life was normal, to you
Since your priors were in fact YOU …
6/24/12
Alastor, or The Spirit of Solitude - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Alastor, or The Spirit of Solitude - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Nondum amabam, et amare amabam, quaerebam quid amarem, amans amare.
"I was not yet in love, and I loved to be in love, I sought what I might love, in love with loving."
Nondum amabam, et amare amabam, quaerebam quid amarem, amans amare.
"I was not yet in love, and I loved to be in love, I sought what I might love, in love with loving."
6/22/12
Judea Pearl - A.M. Turing Award Winner
Judea Pearl - A.M. Turing Award Winner
Daniel’s values of “uncompromised objectivity and integrity; insightful and unconventional perspective; tolerance and respect for people of all cultures; unshaken belief in the effectiveness of education and communication; and the love of music, humor, and friendship.”
Daniel’s values of “uncompromised objectivity and integrity; insightful and unconventional perspective; tolerance and respect for people of all cultures; unshaken belief in the effectiveness of education and communication; and the love of music, humor, and friendship.”
6/18/12
SYMPTOMATIC RELIEF OF THE CANTABRIGIAN SYNDROME
Call me the Master Hunter.
My blood is dark green.
The viscous elixir flows through my veins,
filling my lungs, tickling my sinus,
all the way to the pituitary.
In this town of overpriced
fries and smiles,
bars are crowded
with noisy characters,
spitting out words;
words but no language.
Playing notes;
notes but no music.
No hay banda! There is no band,
yet they dance to a band;
in their horrific struggle
for a late night escape
from an Edward Hooper painting.
As that old Harvard prof once put it:
On this side of the river
you suffer from “status insecurity,
incipient mononucleosis and sexual privation”;
an epidemic of this Cantabrigian syndrome strikes me.
The clock in the bar is ticking, only to
slowly DIG my tomb.
And I can hear a bluebird crying to get out.
Here, where 20% tip is the standard price to pay
for a farewell smile,
and a sense of belonging to the tribe; I sigh!
And ask the waitress to bring me the key
to the bluebird’s cage.
She brings back the card,
One last drink, and a PEN.
A smile spreads across her face,
as the wings of a butterfly!
The bird is set free, as I write these lines
Rushing out, singing a little ♫ ♫ ♫
It drops the dark green liquor, onto my pants.
Charles smirks.
I feel wet.
I close my eyes,
and the salty breeze caresses my face.
My boat is waiting,
so are my crew,
Fellow literary souls.
Lifting the anchor
into the unknown.
The catamaran standing tall,
the Great Wall
and the Niagara Fall,
I hear them call!
It’s time to sail
where the whales dwell.
Beyond those turbulent waters,
There is Baudelaire’s orderly and beautiful
promiseland of “Luxe, Calme et Volupté”.
The bluebird guides us,
but the beasts threaten our ship
and try to start a fire.
My HARPOON fights the
Moby Dicks, Kafka’s cats,
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
The bankers, the bosses,
The bullies, the Scrooges,
Human traffickers, drug dealers,
Economic advisors to the President,
Parties of elephants and donkeys,
Fake preachers of love and peace,
Average lovers, perfect haters,
Genius killers and racist police.
Ayatollahs and Popes,
Judgmental moralist priests,
Genocidal warlords of the Middle East.
Brain-washing radio commentators,
Demagogues and hypocrites,
The Exxon Mobiles, the Shells,
The OPECS, IMFs and G-8s all the way
To G-20s.
The professors, the smart Alecks, the PIs,
Anal bureaucrats,
Grant committee members,
Greedy landlords and landladies.
Those lost infernal spirits,
I send them all down to
Dante’s circling whirlpools of Hell.
An iceberg shakes my existence,
my comrades lost in the wreckage.
(No Rachael in sight coming to rescue this orphan.)
There remains a lone floating frozen soul.
A few mirage islands on the way,
casting away, casting away …
I wake up.
Back in the bar, my Ithaca,
rests in a corner of the cage
the weary bluebird.
I am offered a PINT.
The girl next to me takes a sip of
her cranberry juice.
It’s that time of the month,
In the middle of June,
In the middle of living.
I refuse and ask for a refill
of my green liquor.
Charles smirks, again.
I am the Master Hunter,
and I want it split in two glasses!
I have it in two glasses, to slowly melt
my frozen soul and dissolve it
in the minty liquid, for others to drink.
In this tragedy of the commons, which we play,
I open my heart to the Marys, Sarahs, Evas,
Elissas, Mirandas, Manjolas, Daniellas, Rachaels,
Rosies, Ginas and Monas;
transient relieves of my incipient mononucleosis.
But they take it and they cut it into pieces,
and mix the shaken pump of my existence,
in their favorite cranberry juice.
I am the Master Hunter,
and I went to Hell and back,
just to hunt you here tonight,
and find myself in this Purgatory;
like a sinner before the gates of Heaven.
Take my hand, my green fairy Beatrice,
my bitch, my doctor, my nurse,
as we navigate through these rivers
of bodily fluids, pheromones,
phlegm, sweat, oxytocin, and blood;
come with me Beatrice to this heavenly Hell,
as we disrupt the blissful repose of nothingness,
and attach value to life.
--The Master Hunter
My blood is dark green.
The viscous elixir flows through my veins,
filling my lungs, tickling my sinus,
all the way to the pituitary.
In this town of overpriced
fries and smiles,
bars are crowded
with noisy characters,
spitting out words;
words but no language.
Playing notes;
notes but no music.
No hay banda! There is no band,
yet they dance to a band;
in their horrific struggle
for a late night escape
from an Edward Hooper painting.
As that old Harvard prof once put it:
On this side of the river
you suffer from “status insecurity,
incipient mononucleosis and sexual privation”;
an epidemic of this Cantabrigian syndrome strikes me.
The clock in the bar is ticking, only to
slowly DIG my tomb.
And I can hear a bluebird crying to get out.
Here, where 20% tip is the standard price to pay
for a farewell smile,
and a sense of belonging to the tribe; I sigh!
And ask the waitress to bring me the key
to the bluebird’s cage.
She brings back the card,
One last drink, and a PEN.
A smile spreads across her face,
as the wings of a butterfly!
The bird is set free, as I write these lines
Rushing out, singing a little ♫ ♫ ♫
It drops the dark green liquor, onto my pants.
Charles smirks.
I feel wet.
I close my eyes,
and the salty breeze caresses my face.
My boat is waiting,
so are my crew,
Fellow literary souls.
Lifting the anchor
into the unknown.
The catamaran standing tall,
the Great Wall
and the Niagara Fall,
I hear them call!
It’s time to sail
where the whales dwell.
Beyond those turbulent waters,
There is Baudelaire’s orderly and beautiful
promiseland of “Luxe, Calme et Volupté”.
The bluebird guides us,
but the beasts threaten our ship
and try to start a fire.
My HARPOON fights the
Moby Dicks, Kafka’s cats,
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
The bankers, the bosses,
The bullies, the Scrooges,
Human traffickers, drug dealers,
Economic advisors to the President,
Parties of elephants and donkeys,
Fake preachers of love and peace,
Average lovers, perfect haters,
Genius killers and racist police.
Ayatollahs and Popes,
Judgmental moralist priests,
Genocidal warlords of the Middle East.
Brain-washing radio commentators,
Demagogues and hypocrites,
The Exxon Mobiles, the Shells,
The OPECS, IMFs and G-8s all the way
To G-20s.
The professors, the smart Alecks, the PIs,
Anal bureaucrats,
Grant committee members,
Greedy landlords and landladies.
Those lost infernal spirits,
I send them all down to
Dante’s circling whirlpools of Hell.
An iceberg shakes my existence,
my comrades lost in the wreckage.
(No Rachael in sight coming to rescue this orphan.)
There remains a lone floating frozen soul.
A few mirage islands on the way,
casting away, casting away …
I wake up.
Back in the bar, my Ithaca,
rests in a corner of the cage
the weary bluebird.
I am offered a PINT.
The girl next to me takes a sip of
her cranberry juice.
It’s that time of the month,
In the middle of June,
In the middle of living.
I refuse and ask for a refill
of my green liquor.
Charles smirks, again.
I am the Master Hunter,
and I want it split in two glasses!
I have it in two glasses, to slowly melt
my frozen soul and dissolve it
in the minty liquid, for others to drink.
In this tragedy of the commons, which we play,
I open my heart to the Marys, Sarahs, Evas,
Elissas, Mirandas, Manjolas, Daniellas, Rachaels,
Rosies, Ginas and Monas;
transient relieves of my incipient mononucleosis.
But they take it and they cut it into pieces,
and mix the shaken pump of my existence,
in their favorite cranberry juice.
I am the Master Hunter,
and I went to Hell and back,
just to hunt you here tonight,
and find myself in this Purgatory;
like a sinner before the gates of Heaven.
Take my hand, my green fairy Beatrice,
my bitch, my doctor, my nurse,
as we navigate through these rivers
of bodily fluids, pheromones,
phlegm, sweat, oxytocin, and blood;
come with me Beatrice to this heavenly Hell,
as we disrupt the blissful repose of nothingness,
and attach value to life.
--The Master Hunter
Fernando Pessoa (1888 – 1935 Lisbon, Portugal)
Fernando Pessoa (1888 – 1935 Lisbon, Portugal) Follow your destiny, Water your plants, Love your roses. The rest is shadow Of unknown trees. Reality is always More or less Than what we want. Only we are always Equal to ourselves. It’s good to live alone, And noble and great Always to live simply. Leave pain on the altar As an offering to the gods. See life from a distance. Never question it. There’s nothing it can Tell you. The answer Lies beyond the Gods. But quietly imitate Olympus in your heart. The gods are gods Because they don’t think About what they are.
4/15/12
3/8/12
Mehr Lecht!
Contained in a Boxed space
No name, no sounds
Where is the light?
Mehr Lecht! Mehr Lecht!
A reaching of hands,
Fingers meet, exploring
Grasping, curling, twisting
Grabbing, holding, embracing
A moment’s worth eternity!
No name, no sounds
Where is the light?
Mehr Lecht! Mehr Lecht!
A reaching of hands,
Fingers meet, exploring
Grasping, curling, twisting
Grabbing, holding, embracing
A moment’s worth eternity!
2/26/12
Laughing with Kafka: DFW
"Alas," said the mouse, "the world is growing smaller every day. At the beginning it was so big that I was afraid, I kept running and running, and I was glad when at last I saw walls far away to the right and left, but these long walls have narrowed so quickly that I am in the last chamber already, and there in the corner stands the trap that I must run into," "You only need to change your direction," said the cat, and ate it up.
That the horrific struggle to establish a human self results in a self whose humanity is inseparable from that horrific struggle. That our endless and impossible journey toward home is in fact our home.
That the horrific struggle to establish a human self results in a self whose humanity is inseparable from that horrific struggle. That our endless and impossible journey toward home is in fact our home.
2/5/12
1/30/12
Terence
"Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto"
"I am a man, I consider nothing that is human alien to me."
"I am a man, I consider nothing that is human alien to me."
1/14/12
12/10/11
No Title
Planes, ear plugs, vanishing blocks ...
We're to embrace the clouds,
Their thickness, their fluffs
And we are to embrace
The essence of now;
No sounds, no contrasts, no control;
It's being, in its most primordial forms.
No elapse of time, no clash of minds,
No illusion, no deceit
In the ocean they dissolve
In the moment we arrive!
We're to embrace the clouds,
Their thickness, their fluffs
And we are to embrace
The essence of now;
No sounds, no contrasts, no control;
It's being, in its most primordial forms.
No elapse of time, no clash of minds,
No illusion, no deceit
In the ocean they dissolve
In the moment we arrive!
12/3/11
Aupa neska polita
A cold cup of tea
Sitting on my desk
Neglect
The essence of the moment
Submerged
Just to forget:
Aupa neska polita
And then
A simple touch,
An ordinary swing
Letting it go, letting it fly
Sitting on my desk
Neglect
The essence of the moment
Submerged
Just to forget:
Aupa neska polita
And then
A simple touch,
An ordinary swing
Letting it go, letting it fly
11/28/11
LIFE
Life, believe, is not a dream,
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day:
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
Oh, why lament its fall?
Rapidly, merrily,
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily,
Enjoy them as they fly.
What though death at times steps in,
And calls our Best away?
What though Sorrow seems to win,
O'er hope a heavy sway?
Yet Hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell,
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.
Manfuly, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell dispair!
--Charlotte Brontë
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day:
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
Oh, why lament its fall?
Rapidly, merrily,
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily,
Enjoy them as they fly.
What though death at times steps in,
And calls our Best away?
What though Sorrow seems to win,
O'er hope a heavy sway?
Yet Hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell,
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.
Manfuly, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell dispair!
--Charlotte Brontë
11/19/11
The unity of human experience:
In the most intense moments
Pupils dilates and enlarges
And you find yourself engulfed
At the event-horizon of a blackhole
Annihilating forever
All I-thou boundaries [1].
[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_and_Thou
Pupils dilates and enlarges
And you find yourself engulfed
At the event-horizon of a blackhole
Annihilating forever
All I-thou boundaries [1].
[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_and_Thou
11/16/11
A beautiful lily
A beautiful lily I have chosen (basque traditional song)
For some time now, I have chosen a beautiful lily,
but I do not dare to pick it up with my hands,
because I know the danger it is to look at it too much.
Beautiful lily, look at me and tell me if you really love me,
your eyes have hurt the deepest of my heart
and now my wound runs the risk of gangrene.
For some time now, I have chosen a beautiful lily,
but I do not dare to pick it up with my hands,
because I know the danger it is to look at it too much.
Beautiful lily, look at me and tell me if you really love me,
your eyes have hurt the deepest of my heart
and now my wound runs the risk of gangrene.
Tomas Tranströmer
Sick of those who come with words, words but no language,
I make my way to the snow-covered island.
Wilderness has no words. The unwritten pages
stretch out in all directions.
...
I come across this line of deer-slots in the snow: a language,
language without words. —Translated by Robin Robertson
addendum to Transtromer:
In the solitude of the white wilderness,
I will make a snowman, my friend
and it will speak my language.
Its voice will be water to everyone,
who will quench their thirst,
with words they have never heard.
I make my way to the snow-covered island.
Wilderness has no words. The unwritten pages
stretch out in all directions.
...
I come across this line of deer-slots in the snow: a language,
language without words. —Translated by Robin Robertson
addendum to Transtromer:
In the solitude of the white wilderness,
I will make a snowman, my friend
and it will speak my language.
Its voice will be water to everyone,
who will quench their thirst,
with words they have never heard.
Eva!
Holding in your eyes
Autumns of Gold,
Between your lips
Happiness conceives,
I’ll whisper your name;
Till the end of aaaaaaaa
Till dissipation of sound …
What silence may bring;
May solitude reign supreme?
For you are half dream,
I cherish the dark!
At the verge of the night,
When dreams come to life,
I hold you tight!
Autumns of Gold,
Between your lips
Happiness conceives,
I’ll whisper your name;
Till the end of aaaaaaaa
Till dissipation of sound …
What silence may bring;
May solitude reign supreme?
For you are half dream,
I cherish the dark!
At the verge of the night,
When dreams come to life,
I hold you tight!
11/15/11
SYMPTOMATIC RELIEF OF CANTABRIGIAN SYNDROME
My blood is dark green
and the viscous elixir
flows through my veins,
filling my lungs, tickling my sinus
all the way to the pituitary.
I am the Master Hunter,
and I want it split in two glasses!
I have it in two glasses, to slowly melt
my frozen soul and dissolve it
in the minty liquid, for others to drink.
In this tragedy of the commons, which we play
I open my heart to the Marys, Sarahs and Evas;
transient relieves of my incipient mononucleosis.
But they take it and they cut it into pieces
and mix the shaken pump of my existence
in their favorite cranberry juice.
I am the Master Hunter;
And I went to the moon and back
just to hunt you here tonight.
Join me, green fairy,
as we disrupt the blissful repose of nothingness
and give some meaning to life.
--I.S., excerpts from the Master Hunter's of Wendell St.
and the viscous elixir
flows through my veins,
filling my lungs, tickling my sinus
all the way to the pituitary.
I am the Master Hunter,
and I want it split in two glasses!
I have it in two glasses, to slowly melt
my frozen soul and dissolve it
in the minty liquid, for others to drink.
In this tragedy of the commons, which we play
I open my heart to the Marys, Sarahs and Evas;
transient relieves of my incipient mononucleosis.
But they take it and they cut it into pieces
and mix the shaken pump of my existence
in their favorite cranberry juice.
I am the Master Hunter;
And I went to the moon and back
just to hunt you here tonight.
Join me, green fairy,
as we disrupt the blissful repose of nothingness
and give some meaning to life.
--I.S., excerpts from the Master Hunter's of Wendell St.
10/27/11
10/9/11
WATTER DREAMS:
Your voice on the phone is water.
A glass on the side table.
I fall asleep looking at it.
Water floods the bed.
My nightdress swells, I drift
towards a lighthouse,
where you happen to be,
writing an email to me.
Subject: “Water, please.”
(Is my voice water to you?)
I open my eyes, I stretch my arm out. The glass falls.
The pieces on the ground spell your name.
I wake up wet. -- Miren Agur Meabe
A glass on the side table.
I fall asleep looking at it.
Water floods the bed.
My nightdress swells, I drift
towards a lighthouse,
where you happen to be,
writing an email to me.
Subject: “Water, please.”
(Is my voice water to you?)
I open my eyes, I stretch my arm out. The glass falls.
The pieces on the ground spell your name.
I wake up wet. -- Miren Agur Meabe
9/17/11
Books And Arts | The New Republic
Books And Arts | The New Republic
... what they call "incidental" cities. The profound dislocation that emerges in story after story is not a symptom of the exiled person as much as it is his privileged knowledge of how things actually are. While a few of these characters vouchsafed this knowledge that the actual world makes sense only in art, the rest are left with the brittle ironies of the mirror world where everything is a parody of something else.
... what they call "incidental" cities. The profound dislocation that emerges in story after story is not a symptom of the exiled person as much as it is his privileged knowledge of how things actually are. While a few of these characters vouchsafed this knowledge that the actual world makes sense only in art, the rest are left with the brittle ironies of the mirror world where everything is a parody of something else.
2/18/11
Valentine
Valentine
When your lips
Colored a rainbow
And left it up there
Permanently
In the universe ...
The one I ever know
When your lips
Colored a rainbow
And left it up there
Permanently
In the universe ...
The one I ever know
2/12/11
Life
What was life other than an explosion of possible forms? And what a surprise it would have been if our brains were not equipped with the emotion of surprise; a state to transition to from a variety of other states. And how easy it is to miss this point, just because of our chance upbringing, our immediate peers, our illusion of sameness, our overly simplifying brains.
1/17/11
funambulist
Facebook said:
“You have 9 friends with birthdays this week”
And the next message declared:
Dear all
Hereby to inform you of the sad news
Of the passing of my father Cyrus
In Harare, Zimbabwe at the age of 57
I'm sure some of you have happy memories
Of him and will miss him very much
And here goes the stories of the funambulist
Of niagara falls
For whom the currents beneath
Were nothing but themes
Of stories to tell
Without losing sight
Of his path of pride
“You have 9 friends with birthdays this week”
And the next message declared:
Dear all
Hereby to inform you of the sad news
Of the passing of my father Cyrus
In Harare, Zimbabwe at the age of 57
I'm sure some of you have happy memories
Of him and will miss him very much
And here goes the stories of the funambulist
Of niagara falls
For whom the currents beneath
Were nothing but themes
Of stories to tell
Without losing sight
Of his path of pride
11/21/10
moving along
Certain conditions in life require a redefinition of concepts, alterations of perceptions, and ultimately the one with the strongest version of reality & most decisive actions wins.
11/14/10
Buddha’s foot-steps
Sometimes I miss you …
For one or two heart beats,
For a few wandering journeys,
A few lines …
Ending at Buddha’s foot-steps.
For one or two heart beats,
For a few wandering journeys,
A few lines …
Ending at Buddha’s foot-steps.
8/7/10
About Yourself
You are unfriendly
And utterly mean
And even your idea
Does not sound good
Anymore, Anyless.
And you managed
To push me
Down that cliff
And the idea of
An improved disposition
Disappeared in the fogs.
Please do not spoil the silen ... hiss.
And utterly mean
And even your idea
Does not sound good
Anymore, Anyless.
And you managed
To push me
Down that cliff
And the idea of
An improved disposition
Disappeared in the fogs.
Please do not spoil the silen ... hiss.
6/27/10
Where did the butterfly go? (by firstcomet)
She saw the waves
And flew away
And the winds blew
Made her sway
But she found her way
Day after day
the splashy waves,
and the way gods behaved
What roared above,
like the rest of
The stuff
They just didn't matter
Hopping her way
From mast to mast
Many days to fast
And the sea was not to end
And beneath no place to descend
And her destiny was not to portend
The butterfly’s still in ascend!
And flew away
And the winds blew
Made her sway
But she found her way
Day after day
the splashy waves,
and the way gods behaved
What roared above,
like the rest of
The stuff
They just didn't matter
Hopping her way
From mast to mast
Many days to fast
And the sea was not to end
And beneath no place to descend
And her destiny was not to portend
The butterfly’s still in ascend!
6/12/10
Listening (by firstcomet)
Sounds that boil your blood
And tightens your jaws
And chest
And fists
Thrusting you forward
Pushing you to the other side
The nowhere man’s land
What remains except memories?
The warm feeling propagating
Through your veins
Up the ladder
Where the angles reside!
It’s no longer a fight
Likely a gradual transcendence
To where I heard your voice once!
And tightens your jaws
And chest
And fists
Thrusting you forward
Pushing you to the other side
The nowhere man’s land
What remains except memories?
The warm feeling propagating
Through your veins
Up the ladder
Where the angles reside!
It’s no longer a fight
Likely a gradual transcendence
To where I heard your voice once!
5/23/10
Lightning & Thunder
In Native American mythology the Thunder (Badawk) is a man and the lightning (Psawk-tankapic) is a woman ... so it makes sense why men always have to chase after women!
5/8/10
Mornings
Numb finger tips and toes
A foggy head and dropping eyelids
Still attending, still listening!
Reaching out, grabbing, drinking
Feeling the hot liquid
Obeying the law of gravity
I was equally bound
A shivering body and a sigh
This is the beginning
Of what you may call
Today or maybe tomorrow
A strong representation of reality
Decisive actions
Less lines, more fool
Or just a simple reflection
off the right or the left
Deep blue lakes
Or echos off the adjacent mountains
Which called me loud
Till the dissipation of energy
Till the end of a field trip
When the maps are rolled back
Till the snow shoes are detached
Bounded by the images of myself
And Reality and your lashes
But soon to be alive again
By the teaine in those gravity driven drops
A foggy head and dropping eyelids
Still attending, still listening!
Reaching out, grabbing, drinking
Feeling the hot liquid
Obeying the law of gravity
I was equally bound
A shivering body and a sigh
This is the beginning
Of what you may call
Today or maybe tomorrow
A strong representation of reality
Decisive actions
Less lines, more fool
Or just a simple reflection
off the right or the left
Deep blue lakes
Or echos off the adjacent mountains
Which called me loud
Till the dissipation of energy
Till the end of a field trip
When the maps are rolled back
Till the snow shoes are detached
Bounded by the images of myself
And Reality and your lashes
But soon to be alive again
By the teaine in those gravity driven drops
5/2/10
Disposition
The idea that people who come to our lives are not there in vein motivates us to be open to possibilities. And that makes the difference of pouring forth our hearts for each other or to be cynics.
4/25/10
A Fish Tank affair! (by firstcomet)
Blank and then more blankness,
You sank,
To the bottom of a fish tank,
Air Trapping, scale flapping,
Gulp, gulp, air escaping,
Blank, blink, blank!
What else you expect from a fish tank?!
Keep your fin up boy!
Bring on your best Aqua song:
Dum di da di da, Dum di da di da
Givin to a fish tank fling!
The pinkfish by the hot spring;
Whose name happened to be Claire!
Here’s how you begin a fish tank affair:
Hello Claire, care for a glass of pear scented air!
(Quite an expensive drink down there)
You sank,
To the bottom of a fish tank,
Air Trapping, scale flapping,
Gulp, gulp, air escaping,
Blank, blink, blank!
What else you expect from a fish tank?!
Keep your fin up boy!
Bring on your best Aqua song:
Dum di da di da, Dum di da di da
Givin to a fish tank fling!
The pinkfish by the hot spring;
Whose name happened to be Claire!
Here’s how you begin a fish tank affair:
Hello Claire, care for a glass of pear scented air!
(Quite an expensive drink down there)
4/16/10
First Things At The Last Minute (Robert Hass)
...Object constancy is a term
Devised to indicate what a child requires
From days. Clean sheets are an example
Of something that, under many circumstances,
A person can control. The patterns moonlight makes
Are chancier, and dreams, well, dreams
Will have their way with you, their way
With you, will have their way.
--
A: what are you doing tomorrow night?
B: I will not exist tomorrow. I only exist on certain days; and to not come across as flaky, I should add I only don't exist on Saturdays.
A: Huh! Whatever! So, what are you doing tomorrow night?
B: You see, you're upset because you believe in object constancy:
Object constancy is a term
Devised to indicate what a child requires
From days. Clean sheets are an example
Of something that, under many circumstances,
A person can control. The patterns moonlight makes
Are chancier, and dreams, well, dreams
Will have their way with you, their way
With you, will have their way.
Devised to indicate what a child requires
From days. Clean sheets are an example
Of something that, under many circumstances,
A person can control. The patterns moonlight makes
Are chancier, and dreams, well, dreams
Will have their way with you, their way
With you, will have their way.
--
A: what are you doing tomorrow night?
B: I will not exist tomorrow. I only exist on certain days; and to not come across as flaky, I should add I only don't exist on Saturdays.
A: Huh! Whatever! So, what are you doing tomorrow night?
B: You see, you're upset because you believe in object constancy:
Object constancy is a term
Devised to indicate what a child requires
From days. Clean sheets are an example
Of something that, under many circumstances,
A person can control. The patterns moonlight makes
Are chancier, and dreams, well, dreams
Will have their way with you, their way
With you, will have their way.
3/28/10
Melancholy
You gotta love the human soul … from time to time it takes you to places you cannot even think of getting out, and then a few breaths later you’re in another gutter!
You have made it to the nowhere-man’s land … sojourning in that fuzzy warm feeling of emptiness of nothingness of being alone and detached. And you have made it to the other side of the destiny, where the rainbow tails caressing every leaf of every red maple tree, in a flatland which accommodates remembrance of the bygone memories. Burn, burn! It’s the autumn of the seasons, it’s the time of the nostalgic grey, and it’s about to rain, and the red maple burning in desire cannot shelter you from the tear drops of those nostalgic eyes …. Burn away, burn away my friend!
You have made it to the nowhere-man’s land … sojourning in that fuzzy warm feeling of emptiness of nothingness of being alone and detached. And you have made it to the other side of the destiny, where the rainbow tails caressing every leaf of every red maple tree, in a flatland which accommodates remembrance of the bygone memories. Burn, burn! It’s the autumn of the seasons, it’s the time of the nostalgic grey, and it’s about to rain, and the red maple burning in desire cannot shelter you from the tear drops of those nostalgic eyes …. Burn away, burn away my friend!
3/24/10
3/18/10
Embrace Yourself
Till you embrace yourself
Embrace your idiosyncrosies
You'll remain inconsequential!
Till you embrace yourself
What could you be otherwise?
'What' ends when you begin!
Embrace your begnining,
Like a mother holding her newborn,
Embrace yourself!
Embrace your idiosyncrosies
You'll remain inconsequential!
Till you embrace yourself
What could you be otherwise?
'What' ends when you begin!
Embrace your begnining,
Like a mother holding her newborn,
Embrace yourself!
3/17/10
disposable
These words used to have a meaning, They could evoke certain feelings, Now that my days are gone, Nothing that you say feels home, There's something funny about happiness, It is relative and memory dependent, As such it doesn't matter, it's not tangible, And that makes it merely disposable!
3/13/10
Within this lines ...
Society’s normative values and social acceptance (and more generally a rich fulfilling life experience) when challenged with a strong will-to-power may result in a state of internal tension and conflict.
To break away with all models, all assessments, and all prejudices and simultaneously stay grounded and stable is the ultimate challenge of our time. Since, without stability no performance criterion is meaningful.
To break away with all models, all assessments, and all prejudices and simultaneously stay grounded and stable is the ultimate challenge of our time. Since, without stability no performance criterion is meaningful.
Within this lines ...
Society’s normative values and social acceptance (and more generally a rich fulfilling life experience) when challenged with a strong will-to-power may result in a state of internal tension and conflict.
To break away with all models, all assessments, and all prejudices and simultaneously stay grounded and stable is the ultimate challenge of our time. Since, without stability no performance criterion is meaningful.
To break away with all models, all assessments, and all prejudices and simultaneously stay grounded and stable is the ultimate challenge of our time. Since, without stability no performance criterion is meaningful.
3/10/10
indoctrination
Anytime you feel like if you learn more about a person or a cause then you may have to change/update your attitude towards him/her/it you're in the verge of a moral failure.
1) pro liberty, 2) against torture, 3) pro environment, 4) care about you own health -> no meat
The way items are arranged on the shelves of a supermarket has nothing to do with the quality of the product -> maybe you need to bend a little and pick up the item on the bottom shelf
soft bigotry of low expectations
1) pro liberty, 2) against torture, 3) pro environment, 4) care about you own health -> no meat
The way items are arranged on the shelves of a supermarket has nothing to do with the quality of the product -> maybe you need to bend a little and pick up the item on the bottom shelf
soft bigotry of low expectations
3/6/10
Collage (by firstcomet)
There is nothing magical here
Only occasional temporary traces
Of tango-like steps
Left on the snow white ground
Near the place where I
Occasionally lay down to
An intimate moment
And a soft music
Filling the air
with some particular magic;
Ah, Ah, facts, general, specific
do not make a big fuss about!
Sometime it’s sweet
Sometime it’s bloody
Sometime it makes sounds
Sometime it stares and smiles!
And then the next song
And then the next voice
And then I try to follow
Those traces that intersect
And diverge before our time
Comes up, and I say:
I think it’s snowing again,
And I need to figure out
what color it is this time!
And you whisper “was that cum-
your emotional brain
or was that cum-
your logical brain?”
Emotional, emotional I may ...
I see your reflection,
on the glass window of night
The flickering lights,
twinkling in your eyes
Beyond these walls,
the city is quietly napping
Just to arise,
another pale day of fluffy flakes
I won't be able to hold on to your image;
eyelids are giving up,
I will catch you later
Beyond the borders
of this shuttered town ...
The feather pillow on the bed
Head on the pillow,
Bird in the head,
Flying to the dreamland!
The clock is ticking,
A distance light is blinking,
And I’m thinking …
Another day has gone!
And the breathe-ins
And the breathe-outs
And the roll-lefts
And the roll-rights
And before I know,
The ticking clock
and the blinking light
Are all gone!
The catamaran standing tall,
The Great Wall,
And the Niagara Fall,
I hear them call!
The caul is torn
The baby is born!
It’s Time to sail
To the land of whales!
And then the ticking clock,
And the bright light,
And the apples jam delight;
A new day has begun!
Only occasional temporary traces
Of tango-like steps
Left on the snow white ground
Near the place where I
Occasionally lay down to
An intimate moment
And a soft music
Filling the air
with some particular magic;
Ah, Ah, facts, general, specific
do not make a big fuss about!
Sometime it’s sweet
Sometime it’s bloody
Sometime it makes sounds
Sometime it stares and smiles!
And then the next song
And then the next voice
And then I try to follow
Those traces that intersect
And diverge before our time
Comes up, and I say:
I think it’s snowing again,
And I need to figure out
what color it is this time!
And you whisper “was that cum-
your emotional brain
or was that cum-
your logical brain?”
Emotional, emotional I may ...
I see your reflection,
on the glass window of night
The flickering lights,
twinkling in your eyes
Beyond these walls,
the city is quietly napping
Just to arise,
another pale day of fluffy flakes
I won't be able to hold on to your image;
eyelids are giving up,
I will catch you later
Beyond the borders
of this shuttered town ...
The feather pillow on the bed
Head on the pillow,
Bird in the head,
Flying to the dreamland!
The clock is ticking,
A distance light is blinking,
And I’m thinking …
Another day has gone!
And the breathe-ins
And the breathe-outs
And the roll-lefts
And the roll-rights
And before I know,
The ticking clock
and the blinking light
Are all gone!
The catamaran standing tall,
The Great Wall,
And the Niagara Fall,
I hear them call!
The caul is torn
The baby is born!
It’s Time to sail
To the land of whales!
And then the ticking clock,
And the bright light,
And the apples jam delight;
A new day has begun!
I have become (by firstcomet)
I have become the face
You see in the mirror
I have become the body
That you feel its weight
I have become the self
You carry;
the thoughts, the memories.
I have become
Through experience, resilience and endurance.
I sense the present
I’m about to forget the yore
I’m about to forget the future
I have become the one child of now
I’m not becoming, I am being!
Yes, I exist!
There are things that make us sad
There are things that make us sneeze
And there are sounds that make us nostalgic
And those that move our hips
And those that move our lips;
Singing, holding hands, remembering…
A self, like a carriage, pulled by memories
The shallow pond of now,
The clarity of current,
Is what I see, what I believe
What I hear
The vibrating strings of a lute
The evoked memories
Never making their ways to the present
Never joining the ocean of An experiencing self
Connected to the stillness of now
In between these lines
I exist!
You see in the mirror
I have become the body
That you feel its weight
I have become the self
You carry;
the thoughts, the memories.
I have become
Through experience, resilience and endurance.
I sense the present
I’m about to forget the yore
I’m about to forget the future
I have become the one child of now
I’m not becoming, I am being!
Yes, I exist!
There are things that make us sad
There are things that make us sneeze
And there are sounds that make us nostalgic
And those that move our hips
And those that move our lips;
Singing, holding hands, remembering…
A self, like a carriage, pulled by memories
The shallow pond of now,
The clarity of current,
Is what I see, what I believe
What I hear
The vibrating strings of a lute
The evoked memories
Never making their ways to the present
Never joining the ocean of An experiencing self
Connected to the stillness of now
In between these lines
I exist!
2/27/10
brownie moment
Today I got a moment to reflect upon a cup of jasmine tea and some thought provoking brownies (what else could it be?). I realized that a life viewed as a struggle is a life of misery, a life fixated on consequences is a life of disappointment!
Risking oversimplification, it is now my conviction that problems of every day life ought to be viewed as puzzles that are nutritional foods for our curious minds!
Life goes one and it may be a lonely road, but I will cherish the wisdom of your brownie moment!
Risking oversimplification, it is now my conviction that problems of every day life ought to be viewed as puzzles that are nutritional foods for our curious minds!
Life goes one and it may be a lonely road, but I will cherish the wisdom of your brownie moment!
2/22/10
To know!
What a relief it is
That piece of knowledge
That you didn’t matter
As much as you thought
Now you can go
And live your life
Drink your evenings
And dance your nights!
That piece of knowledge
That you didn’t matter
As much as you thought
Now you can go
And live your life
Drink your evenings
And dance your nights!
2/6/10
funometer!
How funtastic it is when you turn on your funometer and it shows a high fun level. I wonder if her funometer is recording higher levels than mine?! That would definitely be a kill-joy! Meanwhile, turn me on baby and show me a good time; fly me to the no-man’s land, where the barbecue stands are preparing funny lambs!
1/25/10
In Flight (by Jennifer K. Sweeney)
The Himalayan legend says
there are beautiful white birds
that live completely in flight.
They are born in the air,
must learn to fly before falling
and die also in their flying.
Maybe you have been born
into such a life
with the bottom dropping out.
Maybe gravity is claiming you
and you feel ghost-scripted.
For the one who lives inside the fall,
the sky beneath the sky of all.
there are beautiful white birds
that live completely in flight.
They are born in the air,
must learn to fly before falling
and die also in their flying.
Maybe you have been born
into such a life
with the bottom dropping out.
Maybe gravity is claiming you
and you feel ghost-scripted.
For the one who lives inside the fall,
the sky beneath the sky of all.
1/23/10
In the streets of everyday life!
What a treat it is!
To watch a blind man finding his way
Down those steep steps
Round the blocked sidewalks
Just to make it on time
To knock his cane
On the closing doors of a shuttle
That comes by only once in while
What a treat it is
To see the door open
To watch him finding his way home!
What a treat it is
To see a 300 pound woman
Wearing a small backpack
Full of grocery items
And the spinach
Sticking its head out
Yelling atcha:
Say no to the plastic bags!
What a treat it is
To see a dog finding its object of desire
Near the roots of an old tree
Ignored by generations of passerbys
Even for a moment,
A fleeting sojourn
Made all the difference!
What a treat it is
To get hurt
That feeling in the stomach
That crawls up your chest
Making you feel something
Gasping for air
A few drops of rain
You've become human again!
What a treat it is
To dance the whole night
Just to miss you in the crowd
Not even the last song
brings the magical moment of encounter
Just to find you putting on your raincoat
Just to hear the DJ announcing the encore
What a treat it is
To have your number
At the end of that last dance!
To watch a blind man finding his way
Down those steep steps
Round the blocked sidewalks
Just to make it on time
To knock his cane
On the closing doors of a shuttle
That comes by only once in while
What a treat it is
To see the door open
To watch him finding his way home!
What a treat it is
To see a 300 pound woman
Wearing a small backpack
Full of grocery items
And the spinach
Sticking its head out
Yelling atcha:
Say no to the plastic bags!
What a treat it is
To see a dog finding its object of desire
Near the roots of an old tree
Ignored by generations of passerbys
Even for a moment,
A fleeting sojourn
Made all the difference!
What a treat it is
To get hurt
That feeling in the stomach
That crawls up your chest
Making you feel something
Gasping for air
A few drops of rain
You've become human again!
What a treat it is
To dance the whole night
Just to miss you in the crowd
Not even the last song
brings the magical moment of encounter
Just to find you putting on your raincoat
Just to hear the DJ announcing the encore
What a treat it is
To have your number
At the end of that last dance!
1/20/10
A simple rule for cooperation
"What a man hears he may doubt, what he sees he may possibly doubt, but what he does himself he cannot doubt."
1/16/10
Relax
Gain control over your "Reactions"
Withhold your "Judgments"
Give people space to have their "Glory Time"
Excel at your "Game"
Have a "Smile" on your face!
Do not underestimate people's history! Make them comfortable and let them narrate their version of their personal history. With knowing comes understanding and with understanding comes control of reactions, since reactions are a result of not meeting ones expectations and predictions ... a shortcoming of the internal representations and models.
Withhold your "Judgments"
Give people space to have their "Glory Time"
Excel at your "Game"
Have a "Smile" on your face!
Do not underestimate people's history! Make them comfortable and let them narrate their version of their personal history. With knowing comes understanding and with understanding comes control of reactions, since reactions are a result of not meeting ones expectations and predictions ... a shortcoming of the internal representations and models.
1/15/10
Nudges
iNcentives
Understanding mappings
Defaults
Give feedback
Expect error
Structure complex choices
Choice architects can improve the outcomes for their Human users!
Understanding mappings
Defaults
Give feedback
Expect error
Structure complex choices
Choice architects can improve the outcomes for their Human users!
1/3/10
Loving you!
I Love you, in its purest carnal forms
A desire of some primordial sorts
A guileless byproduct of flesh and bones,
I just named it for you,
For your convenience
For your pleasure!
Nevertheless, it has no names
Just a feeling of some kind,
A vision of paradise seen by a blind!
A desire of some primordial sorts
A guileless byproduct of flesh and bones,
I just named it for you,
For your convenience
For your pleasure!
Nevertheless, it has no names
Just a feeling of some kind,
A vision of paradise seen by a blind!
To be
Heartaches, pains of painful images
Sorrow, moments of absence
Suspension and no clear view
To be is to be present in the moment
Of your wants fulfillment
Simple melodies that flow
From one day to the next
An eternal calmness, calling you:
What do you want?
I want all I have, but yesterday
Or maybe last year, or even better
the decade before,
So that today,
I would be a decade from now
But, it is the present, and the images
Of your past that I most abhor
Since, you lived a life,
And I lived a life,
Another life, my life:
Devoid of your image,
Devoid of excitement
There is nothing magical here
Only sequence of events
Passing me by
Some carrying fragments of my dreams
Some carrying figments of my thoughts
But, it’ll be an act of dishonesty
To call what occurs to me dreams
But events, just events
Unfolding, flowing, occurring
I need to have a dream
And a story that connects me
To my dreams
Tomorrow or a decade from now
A dream that is not devoured by
A grandiose dream
A dream, containable within a frame
Or two
Hinting that my spirit is still alive
Kicking, prevailing, existing; that is to be!
Sorrow, moments of absence
Suspension and no clear view
To be is to be present in the moment
Of your wants fulfillment
Simple melodies that flow
From one day to the next
An eternal calmness, calling you:
What do you want?
I want all I have, but yesterday
Or maybe last year, or even better
the decade before,
So that today,
I would be a decade from now
But, it is the present, and the images
Of your past that I most abhor
Since, you lived a life,
And I lived a life,
Another life, my life:
Devoid of your image,
Devoid of excitement
There is nothing magical here
Only sequence of events
Passing me by
Some carrying fragments of my dreams
Some carrying figments of my thoughts
But, it’ll be an act of dishonesty
To call what occurs to me dreams
But events, just events
Unfolding, flowing, occurring
I need to have a dream
And a story that connects me
To my dreams
Tomorrow or a decade from now
A dream that is not devoured by
A grandiose dream
A dream, containable within a frame
Or two
Hinting that my spirit is still alive
Kicking, prevailing, existing; that is to be!
12/29/09
impressionable! (by firstcomet)
I think with confidence
I can say that I’m nobody.
I’m just blessed to be able
to be impressed by some “special others”!
And I’m blessed to have met
those who have impressed me.
and thus I have changed
to be even more impressionable!
To cherish the best that
a person has to offer:
having been impressed persistently
by the conditions of their own lives!
Experiences that reach deep down
to places not so often touched!
And to become that “special other”,
is to be touched in those places!
We’re wired for novelty, rejoicing …
being amazed, with big wondering eyes,
seeing THAT we have never seen before,
updating the universe inside our skulls!
That’s who we are, that’s what we do!
And so those who open a new window
to a new breeze, take our breath away,
refilling us with the fresh breath of their presence!
Seeing the world in the light of their realities,
seeing it in a new light every time we chance upon them,
and yet e'er eager for that next encounter!
That is to be impressionable, that is to be nobody!
I can say that I’m nobody.
I’m just blessed to be able
to be impressed by some “special others”!
And I’m blessed to have met
those who have impressed me.
and thus I have changed
to be even more impressionable!
To cherish the best that
a person has to offer:
having been impressed persistently
by the conditions of their own lives!
Experiences that reach deep down
to places not so often touched!
And to become that “special other”,
is to be touched in those places!
We’re wired for novelty, rejoicing …
being amazed, with big wondering eyes,
seeing THAT we have never seen before,
updating the universe inside our skulls!
That’s who we are, that’s what we do!
And so those who open a new window
to a new breeze, take our breath away,
refilling us with the fresh breath of their presence!
Seeing the world in the light of their realities,
seeing it in a new light every time we chance upon them,
and yet e'er eager for that next encounter!
That is to be impressionable, that is to be nobody!
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