loneliness

... cold and shivering porcupine, wondering the streets alone, a warm embrace you will never know, not even from your own...

dream

Deep space is my dwelling place...The stars my destination...

soul sliver glow like

…pagan shadows in a winter moon’s embrace… iridescent deities in delicate sway…

Fact is not devoid of change

compass

what power so great commands an iron south-pointing fish floating in a bowl of water, aligning itself to the south, as a means of orientation in the obscurity of the night? ... the turtle to the shore, the salmon up the river ... birds across the sky and my soul to thee, stone carved throne on the holly Mountain.

all is possible on friday the 13th...

Allopatric soul perched on a sliver of moonlight, ravenous for the blood scented flesh of an all dewy herald. tonight on Cecropia my scepter I raise, for thee Love my plead… in offer this vagabond body caged in a wandering heart.

"and those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music." - Friedrich Nietzsche

... among whispers from the past in radiant Athens ...

Athena, they may disguise you in rags as a pauper and scent you with their gutter breath but you still are renowned as one of the most famous cities in the world. You will forever shine as a womb of thought long after their putrid souls have rotten in distended bellies...

...bloodthirsty and flesh hungry...

Feiticeira...drowning of suffocation in a blood cursed by the dream sea, of a sea not yet dreamed...anguished to embark on an incessant journey that stops nowhere...Selvagem. Soul perched at the shore's edge aching to depart..belonging to nobody...

spirit of diwali

why do i wish tonight for a dream ... as like a dream my soul tonight will lead my heart to the summit of the holy mountain igniting the burning fire frozen inside, breaking the stormy darkness that befell the thermaiko...across the dark skies shrouded in memories burning, Thessaloniki, lights... bright diyas celebrating universal compassion, love, and the awareness of the oneness of all things....higher knowledge...energy divine incarnate. Emotions bathed in the scent of oils under the stars awaken the dreams of the warrior, as the underlying reality of all things. Love.

Tortura do meu s(ab)er

A hotel room, half a sleeping pill…pen and paper at hand. A million thoughts burning my eyes, rushing in as many directions, clashing in a myriad of kaleidoscopic explosions. Scalding my mind, as if chaos was the most sublime of choreographies. Spontaneous combustions of predatory gluttony, destroying everything that ravishes through them. Lavishly composing this melody of madness, that slowly devours me. Alimentando a loucura que ilumina a escuridao em que sou. Doida, Louca, Tonta de tanto pensamento incontrolavel que me corre nas veias em lugar de sangue. Palavras tortas em pensamentos alinhados. A kaleidoscope of feelings and understanding in a place where I no londer reign. Nem a minha alma, nem o meu ser são meus. Migalhas de um mundo que é so meu mas não me pertence. Ainda assim eu continuo, entendendo mais cada vez que compreendo menos. Desvaneada, sem palavras numa mente onde o chaos dança eloquentemente. Graciosamente, as in an eternal choreography, subconsciously realizing that void is the only reality. What is, can be nothing more than all that isn’t. Incongruous limbo between awake and somewhere in the depth of thought, sobressaltada pela realidade. It’s so deep, that my heart nearly stops each time. I am brought back in the mundane dangers if disaster. I am starting to loose myself inside my own mind. The depth opf the void becoming more and more defined, rapta-me o pensamento afavel, para aqulea dimensao que cada vez mais me consome. I am no longer satiated by the lingering of my thoughts in the subconscious of my existence. Now, at times I feel as if all my molecules travel with my mind into the subconscious dimension of my silent ranting. Incongruous meanings, meaningless words. Abstract precisions in undefined settings. How can it all seem so normal to me, which all others ostracise. So, I no longer. I loose myself in the silent ranting of endless monolgues that scarcely conclude. Never ending stories or thoughts, memories are the only tomb stones. I wish for a dream that needs sleep. I will even settle for a nightmare as long as I can sleep. How meagre the rest para uma mente vagabunda como eu. Alma vagabunda de uma mente louca. Tortura do meu s(ab)er.

... enluminurer...

As if inventions into the unknown... remnants of an inspired geek with a penchant for words, driving a convertible with an untamed heart, wearing black on black...

answer to a pricky comment...

...broken land... ...In the self serving consent of the soft-handed intellectually challenged aristocracy by affirmation...red cheeked jolly in their characteristic self commiserating oblivion of plump lethargic children of old warriors too desolate too fight...

Unfinished...

With eyes set on the misty throne From the East Silver Moon rising among caresses of the West setting Sun half my body on shore the rest at sea the wind lulls my soul among whispers of my heart wishing for thee... V

Poetry

Poetry is as varied and fluctuating as the present. It is not graven in stone, but is where relationships with the world and with meaning, culture and language are constantly created and re-created.The particularity of poetry that must be recognized is that it does not convey clear words that can be instantly grasped, but constructs new, unprecedented forms of language that owe nothing to common codes. Poetry, because it offers a multitude of ways and actual forms of writing, is therefore an experience that enables the human condition to be reviewed in its entirety. This ultimate reappraisal of the use of language makes for a universal critical reflection on words, genres and categories, the whole range of that which is at all translatable. In doing so it designs the contours of possible forms of dialogue among cultures, histories and memories.

... enchanting verses

...a cliche

...that might be true....life is too short to not tell someone you love them ...when you do!

today i received one of the most cherished gifts , a thoughtful gift. a gift filled with thoughts. it was a small bouquet of herbs and flowers, that infuse the air with a fleetingly intense smell of sweet. it's the smell of dreams...i wish i would smell like it to you...i wish our dreams come true...i believe in dreams ... i do.

the day i wished i hadn't looked back...

Pondering someone's space/time/mind note

Time is mechanical and objective and beats at different rates throughout the universe…we can’t experience time through our senses (we can’t see, hear feel, smell or taste time) but we know it is there. We can sense time passing, even in the complete absence of information. Time is internal. We all share an internal biological sense of time, it’s inside us. Like a compass of existence guiding the turtle to the shore, the salmon upstream,….,and so many other mysteries of nature.

The external world dictates the way time flows, so not all sense of time is internal. We can’t jump out of time, nor stop it….but according to the laws of physics, we should be able to go back in time, even though highly improbable it is not impossible. So why does time move forward and not backwards? …. In conscience, our dislocation in time, takes place through the arrow of time of past, present and future. The past is always fixed in our memories and the future is yet to come. We understand what happened and anticipate what is about to come. However, we seem to live in just one time – the Present…but how long does the present actually lasts? In fact, the present seems to be a constant past of the future, that is yet to come…it is so fickle, that as soon as the present enters our conscience, it became the past of the present that was future….however, time seems to slow down in extreme danger situations – as adrenaline increases time/perception. Our experience of time speeding up or slowing down can be directly affected by chemicals. Pain threshold increases throughout the day, so maybe it also increases throughout existence, decreasing the awareness and effect of our senses within the space/time continuum….Time makes us insensitive.

What would it mean to have no place in time without memories of the past or anticipations for the future? Not being able to hold on enough to the present, to remember the past or imagine the future….Feeling intense emotions without ever being able to pass them to the memory…..no thoughts and no dreams. Time is very personal it comes from within. Human creativity is virtually limitless in the epic of life.

unhidden

i am Vanda daughter of Atlantida and the Lusitan blood heiress to the seven Seas queen of the V imperium I am Me

... sometimes,

... sometimes, life makes so much more sense, when you can recognize pieces of your soul in the lines of a poem , a painting or the sound of a melody... sometimes, just sometimes things are exactly what they seem to be....

Tο απωθημένο ειναι σκέψη, σώματος και νοήματος

...between fear of tomorrow and sorrows of yesterday, now has been lost...

...le charme de la tristesse...

Enigmatic and fateful chasing the future of the past...marked by melancholy, saddened by the impermanence of all things......believing that between the heart and the mind, one day i will find a heuristic device to enable understanding. In the impossibility of having anything to want if asked to choose between a perpetual state of boredom or eternal bodily pain thinking of dreams that money can buy and pedigree birds who sing songs without words.

................palavras de Pessoa

How should I know what I'll be, I who don't know what I am? ... But I have in me all the dreams of the world...

...chasing flying frogs ...

Finding it, difficult times, for princes. A rarity, these days! Not very good times for inspiring rebels either! Literally, in danger of extinction...

For Camoes, Forever Vanda

delapidado crepúsculo de estrela dístante, o conto de fadas da minha alma, saudosa costa minha ...Ξεθωριασμένο σούρουπο μακρινό αστέρι το παραμύθι της ψυχής μου, λαχτάρισμενη μου στερεια ...

Queen V Imperium

Cessem do sábio Grego e do TroianoAs navegações grandes que fizeram;Cale-se de Alexandro e de TrajanoA fama das vitórias que tiveram;Que eu canto o peito ilustre Lusitano,A quem Neptuno e Marte obedeceram:Cesse tudo o que a Musa antígua canta,Que outro valor mais alto se alevanta. ...os Lusiadas

Honras que a vida fazem sublimada...

«Faz-te mercê, barão, a sapiência Suprema de, cos olhos corporais, veres o que não pode a vã ciência dos errados e míseros mortais» «Impossibilidades não façais, Que quem quis sempre pôde: e numerados Sereis entre os heróis esclarecidos ....» Camoes, Os Lusiadas

...bocage eu sou...

Magro, de olhos azuis, carão moreno, Bem servido de pés, meão na altura, Triste de facha, o mesmo de figura, Nariz alto no meio, e não pequeno; Incapaz de assistir num só terreno, Mais propenso ao furor do que à ternura; Bebendo em níveas mãos, por taça escura, De zelos infernais letal veneno; Devoto incensador de mil deidades (Digo, de moças mil) num só memento, E somente no altar amando os frades, Eis Bocage, em quem luz algum talento; Saíram dele mesmo estas verdades, Num dia em que se achou cagando ao vento. ... Thin, blue eyes, tanned face, His fair share of feet, middling height, Sad face and figure, High nose in the middle, and not small; Incapable of staying in just one place, Quicker to anger then tenderness; Drinking in his pale hands, out of a dark cup, From hellish enthusiasms a lethal poison; Burning incense to a thousand divinities (I mean, a thousand girls) in a single moment, Loving the priests only at the altar, This is Bocage, in whom some talent shines; He himself wrote these truths, On a day he found himself taking a dump in the wind. Bocage

gaea

wisdom strength

The Swan

...when 2 equals one...

sphinx

...only in the total dark of sadness can you glimpse the healing tear of a white sphinx ...

water

...pure life flowing...

fire

self consuming passion of no return

Warrior 22

...reborn from the deadly fire of a dream's ashes...

the dream was the only reality

...wandering the eremitic abyss of the soul seduced by the void of a million thoughts...V

love lays bleeding

A Rose and an Amaranth blossomed side by side in a garden, and the Amaranth said to her neighbour, "How I envy you your beauty and your sweet scent! No wonder you are such a universal favourite." But the Rose replied with a shade of sadness in her voice, "Ah, my dear friend, I bloom but for a time: my petals soon wither and fall, and then I die. But your flowers never fade, even if they are cut; for they are everlasting Aesop's Fables

Antianeira

...worship me like the Goddes i am... V

serendipity

ce que sera sera or does chance favor only the prepared mind? perhaps it's prejudice or maybe just a good excuse.

Lokhoi

…of lovers and their loves, …emulating one another in honor; and when fighting at each other's side, although a mere handful, they would overcome the world... Phaedrus, Plato’s Symposium

Freedom is only a hallucination waiting in the limbo of dreams

Just freedom is only a hallucination That waits at the edge of the distant horizon And we are all strangers in global illusion Wanting and needing impossible heaven Chasing the dream as they swim out to sea The mirage ahead says that they can be free Become lost in delusion drowning their reason Swept on by the current of selfish ambition Frightened ashamed and afraid of the blame The questions are screaming the answers are hiding The sickness is growing distracted condition You can feel the disgust and smell the confusion Lying insane getting soaked in the rain Draining the sky of the guilt and the shame The nightmare is coming the clouds are descending Pulled under two thousand metres a second Clawing at walls that just slip through my fingers Darkness consuming collapsing and breaking Distilled paranoia seeped into the walls And filled in the cracks with the whispering calls Shadows are forming take heed of the warnings Creeping around at four in the morning Lie to myself start a brand new beginning But I'm losing my time in this fear of living Freedom is only a hallucination That waits at the edge of the places you go when you dream... Anathema,..., a natural disaster

Your dream world is a very scary place to be trapped inside all your Life

Your dream world is a very scary place To be trapped Your dream world is a very scary place to be trapped inside To be trapped inside All your life Shine in time Shine in time until you find You're closer You're closer to the truth Within you Within you is the truth That your dream world is a very scary place That your dream world is a very scary place to be trapped inside To be trapped inside All your life you're closer You're closer to the truth within you Within you Is the truth Anathema, Closer - a natural disaster

a "blueprint" of ...perfection

eidos...idea...morphe... the universal nature which receives all bodies —that must always be called the same; for, while receiving all things, she never departs at all from her own nature, and never...assumes a form like that of any of the things which enter into her; ... But the forms which enter into and go out of her are the likenesses of real existences modelled after their patterns in a wonderful and inexplicable manner....the things we ordinarily perceive in the world are characterized as shadows of the real things, which we do not perceive directly...phainomena ...It did not start, there is no duration in time, and it will not end. It is neither eternal in the sense of existing forever nor mortal. It exists outside time altogether... outside the world, but they are not in the mind...Forms are extra-mental... Plato

Eaunanisme

J'irai lui dire la pâleur de ses yeux Qu'ils avaient la profondeur de nos cieux Je sais qu'elle marche sans savoir qui elle est Que c'est les jambes d'une autre qui la portaient Je l'entends murmurer Océan d'ambre mélange mélange -moi à tes légendes mets l'ancre

l'ancreen moi C'est si douce ce brûlure Là où ta main me touche, Eau Et coule cette écume De ma bouche J'irai lui dire que son coeur c'est fatigué (de vous) J'irai lui dire que de l'Homme elle s'est lassée (du tout) Que sa vie rare est cachée dans les velours (de l'Immensité) Qu'il est trop tard pour aimer, elle s'est dissoute Dans l'éternité, Eau Océan d'ambre mélange mélange -moi à tes légendes mets l'ancre l'ancre en moi C'est si douce ce brûlure Là où ta main me touche, Eau Et coule cette écume De ma bouche Mylene Farmer

Psychoid

“our perceptions about our lives are the outcome of many forces that shape our experience, each having an impact on whether we feel good or bad". Mihály Csíkszentmihályi

Unus Mundus

unitary reality ...ideas are pure mental forms, that were imprinted in the soul before it was born into the world... it exists both in the psyche and in the world at large...the unconscious biological aspects of the archetype that merges with its chemical and physical conditions...controlling the behaviour of organic matter...fundamental principles of matter and energy in the physical world...the archetypes which ordered our perceptions and ideas are themselves the product of an objective order which transcends both the human mind and the external world...

Archetype

"Space acts on matter, telling it how to move. In turn, matter reacts back on space, telling it how to curve"

John Wheeler

In this way time is said to pass...

As time passes, the moment that was once the present becomes part of the past; and part of the future, in turn, becomes the new present.

Schizoid

how can it not be real when shreeded memories invade my senses and shroud my soul. How can it not be real when the sent sumptuously cloates memories in exulted notes of Pathos. If it is not so, why does a Freak like me have such longing for Infinity. it can make shudder with pleasure and shiever from it's pain. How can such intimate caresses be felt, from so far a distance. I ache for the sweet placitude of such pleasure's pain. now, the time that never came, has dissipated the past future of what, now, was to be. how can it not be real when i can feel it thrusting within me. V

Reality

"Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away." Philip K. Dick