...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