walterdoege

Just another WordPress.com site

Month: July, 2012

tears drops in rainy day

and yesterday some tears drops on my face slowing arrived…it’s good…and tears drops were also the rain drops falling on me when I walked a little path on the street…after my piano class…the drops on my face were my tears and the rain drops…emotion, sentiment, remembrances…so, I go to the shopping…walked a little…feel the people…feel the families…feel me with them…reached the restaurant…for restauration of myself…talk a little with the persons…ask for my dinner without a word…I am a loyal client…and enjoyed some instants of peace and rest…some tears drops again, the rainy drops in the window…and some wisdom from no thinking most than needed…I guess that from any tears drop a star was born in sky…thunders, tempest night of a winter season…I like the winter, I can go always to a sheltter…and to home…praying for those that live on the streets in these dangerous cities, as I feel me like them sometimes, keep on living in despite of all…so wondeful is the human audacity and courage…in despite of all…I care the world, but not alone…people is the world…so courageous people

fiction and non fiction

as a writer I see and I realize that my writing is somehow fiction and somehow non fiction…it’s impossible to live without an amount of fiction…even related to past events and present time, always there is an amount of fiction…what is future if not will and desire?…no security about future…in this way future is a personal moisture of remembrances, will and invention and reinvention…like a shelter, literature is the tool everyone use to live…conscious of this or not, much of a life is fiction…my choice is building a story full of joy…full of loving…and if fiction is imagination and symbolism…words are symbolic ones…I have difficulty on perceiving the non fiction dimension…the non fiction may be the real…rocking and rolling the real creates realities…I choose happy realities…I guess one motif is my recognition that living is so simple and so difficult!…I don’t care if I am an ingenuous or a sentimental writer…I build my days and writing and reading is one way…in between me and the real, amorous realities…loving is also audacity…creation is audacity…facing the hard facts is audacity…facing bad things is audacity…I can not distinguish clearly between fiction and non fiction…I realize that even biography is fiction…autobiography too…if as a writer I describe a moment in a day, this moment is a fiction and non fiction work…consciously or not…loving is a free movement longer than a poem or a work in progress romance…loving is the unique ground for good living…fiction?…only words?…love is real…loving is a dance of love, when love is share…at least, what is non fiction?…a human being lives with audacity…courage is up beat…loving is all and far away fiction, cause loving is something that encompasses all, even imagination, or seizing life…future is fiction joy grounded…any end can be a happy end

leafs of life

as a weaver I keep on  doing arrangements of my life leaves…weaving my life leaves for my dressing…the second skin…to stay with you, my third skin…weaving with words, letters, writings, readings, lovingly living surrender…no thinking…no reasoning…surrender

lovers, just do love

and keep on the daily trials…some downs…some ups…get up and keep on loving…is the only thing that matters…and does not matter where love lead us…loving is all

the old man and the web sea

as a writer I recognize the influence of the writers…Hemmingway is this post…and I feel me as the old fischer in my sailing boat that arrives on my fatherland with nothing…no fish…no gain…no triumph…no award…and I am preparing the arrangements for my next fishing work…the sea is bluecolorful…with my blues I navigate imprecisely, but confident in my will…an old man in the web sea

e-epistolary

but I must recognize that internet is somehow useful…and I feel me happy when I feel that I am not sending a letter to no one…in the web sea the letters in the bottles reach the destination and how good is receiving a letter from someone that is lovely and sincere and also do the work of writing letters…dialogue is my home…if not, blogging would be only a soliloquy, sad and blue soliloquy, lost in the web sea…a letter is a body…the words and the intention is the soul…the writing reading is love…the flash loving instant of writing reading moment…the instant of a moment…the intuition of an instant of peace and freedom and love

epistolary

I like to write letters…and receive letters…people should write more letters…a manuscript…then go to the post service…await the arrival correspondence…nowadays, however, I continue writing letters and awaiting the correspondence…that arrives rarely, scarcely, barely

a letter to my grandchildren

my grandchildren,  I love you so much…you are an inspiration to me…you are full of courage…my grandson is well, the hair is growing, and his brother will complete one year old…the other little boy will comple four years old…my dear grandchildren, when I be older than I am I want to be so courageous as you are and feel joy like you feel…our loving is my inspiration to keep on the road in these dangerous cities, in this mistery of life…I am a happy grandfather…love is my ground, loving is my home…and my friends are my lovely and loyal pilgrim companion…I hesitate on posting this letter, but I am also a writer, and utmost, a lover keeping on loving in despite of all

fatherland

with my awkward english I continue again writing a letter…a correspondence…an epistolary…even though an epistolary supposes a correspondent…to my fatherland…my home country?…no…to my father?…I don’t know…to my mother?…I don’t know…perhaps I am writing this letter to the child inside myself in a hope effort to nurture my loving daily trials…my morning star…my evening star…I like the moon…I feel me close to the moon…the sun gives light to the moon…at nigth I can see the moon and the stars and the human goodness clearly…love is something in between people

weaving loving words

sometimes I feel me a weaver of words…with words some building I can do…a dress for my soul…in this winter night…weaving dress…weaving a word of letters…loving is like a dress…a cottage…a shell…a protection…weave with words…one after another…some writing…some warm homeland: loveland…letter, letters, words…a weaver of leafs of my life…to dress you too…winter nights, warm loving…joy of loving a free living surrender…love is more than a word…a life pattern…from blue to blues…a weaver’s letter of a lyrics of a joyful song lullaby…for you…from me