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Month: October, 2012

sweet hurricane

love seems a hurricane, a sweet hurricane, but a hurricane…thunders in the sky…danger…caution actions…the force of nature, a hurricane…to love is someting like a hurricane…a storm…I am not the same after a love hurricane sweet event…sweet because love is sweet…love is always freedom…love is always joy…love is always peace…after the love hurricane passage…and during the passage, courage, caution, personal safety…but love is close to a storm, far away a soft summer breeeze…the word love is used for many events that resembles love, but love is unique…to love is supreme courage…some control…some discontrol…some fear of love…full joy of love…love shakes my mind concepts…and hearth my heart…love somehow requires reality check…rock and rolling the real creating realities…all the pain and fear and suffering and losts and missings…are in the loving path…but does not come from love, comes from the break of my concepts, convictions, control illusion…I can direct somehow my love movement…but love is a movement itself…a sea calm…a sea in storm…a nice navigation…a hard navigation…some control, some no control, because love leads me…love is forward…love is ahead my perception…I sense love…the look of love…the voice of love…the sound of love…love leads me, love guides me…but love is not inside nor outside myself…I don’t know what love is, but it seems a hurricane…the experience of love is a courageous task…disrupts boudaries, creates others…healthy boudaries…needed boundaries…because when I fall in love, I don’t fall…I feel myself as placing me at the top of a high mountain…Dear Lord, some times give me hills, sometimes a mountain…at the top of a mountain I am in love…I love…I am loved…beloved…releasing love is releasing me…loosening fear…freeing my heart and soul and body…but is not a matter of thinking…love is a matter of experience…overcoming the hurricane passage, rebuilding builts…watching with new lens the new realities…and work, hard work…when I fall in love, I don’t fall…what fall is my certainities, convictions…love is a truth…an experienced truth…it’s good no interpretation or explanations…love can not be captured by any mean…love meaning is joy…after the storm, I send a warm regard…I guess that even if I can not survive to the love hurricane, I continue living is other realities…love is rebellious one…love is a strong experience, with coutless stories, fairy stories of how love is…I sense love as being one, and lovers is counless, as if I would get myself in counting how many stars were close to the full moon last summer night…spring arrival together with summer storms…at the highest mountain I sense the fresh autumn air…writing is not for walk…reading is not for walk…love is fresh air…inspiration and transpiration…water drops on my face…hot days…I don’t fall anymore…I seek a climatized place, a corner, to rest and breath fresh air…and sense love as a needed sometime painful and hard experience…and event, I want to survive…I like living…I am alive…love is a strong event with joy and peace at any step…when ego and self are blowing in the winds…I fall in love, but I don’t fall…if I fall, my love remains safe…love protects…love is enough…a hard path, a loving path, a sweet path…I keep standing good watching ego and self blowing in the winds…I am always here…me and you are always together…without you, no fresh air…we can go on together through life and beyond the mountains, storms, and fear

my jazz trio debut

as far as living lovely is concerned and from reading and readings I show a joyful jazz trio…phylosophy, science and art…the music peformed is related to many things…the basic thing I want to mention is that art highlits love as a truth…art do the melodic frame…and harmony comes from phylosophy on bass and science as arragement an final shape…this my jazz trio is performed by piano, bass percussion and string instrument, may be saxophone  or another…each performer is in touch with the other…the basic three components plays a jazzy music…jazz taken as a word accepts various meanings…the main meaning comes from an african idiom…malake, and can be traduced as ‘living intensively’…’living passionately’…’living lovely’…this third meaning vomes my personal interpretation…what is love?…I send the question to phylosophy…how love is?…I send the question to science….does love exists?….sure. Art says, playing a solo moment of longer duration and beauty, a mellow melodic expression that captures my soul and place it in a joyful dimension…think a little, do something, and enjoy life….co labor for building and inventing a better future, a better world…in the contemporay scene, the global world means we inhabit one house, that must be one home…house full of love is a home…global, planetary, transnational…these adjectivation does not make matter…I live on earth, my heart is love…my house is the planet…my home is the love I share, I sense…I sense I am beloved…I sense I love…sense the feeling of loving love…longing to the love path is being in touch with you…and sense you are in touch of me…if I could I would play beautiful music and musical pieces all around the world…on every place…on every street…on every garden…on every built…on any country…for all people, with all people…such a great show, such a great preformance…because done from our work, lovely work…we is me and you and all the people…when a music is played  at a public lounge… children stay close and enjoy…people stay close, people that can listen the bell tolls…this my band announces it’s performance through a bog bell tolls ringing loudly…the music is good…the music is beautiful…the music is truth…the my jazz trio plays a music and the statement that love is truth…freedom in truth…peace is truth…joy is truth…love is the most apreciated music from the repertoire…some changes in the set list…some changes in the line up for the next show: local, world…hour: any hour…no fees…freesing truths and loosening people joy, the next music in the line up…the show is available inside your deepest realm and outside at the place you choose…the place is the world and retransmitted from Mars, already…lovers, keep living…lovers, keep loving…love loving…this is not only my jazz trio band…it’s your’s too…without you, no music

dactilographic writing

after a tachigraphic writing I write a dactilographic post…as I emntion dactilographic writing is builded from fingers picking each keyboard note of a computer or other digital device…in old times, after a tachigraphic sketch the writer shold translate into tiped craft machine, the dactilographic machine…I still like to write in dactilographic machines…even more in free hand writing…but I can not post a manuscript here, because a manuscript should arrive here as a manuscript photo or video, but I place here only words…mo image…no photo…no video…other languages!…visual language is very interesting, but I like hand writing…tachigraphy is an unique code that allows fast writing, human writing, for recording discourse and other manifestations…and placing this recorded tachigraphic work in a dactilographic form for record and future reading…when I feel urgence of writing I try to write fast, too fast, but the fingers do not are alligned with my brain and soul…the finger tiping is slowest…as does occur in a chat talk, little or no thinking and free handling writing and reading, cause the chat is another form of conversation without the need to listen the people with whom I talk…I don’t like video chat…I like the voice of people…I like writings of people…somehow, I like human imperfections…this writing is not an edited writing…some errors of punctuation, vocabulary, idiom, grammar and so on, is a show of my personal writing…I am not a machine…my free writing wants to be tachigraphic and dactilogtraphic…full or grammar errors…a plenty of my awkward english…but when I notice I am in a good conversation, I talk without thinking, or thinking almost nothing…writing fiction is an awkward one as so as talk…talk shall be a free voicing among people…writing is a free expression of a human construction with some semantics, meaning, sintax…a construction of a built word, and fiction is the support I have for facing the real…when rocking and rolling the real I create realities…and you too…editing a free expression is somehow an artificial choice, I talk free…I write freely…many languages in one language…written, read or talking or any human language choice is welcome if trust and lovely…tachiwriting, tachilove…with my fingers I am aware of the gift: I can write, I can live, I love and I am beloved…far away from a world of words, a world where people talk, sing, dance, pray, celebrate…I am alive…it is a miracle…the now seems a miracle, a mirage, as some image and memories from desert and sea travel…human language is the idiom each person can get and enjoy…each word a person say is important for me, if a lovely word…no lovely writings are difficult for me…read is also write the writing with the writer       adding charm. sense, perception, personal experience and love…always love, even slow loving moonlight, full moon nights…writing and publishing is taking blog seriously and with joyful good wil…a changing world…a possible better buided word…love path require flying capabilities, in a slow or fast form…I live fast or slow way my life?, but, away from this point, if I could I would live slowly love instants and faster the pain instants…tachi love writing…some manuscript form no edited…as a love letter full of passion…free love expression in any language is a need…and a right…and a duty, free duty…I love, I am in love, I am beloved…such a joy!

tachigraphic writing

writing and reading require time…require care…require attention…and I experiment the time challenge, the place challenge, a little away from when to write and read, where to write and read…also, I feel I must write fast…what I sense on mind and soul I try to write…my vocation as a writer is alligned to the reader…somehow, writitng is a way of reading a book, a sentiment, an emotion, an event, a remembrance, a paisage, a souvenir, a dream, a wish, a desire, a will, a help, an advice, a support, an enternainment task too, an elaboration in progress regarding life and living…stories are builded…shall be spoken in many ways…can be listened…as if writing was speak and reading was listening…the experiment of writng and reading is beyond these aspects…perhaps the main drive for writing is the creation of fiction for support of realities…the real is not the theme, but realities…rocking and rolling the real create realities…speak and talk are human creation work…as cooking…as building cities…as writing books…but reading is a special way of supporting realities…writing and reading are two wings…speak and listen are two wings…love is the flying…flying through living and sensing the life presence…love require perception…love is an unique perception and an unique sense…I can not describe, I can not define what is love, and this does not matter, I can not also define a life…even though I seize the day!, I can not seize my life…what is the time measure of a life?, what is the lenght of a life?, what is living?…I can express my experiment on living…living without love is like flying without wings, ‘una pasta sin sugo’, ‘un baccio sin amore’…the art is a fiction struggle to suport the real and the countless realities…love is what makes art a truth…love is trust in human relationship…human relationship without love is a pair of wings blowing where the winds go…the look of love…the path of loving…loving can make a person recognize the beauty of surrender to love, the courage of surrender to love perception and make this perception a better world…sewing words with love I can make warmth clothes for my deepest skin…love is for all…people, keep on loving…lover, keep on living…any art expression is a step against non sense, sadness and blue…this blue writing I try to write fast…the art so long, the life seems so short…seize the day!, but I can not seize a life…I want only to express my love…romantic?, ingenuous?…it does not matter…the world is an ongoing building…the bricks are love

loosening ego, freeing self

ego is for surviving, self is a way of living…does not exist ego neither self…these words mean somethings…I notice ego with less prestigious than self…if ego is somehow not so good and self very very good one…in fact, ego and self are the two wings I have to fly…but I don’t have ego, I am an ego….and I don’t have a self…I am myself…the same does occur when I point out that does not exist neurosis, but neurotics…I use the word neurosis here in a latu sensu with no other compromise with reality…so, I am neurotic, instead that I have neurosis…the jargon and vocabulary of psycho’s issues is largely used, with more or less consciuousness of the meaning…anyway, the intention of a voicing is what matters to me…the human voice is a window for wisdom, for living well…the only wisdom, live well, live with amor, live a loving path…at a crossroad in the path, I seek my intuition…I don’t know what is intuition…in fact, I don’t know what ego is nor self is…I know almost nothing…I know almost everything…knowledge is on the road for living well…I don’t know exactly what I mean witn living well…I guess living well is living with joy, the love supreme fragance…the look of love…and I  take some annotations and remarks about some reading of some kind of books and magzine’s articles related with love…none reading was about love, but perhaps about how to teach and how to learn…pedagogic titles…however, let’s take attention…love no one can teach, perhaps touch…love no one can learn, perhaps touch…sense the love…sense the longing to love path…the highway, the long road, someway the short cut point of no return: love, just…simple…difficult…I feel love does not admit adjectivation…deep love…much love…real love…abstract love…reflective love…logic love…test love….how to love guides and manuals…love remains love…beyond the worth ego and the essential self…even though, I sense the word ego and the word self…ego and self are words, somehow I feel these two words as wings that human beings must be to fly…not only birds fly…ego is a word related to safety…self is a word related to trust…love is a mystery…a sentiment…love is a perception, an experience…when I stay closer to the sea, I feel love…perhaps some whispering music from the sea waves at night…I like the night, I like the booggie, I like the dance of loving…a couple dance….me and you, when ego and self turn in to ashes…love is the realm of the human being…love is only share the love I feel, but I don’t know…someone knows?, what is love…it does not matter what love is…love loving is a joyful and lasting forever joy…no thinking, less thinking possible…full sentiment of amor…no class…no certification required, love, just…lovers, keep on loving…no matter what be love…we are love…people love …people is love…so, loosens ego, frees self, love guides and protect in the long loving path…someway, love is not a matter of chance nor choice, love seems an amorous gift…and for walking in the cities and streets…ego, self and free loving, open loving…just loving, it seems that ego and self are like tools…love is always ahead, love is the lead motif

summertime

just begun the summer time…put ahead one hour…looking for my clocks I changed the time count…timing the time, I must stay alligned with the clock time, the time of the equal hours…but time does not inhabit the clock…I prefer the natural sunclock…just taking a look at a shadow in a sunny summer day, at the same time, and contemplate the shadow at a place…the shadow moves itself acccording to the movement of the sun…and in rainny summer days, look sometimes for the clock…for affairs of love, both methods, the sunclock, the clock…the sun dial, the summer clock…may be digital clock, may be any clock…may be an old clock timing the summertime…in a big clock is written ‘ tempus fugit’…some acoustic clocks of old times…belling at each fifteen minutes…these old clocks that work in a mechanical craft..watch the mechanism working is interesting…I have also a water clock…I have also a sand clock, but I watch the clock as a duty…time passage, but I don’t like clocks…although I have many clocks, i would like to stay far away from clocks…these acoustic clocks have a sound…tic, tac…never forever, forever never, never forever, forever never…after adjusting timing crafts couting time devices I sit down and place this wandering writing…one hour, one day, one month, one year, but time, what is time…time and living stay closer…life so short, art so long…after sundown I feel me better, summernights, fairy nights…after sundown the arrival of the stars and the moon…the blossom of the flowers of the night…the sound of the birds of the night…the song of a summer breeze…time is like a moving thing…perhaps this time motion is an illusion…may be…may be the clocks are fiction…fiction is a craft that allows me to go ahead…at the timescope, the future as an intuition, the tomorrow beyond the real time…the movement of the real creating countless realities…the course of time, the course of life, at a place…time is a moving thing…now or never, now and ever…I keep cool…I try to complain as few as possible…the perception of the summer season, my needness of seizing the summer, and let the child inside myself play confident with the water…I like to imagine a good summer, near the sea, and sense the ocean as my compannion…and walking near the ocean, my hand holding her hand…I whisper near hear, sensing her heart beating, her parfum…’love is the ocean’… ‘hold my hands, hold my whole life too’…and a silent joy I can listen…sleeping near the sea, together through life…dreaming a dream, sharing peace, a piece of a fairy summer fairy night…I am a dreamer, she knows well…we can also go to the top of the mountains…we can also go to the south and to cold places…we can stay where we are…the summer passage is just a time passage, another season for enjoy life…I say to myself…four seasons for live…at summer time, I mean, any time is time for live, but autumn is my mistress

the tempest, one month later

since the cyclone passage my house is well, and me too…the books are all around the house…the place where I sit down on my chair for reading, meditating and so on is surrounded by books…this wall of books and papers and annotations and avulse writings and music is my own proctection…some things that are so important for me, like photos, little writings remarks, manuscripts!, this wall  I just rebuilded the day after cyclone…and even during the cyclone passage this corner of my libraryloungeshlternest remained untouched by strong rain water…by my right side a little light spot, other little books and other souvenirs from days gone by…at my left side my music devices, little and simple devices…I like cds players…and music I listen with headphone…this break of my wall is still a remarkable experiment…the bricks are books and during that late night some parts of thw wall falled…I take the meeded actions, but at the same time I contemplate this falling wall moment…I felt that only me could not fall…everything around me can fall, me not…just for rebuilding the wall and today the arrangement of this late night cyclone remained the same…the books are all around my house, even in kitchen…some books sustain other book hills…some bigger books sustain book mountains…crossing this landscape everyday I notice that it’s good…I remember E. Presley performance on Hawaii ‘Lord, now you gave me a mountain’…walking to the top of the main mountain I see her…a soft moonflower…like myself, some flowers like the night, the stars, the moon, the booggie, the dance, the joy of writing my lovely letters for you…yesterday I received some gifts…and my tears were as a rain of petals of flowers…I like the night, I like the moonlight…I alnowledge that the light of the moon comes from the sun…and I feel me closer to the moon…my love and my loving come fro us, you and me…love is a free sentiment…a highway…a longing path…full of joy…so, now I can write that the human goodness is love…I don’t know what love is…I love and I am beloved…loving is not a belief…loving is closer to trust, and yonder…for the long run of living I keep on living and my love is not of mine…spring arrived…soon, the summer…and I use at the top of the mountain in a full sunny summer days my sunglasses, my sunshade, and the protective sunscreen…skin is a deepest on me…and I count the time with my imptrovised sundial…the sundial is absolutely ecological, but I guess the  three ecologies is another issue…I like very much the summer, the summernights, the fairynights of every night, but when I look the stars flying I make a wish and stay at lounge for the another autumn arrival…I like the summer, I like the spring, I like the autumn, I like the winter, but autumn is my mistress

sunflower

here is spring season…I welcome every season, but summer is stressful to me because of high heat…my body don’t like…even though I want to be capable to enjoy summer…I remember the music ‘summertime’…with the tempestuous arrival of spring I listened yesterday B. Dylan recent work ‘the tempest’…somehow very different from the other work I feel a strong bass and a fast melodic and harmonic shuffle…the lyrics always touch my soul…his lyrics are poems…’how many deaths must a man will take, before yoy can call him a man’…so, I don’t know…I am letting myself go with the flow of the seasons…and perhaps I will travel in summer…I know, I go with myself in every travel…so, this trip summer is close to a dream…nowadays I don’t like very much travelings…much effort…some little travel, and come home…at summer stay in home is a good choice for me…work, do what I have to do and come home…now, my house is a home, a sweet home…a nestle in every season…a shelter, a protection…my deep protection is love…my deep protection is to love, this love inside myself that I share…I trust in human goodness…I trust myself, I trust yourself…so, walking down the streets, in a short walk, for doing what I had to do yesterday, I push myself to an open attitude for the events…openness is important thing…I try to think nothing…reveries of days gone by…wishing  good tomorrows…at supermarket I see a rare flower, amaryllis…I purchased my weekly flowers for my weekly bouquet…my weekly arrangement of flowers…and I realized that some flowers also like the night…I am not alone!…some birds sing at night, some flowers blossom at night together with the stars and the moon and my well being at night…the night comes to me a serenity…that’s good I can not change nature…I must adapt myself to nature flow, to time flow, to seasons flow…I send my questions to the wind, I listen the lyrics ‘the answer is blowing in the wind’…even though I send almost no question and I am not looking for answers nowadays…some state of mind close to meditation and contemplation…once more i realized that the light of the stars and the moon come from the sun…and yesterday, as today, the sun is sparkling shinny light, the temperature is warmth, the sky is blue, i feel me well, so, I try to not complain, I try to complain one time a day…I am trying to enjoy any moment…any moment shows a subtil beauty, any moment shows an invitation to live…lovers, keep on living…during my little walk and after my shopping travel, I noticed a big flower…yellow colouful…bright and alone…other flowers I see too, but this flower was alone, was unique at a landscape…near a café I like to go…I sit down in the café, ask fro a coffee and water and stan a long time watching this flower…it seems this flowers was talking to me…and I was talking to her too…at the horizon a beautiful and preety blue sundown with pink streaks, pink color…after a while, the night arrived slowly…the stars, the night sky, the new moon…the new moon is very little at this hour of my coffee…I was contemplating and so, I realized the hour at the clock…time to go to my another task…before going back I still waited a while watching that lonely flower that was a compannion at sundown…I send to this flower my regards…I send my greetings to the flowers of the night, but that lonely flower send to me a brilliant joy as if saying ‘it’s all right, go on…go on to the road’…so, I say silently to that flower that she, the flower, make that moment a great moment, I know the light of the stars come from sun…I like the sun, but the night is my mistress…so, I say silently ‘fareweel, sunflower…I must get my road’….such a good sunflower

writing

writing is an experiment too…I work with words, phrases, sentences, paragraphs…the language is not of mine…like bricks I put any word and phrase as building resources…bricks from readings, listenings, talkings…utmost I like talkings, lively dialogue, but it’s not always possible…as a writer I feel the writing as another dialogue…with you, cause I write from me to you, I don’t write for myself…when I read I read the words of a foreigner, for a while I get theses words as mine, as a reader the words of the foreigner, I mean the writer, but the same does occur when I write…as I feel as a writer like another foreigner…as a writer I am myself and all my readings and talkings…language is not my invention…what can be my own is the way I place any word…any sentiment, any thinking…but I write with almost no thinking…also, I feel my writring as a form to continue through the blancks, the forgetness, the discontinuity of the life flowing, the time flowing…perhaps a trial against the forgetness, the yesterday remembrance, the past experience…perhaps the past does exist only today…as sentiment, as remembrances, and future is a will of tomorrows…today is a wish of being a good day and today is all I have…today I live the day, the sunlight, waiting the moon and her sparkling joy…fairy nights, magic nights…I see the sky at night for see the stars and the moon and sense the lasting sentiment of longing to whole life…my life is part of whole life…at night even the painful sentiment rest, the searching for something I don’t know, rest…the troubles of the day and even the goods of the sunlight are transformed through the crucible in a longing sentiment of being close to the moon…this writing trial is a day trial of living well…but at night the moonlight turn on joy all pain and woe bringing a serene mind to my soul, so, I can see the day at night…I can feel the day ad hoc

stay today, come tomorrow

my akward english!, I don’t know the reason why I write in english…the simple is that I like to write in english…reading english texts I notice my poor english…reading poetry in english is hard…vocabulary, semantics, grammar…idiom…but the sound of english words sounds like a song…I continue reading even if all the words I don’t understand, but I feel the sense and the sentiment when I read and write…so, stay today, come tomorrow…nobody knows about tomorrow…although I stand on my road today, tomorrow I don’t know…so, I say to you, stay once more time and come tomorrow if you wish, if you can, if is it possible…this morning writing is some sketch of writings…some shuffle for work with words and phrases and sentiment…I say to her, stay tonight and come tomorrow…I guess i will stay here too…what about tomorrow?, a possibility, a wish, a will, an invention, the future…this is also a spring writing, I am letting go the winter, I welcome spring…I like flowers and a blue sky, but the sunlight is like a neighbour with whom I only want a good convivence…i feel some painful sentiment, because i feel some passion for moonlight, even if the sky is the same sky in any season, i like the night, the sky in the nights, i like the moonlight…the pain I refer is related to summer…summer is hard for me…although the night and the sky are the same, but the days are longer, the nights are shorter in summer…and I like the moon, the night…not the night for sleep, not for dream…I dream in daylight…as if i dream at day for live at night…somhow the night is not for rest for myself…I like the night for live, for stay with you…so, esperanza, stay today, we can share the night