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Month: November, 2012

self help books

these books are in a big number in any library…online and offline libraries…online books, e-books and traditional books…I have some myself handwritingsnotebook manuscripts, some readings notes and appoitments, some avulse writings, some wanderings manuscripts, some very short books regarding some specific themes, some calendars with quotations, and so on…and I guess these self help books are of worth value as a way to offer literature, I mean, opportunity for reading something to people…people are so various persons with each person being an unique one…yesterday I watched an old woman reading one best seller contemporary book, a trilogy, and she get with her the three books…I sit down in a café for a little rest and I notice she reading the books, randomly searching some pages in the three books…also, I noticed some men, not so young, reading books, more than newspapers…and what touched my heart, a mother palying joyfully with her little child with a mobile device…the child was playing free and really engaged in the play…some other persons were talking with celular devices…some persons were all the time writing in celular phones and other digital devices…I don’t know closely the mobile devices yonder my cell phone and notebook…after, I walked and find a rare book in a short library…out of print…in traditional frame…still new, with some mark of time passage…this book was ‘the art of love’, from e. Fromm, and I get this book on my hands and I wrote some passages…I have some other older edition in english…and after reading these randomly choosed pages I noticed the magazines…manyn magazines are occupied with self help…but I purchased nothing…at this library people were watching books and magazines…few were buying…then I returned to the same table at the café, ask for another coffee and I noticed that the old woman…not so old…continued her reading…and most of the men were talking with other colleagues or friends…few continued reading…mother and child were not at the café, and I think that it was time to go home and the mother was right, and after some minutes I saw them walking to parking lounge to go home…I imagined this, but I guess they were coming home…and I returned to my work place…self help books are very interesting books…I read some of them as I read Shakespeare…literature is a single one, literature is this reach at some heart of a writer effort through reading…reading in so many ways as the little child and her mother were playing…from all my self help books I’ve read some echo of late readings come to up sometimes…a traditional and old book I like to see is ‘how to do friendship’ and ‘positive thinking’…among many… the just look at these books helps me so much…I like to see old magazines…the only touching old books of self help that I rememeber in the bookshelt of my childhood house…the magazines my father and mother like to read…many other books that i like to read since my childhood…some other reveries of music listening…my father and mother like music…my mother played piano very well…utmost one tango named ‘cumparsita’…she played with great emotion in the last years…my father liked very much music and reading…he told me someday that W.S. Maugham book ‘the razor’s edge’ was the best reading he was done…my mother liked so much to read poetry…when I feel some deep woes blue I see these books and magazines and music vynil units…when I get in blue I see self help books and old magazines, I sense that it’s all right with me…that positive thinking is important…that be optimistic is important…that friendship is important…when I feel blue, I sense help seeing my old readings, handling old magazines…the imagery and photos in old magazines bring me a sense that living is hard and good…randomly seeing old magazines and books of self help helps myself…if in a self help book inhabits good will and intention, the self help book may help…it’s required the reading…I noticed at this café that the youth people, were listening music and videos talking lively, and I sense that it is good too…in this contemporary world the art is a worth brick for building better cities and builts for people walk and sense the moon in sky, the flowers in a street, the birds singing in a business day…I don’t know whar are business days…when I get down in blue I help myself to stay close to people…I was missing, at some time the child at the café invited to play…and I accepted gratefulness…Dear Lord, you give me hills and mountains…I can walk…I help myself too…self help, helping the self…at the tempest, my ego and self were blowing in the storm…the objects and book were falling, but I not…when everything fall, love remains…I am here…any book done with art and good will is worth value…the simplest book one can imagine…some my old writings on the sand near the ocean in my childhood…my castles done with sand…the sea lead with itself the castles and readings in the sand…love remains…my intention remains…I am here…these readings of self help…the old self help books and old magazines…seeing them bring me a sense that I am in good stand…books that help are good books…I remember a short story: a child asked for the school librarian some old books…after the child made an arrangement…sit upon the hill of books and could watch better her prefered movie

five months, a personal writing

today completes five months my mother is not with me…we walked together…we talked lively…I sense her presence in many ways…some special smile in my face…some unique sight for the life…the feeling of joy and gratitude she always expressed…she prayed with joy…me too…these parties of Christmas and new year parties bring me a lot of sentiment…I feel my mother and my father with more serenity…I sense that they want that I live happy…and I fell happines, joy…I can work…I am alive…I take care for life…I take care for all the people…perhaps the best way to honor my mother is keeping on the road with confidence and trust is human goodness…I am not counting, I am noticing this day as a day of remembrances for me…reveries of happy days  with her…I give her all I have, love…we stayed in touch all the time…she lived ninety one years with joy and much work…I know these time of parties present some challenge for me…but sensing the sentiment of love turn on these parties a so more worthy for me…the best compliments is permit to myself to sense missing, some sadness…and till now I feel this lost as so painful…however, I try to be gratefulnes to all joy and happiness we shared together…she was happy…she is happy…somehow…the best i can do is keep going on caring myself and all the people I live, all people that love…love is the sentiment that keeps me close to joy and accepting the real of life…I feel birth and death as two birds flying joyfully…I sense love as what remains when all fall…love is joy, freedom, trust…these parties is for celebration, and I will celebrate as I do everyday…everyday I celebrate the life…support the bad news…celebrating the good news…but without you, it would be almost impossible…without you my writings would be a collection of words…without you my daily life would be harder…without friendship, no truly celebration…without you, friend, my music would be only sounds, the flowers only flowers, the songs only noise…my father and mother liked dancing very much…me too…I liked clogging, the dance of the mountains…the love I feel…the love I sense…is like a dance…an endless dance…a danced passion

happy lunch

I drive my car with very caution…I sense the streets dangerous, and are…my old car is not auttomatic…my old car is old…I drive it at weekends for not crashing it for no use, but I am considering to not drive more than necessary…what does occur is that I like to listen music at the radio…the sound sounds very well…so, I go to my saturday lunch…carefully I entered my car in the drive thru…the waitress or hostess asked to me ‘sir, what to you want?’…’I want a happy lunch’…she annotated in a mobile device…then she asked me ‘how do you wil pay?…’with money…’…she marked the mobile device…then she asked me ‘sir, do you like opera and classic music?’…I was listening some beautiful pieces of Beethoven…’oh!, I like veyr much. Thank you’…she said ‘you hace good taste’…and I replied ‘you too. Nice to meet you’….she said ‘good afternoon’…’I say…’for you too’…and put my old car to drive because another cars were hooting somehow nervously…I keep listening the classic music ‘flute in the air’ and other sweet musical pieces…after I stopped my car at the lounge, stayed inside, conditoned air on, and listening the music and eat a good lunch…and sense it a happy lunch…utmost I was little surprised with the attention the young lady gave to me…her attitude, her tendernesss, her attention, her curiosity, her empathy, our affinities, her lovely questions…bring me so happiness…I stayed for a while watching the slow sundown…at saturday my lunch is in late hour…sensing the music, sensing the goodnes of this young girl, too young…but so lovely!…such a rare moment seems a miracle….a mirage in the desert of this summertime…I stand this way for a half of hour…noticed some birds, the leaves of the threes moving slowly…the bluecolor sky turning pink color…the sundown moment…just before night arrives…after, I was to supermarket, but I entered in the movie lounge for watch ‘troubles in the curve’…a wonderful work…when I was purchasing the ticket I listened ‘sir, your senior ticket’…the word senior sounds good…I replied ‘yeah… thank you’…and get some popcorns with me…a happy day…a happy life…a happy lunch…I feel somehow something like ‘one day, one my life’…and entered the common movie lounge, traditional…no threeD…or so on…I like traditional movie…and the remebrance of the happy lunch make me feel happy with the tender and kind dialogue with the young hostess…she turned happiness on my day…and now I am preocupied with the future of this young generation…what can I do…even a senior man, what can I do…waht can you do for a better world for the future generations…so illusionated with the digital tools…but this young lady I feel as hope, I feel as a sign that I can keep going on confident in human goodness…I am not alone…she is not alone, I hope…I want to do more than I do…but life is so short and art is so long…too long for a senior man like myself…but I am on the road…alive…in good stand…this is the matter: gratefulness, perception, love loving path…love guide us…love guides me…I don’t know what love is…do you know?…if you know, don’t tell me, i don’t want to know what love is…I sense love as a sentiment full of joy…like my happy lunch…the joyful surprise of the perception that the youth may be close to what makes matter: love…and lovely and daily acts…such a memorable lovely dialogue…this was a gift for me…the attention she gave…utmost, her perception of the music…she is young…she is hope…she gave me a happy lunch at a beautiful sundown when the stars were arriving…and I entered the movie lounge…the last film I watched was ‘beyond life’…two years ago…such a long time…clogging, the name of a mountain dance…happy lunch, the name of my inner dance…perhaps happiness is simple one, as an expansion of the sentiment of gratefulness…the sentiment thatvliving is worthy…the perception that poeple are good in their realm, in their deep heart…a hearth for my heart, in a summertime, in a memorable saturday, after a sundown free friday…at night I could talk with good people and rest for a couple of hours…I like the night…I feel the days may be happy too…I like to dance…clogging, the name of an interesting mountain dance…a great film…a great saturday…a happy day…I try to live each day as a good monday…anyway, each day is an opportunity to me to listen whose listen too the sound of a music…the tenderness in a gesture…the life going on…for the long road, for the highway…everyday can be a happy day…depends on me…depends on how I live each day and I am dedicated to live better, so, I can help the building and reinvention of a better world for the children be happy with a lunch and the loveliness if each lovely gesture…any lovely gesture builds new builts…builts of help, bricks of help…freedom, joy…a happy world when children can sense a happy lunch and create new stories…I don’t remember now the month’s story, but I get with me the souvenirs of this happy lunch day…that launchs me in new endeavors of lovely buildings…lovely work…a better world in which children can sense a sincere happy lunch

rainbow free days

today is friday…from the word roots, freeday…I sense love so close to freedom!, but how much work to place healthy boundaries and limits in my personal privacy, my three ecologies…I notice a fourth ecology and this fourth ecology regards to digital life as I can name it…digital life is related to computers, tablets, internet, mobile devices and so on…I recognize the usefulness of these tools…with caution I write modern tools…but when I reach here crossing an amount of digital objects impairing my navigation, I sense how hard work is feeling freedom, liberty, joyfulness…all I can have is not all purchased…loveliness is not possible to purchase or buy…tenderness is not possible to purchase or buy…fredom is not possible to purchase or buy…I mean, iner freedom utmost…even when bad things does occurs, this inner freedom is the realm of sensing love…love can not be purchased…love is not possible to purchase, buy or rent…empathy is not possible to buy…trust is not possible to buy

gratefulness

gratitude is one of the finest fragances of love…together with joy, peace, tenderness, help, hope…love seems a so beautiful flower, a so worth sentiment…I try everyday to sense gratitude, uppermost when bad news arrive, when tempests come, when hurricanes reach us…when I feel blue…when I feel the pain of losts…when I feel me concerned with the wellnes of all people of the world…after my recent lost my daily trial is write something here for share with you my trust and confidence in human goodness…sense gratitude is very hard at bad times…gratitude is very hard to feel when in pain…gratitude, however, more than a word, is an inner and out work, with good will…daily living is hard…daily living is a challenge…sensing love, however, keep me close to the most important: being alive and living a lovely life…when everything fall, love remains…when convictions and certainities fall, love remains…I get up from blue singing blues…and this upheaval is love grounded…I sense gratitude for writing now…one hard matter is to keep sensing gratitude in adversity…gratefulness inhabits my heart and my writings…from gratefulness I can share what I write…the writing is somehow something yonder the content…something tiny, fine, soft…that I notice in any work done in good wil…art is love grounded…literature although more discoursive and so close related to sewing words is art…we read the world…I read the world, the events, as i read books…poems…fairytales…in this way, tle path of love is plenty of gratitude…sometimes when deep woes cry, the calm down comes from some sweet lullaby…the lyrics of any lullaby, of any berceuse, is done of easy and lovely words that leave an intention of calmness, sweetness, confidence…trust is human goodness, in human capacity of doing good things…utmost when bad news arrive I try to stand close to my gratefulness because any bad thing can only be overcome with love sensing…love, a hearth for the heart, the whispered lovely word i can listen from old memories of childhood…from near and dear friends nowadays…any kind word, any tenderness manifestation, any human joy sensing, make feel that life is worthy because love give life al the time…when feeling a painful lost, I never feel that it should be better not to have birthed…and I am in good health, I am in good stand…people can survive to tragedies because consciously or not love remains and gratitude rebirth…love is peace, inner and out peace, freedom, joy…gratitude for all…living is a hard daily trial, but lovely, so lovely experience!…when I get in blue, I watch the blueclorful sky of my childhood, the colorful blue photo in my desk, I sense the reveries of days gone by, but the fragance of good days remains, always…gratitude lasts forever…someway I want to write that love is supreme courage, be grateful is supreme courage, be lovely is supreme courage, sensing my tears droping is supreme courage…I am a common man…love is common…is our common home…somehow these holidays parties are opportinities for me to stay close with my father, my mother, my family…and you…without you my writings are only a collection of words, my life is only an event…life and love are two birds flying near a calm ocean that refuses no river…life and death are two wings flying far way my imagination…love is what I sense as the sweet sentiment that living may be a joyful path…love is a flower, a kind gesture, a lovely act against non sense…love and its fragances make the wishes of health and peace and freedom and joy be realities…I love to be alive and i feel deep gratitude for all, but without you, this writing would be only a collection of words…gratefulness is not a word, gratefulness is our common home when living lovely and in trust of human goodness

the tempest, two months later

the tempest that changed my house arrangement was cost expensive, uppermost was emotion expensive, time expensive and today I can watch my house in another fashion, not so different, but different…perhaps well arranged…my safety corner where there are my prefered chair, spotlight, souvenirs of all sorts, pages collected, personal objects, some my father and mother and friends writings, a kind of corner for relaxing, some meditation, reading, some hand writing, listening devices as my old cd player and my vynil craft device, well, this place is today surrounded by some hills of books…some books I lost…a lot of books I placed in another lounge at the second floor where there’s my acoustic piano and my eletronic piano and a special small piece of lounge out door where I can see the sky, feel the winds, hear the city sounds…there’s my little hearth and a plenty of self valued objects of art, paintures, sculptures, another littel garden, and so on…I live in a modest house…the tempest two months later changed the house…and changed my conviction that the my chair corner was the most safety place of the universe…the tempest tested my capacity of survival, take fast actions and so on…some change I notice in myself…as love do, this tempest changed my life somehow…I need to mention that my home remained safe all the time…my home is what I put in my house, my daily care of the house…it’s roof, walls and building structure…manutention is done with more attention…the neighbors are more aware of this task…I may write somehow that today I stay well in this new arrangement, somethings are in better places…I discovered some books and notes that I was missed out…I live in a little house and my recent and daily efforts of inhabiting well my house made it a better house, and a more sweet home…’home, sweet home’…a mountain of books remained untouched…at the top of this mountain I appreciate more accurately the worth of life, the worth of a house, the lovely work of a home…home is inside me…and at the same time, my home is the world…even when I sense the danger in the streets, the urban violence in the city…I don’t walk on the streets in the city I live, so I walk in shopping center…in one shopping center, plenty of remembrances, where there’s my prefered restaurant, where I meet rarely some people and friends, where I can watch a movie…perhaps this skyfall tempest made feel me in an almost impossible mission: keep confident in human goodness, sense the solidarity, sense how well living can be…sense the sentiment of love with joy, freedom, peace and gratitude…my health is good…I am alive…I feel great gratitude regarding living…the tempest present me a challenge…I was responsible to this event…I may write today that everything is all right regarding me and my loved people…love resembles a tempest, but love itself is like a happy and calm sailing day in a serene sea and a sparkling night when the moon and the stars turns this time of night a fairy night, for rest, for celebration, for love…shared with  whom love…yesterday night I attended a dinner meeting…watching the sky the quarter moon was beautiful and I invited her to stay with us

midwifery

I feel writing sometimes as a midwifery…the birth of a handwriting, a manuscript, a text…is sometimes a hard work…what occurs is that as a writer I permit the fingers type the words…I am a tiny matter as a writer…in between me and the writing the birth labour…I try to help the words come to a handwriting, as if I am not the father nor the mother of the text…as a writer I am an author…there’s exist almost no ventriloquism there, but some does exist and comes from the readings, the listenings of people’s talk, the listening of music, the listening of the winds sounds, of the birds music…yesterday I listened some songs…and the lyrics stayed till now while I am writing this sweaty post…some old songs, some new songs…some songs last forever…one song sounds in this handwriting…love is not a game…love is not a losing game…love is not a losing hand…oh! dear Amy, I miss you…the melody and harmony of the your voice, Amy…the lyrics of an impressive and strange beauty and pain…’love is a losing game…for you I was a flame…I could not stand….love is a losing hand’…I know this lyrics in deep…somehow all the pain in love path may be bigger than the imagination…love is more than a word…love is a strong free sentimental movement…for this reason I mentioned love as a sweet hurricane…as in my experience, love breaks concepts, convictions, fictions, timing…love is a sweet one however…the pain in love does not come from love itself…love is not a chance nor a choice, but some responsibility to a meeting…I feel me close to this pain, but this pain does noot come from love…perhaps come from concepts and convictions and circumstances…love itself seems a flower, a blue rose…une petit rose bleue…sometimes it seems as if love does not exist, only pain and lost..but the main expression of love is joy and peace…I understand this hard path, I am in this hard path of love…useless love…love itself is not a tool…love itself is an experience of share love…love is not my propety, nor your’s and of no one’s else…my loved ones are not my peoperty…my life is not my property…love is our common air…sometimes breathing seems not enough, but this is an illusion…love is opened always…I must stand me opened to love…but sometimes the path of love resembles a losing game…I feel losts…I miss…I feel deep woes…life so short, art so long…an regarding love, no lessons, no classes, no learning…only sense love…lover, keep living, lovers keep surviving, lovers keep loving…love is a hard inner and out work… togetherness, trust, confidence…in despite of pain and in despite of all…when all the things broke, when all walls fall…love remains…closer to choice than to chance

surviving

yesterday I feel me in troubles…I did the common  things as going to supermarket, some house arrangement…these common things, but I am feeling like a pilgrim at the desert…spring arrived and summer too…there’s some alternation in the climate each week…last week I worked a lot and the sense of a autumn like atmosphere makes me well…yesterday was a heat day…after the supermarket I take the direction of shopping center…I stopped for a little moment for listening the cell phone…and after this pit stop i watched the horizon and the moon was there…a new to crescent new moon…the moon was solo at that moment…while I watched for a while the moon some songs came to my soul…some old songs my mother whispered for me…then I feel a sense of good well…I noticed I was not a survivor…my grief lessened in strenght and a soft surrender to this epiphanic moment turned me on a living person…somedays I feel a survivir…a pilgrim walking at the desert…I stayed close to the moon and to all good things in life…it’s better to notice joy, beauty, peace, but it’s difficult when this season of my life bringed so many losts…remembrances of my mother and of my father…remembrances of my childhood…some envisionment of my future…somehow I am aware i am not so young…nor so old man…in between these sentiments I go on the road…the long road…the high way…I notice that watchness is a way to stay connected with life…sensing the winds…the birds…people’s voice…people’s presence…in the core of my heart I feel a deep grief…I like to write more than I can get…sensing the winds in my face while watching the moon I feel me happy somehow…the tears dry by itself and the wind helped…for a while I sense no thinking…just me an the life…just me and the world…I sit down in a café and feel well…I am alive and in good stand…I like people…I like the life…I like freedom…I like peace…at the café I sensed that my complaints stayed silent and the joy while watching through the moon became great…I sensed also a gratitude…perhaps the moon was watching me too

talking

just talking…the human voicing…the mutual confidence…trust…when I read somehow I am talking with the writer…when I write somehow I am talking with you…alive talking is main theme in this my writing…alive talking is a rare one…I shall listen and listening is hard…I must open my mind to listening…and when I speak, I am confident that I am listened…I notice that talking is hard and far away from some ventriloquism…the sense of my own voice…the sense of your voice…but voice not as a tool…voice as the first sense as noticed by a baby…perhaps listening the silence is impossible…I guess the comments can be a dialogue…life sounds!…I listen now the birds singing…the sounds of the city…at the season crossover…going to summer…today the climate is good…everything seems all right…and it is possible…some instant…of solitude…of inner peace…and writing is a trial to talk with you…love talks through us…the voice of loving…a whispering…a loud voicing…I listen the winds today…perhaps some autumn news

reader, writer, dialogue

as a writer I have nothing to say, so I write. I am a reader…I notice in some my writings echos of all my readings. Reading is a dialogue among me and the writer. As a writer I also offer an opportunity for dialogue. And there’s occurring a soft dialogue. Without dialogue, freely dialogue, vivid dialogue, perhaps literature would be of little importance  to me…some shared soliloquies. Soliloquy does not is important for me. Coloquy is what is worthy. Dialogue is worthy. But I can not dialogue with a writer if not some support for this is not offered. I am not writing about chat and so on. But dialogue with whom reads my writings. I am alive. You are alive. So, let’s talking. The human voicing through written tools is somehow a blog. Blog is still an underestimated source of talking on behalf of mutual trust. I can sense some people somehow in a comment. No comment is of interest for me. But if I sense good will I guess dialogue is a justification of a blog. I am not here only for writing. It is an illusion. I am here for dialogue. I like very much when I sense in a comment an openess to dialogue…to love. Literature is not for walk nor for fitness. Literature is art and art is the perception of the human being needness of expression. And art is when the author and the work done are almost the same. I am also my writing. You are also your reading…our choices…of celebrating the joy of humankind. Optimism? Sure. The world is an ongoing building and invention…from the work of good people…people that can sense love…letting go the voicing…loosening free voicing…tears with no fear…I don’t sense life exactly as a game…if I sense this way… life is a loosing game. But I don’t like games. No games. I am involved in art…and without love, what is art?, what is fashion?, what makes matter?…only love…I don’t know what is love. I sense the sentiment of love…a so polifonic word, but love is not a word…a word is a tool. The voicing of love is my task and my writer work…and is what guides my readings…dialogue, talking, just talking, a so great endeavor…hard…simple…good.