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Month: February, 2013

my heart, and its beats

and listening my heart beating…beating like a drum…up beating…down beating…and I hope, ever beating…nowadays at a different compass…as I pace myself…different rhythms…I listen melody…I listen harmony…I listen some words…that nowadays compass seems five to four…fifty four beating…fiftyfour up…fiftyfour down…fiftyfour beatings…sounds loud sometimes…sounds silently sometime…ever beating…fiftyfour beats…fiftyfour timing…and its been beating since a long time ago…not so long…not so near…since I was born…the first heart beats come from my mother…and since I was born, I listen some two hearts beating…and far behind, countless hearts beating…that big drum…I listen…when our hearts of all peoples beat together…and we can sing and chant together…some mellow melody of the human voice I listen…many voices…one love…many voices…one voicing word…love…much love…one love…so many voices…one word…many words in a word…love…love glowing…love blowing…lovers singing one love song…fifty four beating compass…I keep on going the loving road…I listen…I read…I can write…such a joy!…such a gift

singing, chanting, and words

words are a part of me, and you…even when I hear a song, a pure melodic song, and pure signifies only musical notes…may be two beats in a drum in a sequence…one beat is different from the other…sounds differently…each one has a tune…an uniqueness, a singularity…these two beats are inhabited by different songs…and when I listen two drum beats, somehow each beat is inhabited by a word…when I sing the lyrics of a song, a little part of the lyrics, each word sounds differently, even when I sing silently, as when I pray…sometimes I pray in loud voice…sometimes I pray silently, but each word I can sense in my prays, sounds differently…frequently the first words present a tonality different from the final words of my prayers…the final words are more sweet…more soft…more peaceful…more grateful…more beautiful…when I am just chanting some words, or listending to a radio music…I listen more or less inside each word inside the song of the music…the musical phrases are composed of musical notes, but each musical note sounds differently…each musical note carries a word with it…when I chant a song each word is a song itself, and some paisage of words and images is presented…some imagination is ever present…when I love some music, some song, some sound…I can sense the song itself and the word close to it…it’s a matter of temperament…and singing and chanting words, loudly or silently, with love intention, with good will…all I feel is love…this one love…this one music…these countless words to sense one word…love…a word is a mark in a rock, in the sand, in a paper, in a book, at the skin…and is inhabited by a song…a word sounds, even when whispered silently…if we can sing and chant together, the words are ourselves in motion

tatoos

the drive of walking as a child beginning to walk by its own efforts…no lessons, just care…the childen walk by their will…and inner drive…as birds flow by itself, no lessons, no classes, no teaching, no learning…I can always entertain some classes or teaching, but flying requires no certification…just flying will…talking with words and other language tool, but words…written words utmost, even when not written in a book, not edited, not published…writen words at skin…written words at body…one word…two words…three words…more words…some figures…some portraits…some drawnings…some wrtiten words at skin…at sand, near ocean, where my sand castles still remain…the sea comes and throw away, but the castle in not only in my head…it remains near ocean…at the beach place…placing my castle work in the ever time flow…in the ever loving road…written words at skin…as to ensure stronger them…the words…the inner drive that inhabits any shared word…to last for ever…at skin…I could read wonderful tatoo art…when the love, more than a word, presents at skin…the deepest one…the skin…a body that needs the words…that fix the words…to stenghten their force, to protect the fragility of a shared word…a spoken, whispered, talked…or written word…at skin…that drive to communicate…to create a common home…our words…my written words here and now…if I go by, the words remain, as my sand castle builded in my childhood…I can touch these sand castles near sea in a rainny day…the castels at the sand…the castles at my skin…and also with words I share that home…just stay alive in!…please everywhere!…as yours skin…come in…don’t get out…together we can go to futures…heart joyful…always trustful…we can stop…enjoy some paisage…to keep on going…new paisages…new futures…one love…one word…and beyond…beyond convictions…beyond some certainities…let’s go together…trustful…no garantee…no rewards…just the sense of joyous living…let’s go through the futures…we can build it…roll on, time, roll on…roll on, loving road, roll on…I am never alone…in such a narrow way, still we can go together…one shared words is our motion craft…through the railways…through all skies…that futures not only in my head…there’s you…come on!…don’t waste time…we can spend the days and nights together…listenin the love whistle blowing…love is ahead, not only in my head…we can spend the time together…we release us in the loving road…just with that flowing river, that moving craft…dome of loveliness and joy…roll on, words…roll on, peoples…just to enjoy living…can you see?…the love is yours skin

two bricks, or three bricks

timing time…pleasing places…I can get two bricks to build a bridge to meet you in the middle…one brick is me, the other is you…one brick is the past, the other is the present time…two times, sounding as two beatings…down and up beatings, ever beating in my soul…in my heart…with the past and the present i can arrange a gift, and the gift is the perception of the futures…futures does not exist, futures is desire, will, reinvention, dailing construction…hard work…as the old redwork art…somehow with the past brick and the present brick I can build…past waters move actual mills, indeed…the third brick is more tiny and soft, and the word to mention it is ‘now’…this third brick is the real brick…the fact…the touchable and inaprrensible ‘now’…however, each time I can sense the now I can sense the eternity…eternity is untouchable and no apreension possible…the time flowing…the time passage…the life sensing…now…and now I can get the fourth and fifth bricks, jus me and you…as in an algebric fromula, i could count fice bricks…now is eternity…and eternity is some endless one…I can sense the endless at now instants of joy and playing…just playing fun as children do…my counting concludes that there are five bricks…perhaps six bricks…I mention love…one love…one day…one life…life is a subtil perception of time and place, a perception of being alive…tomorrow is coming…today I can wish a better tomorrow…at summer shuffle, the autumn is coming…these six bricks are enough…but the bricks are countless…there are more than six bricks…our home has strong walls…that home is done of words, of coutless bricks of joy and loveliness…a word written, or talked…is a complete home…one my half, the other your’s half…a sweet home, even if for instants at the ‘now’, where time flows, where places alive…at the point when my word touch your word…my hand touch your hand…at now, new futures, the ever horizon of wishes…best wishes…being truth…perhaps one brick…one love…one language…one sentiment…of being, for instants, one

the tempest, eight months later

time passage…fast…slow…some stop, to keep on going…the loving road…that spring tempest…throw away my very secure place…my safer corner where I just stay…at my armchair…my safer corner…remains the same…some new book hills…some new arrangements of books, papers, music player and some window paisage…that paisage is new…I take some book mountains and put it at other place…and from my armchair I can see the skies…the clouds…the rain drops falling at window….I can hear better the winds…I can listen better the birds songs…perhaps the house is in a better order…I walk free, surrounding the books…I arranged some new bookshelves and file cabinets…the basement is clean…the house is more colorful…some decorating trials…I added some color pillows…and another bouquet of  flowers…a petit bouquet…by my right side…near the spotlihght…near my old books…two red flowers…in a painture…a painture oil… my mother’s gift..that painture is now, near another…two green  flowers…at a blue horizon…roll on, summer, roll on…and all birds and flowers like…summer, autumn, winter or spring…roll on, summer…roll on, loving road…rock the real…create new realities…roll on, summer, roll…I go along seasons river…the flowing river…the loving river…I keep on writing…I take some stop…to keep on going…the loving river…roll on, summer, roll…I go trustful in human goodness…roll on, loving road…and leave within

birds, and the gable

summertime shuffle…shuffling summer…my heart is shuffle, ever trustful…after some summer storm…winds, strong rain, loudly and brighty thunders at sky…summer storm…summer tempest…seasons shuffling the time passage…somehow fast…somehow slow…a fast summer storm…water at the roof…the gable was thrown away…after some hours…a mellow sundown…some brand new night…some brand new days…at summer, some birds are going to other lands…some birds are coming from other places…i hear the sound…I hear the song…I hear the music…birds sing, some fine music…I stay for a while listening the birds talking so tiny song talk…they sing some songs like bem-te-vi…it’s their name: bem-te-vi…and from the big choral…some two birds singing for each other…perhaps two soul mates…who know?…perhaps some marriage at the roofs of other near houses…who know?…some sweet ‘bem-te-vi’, I listened…and immediately some more sweet ‘bem-te-vi’…and this couple of gracious birds keep talking and singing till the mellow sundown…I should face that summer storm…another gable was provided…at dawn, I wake up listening that cuple talking…joyously…and noticed another nest…the four nest…near a window of my house…these are other birds…working hard…working joyously…another autumn is coming!…futures are coming…I sing…I pray…I write…I work…I love…I am never alone…I am with you…the roof is good…welcoming seasons talking…welcoming futures building

the human voice

language…idioms…words…phrases…in a single word a sound and a song…mellow song…in a single word i listen the human voice…the singularity and fragility of the human voice…the real of communication…i’m not a machine, nor you…neither you or me are machines…i can talk through machines, but machines don’t talk…machines don’t feel…machines don’t do anything without the human choice to put machines in motion…we can talk through machines…we are not machines…I am not automattic, neither you…any human voice souding is humanity presenting itself…be a live talking…be the listening a music…be the read of a book…be the readingscope of sensing the world…in the realm of language, one language, one love…many idioms for so much love…love, one song…sounding loudly all through the universe…the human voice, even when I can not speak…or spell…or whisper…I sense some words…even if can not talk alive with you, i can write…listening the human voice…respecting the human voice…our common home…any word is inhabited by a song, the symphony of human voicing so wonderful words…the songs of love…roll, human voice, roll, and lead me within

saudade

language…idioms…words and phrases…anyone feels saudade…that words does exist only in portuguese idiom…but that word signifies some sentiment all peoples feel…since the civilization start it’s endeavor…saudade is some kind of missing, so close to losts…griefs…mourning… sadness…sudade is some reverie of days gone by…civilization begings with written words…writing at stones…writing at skins…writing at rocks…and the words does not exist only in my head…we share the words as we share the air…perhaps civilization begin it’s task with the first book…what is a book?, if not a recordable mark of human expression…a book is not a collection of phrases, but the human effort to build the world, and communicate…feelings, sentiments, emotions, facts, descriptions…to build a house, and a home…that first house is the world…be a lot of caverns…be the nowadays cities…after food and shelter, the communication…creating a common house…for survival, and living…and for have food and shelter, communication is some other tool…the words communicate bad and good news…the words are bricks of the world as a sketch of realities…I was watching a colorful mobile near me…at my house…it’s movement according to winds waves is captivaing…another mobile is a windchimes…and the sounds i listen from the windchimes is a mellow song of the wind…love is blowing in the winds…love is in the air…one love…one language…various idioms…the sentiment of missing…the sentiment of recovery…from time that gone by…communication…language…saudade…some recovery of mutual losses and experience to be acknowledged or remembered with dignity, honor, respect…to regroup…and keep forward…another day to come…another year to live…despite past water move actual mills…letting go of the past…receiving the futures…as a waving motion…a sliding motion…from past to futures, the only bridge is the present time…the now is close to eternity…intangible…some stillness, to go on…it’s always time to share love and joy…it’s always time to sense time…it’s always time to sense the art…out of time and space…out of vocabulary…something with words and beyond words, but an ever listened beat…my heart beating…like a drumm..down beating…up beating…your heart beating…our beating compass of the loving road…roll, loving road…roll, saudade, roll…the my heart endless beating…sounding loudly…as a word…a written words…even without my heart…some years behind…roll, saudade, roll…out of time…out of space…language…an affectionated gesture…my hand…your hand…hold my hands…hold my whole life too…I’ll never stop…beating my heart…saudade…an universal sentiment in such a single word…the soul inhabits the word…singing and endless lullaby

keep writing

after some period of time…what is time?…I keep writing here…what is place?…once more, the hardest part is the first words, the first phrases…once more I realize that there are no perfect words and phrases…literature is art expression…I guess I take that time from the last post thinking a bit more than is needed…thinking much is an obstacle to fiction writing…I also must to deal with other personal issues…but writing is strong enough inside me to stop…and i do also take some thinking about stop writing…however, literature is not a matter of thinking…some thinking, tiny thinking is enough…I noticed also the search for the perfect phrases, another mistake…art is human expression, and in this way art is imperfection…I also must face bad news…and feel me saddened…I also notice that writing is a vocation, not exactly a choice…I also feel me tired, and after some rest I noticed my concerns as a writer…I take the time also to read and re reading nemesis, the recent book of Philip Roth…and I sensed some affinities…why shall I keep writing?…but the fact is that I like writing…some times, I need writing…I write for share love and joy, in despite of all…and I write to stand near you, reader…if I am a writer, I have some readers, some peoples that read my writers trials…writing and reading are two halves of a lovely endeavor…I read the world in so many ways!…I listen peoples…I read books, magazines and graffitti…I listen birds…I listen winds…I listen storms…I listen melodies…I listen sounds…I listen songs…I listen the words…each word is inhabited by sounds and song…each word is a human mark…each word is a human effort to create the world…that readingscope, some fine listening and sensing the human being and the world…reading and writing are almost the same one…reading the yesterday storm, the sounds of thunders and winds…the temperature falling…the summer shuffle…shuffling summer, working upon summer…summer shuffle…my heart is shuffle…ever trustful…ever joyful…ever lovely…roll on, summer, another season is coming…roll on, summer…each season present a gift…my gift is enjoy summer…as I enjoy each instant at any season…somehow a day is inhabited by the four seasons…at summertime, the blossom heat days…at nights, some autumn memories and wish…roll on summer, leave me within…I live the four seasons…the seasons shuffling  my daily living…each season has a gift…the joyous troupe keep going all through the years…all through the life…I keep writing because I want to keep writing…I want to keep talking with you

500 posts, my writer trials

so, I feel so happy to reach here…I would name this writing ‘nemesis’, to honour the work of Philip Roth…also the name of his recent book…I hope he keep writing…I feel such joy because since the first writing trial…I sense support and fondness…honesty and sincerity…freedom and good will. I feel much happiness from the most important: friendship. I don’t know why do I write. I sense so great joy in creating so lovely bonds with so dear and lovely people! Today, I can write ‘my dear friends, if I  write and publish here, my home, our home, is because I love to share love with you. Without you, my so lovely friends, without your love and support, I would not feel so much joy, today. In despite of all, our one love is the only one important thing to me. If I write, is utmost for our talking. If I write, I just want to share lovely dialogue, lovely conversations. My warm embrace. Lovely regards. I keep on going…the loving road…with you. Friendship is love and joy together…now, and ever. Friends, so dear and lovely friends, my half dimension… if literature and other art expressions is worth and important, the reason is that each shared lovely effort make the world a better home…for all peoples’.