Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Metamorphoses: found an old poem and translated it
Metamorphoses :
Illness
I am You are no apple
an apple is an apple is an apple
is no apple
eats no apple
You can
not be an apple,
eat apples,
and understand all this
or nothing at all,
be a part,
participate
or be yourself
or be with me
or be without me
or not be present
or not be with yourself
I can dream you
dream me,
dream us,
wake in the mornings
I can hold on,
let go,
hold lightly,
stay away strong
In the wind we can
drift out of the wind,
shimmer, tiny specks of light,
whirl around, grains of dust
We burn,
we are scorched,
we drink.
we drown
We rise from roots,
we grow rootless,
we cannot stay,
we change
We walk,
We walk,
we perish,
we go down,
we walk across
life is a game?
whosoever reads this:
i am as crazy as you are, as hurt, as blind as you.
and who says not having expectations, preconcepts, illusions and
to know the limits: this one is just trying to stay aloof
and does not like to see herself or himself.
if life is a game, then let us play it and lose.
but it will play us, and we can only accept or not accept.
it leads to the absurd question: for some of you,
is orgasm only possible alone or with somebody else?
why and is or was it better with letting go and let life and
death and love happen?
alone is not a sin but boring.
for what?
goodbye, sleep. good morning, day.
i am alive. still.
why not..
but why not dis-appear?
a question thought asks, no animal soul could.
is love true or just a weird idea?
is it always corrupted by emotions and defence
and blinded by desire and longing?`
is my badness as natural as for a cat to play and kill a mouse?
i accept it in my cat as natural instinct.
should i not pay the same respect to myself?
i love my cat as there is no reason to hate it or to feel frustrated.
yo can share my weird ways of thinking outside 'norms'
or not.
i am as crazy as you are, as hurt, as blind as you.
and who says not having expectations, preconcepts, illusions and
to know the limits: this one is just trying to stay aloof
and does not like to see herself or himself.
if life is a game, then let us play it and lose.
but it will play us, and we can only accept or not accept.
it leads to the absurd question: for some of you,
is orgasm only possible alone or with somebody else?
why and is or was it better with letting go and let life and
death and love happen?
alone is not a sin but boring.
for what?
goodbye, sleep. good morning, day.
i am alive. still.
why not..
but why not dis-appear?
a question thought asks, no animal soul could.
is love true or just a weird idea?
is it always corrupted by emotions and defence
and blinded by desire and longing?`
is my badness as natural as for a cat to play and kill a mouse?
i accept it in my cat as natural instinct.
should i not pay the same respect to myself?
i love my cat as there is no reason to hate it or to feel frustrated.
yo can share my weird ways of thinking outside 'norms'
or not.
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
nice ? light and shade in flow
Grosses Lautertal.
meditation from a bridge.
flow, shade, light, color, change,
scent, sound.
a harmless moment.
no words.
Wimsen
Max Planck, When you change
When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.
Max Planck
the tower of bable, failing and longing
a personal im-pression, experience, loneliness:
we are all so hurt, we may find peace in ourselves
but not with others very easily or very often at all.
we cannot hurt make un-happened, but when we are alone
we can transform it in our loneliness.
when we meet, we may feel well with each other, but we are constantly
aware of the other as a possible enemy, as somebody who can hurt us
or disturb our presence.
we see the clouds, and we fight them.
me, i find it very hard to walk out of my cloud as well as to see
through the cloud of a woman i love. when she cannot come near to me
i want to hide in my cloud and paint it black. i drop out of presence...
between man and woman, when we love, often we try to fight love itself.
it is as if loving takes too much of our strength, but it cannot.
This is difficult to see.
and as we are, we will always again desire fusion as we will
always again desire death. It is the same. In another view,
death and life are the same.
to let go and to be alive is one and the same.
we experience and long for the stranger, the mystery of the
other person who is the other half of our self
and the same as our not-self.
we want to feel well and at home together,
but as long as we are alive there is the 'babble' between us,
the continuity of misunderstanding not only in languages but in
words and even in deeds.
Man and woman cannot heal each other but meet and in sharing
their joy, grace and warmth as well as their hurt, sadness and anger
they must change and grow and answer the continuous challenge
of another spirit and travel, moment for moment.
Only being conscient and aware of this challenge
they can touch their souls ,look into the mirror and
find consolation.
I don't know if i can do this. It is hard work at times, to be honest.
I don't want anything , and though i am filled with longing
to be embraced and at home, i am not free of fear. I fear myself
and my reactions to being hurt.
The memory of pain is stronger than any other memory
born out of the instinct for survival.
To walk out of this is the most difficult part, for me.
we are all so hurt, we may find peace in ourselves
but not with others very easily or very often at all.
we cannot hurt make un-happened, but when we are alone
we can transform it in our loneliness.
when we meet, we may feel well with each other, but we are constantly
aware of the other as a possible enemy, as somebody who can hurt us
or disturb our presence.
we see the clouds, and we fight them.
me, i find it very hard to walk out of my cloud as well as to see
through the cloud of a woman i love. when she cannot come near to me
i want to hide in my cloud and paint it black. i drop out of presence...
between man and woman, when we love, often we try to fight love itself.
it is as if loving takes too much of our strength, but it cannot.
This is difficult to see.
and as we are, we will always again desire fusion as we will
always again desire death. It is the same. In another view,
death and life are the same.
to let go and to be alive is one and the same.
we experience and long for the stranger, the mystery of the
other person who is the other half of our self
and the same as our not-self.
we want to feel well and at home together,
but as long as we are alive there is the 'babble' between us,
the continuity of misunderstanding not only in languages but in
words and even in deeds.
Man and woman cannot heal each other but meet and in sharing
their joy, grace and warmth as well as their hurt, sadness and anger
they must change and grow and answer the continuous challenge
of another spirit and travel, moment for moment.
Only being conscient and aware of this challenge
they can touch their souls ,look into the mirror and
find consolation.
I don't know if i can do this. It is hard work at times, to be honest.
I don't want anything , and though i am filled with longing
to be embraced and at home, i am not free of fear. I fear myself
and my reactions to being hurt.
The memory of pain is stronger than any other memory
born out of the instinct for survival.
To walk out of this is the most difficult part, for me.
Alan Watts, quotes:
“Problems that remain persistently insoluble should always be suspected as questions asked in the wrong way”
"Muddy water is best cleared by leaving it alone."
"Muddy water is best cleared by leaving it alone."
“Only words and conventions can isolate us from the entirely undefinable something which is everything.”
“We do not “come into” this world; we come out of it, as leaves from a tree.”
Mohammad Omar & Zakir Hussain - Shakal and naghma based on the melodic m...
Sometimes I forget completely
what companionship is.
Unconscious and insane, I spill sad
energy everywhere. My story
gets told in various ways: a romance,
a dirty joke, a war, a vacancy.
Divide up my forgetfulness to any number,
it will go around.
These dark suggestions that I follow,
are they a part of some plan?
Friends, be careful. Don't come near me
out of curiosity, or sympathy.
Jalaluddin Rumi
Monday, September 28, 2015
out of: extraction mentality, zenyogagurdjieff.blogspot.com,
"A few months ago I pointed out, via a facetious Facebook post, that most of man’s activities consist of digging holes in the ground or burning things:
Outline for mankind's modern program of activities:
1. Dig stuff that burns up out of the ground.
2. Dig more stuff that melts up out of the ground.
3. Melt that stuff with the stuff that burns to make new things which can both dig more stuff up and either burn that stuff or melt more stuff, or both.
4. Make more stuff out of it. Stuff that gets us to where we can dig up more stuff to burn and melt, for example.
5. Increase the volume of stuff that needs to be burned and stuff that needs to be melted.
6. Find endless ways to craft it into ingenious new stuffs, which support ever more activities that will cause more stuff to be burned and melted.
7. Declare, in the process, that burning stuff and melting stuff is a capital affair, vital to all national and human interests.
8. Burn or melt people who disagree with the way stuff that is burned or melted is distributed.
9. Continue, ad infinitum
I’m reminded of this cynical post by a recent observation about life. We live, I think, within what I’d call an extraction mentality: that is, we see life as a thing we want to extract things from. The process of living becomes a process of mining: we’re constantly looking for what we can get out of life, what it can yield to us in terms of pleasure, satisfaction. The idea is enshrined in the U.S. Constitution as “the pursuit of happiness:” an inalienable right, was well as an activity. When we talk about what we can “get out of life;” it is an essentially selfish point of view."
quote out of "Extraction mentality", see link below:
http://zenyogagurdjieff.blogspot.de/2015/09/extraction-mentality.html
NOTE:
"an essentially selfish point of view.."-
well, selfish is not bad per se, it is a matter of definition, in this case a
Christian definition.
the point is that it is a destructive way for the self and for mankind and for the earth
itself, for all us and for all other beings.
It is a separation of self from life.
This here shows the mechanics of alienation from life.
( and, maybe, this is starting with the very definition of self..)
1. Dig stuff that burns up out of the ground.
2. Dig more stuff that melts up out of the ground.
3. Melt that stuff with the stuff that burns to make new things which can both dig more stuff up and either burn that stuff or melt more stuff, or both.
4. Make more stuff out of it. Stuff that gets us to where we can dig up more stuff to burn and melt, for example.
5. Increase the volume of stuff that needs to be burned and stuff that needs to be melted.
6. Find endless ways to craft it into ingenious new stuffs, which support ever more activities that will cause more stuff to be burned and melted.
7. Declare, in the process, that burning stuff and melting stuff is a capital affair, vital to all national and human interests.
8. Burn or melt people who disagree with the way stuff that is burned or melted is distributed.
9. Continue, ad infinitum
quote out of "Extraction mentality", see link below:
http://zenyogagurdjieff.blogspot.de/2015/09/extraction-mentality.html
NOTE:
"an essentially selfish point of view.."-
well, selfish is not bad per se, it is a matter of definition, in this case a
Christian definition.
the point is that it is a destructive way for the self and for mankind and for the earth
itself, for all us and for all other beings.
It is a separation of self from life.
This here shows the mechanics of alienation from life.
( and, maybe, this is starting with the very definition of self..)
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Saturday, September 26, 2015
Without Saying a Word This 7 Minute Short Film Will Make You Speechless
for many years i cannot buy meat in supermarkets...maybe i cannot eat any
now anymore, i feel ....bad. nausea.
now anymore, i feel ....bad. nausea.
John Zorn Rituals Track 5
"verfremdung"(B.Brecht)....a method to gain distance whereas at the same time
here you could fall into a trance and stand next to you and listen
to this "crazy" universe, crazy meaning "free" space filled with
floating particles of impressions and sound...
here you could fall into a trance and stand next to you and listen
to this "crazy" universe, crazy meaning "free" space filled with
floating particles of impressions and sound...
Harry Belafonte - Try To Remember
well......not remembering so many easy days....only, hardly, the image
and feeling of time stretching out like an open plane with a future to
walk in and towards as forever.
and feeling of time stretching out like an open plane with a future to
walk in and towards as forever.
Friday, September 25, 2015
Thursday, September 24, 2015
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Sunday, September 20, 2015
The Dubliners - The Sick Note
! great story, i wish my patients would entertain me as much,
well, sometimes they do ...:-)
Dear sir I write this note to you to tell me of me plight,
And at the time of writing, I am not a pretty sight.
Me body is all black and blue, me face a deathly gray.
well, sometimes they do ...:-)
Dear sir I write this note to you to tell me of me plight,
And at the time of writing, I am not a pretty sight.
Me body is all black and blue, me face a deathly gray.
And I write this note to say, why Paddy's not at work today.
While working on the fourteenth floor some bricks I had to clear.
Now to throw them down from such a height, was not a good idea.
The foreman wasn't very pleased, he being an awkward sod.
He said I'd have to carry them down the ladders in me hod.
Now, clearing all these bricks by hand, it was so very slow.
So I hoisted up a barrel, and secured the rope below.
But in me haste to do the job, I was too blind to see;
That a barrel full of building bricks was heavier than me.
So when I untied the rope, the barrel fell like lead.
And clinging tightly to the rope I started up instead.
While I shot up like a rocket, to my dismay I found,
That halfway up, I met the bloody barrel coming down.
Well, the barrel broke my shoulders as to the ground it sped,
And when I reached the top, I banged the pulley with me head.
Well I clung on tight though numb and shock from this almighty blow,
And the barrel spilled out half the bricks fourteen floors below.
Now, when these bricks had fallen from the barrel to the floor,
I then outweighed the barrel, and so started down once more.
Still clinging tightly to the rope, I sped towards the ground.
And I landed on the broken bricks that were all scattered 'round.
While I lay their groaning on the ground I thought I passed the worst,
When the barrel hit the pulley wheel, and then the bottom burst.
Well a shower of bricks rained down on me - I hadn't got a hope.
As I lay there moaning on the ground: I let go of the bloody rope.
The barrel then being heavier it started down once more,
And landed right across me as I lay across the floor.
Well it broke three ribs, and my left arm, and I can only say;
That I hope you'll understand why Paddy's not at work today.
While working on the fourteenth floor some bricks I had to clear.
Now to throw them down from such a height, was not a good idea.
The foreman wasn't very pleased, he being an awkward sod.
He said I'd have to carry them down the ladders in me hod.
Now, clearing all these bricks by hand, it was so very slow.
So I hoisted up a barrel, and secured the rope below.
But in me haste to do the job, I was too blind to see;
That a barrel full of building bricks was heavier than me.
So when I untied the rope, the barrel fell like lead.
And clinging tightly to the rope I started up instead.
While I shot up like a rocket, to my dismay I found,
That halfway up, I met the bloody barrel coming down.
Well, the barrel broke my shoulders as to the ground it sped,
And when I reached the top, I banged the pulley with me head.
Well I clung on tight though numb and shock from this almighty blow,
And the barrel spilled out half the bricks fourteen floors below.
Now, when these bricks had fallen from the barrel to the floor,
I then outweighed the barrel, and so started down once more.
Still clinging tightly to the rope, I sped towards the ground.
And I landed on the broken bricks that were all scattered 'round.
While I lay their groaning on the ground I thought I passed the worst,
When the barrel hit the pulley wheel, and then the bottom burst.
Well a shower of bricks rained down on me - I hadn't got a hope.
As I lay there moaning on the ground: I let go of the bloody rope.
The barrel then being heavier it started down once more,
And landed right across me as I lay across the floor.
Well it broke three ribs, and my left arm, and I can only say;
That I hope you'll understand why Paddy's not at work today.
The Dubliners ,The Rebel, Padraig Pearse
I am come of the seed of the people, the people that sorrow;
Who have no treasure but hope,
No riches laid up but a memory of an ancient glory
My mother bore me in bondage, in bondage my mother was born,
I am of the blood of serfs;
The children with whom I have played, the men and women with whom I have eaten
Have had masters over them, have been under the lash of masters,
and though gentle, have served churls.
The hands that have touched mine,
the dear hands whose touch Is familiar to me
Have worn shameful manacles, have been bitten at the wrist by manacles,
have grown hard with the manacles and the task-work of strangers.
I am flesh of the flesh of these lowly, I am bone of their bone I that have never submitted;
I that have a soul greater than the souls of my people's masters,
I that have vision and prophecy, and the gift of fiery speech,
I that have spoken with God on the top of his holy hill.
And because I am of the people, I understand the people,
I am sorrowful with their sorrow, I am hungry with their desire;
My heart is heavy with the grief of mothers,
My eyes have been wet with the tears of children,
I have yearned with old wistful men,
And laughed and cursed with young men;
Their shame is my shame, and I have reddened for it
Reddened for that they have served, they who should be free
Reddened for that they have gone in want, while others have been full,
Reddened for that they have walked in fear of lawyers and their jailors.
With their Writs of Summons and their handcuffs,
Men mean and cruel.
I could have borne stripes on my body
Rather than this shame of my people.
And now I speak, being full of vision:
I speak to my people, and I speak in my people's name to
The masters of my people:
I say to my people that they are holy,
That they are august despite their chains.
That they are greater than those that hold them
And stronger and purer,
That they have but need of courage, and to call on the name of their God,
God the unforgetting, the dear God who loves the people
For whom he died naked, suffering shame.
And I say to my people's masters: Beware
Beware of the thing that is coming, beware of the risen people
Who shall take what ye would not give.
Did ye think to conquer the people, or that law is stronger than life,
And than men's desire to be free?
We will try it out with you ye that have harried and held,
Ye that have bullied and bribed.
Tyrants... hypocrites... liars!
poem by: Padraig Pearse
Maraca & his Latin Jazz All Stars in Marciac: "Manteca"
bonjour, good with my coffeee, now i am awake..
Saturday, September 19, 2015
con-fusion: out
to mix
black and white
turns to grey
background noise
in which we cannot
find a rhythm
im-pressions leave
dents, we are licking
wounds, too occupied
sometimes when we stay
and watch the surf or how
snow falls on the cherries
we forget to breathe,
to listen,
until the clouds tear:
we walk
out of con-fusion,
autumn leaves blown
sky high
into the trail of birds,
we feel again
our feet touching the earth
where we live
in the grace of our season
black and white
turns to grey
background noise
in which we cannot
find a rhythm
im-pressions leave
dents, we are licking
wounds, too occupied
sometimes when we stay
and watch the surf or how
snow falls on the cherries
we forget to breathe,
to listen,
until the clouds tear:
we walk
out of con-fusion,
autumn leaves blown
sky high
into the trail of birds,
we feel again
our feet touching the earth
where we live
in the grace of our season
Friday, September 18, 2015
?
the worst thing is that i may be
released to do what i want.
only then i don't know what i want.
i exist.
Thursday, September 17, 2015
C.G. Jung - the Power of Imagination
you see, one more wodka lemon and i am here.
but i saw this as true before.
very easy to understand.
but i saw this as true before.
very easy to understand.
JOAN BAEZ & DONOVAN ~ Colours ~
comes after one beer and one wodka.
what will happen next to me?
i ordered 24 bottles of Super Bock stout,
and i am not an alcoholic, so it will work ...
what will happen next to me?
i ordered 24 bottles of Super Bock stout,
and i am not an alcoholic, so it will work ...
a-ha - Hunting High And Low
it is not like this, it is not hunting~
and it is the most bitter love i could find,
for long times unbearable,
paranoid,
lost in a cage,
growing more skin than any apple does,
maturing under cover,
rich with thorns and thickets,
a light and a trapdoor at the same time.
it is possible.
and it is the most bitter love i could find,
for long times unbearable,
paranoid,
lost in a cage,
growing more skin than any apple does,
maturing under cover,
rich with thorns and thickets,
a light and a trapdoor at the same time.
it is possible.
poison and black holes
and that's it: poison and black holes.
the mirror has broken, only ghosts in the shards,
not mine, not my ghosts, not my shards.
but splinters under my feet.
it can be wise to put on solid shoes today.
or not move one step anymore.
freeze.
turn. and not look back
where grey ghosts only are in waiting for me.
a cold wind today,
sun and clouds and rain.
it is the autumn of life or already my winter.
but it is wild and alive.
i am going to take a bath, a beer, two wodkas,
sleep.
I'll shake off my leaves to fly with the season,
and in spring i will turn green.
nobody to stop me but death, it is nature itself
to let me grow and sleep and go.
(it doesn't matter what i write here,
but for me.)
the mirror has broken, only ghosts in the shards,
not mine, not my ghosts, not my shards.
but splinters under my feet.
it can be wise to put on solid shoes today.
or not move one step anymore.
freeze.
turn. and not look back
where grey ghosts only are in waiting for me.
a cold wind today,
sun and clouds and rain.
it is the autumn of life or already my winter.
but it is wild and alive.
i am going to take a bath, a beer, two wodkas,
sleep.
I'll shake off my leaves to fly with the season,
and in spring i will turn green.
nobody to stop me but death, it is nature itself
to let me grow and sleep and go.
(it doesn't matter what i write here,
but for me.)
Voltaire, .."Wahrheit"
"Alles was du sagst, sollte wahr sein.
Aber nicht alles was wahr ist, solltest du auch sagen."
"Die Wahrheit"..gibt es nicht. Punkt.
C.G.Jung:
»Man sieht, was man am besten aus sich sehen kann.«
Aber nicht alles was wahr ist, solltest du auch sagen."
"Die Wahrheit"..gibt es nicht. Punkt.
C.G.Jung:
»Man sieht, was man am besten aus sich sehen kann.«
Portishead - Roads
anyway, regardless of what they say:
is the only way,
maybe a war, maybe not,
they happen,
i don't find "a"="one" way,
i just keep walking
and i learn to see by experience
is the only way,
maybe a war, maybe not,
they happen,
i don't find "a"="one" way,
i just keep walking
and i learn to see by experience
shell-shocked through the rain
calm and free as a ship sailing out
after a long time in the docks.
the captain stares at the open sea,
the horizon swimming in a blur.
he cannot yet believe in his journey.
in the docks:
after a long time in the docks.
the captain stares at the open sea,
the horizon swimming in a blur.
he cannot yet believe in his journey.
in the docks:
Nebukadnezar, William Blake
Carl Jung, some "simple" quotes i appreciate
“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.”
“Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.”
“Loneliness does not come from having no people about one, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself, or from holding certain views which others find inadmissible.”
“There's no coming to consciousness without pain.”
“We cannot change anything unless we accept it.”
“There are as many nights as days, and the one is just as long as the other in the year's course. Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word 'happy' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness.”
“Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.”
“Loneliness does not come from having no people about one, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself, or from holding certain views which others find inadmissible.”
“There's no coming to consciousness without pain.”
“We cannot change anything unless we accept it.”
“There are as many nights as days, and the one is just as long as the other in the year's course. Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word 'happy' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness.”
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Carl Jung - Where Does Meaning Come From
the last part is enrichening , so i feel.
for me.
of course it is a problem to "mix" a science...psychology..with a religious or say spiritual way..
can be confusing.. but he was a great man with true experience and insights shared,
and i should have enjoyed to meet him!
On the other hand it is a most courageous approach, and even modern physics
approach spiritual concepts of the universe, otherwise they cannot see any sense in
what happens during their research
The Jamie Baum Septet - Sweet Pain/Nusrat (Nusrat F. Ali Khan cover)
rainy afternoon...going back to work..
Pablo Neruda, poema 4, Es la mañana: summer passing into autumn, now
Es la mañana llena de tempestad
en el corazón del verano.
Como pañuelos blancos de adiós viajan las nubes,
el viento las sacude con sus viajeras manos.
Innumerable corazón del viento
latiendo sobre nuestro silencio enamorado.
Zumbando entre los árboles, orquestal y divino,
como una lengua llena de guerras y de cantos.
Viento que lleva en rápido robo la hojarasca
y desvía las flechas latientes de los pájaros.
Viento que la derriba en ola sin espuma
y sustancia sin peso, y fuegos inclinados.
Se rompe y se sumerge su volumen de besos
combatido en la puerta del viento del verano.
en el corazón del verano.
Como pañuelos blancos de adiós viajan las nubes,
el viento las sacude con sus viajeras manos.
Innumerable corazón del viento
latiendo sobre nuestro silencio enamorado.
Zumbando entre los árboles, orquestal y divino,
como una lengua llena de guerras y de cantos.
Viento que lleva en rápido robo la hojarasca
y desvía las flechas latientes de los pájaros.
Viento que la derriba en ola sin espuma
y sustancia sin peso, y fuegos inclinados.
Se rompe y se sumerge su volumen de besos
combatido en la puerta del viento del verano.
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Nick Drake - Place to be
i am much older than Nick Drake was, i want a place to be
and i want to give a place to be
RICHARD & MIMI FARINA ~ A Swallow Song ~
i want peace..soon i will sleep and dream..
tonight i looked into my own old thoughts and poems and posts,
i feel as a foreigner there, a distant relationship
such as a second grade cousin maybe
coming for a visit from so many miles away:
i see i changed.
this is good.
tonight i looked into my own old thoughts and poems and posts,
i feel as a foreigner there, a distant relationship
such as a second grade cousin maybe
coming for a visit from so many miles away:
i see i changed.
this is good.
translation: part of an old post
i quote myself, in translation:
In the Dark King's country the runner beans had no chance to grow and climb.
Young and slim trees, there were none, not one beanpole had remained,
and people had to cook and eat all next year's seed.
In front of the palace field for field for field was filled with beanpoles carrying heads ,
impaled heads, heads, heads, heads, sometimes with hair, sometimes bleached,
some shrivelled and dry, some fresh, yellow, brown, black and white heads.
Sometimes, from far away foreigners thought that the King
must have found a way to grow lettuce heads on poles.
But the stench of decay reeked far across the land,
and the King had bad and horrifying dreams at night,
which caused him to start wars during the days , to devastate his country
and to kill and impale his subjects one by one.
In short, he wanted to destroy all what and who was perishable
as he feared dying himself.
He could not bear to feel and see his own mortality.
And then it happened that one morning a foreign traveller met the King
erring around the poles in the fields, the clothes torn and his mind lost.
At night the King had seen his own head on top of one of these poles,
and now he looked and searched and looked and searched,
and as far as we know he is still doing the same...
Im Land des dunklen Königs wuchsen keine Kletterbohnen. Es gab keine jungen schlanken Bäume mehr, keine Bohnenstange war übrig geblieben, und die Saat musste gekocht und verbraucht werden. Vor dem Palast war Feld um Feld um Feld bis zum Rande voll mit Bohnenstangen, auf denen Köpfe steckten, Köpfe, Köpfe, Köpfe, mal mit Haaren, mal schon gebleicht, vertrocknete, frische, gelbe, braune, schwarze und weiße Köpfe. Von weit her glaubten Fremde manchmal, der König habe einen Weg gefunden, Salatköpfe auf Stangen wachsen zu lassen. Der Gestank nach Verwesung reichte weit über das Land, und der König hatte böse Träume in seinem Schlaf, die ihn tagsüber dazu trieben, immer mehr Kriege zu führen, das Land zu verwüsten und seine Untertanen zu töten und aufzuspießen. Kurzum, er wollte alles zerstören, was vergänglich war, da er das Sterben fürchtete und seine eigene Vergänglichkeit nicht ertragen konnte. Es geschah eines Morgens, dass ein fremder Reisender den König sah, wie er mit zerrissenem Gewand und völlig ohne Verstand zwischen den Stangen in seinen Feldern herum irrte. Der König hatte nachts seinen Kopf auf einer der Stangen gesehen, und nun suchte er und suchte und suchte.
http://manonafence-zwischenwelten.blogspot.de/2007/02/kurzsichtig-am-rand-der-erde-im-februar.html
In the Dark King's country the runner beans had no chance to grow and climb.
Young and slim trees, there were none, not one beanpole had remained,
and people had to cook and eat all next year's seed.
In front of the palace field for field for field was filled with beanpoles carrying heads ,
impaled heads, heads, heads, heads, sometimes with hair, sometimes bleached,
some shrivelled and dry, some fresh, yellow, brown, black and white heads.
Sometimes, from far away foreigners thought that the King
must have found a way to grow lettuce heads on poles.
But the stench of decay reeked far across the land,
and the King had bad and horrifying dreams at night,
which caused him to start wars during the days , to devastate his country
and to kill and impale his subjects one by one.
In short, he wanted to destroy all what and who was perishable
as he feared dying himself.
He could not bear to feel and see his own mortality.
And then it happened that one morning a foreign traveller met the King
erring around the poles in the fields, the clothes torn and his mind lost.
At night the King had seen his own head on top of one of these poles,
and now he looked and searched and looked and searched,
and as far as we know he is still doing the same...
Im Land des dunklen Königs wuchsen keine Kletterbohnen. Es gab keine jungen schlanken Bäume mehr, keine Bohnenstange war übrig geblieben, und die Saat musste gekocht und verbraucht werden. Vor dem Palast war Feld um Feld um Feld bis zum Rande voll mit Bohnenstangen, auf denen Köpfe steckten, Köpfe, Köpfe, Köpfe, mal mit Haaren, mal schon gebleicht, vertrocknete, frische, gelbe, braune, schwarze und weiße Köpfe. Von weit her glaubten Fremde manchmal, der König habe einen Weg gefunden, Salatköpfe auf Stangen wachsen zu lassen. Der Gestank nach Verwesung reichte weit über das Land, und der König hatte böse Träume in seinem Schlaf, die ihn tagsüber dazu trieben, immer mehr Kriege zu führen, das Land zu verwüsten und seine Untertanen zu töten und aufzuspießen. Kurzum, er wollte alles zerstören, was vergänglich war, da er das Sterben fürchtete und seine eigene Vergänglichkeit nicht ertragen konnte. Es geschah eines Morgens, dass ein fremder Reisender den König sah, wie er mit zerrissenem Gewand und völlig ohne Verstand zwischen den Stangen in seinen Feldern herum irrte. Der König hatte nachts seinen Kopf auf einer der Stangen gesehen, und nun suchte er und suchte und suchte.
http://manonafence-zwischenwelten.blogspot.de/2007/02/kurzsichtig-am-rand-der-erde-im-februar.html
Ton der Weite: ein altes Gedicht
Ton der Weite
Wie klingt die Ferne?
Hier pfeift der Wind.
Es rauscht, die Möwe schreit,
das Wasser schäumt,
Regenbögen in der Gischt
Was ist das für ein Ton,
dort wo der Himmel flirrt
und silbern ins Meer taucht,
alles flüssig, alles strömt
Alles ist Licht
so weit von hier
und doch genau hier.
Jetzt pfeift der Wind,
die Möwe schreit.
Schmerzen: ein altes Gedicht
Schmerzen
Gezeugt aus Lust.
Geboren aus Schmerz.
Form als Grenze und
Spannung der Haut
zwischen außen und
innen,
zwischen innen und
außen.
Die Oberfläche ein
Spiegel
und sich wandelnd nach
Licht und Dunkel.
Schwarze und silberne
Wellen,
weiß schäumende Gischt
bringen und nehmen
den Atem des Lebens.
Schmerzen sind Knoten
an falscher Stelle,
brechen Rhythmen,
stören den Tanz der
Farben,
Mißtöne,
Sprungschichten,
frische Furchen im
Frühnebel.
Ohne Schmerz keimt
nichts Neues.
Die Wunde schließt
sich,
goldene Bäume wachsen
singend heran,
Träume, grün, und alles
erwacht.
Corcubion, Faro, strong memories ~ feeling good
children..who wanted to open the door...
and still i want to open it...
Faro at 4.48..
Enya - Only Time (Official Music Video)
time?....life...
Who can say where the road goes
Where the day flows, only time
And who can say if your love grows
As your heart chose, only time
Who can say why your heart sighs
As your love flies, only time
And who can say why your heart cries
When your love lies, only time
Who can say when the roads meet
That love might be in your heart
And who can say when the day sleeps
If the night keeps all your heart
Night keeps all your heart
Who can say if your love grows
As your heart chose
- Only time
And who can say where the road goes
Where the day flows, only time
Who knows? Only time
Who can say where the road goes
Where the day flows, only time
And who can say if your love grows
As your heart chose, only time
Who can say why your heart sighs
As your love flies, only time
And who can say why your heart cries
When your love lies, only time
Who can say when the roads meet
That love might be in your heart
And who can say when the day sleeps
If the night keeps all your heart
Night keeps all your heart
Who can say if your love grows
As your heart chose
- Only time
And who can say where the road goes
Where the day flows, only time
Who knows? Only time
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