-5 may feel
like -20 Celsius.
it is MY blog.
Monday, February 15, 2016
choice is a boomerang
whatever you do
and whatever you don't do:
both will fall back on you.
sometimes there is no choice.
JIM MORRISON --- Poem
what else?
let us talk about churches, abuse or just primitive sex?
do you really want to know how i nearly suffocated from a female ejaculation
which came out even through my nose in the dark heart of East Africa?
you don't.and honestly, i don't want to know.
sex is not boring, but to talk so much is disgusting.
immaculately stoned is all what remains?
well, then. take some more cocaine.
still, this is another great poem by Jim Morrison,
mixing sadness and a history of exploitation and an attack on the bourgeouis society
with the mystery of life.
see
Alan Watts:- quotes from: "Nature, Man and Woman"
"In almost every culture love is an intimacy between two particular people in which conventions that govern other relationships are set aside. In this respect it already suggests, even if only symbolically, the sacred rather than the profane, and the lover's removal of clothes in one another's presence is already a sign of taking of the personal mask and stepping out of role. Only a society which is seriously ignorant of the sacred could regard the taboo, the secrecy of love, as a cloak hiding an unfortunate but necessary reversion to animality."
"The rift between God and nature would vanish if we knew how to experience nature,
because what keeps them apart is not a difference of substance but a split in the minds."
So i really don't know why sex should be excluded in a relationship nor that it must from this exclusion lead to a point where it is becoming more important than everything else. This is truly not what i wanted, not this way, not the other way.
internet, public 'social' media, a point of view
facebook, google plus, twitter:
i take a rest.
i was told i am hiding.
no.
i just don't want to meet more terror.
i feel reduced there,
to somebody i am not,
and i feel frightened off
by the one
i love.
so i am only here.
for who wants to see, ok.
for me it is enough.
i need peace even if it means
a war for silence.
no more interpretations,
analysis,
lectures,
judgement.
and now,
whenever i want to cry
like a four year old child,
you know,
i can,
better than to need to shout
so i can be heard,
i am not listened to anyway.
i am present
with me.
a cat.
a fire.
i take a rest.
i was told i am hiding.
no.
i just don't want to meet more terror.
i feel reduced there,
to somebody i am not,
and i feel frightened off
by the one
i love.
so i am only here.
for who wants to see, ok.
for me it is enough.
i need peace even if it means
a war for silence.
no more interpretations,
analysis,
lectures,
judgement.
and now,
whenever i want to cry
like a four year old child,
you know,
i can,
better than to need to shout
so i can be heard,
i am not listened to anyway.
i am present
with me.
a cat.
a fire.
Yevgeny Yevtushenko, Colours
When your face came rising
above my crumpled life,
at first i understood only the poverty of what i have
then its particular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea,
became my beginning in the coloured world
in which i had not yet had my beginning.
I’m so frightened, I’m so frightened
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations and tears and the excitement finishing.
I don't fight it.My love is this fear.
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's slipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in. I am conscious
that these minutes are short
and that the colour in my eyes
will vanish when your face sets.
(in: Joan Baez, "Baptism")
above my crumpled life,
at first i understood only the poverty of what i have
then its particular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea,
became my beginning in the coloured world
in which i had not yet had my beginning.
I’m so frightened, I’m so frightened
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations and tears and the excitement finishing.
I don't fight it.My love is this fear.
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's slipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in. I am conscious
that these minutes are short
and that the colour in my eyes
will vanish when your face sets.
(in: Joan Baez, "Baptism")
When your face
appeared over my crumpled life
at first I understood
only the poverty of what I have.
Then its particular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea
became my beginning in the coloured world
in which I had not yet had my beginning.
I am so frightened, I am so frightened,
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations
and tears and the excitement finishing.
I don't fight it, my love is this fear,
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's shipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in.
I am conscious that these minutes are short
and the colours in my eyes will vanish
when your face sets.
appeared over my crumpled life
at first I understood
only the poverty of what I have.
Then its particular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea
became my beginning in the coloured world
in which I had not yet had my beginning.
I am so frightened, I am so frightened,
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations
and tears and the excitement finishing.
I don't fight it, my love is this fear,
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's shipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in.
I am conscious that these minutes are short
and the colours in my eyes will vanish
when your face sets.
Yevgeny Yevtushenko
When your face
appeared over my crumpled life
at first I understood
only the poverty of what I have.
Then its particular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea
became my beginning in the coloured world
in which I had not yet had my beginning.
I am so frightened, I am so frightened,
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations
and tears and the excitement finishing.
I don't fight it, my love is this fear,
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's shipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in.
I am conscious that these minutes are short
and the colours in my eyes will vanish
when your face sets.
appeared over my crumpled life
at first I understood
only the poverty of what I have.
Then its particular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea
became my beginning in the coloured world
in which I had not yet had my beginning.
I am so frightened, I am so frightened,
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations
and tears and the excitement finishing.
I don't fight it, my love is this fear,
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's shipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in.
I am conscious that these minutes are short
and the colours in my eyes will vanish
when your face sets.
Yevgeny Yevtushenko
for the lady of my heart: not a unicorn
lady you are lecturing me
on love and on life
but it is my love
and it is my life
no man needs
to be put in a drawer,
no woman
needs to stay in a prison
love needs no lectures
life doesn't need lectures
pigeons don't need lectures
just food and air:
when it is not there
they die.
and even we don't need
lectures on death.
nobody can give them.
you put up conditions
but call mine wrong.
who gives you the right?
lady you have much admiration
with your good taste
and your fine words,
but they make you no better.
you are not a unicorn
and i am not a prince.
and even if,
they could not live together.
it is only in fairy tales,
the good endings
and the noble world,
i prefer to be a shit
in your eyes
rather than in mine.
though deprived of love
the wind carries me
towards the sea
where water will embrace
me and give me all
what i will need
in the hour of my
nakedness and raw desire
when i will long
for death to take me:
i will give myself
not to thee,
not to me,
but to all.
on love and on life
but it is my love
and it is my life
no man needs
to be put in a drawer,
no woman
needs to stay in a prison
love needs no lectures
life doesn't need lectures
pigeons don't need lectures
just food and air:
when it is not there
they die.
and even we don't need
lectures on death.
nobody can give them.
you put up conditions
but call mine wrong.
who gives you the right?
lady you have much admiration
with your good taste
and your fine words,
but they make you no better.
you are not a unicorn
and i am not a prince.
and even if,
they could not live together.
it is only in fairy tales,
the good endings
and the noble world,
i prefer to be a shit
in your eyes
rather than in mine.
though deprived of love
the wind carries me
towards the sea
where water will embrace
me and give me all
what i will need
in the hour of my
nakedness and raw desire
when i will long
for death to take me:
i will give myself
not to thee,
not to me,
but to all.
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