Gustavo Santaolalla , Seguir (Audio)

Brian Finnegan , Fly

Sylvia Plath ,Candles

some days maybe

some days maybe
i could agree
that humans are lethal
for each other

but then i see
it is only me
thinking who
speaks and the

sequence of days
shows me to be
grateful for each
smile and kindness

and words need not
be spears  and even
eyes can dry tears
and i re-narrate

my life, my days
not in theory but
in living, this is
wave following wave

changing the past,
this vast sea in which
i will not drown.
music goes beyond death.


note:
lupus est homo homini, non homo, quom qualis sit non novit.
Plautus, Asinaria

Flook , On One Beautiful Day

Flook , The Tortoise And The Hare

The Olllam ,The Tryst After Death

Aidan O'Rourke, Kit Downes , Nobody could be one hundred percent sure a...

Kit Downes ,Tom Challenger , optics / 2013

fog, maybe killers on the road

they come through the fog

with knives, pale riders,

armies of dead surgeons,

wading in their own broth



and poison soup that eats

them from inside and outside,

the opinion sayers, the owners

of truth, of results and answers



to love, to life, to death.

they analyzed everything and 

each one to turds with disgust,

they say they are human



and that it is their right

and their duty to think

and that people are like

pests and that only animals



and trees are worthy.

it is true they should 

maybe kill themselves

and  not talk on holiness.

i know they come through

fog and i see fog as grace

veiling the slaughterers 

and absorbing their voices

so i can sleep a little longer

and wake without the noise

of bitterness and without

the stink and smell of wars.

i cannot tell them because

they would turn my words

after the first or the second

into black puddles dripping

out of  meat grinders,

ugly, meaningless,

and they'd say: see,

this is you.

note: as much as i see the essence, feel it, i see the killer in us, in you,
in me, i see Lucifer who brought a light to create darkness, the destroyer
with a thousand arms, the thinker who wants to rule our story.
i see so so many black holes, and i hope some of them may show themselves
to be tunnels to a spring meadow with flowers allover and soft cushions
of moss below branches loaded with green and with apple blossoms.
well, do i hope? i don't know.

a walk through the forest

Gustavo Santaolalla , Requiem (Audio)

in case my ashes should be put into the earth on a foggy day
and when you should  feel sad, whosoever, it will be ok to give
a background for your feelings-not mine :-)

Gustavo Santaolalla , Through the Rainwall (Audio)

Gustavo Santaolalla , Cordon de Plata (Audio)

Gustavo Santaolalla , Alma (Audio)

"
El alma es viento, es agua del río que pasa. Las cuerdas que se quejan y el tiempo que escapa. Un suspiro hecho tormenta, un resonar de albas. La marea que besa la playa y la ola que arremete y basta. El alma es un nido de pasiones, un ave en vuelo sin mover las alas. Una canción sin letras que conmueve y la dicha de saber que habrá un mañana."

see:comments on youtube

Varieties of invariants , Wim Mertens