Mine ear is open, and my heart prepared:
The worst is wordly loss thou canst unfold: -
Say, is my kingdom lost? -- Shakespeare
and then I think....
My whisper it's a step behind
countless lies
emerged stir-fry
tingle of hearts
a blast that lasts
and glory, glory, glory
to the last of Mohicans...
Spasm of survival
in the longing face
of a missing mistress.
Arbitrary sorrow
for the expectation of the last
Dream
Nightmare
Hug
Fountain of kisses
and then
it all fades.
Was I there to catch that last breath?
Remembrance
to the Poseidon of all my thoughts
survival, I call his name
to breath once more
for there's nothing left
no one, no more.
Spasm
It's all about character, attitude, personality If one gives them up, what's left?! I rumble to forgive myself, to execute the broadcasting of our era, to maybe create the one path you can follow. But I sing! I sing whatever comes to my mind, old songs, new songs, made up songs, melodies, I sing. The story it's simple, the story is a replica of all the other stories. It's the same story that brought to life the snake, the one story that keeps us here. There's a character here, the only simple, different, similar character, an abandoning of self taught melodies. It is a transmitted smile connecting the well known mirror with the light image that reflects you. It is all in front of your very own eyes. It's a pound of meat that drags our lust. It's another attitude who found itself in the middle of a parking lot, spilling out the consciousness. The appearance! What sorrow must that exhale? Forgiveness! Yes, for there's nothing, nothing but a character in front of a mirror sight.
...
- "I have nothing to say about this self thing. I mean why should I, even if I could. It's hard enough to think that all has to come out in the open when the older ones die. You have to tell them the truth when they die, you know. You can't just go to the cemetery and lie about things, after all, they can see what you really do. And, I don't mean just anybody following you around to figure out if you really messed yourself up or not. Why would you be interesting to anybody?! What I mean, are grandmas' and people like that. Can you imagine how horrifying that could be?!
It's all fleshy and raw this idea. I can already taste the sushi. And I really do like sushi, but God, I wouldn't be able to live off of it. There's no trouble really. Maybe it's all a misunderstanding. Let's start over again. I came here to…"
- "I could just buy you a dress?!"
...
Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga Fiori : 30-01-2006 mė 22:56
Actually, I was thinking of a new hair style.Postuar mė parė nga Fiori
Summertime, and the livin' is easy...
***
Her demolished presence, structured his eyebrows.
- Frenzy isn't it this cultural dilemma on curiosity?! But, plain and simple, I do not care...yet I can't escape this involvement in the counters of our own presence. You tell me who can overcome fall's intrusion and I'll let it go?!
- Care to dance?! Just like the sunset...
- I never liked instrusions. Such a nasty habit!
***
extract from "The City Of The Deaf"
So you're asking me about love. And what makes me the expert dear?! What a dreadful word don't you think?! I hate certain words just like I hate certain people. There's nothing wrong with such strong feelings, because a feeling has to be strong if it is a feeling. For anything that's gray it's just not there, it's recyclable, it's non sense really. It's a waste of time for all of us as a matter of fact. Because it is a waste of our potential, our ability to really be there for who we are. Alienated figures of what some kids used to be. And let me stop for a second here.
What is that we're looking at the end?! Is it really love?! Love's as cheap as this conversation. It's a delusion, a word that never really existed, it's a made up concept like the spoon itself. Have you ever thought of that?! A spoon I mean. Is it really the need for communication that made us name a spoon as we did? If so, why was the need to name a spoon around the world, so many different things? It's because we think in language and not in thought. We walk the yellow line and when one's not there, we just fall. And then you come to me because you need to know the truth about love. I can love every day, because I love the longing for "self", for thought. It's because I was born blind and was never introduced to this yellow line. It's because I inherited all the selfishness there is. And the more you have, the more you want. And the more you get, the more you fear. Please, do not try to follow, I've been lost for a long while now. The way back it's not what I'm looking for, but the end, one must find the end for "it" to be a "self".
It was fall…everything fell so marvelously!
….
Fiori
Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga Fiori : 13-11-2005 mė 01:20
gezuar vitin e ri fiori ju uroj lumturi ne jet dhe dashuri me paterjotet jashte atdheut te puth fort landi ali_pashai@hotmail.com
Winter poem
There’s no reason within my reasoning
There’s no idea, no certainty
Rained down morning and splashed down evening
“It’s all downhill from here my dear.”
There’s a yellow light with bright red letters
An ugly rope and ugly streets
Jungle of reasons within my reasoning
And then there’s a stop on “Tenth Street”.
There’s continuation of memories
that simultaneously breathe within
But there’s no space for heartbeats, no space for growing
There's just some people who smile and greet.
Some crying doves that missed the train
and walked the streets in search for tears.
Dumb, stupid birds – always appearing
A winter painting, just full of $$$$!
And in the corner an old man sitting
Seems to be singing the same old jig
There's no one dancing and no one listening
To the grand opening for the coming spring.
............
Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga Fiori : 30-01-2006 mė 22:57
The Last of the Mohican - Ennio Moricone
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