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E aqui, e agora? O que acontece para frente deste ponto?

Fico eu apenas lembrando, mas agora sentindo, também, com meus olhos e meus sentidos,

o que está logo à frente de meus olhos,

É como se fosse um sonho.

E aqui, agora, por enquanto só posso contar com o que posso,

Contar as estrelas que oscilam num lugar muito alto,

em um negro lençol por enquanto acochegante.

Em um céu sem você.

Quote YEAH

"I step on the silhouette that stretches out

Wandering around in the twilight

Those faint faces

Turn red and trasparent, melting away.

That distant day

Dozing off, I search

I can't forget that voice in my dream

"One day We'll meet."

I'm being lead (those arms)

To the place in front of me (reaching out)

Our fingers touch and grasp each other

The wheel of fate turns (the cocoon of destiny melts)

The thread that is woven (the spinning wheel)

Reels and catchs is (it connects the two of us)

Until the end of visiting each other (until the very end)

The blossoms that scatter are fleeting (your palm on top of mine)

The moon also wanes and sinks (grasps me tightly)

That's why I'll smile by your side (whatever the time, until the end)

Until the end, we'll be togheter (I'll be with you)

The serene shadow of the moon is blue-white

The clear sky is chilly

I concentrate with blurry and blank eyes

As I look at the time now

Shivering alone

I look for you who

Would embrace me and give me warmth

In this revolving world

Dancing and scattering (someday)

I'm surrounded by flower petals (intertwining)

As promised I've happened to come across you

I step over the fragments of my memory (arriving, I walk on)

Even if I bleed (on this path)

I will arive at the place where you are (relying on our bonds)

Using only the strenght of my thoughts (without getting lost)

Even if a thousand autumns pass (even if my heart is undermined)

And have caused my tears to dry up (by loneliness)

I won't lose to the night that continues (without flincing, I'll face foward)

I'll believe in the light of morning (towards tomorrow)"

[/Quote]

Necro-surgery

Losing something that made part of you should be a terrible thing to be of witness, especially when you're the one with part of your body, part of your soul, being ripped appart with a scream, vivified and distorted by pain and despair.

Such experience, it is something that proves to have fruiting, for when something has been ripped appart, a wonderful and innocent desire, even if already stained by the world, should only be answered by the same who had put it's mark on this beauty of nature. So that what could match that empty hole would answer it's love.

That is why I could only scream. That is why I could only hallucinate in search for reasons.

That is why I could do nothing but to destroy myself in the only way I could, after there was nothing to take it away, after there was nothing to rip it appart.

That dead and rottening arm,

That just wouldn't move anymore.

Farewell

A farewell to the loved ones, a farewell that I heard of.

After all the love and affection, after all the close space, filled up with bones and the flesh of the one who could make sense and happiness in such world that you were to live in. From behind that warm, conforting season, which both of us thought would just have to go on until the very end;

(Well, it had indeed come to the very end. It's own very one.)

The cold weaving of a sad goodbye, like a train, heading fast and painfully towards wherever it is that you cannot reach. The sad farewell that was to bring nights of freezing thoughts, and days with only darkened skies, where the clouds would only whimper for this lost love.

A farewell that I heard of, I wonder how it should be.

A farewell, but a diferent one.

After what one could call the only thing there was to be, something that could take you inside your desires, someone that could make sense and joy out of what should only be dark and rotten, old scattered bones of one's self.

That what could be told as what had to last until the very end, should naturally finish it's last line.

Finish what it had been already promised, settle a wish that had been accepted.

Finish it all with a farewell of endless days, where there was only to be seen all that was there to be, swiftly dissolving into the days of goodbye. Gently, even kindly, dissapearing into the winds of the time where the sun would draw it's arc in the sky, so that each and every part of what one had loved the most, would be missed with all that one could miss.

So that each and every smiling fragrance of this dying love would leave it's unpreceeded and unvanishing mark.

Until the day in which there was nothing more of it to be seen,

as if there wasn't any such love from the beggining, as if it had simply never happened.

A farewell. A farewell that I know of.

12 Km Blindfolded Stride

One step after the other, and practice makes it perfect.

To stand the body requires to lie in two sides balance, to walk is to lose and reclaim such balance.

In entering the movement, you lose what had let you be in stillness, otherwise only failure would sprout in fruiting from such attempt.

To let your sense of stability be blown away, even if torn into pieces, or burnt into ashes, is to be in touch with the movements which took place in your radius of perception.

Through practice and measurement you can catch the image of a destination, or even a landing and settling off in that kinetic phenomenon

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Um passo após o outro, e a prática leva à perfeição.

A uma devida postura, seja para um bom cavalheiro, seja para uma boa dama, é uma postura equilibrada e uma postura inclinada à conduta e aos pensamentos de tais belezas.

blergh nem to afim de fazer uma versão em português disto. D:

mas valeu o registro

/philosophical post end

Babylon

Even though there isn't anything in this room anymore, the window by the wall makes it look as if there were curtains rustling on the other side.

It takes my eyes to behind its melting glass, to a rustling garden that I don't know of. To a rustling garden whose colors I cannot see.

Radio Shack

Down by the river, there is a half-made house,

Where lives an old and saddened wise bitterness.

It knows everything, it shows nothing.

Nothing but what the eyes can see. And the bitterness in people's hearts blind them to smitters.

Even though there is all to be known in that darkened gaze, roughly shaded by the years and decades of no return,

The bitterness in the sage's eye blinds his thoughts to smitters.

Even though the last desire, that once gave birth to a knowledge of wisdom, was of a now-paled, long lost, pastel-like charity of an unseen smile.