The Limit of Vision

We all see our sights to the extent of the feeling which permeates our eyes.

Be it the sadness that drips to the ground,

Be it the love that blinds every fool,

Be it the sight of that treasured love, or the darkness of that white room without ceiling or walls,

Be it the simple, gentle and plain bias that grants us sense and reason, heart and will.

Be it what it is, we all se our skies and seas, our lands and our dreams

With colors, that someone dreams of,

With tones and shapes that someone, far far away, still awaits to percieve, someday, somewhere.

So whenever you feel anything at all,

Wherever in this wolrd,

Paint it, sing it, play it

Draw it from the scratch of the horizon you live for, of the horizon you live in,

In all the shades of that fading fragrance, even if it's already gone and long forgotten

Put it in a tall, long wall, so that everyone would be able to see it

So that the one who dreams of it, so deeply and hopeless, hopefully

Could whimsically touch it, as the scene of that unseen and longed for colour

Could brush past the long closed eyes of that one's heart.

So that I can see that colour again, so that I can paint it in my sky

So that it finally matches the violet moon that floats in this emptiness, with nothing but it's orange-red aureole that fades away, away from it's profile.

This emptiness that surrounds my shy clouds of a yellowish and cyan green,

That stands above my humble fields of light blue and indigo.

So that the sky without a color

Could shine on it's own accord, free from the nothingness that took its love away.

L. A. , the Lord of good fortune, aka the god of travels and paths

Don’t ask me why I put so many coins in that bet, you know already how many times I’ve won and how many I’ve lost. I’m sure you’ll notice I have won all of my bets, in all of my life. And if you disagree with my statement your perception of what I’m really betting in is worse than eating a rotten bread sandwich filled with berserk thermites running around with lightsaber chainsaws. And I’m speaking of doing it barehanded.

Homage to my beloved #%(#²¢&%£

Screwdriver

The number of skills you can polish in your life is not more important than how much you can polish that one certain skill. It won't make you useless, (deja vu here, wtf) since you can polish that same skill to become adaptable to any situation.

It feels good to be able to juggle bagazillions of different ways of living around your own life, but hey, think about what it would be to have a _literally_ all-solving-way-of-doing-things.

It's like, dude, seriously sonic.

DW joke intended, hahahaha.

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nuss, nem boto fé que eu escrevi isso D:

a não ser que achem realmente engraçado LOL

It's not visually inadequate

And it's not erotically imposing either. It's like it tickles where you like, but mixed with a kind of anxiety and anticipation

Kind of like when you're chasing butterflies with your gaze, and their wings are colored with tones and arabesques that question that sense of beauty you hold on to, since it's the only one you've got,

Or when you're by the cafe and the waiter has an eye-patch. It's not gross, and it's not weird, but it's totally catchy, and you're compelled to continuously look at it, while you strategically try not to be thought of as stupidly rude, on top of rudely stupid.

It's alike the feeling when you're having a rare sight, and the visual aspects that compose its overwhelming colors and shapes inflict that aggravated sensation of challenge to your calmness.

Quite teasing, in that aesthetic way, I guess.

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Gift post attempt, lol

Hope it pleases enough, too.

61st

A filling chalice overflows with my love for this mysterious secret.

My heart is taken both as a refugee, and runs into as a shelter, to this current of life that draws it closer, whenvever it crosses my thoughts.

So hallucinating and maddening it may be, if it so is, that I many times renounced and denied that strong, magnetic passion, over and over and over again.

Back then it had nothing "secret" to it. For it was clear and lustful, blissful, loving, a paradise promised, by the very unquiet, troubled, swollen and taken completely, unrest of my pulse, irrigating its desire into my body at every beat of my life-granting heart, organ and inner world.

The pain was much enough that it made me blind to the echoing calls within the realms by me visitable.

And to deny the very reason of one to be, encloses a life of one to be lived, to the very cursed, safe-pointed and blinded horizon chosen in the time of panic and desperation. So, the very same magnetism that drew me to the desire it clearly shone, then drew me in an unseen corroding ice, which burned me quietly, raising the strenght-sipping and slithering agony, to the day it would take over the then broken and buildt-on-denial world inside myself.

Over many quarrels I tumbled and fell, rising only to walk in pain wihout the love I had once to guide, to nurture me. To make feel like this life was worth, in each and every moment of it. As if I was to be left forever, to this dry wasteland, filled with hate and an abomination, growing by the denial that had thrown my world into the hopelessly filled, fueled with all of my suffering, dismay that devoured my thoughts, actions, my neverending tears that acidly caressed my sickened mind.

That is, the world that shone with no way of reaching my desired heaven, was murdered, dead cold, by the dimension in which it should just continue to call me, whatever thread was woven, independent to the will of my world.

My present now is gifted with a kind and eternal Fire, and with the consciousness of the endless in Time. Among many other gifts, such as the visit from the Fiery Serpent, or the various touches I gave many stars in heavenly skies.

Now my sight can be brought about with my awareness and attention, with my honesty, and sincerety. With the misterious love that winds the gears of my body, and that keeps in me a life that can be, by me, lived with a freedom that was at first uncertainly and strongly, recklessly, and then respectfully, and beautifully, sought for, now I can at last, open my eyes to me, and to the paradise which is this world in which dreams can be made real.

Along with me must lie the hope to cross this path, to this paradise lost, or simply "sought for".

So then I can take my steps along any road, and I will be delighted with the touch and presence, sight, sound, and smell and many others, of the love I have searched so much in all of my life.

I just hope I can do it, so I guess it should be alright, isn't it?

With sincerety and truthfulness, as a seeker and traveler of many worlds in me, not to mention out of me, I lay these words. That they give inspiration to all who search for love, for truth, for themselves, or for perfection, paradise, hell, or heaven.

That the clues lead you all to where you deserve to reach, to where your most precious dreams point to.

Good night to all in this world, and to all others. Good night to this world, and all the worlds that are, and aren't.

Good night to you who reads this blog post, and to you who doesn't.

Good night to myself, and fare thee well, my 61st post.

Lucas Vencovsky Nogueira

60º post, bora lá.

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A kind spirit is rewarded by itself.

The lack of peace and goodwill to survive amidst the waves of the "routinal" every-day-life may bring all in dis-eases, but be fooled not those who strive for it, for it won't be unreachable, even for a total wrecked and damned, cursed poor soul, wherever it may be.

The perfect step is taken without worry, with no effort, without pain, or anything at all. It is free, in all ways to it permitted, unrequired, existant. Possible, or not.

Perfection is reachable in all directions, for it is not a way, but is a stride.

Then, be it with the feelings of kindness or cruelty, or whatever else, in any way, the "perfection" that drives nature and brings many "benefits" and "malefices", to be shown and told of, sang of, to be done, to be brought on to the world, is sincerely an act of kindness.

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Nem gostei de escrever esse post, mesmo que eu tenhha no mínimo trazido em parte a ideia que eu tava afim de trazer, escrever com barulho incômodo gente te atrapalhando é uma merda, sério mesmo. Que saco.

Oh well, que seja.

tentativa de corrente de pensamentos

Kept by disgrace,

Awoken by doubt.

Risen by hope,

Nurtured by love.

Taken from the dark, shimmering on the late hours of sepia

Knowing the love within, abiding by the desert without these ropes.

Love won't get you by

Hate will break you shy

Get the ashes from our deaths,

And let the cinders feed our sacred earths,

Give me hope by a thread.

Lack the love I have within

And let me show it as the thunder comes from seas of light.

Do not take, for it is not yours.

Do not fake, for it won't be fooled.

Late at a dark sun, our words shall be cleansed

By all but one, make. For then, the world is to be ours.

Let the winds blow. Catch the whisper by a breeze,

Water will flow from our eyes.

As the earth will remain in under our flames.

Burn, within our hearts, give them life. Take from us our dearest stars

And give us the dream of chasing our fates,

Later when the day is gone.

Let we whisper the love of an eternal sleep

risen by love, taken by the passion within the tiger's gaze.

When our love comes to the birth of a new life, then we shall make it to the shores.

after the day is done, we sing to the stars of our sky without a tear.

The endless text is stopped by convenience. And I have to stop to go give my class today.

Slang: A person from New Zeland

From a train she came. Or was it a bus? I'm not sure. However, the familiar scent from the school days was still fresh in her scarlet hair, within her brown gaze, adorning her beautiful skin.

Oh what a day. We walked from point to point in the treasure town we where met for the first time. Just us, and beloved friends, important to us both, from the time we shared the same days, when we could trade each other sights.

The mall was sure gigantic, I wonder how I managed to find them amidst all that mess. The time was running out, and the shopping mall was closing, either with us locked inside it, or kicked out of it with annoying guard-like present correspondention of curses and ear-pullings.

I could see them, in a bed store, calling out for me from the floor below. Waiting and laughing at my tardiness. We all lay down by some big king-couple-sized mattress or watnot, and I luckily had the spot next to her.

It was nearly endless, the moment before falling asleep, with my arms enclosing her in a such mysterious manner; The precious crimson star of my 7th grade, now with her back touching my chest, accepting my arms in a playful and kind fall to sleep.

Without pleasure from my flesh, without the strangeness of her being with someone else, even though it was what should be expected. Only the warmth of her body, until it all went blank, carried by the softness of that paradise within my dreams.

"Jungle of the Broken Temple's Remains - Survival Struggle for my Dearest Life Within"

Eu me mantenho de pé perante a selva que me devorará a cada momento que seja possível o meu menor deslize, minha atenção é o mar que me engolirá ao primeiro sinal de fraquejo através de meus pés.

Perante o escuro cru, eu me mantenho na postura de o mesmo zelo que tive com tudo o que me brilhou como diamantes, que me agraciou com as mais belas e infatuantes fragrâncias, que me trouxe a textura humilhante à seda, e ultrajante a mesmo a pele dos deuses, cujo vislumbre possuia as cores do paraíso que me fez viver para sempre, e que susurrou em meus ouvidos, palavras e melodias que perpassaram mundos e vidas, independentes e gloriosos a tudo o que lhes tentasse impedir.

Perante a floresta de mil dentes, e repleta de infinitos pares, trios, e inúmeras combinações de garras, mandíbulas, presas e navalhas, fortes como patadas de um urso, ensurdecedoras como a constrição de serpentes colossais. Pesadas como o mundo que Atlas pôs em seus ombros, perspicazes como a mente de o melhor dos ladrões. Audaciosas como o herói contado para sempre nas lendas de festivais e tão imortais quanto aquele que as observava, gentilmente, pacientemente. E mais uma vez.

Carinhosamente acalentava as famintas e vorazes, viscerais, sombrias e inquietas bestas delineadas pelo rufar de seus famigerados tambores.

Às minhas costas, há o que resta de meu belo palácio, o templo em que acolhi aquilo que permanece como lembranças. Quentes. Vívidas. Fortes. Me entoando belas canções de ninar e histórias de tudo o que me importa, do que brilha como intensos diamantes dentro dos olhos de minha mente, dentro de cada um dos batimentos de meu coração, e me constituindo no corpo que representa a minha vida, nesta carne tão resistente e efêmera que me acolhe como vivente.

A horda que me aguarda pede pelo que todos os lados já sabem, e pelo que minha destinação já deixou claro, que me prometeu ao soar dos primeiros de meus passos, e ao alçar de todos os meus vôos, ao escalar de todas as minhas montanhas, e até os últimos dos mergulhos por mim mergulhados.

Uma brisa anuncia a folha que irá cair antes do massacre. Minhas vestes brancas e meu cabelo, assim como minha pele e toda a minha carga corpórea são tentadas, e dançam ao toque do breve e convidativo vento que lhes acaricia.

Minha postura toma a forma de aquela breve e gentil brisa, e meus olhos se fecham para o mar de cores sanguinolentas, erguido por sobre sua deliciosa e suculenta "presa".

Minhas mãos, quer tomem a forma de punhos fechados, quer se portem como abertas palmas, venerem e respeitem a si mesmas, e igualmente a todos e a tudo que tocarem. Meus pés, toquem eles a terra, as árvores ou rochas, as ruínas de meu templo ou o corpo das bestas, que eles me sustentem, carinhosamente, mas com determinação, ou que façam meu peso declaradamente sincero ao que ousar me servir de piso. Meus braços e minhas pernas, que me mantenham ligados a minhas mãos e meus pés, e que permita a estes o cumprimento dos seus propósitos. O torso, o pescoço e a cabeça que me são a torre do corpóreo ao espírito, que permaneçam vivos e dançando perfeitamente junto de meus membros ao tom deste poético e selvagem confrontar.

Meu corpo e minha mente, que curvem-se perante o outro, e que caso assim seja, tornem-se unos.

É realmente atencioso o agradecimento, por me ser permitido viver a satisfação dentro deste calor e deste frio.

Que os jogos comecem.

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Eu quero deixar claro que eu quis ser lírico em relação a isso. Não leve a sério demais quem souber do que se trata esse texto. *risos*

Total influência de Iron (de Woodkid), que eu fiquei escutando enquanto escrevi, o que deixou o post um pouco mais exagerado do que o meu normal, na minha opinião.

Nem sei se alguém lê mesmo o meu blog, mas experimentar comentários depois do post me pareceu uma boa idéia. Não que alguém com fama de bom escritor faça isso e eu queira testar e ver se eu melhoro, mas por que não, né?

Minhas palas emocionais acabaram de passar a ser oficialmente batalhas épicas em potencial depois desta postagem.

Autor desligando.

"The Freedom of Immortality" (mó tava afim de fazer um título melhor, mas tomaí na cara o seu write block de volta, Venks)

Still, I cherish the freedom in this world,

No matter how much calmness there could be, you’ll find struggle by looking for it.

No matter how much pain the world may give to anyone, peace will be very well set. Be it far away, be it right behind our backs, under our noses, beyond the street corner- it will always be one step behind the limit of pain.

There may be loneliness, and then companies have their value risen.

Even if the world becomes unbareble, peace can be found within oneself, living on until the desire for unbalance and thrilling friction comes near.

There may be a deep suffering in line of sight, but still, I remember the way that brought me that unfaltering and regretful, sinful, and yet calling melody.

And that’s why it’s so playful and entretaining, no matter how much time passes by me. It doesn’t matter how many times, the lightness of letting the tension and despair flow away preety much always gets me *laughter*, just as the arrival of pain is always agressive and threatening to my hopes of joy, love, and this kind of stuff.

I remember people talking about something to last forever, and how much they wanted to believe in it, or how much they thought it was foolish to try and dream.

I wonder if they were looking in the right direction though. lol

Cheers,

For freedom! =D

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Esse post foi originalmente do meu Tumblr(Dumblr):

http://kindvoid.tumblr.com/post/7805031586/still-i-cherish-the-freedom-in-this-world-no

Mas como nesse site (quase) nunca ligam p**ra nenhuma pra nada que eu escrevo que tenha tom de sinceridade ou que me seja importante de algum jeito, acho que aqui é um lugar bem melhor pra essa postagem.

E é isso daí.

WaterSpeaker

"The rain that falls upon my shimmering consciousness, it feels cold and draining.

A drop of it, I could see from the distance.

The way it fell did feel beautiful - and the gentle touch of it's fading and ephemeral form caressed my skin as if it could match the painful watery wind which headed down on myself.

A single droplet did tell me what a rain like that was supposed to do, to the land beneath my feet.

That image had a calming rustle.

And it did a great deal to the earth which I was lucky to be able to stand on.

I hope to hear the same melody from the other droplets, that fall from this endless sky above my head, so that I could feel just as fondled and cared after, such as the earth that held kindly my clumsy and wise, half-blinded footsteps.

Just as I was about to leave, another set of drops made a peculiar sound. It resounded with my sight, and the feeling that I had of it was clear like the rain which continued to cleanse its ground below.

The feeling I had could be put into words, which were:

'For those droplets that flee from the sky, hoping to seek refuge on the ground, their delight and pleasure will still come to an end, for they be faded to return.

And so, for the other droplets, who miss their home in the heavens, they need not to fear. They shall fall down to this earth, and rest upon this gifted land until they are called out again by the shining sun.'

It felt like a voice coming from a fixed point, yet fluid, and mutable.

It felt so polite that it was clear about what it meant, but still, elegant, and respectful to all the other voices from the feelings within me, and all the sounds that nature made that night.

Am I a drop of water fleeing from the sky? Or am I resting kindly on this earth?

The reflection of these words echoes to whom holds value in their meaning. Wherever, whenever, just wait for it, and listen to the raining sound of the waters."

Atrito, Transferência e Imutabilidade - Passos Humanos, e do resto que se sentir confortável com isso

De todos os tesouros adentro dos seres, em restrito ao ser humano, o calor e a efervescência de belas e amalgamadas cores que ressoam, se refletem e nos absorvem, me chamam a atenção, profundamente, e me dizem em badaladas de sinos a cada passo que eu dou, sobre os mundos que criamos, e em que claro, nos deleitamos, em meio aos nosssos corações.

De você, o roteiro dos dias do meu ano não vai querer se esquecer. A nós, que corriamos em meio a redemoinhos e dançávamos perante músicas tão ameaçadoras quanto o abismo a que nos fomos por fim tragados, eu proponho o brinde do sangue que percorre o meu corpo em minhas veias.

Em nome de nossos nomes, danço agora a valsa de meus próprios pesos e plumagens, dentre as vagas dimensões de dias que se passam em meus olhos, emudecidos pela manhã de cada fragrância do mar, que fraqueja perante a terra que nos traz este mundo, e trazidos de volta à canção de todas as minhas estrelas, que reluzem o brilho de nossos corações, nos relembram o nosso fugaz ou oculto riso, dentro de cada rua perdida em que nos aprisionamos, com ou sem o auxílio de quem nos deixamos levar - gratos e letárgicos, lentamente nos adentrando à força que nos prende, a mesma que nos ergue, mais uma vez, àquela bela e conhecida música.

De quem me fez em dias agora passados, me deleitar à audácia de meu chamado e percorrer como a chama o campo, dentro do corpo que me tinha como sangue, tão ardente quanto sóis que brilham com ou sem o voto do resto do cosmo, agora também quero que pertençam as cinzas de meu cenho por estes dias também manchado.

Até que a nossa liberdade possa por nós, ser vista claramente, que nossos passos sejam dados com a mesma sinceridade dos desejos que aqui nos trouxeram. Ao céu que me pressiona contra mil verdades prontas a me dilacerar, ao sinal da tolice e dos passos mal dados, eu homenageio as palavras ditas pelo meu falar, e as que deixo registradas nesta prosa lírica.

A nós, eu brindo à vitória de percorrer nossas vidas com a nossa verdadeira face, que nos é mostrada por todos os ciclos ds sóis que percorrem o céu. Mesmo que ela possa fazer-se distante, mas podemos alcançá-la. Com você como o corpo que vejo fora de mim, ou como as lembranças que brilham no meu céu.

Porque o horizonte que nos espera é correspondente à vontade que nós percorremos, aos passos que seguimos, e ao nascer e ao por do sol que nós ganhamos todos os dias, como os belos presentes de nossas vidas que sempre são.

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me senti incompleto com o final desse post, mas pelo menos é algo, né