Blog for the New Era

Has this blogging here still any sense in the era of facebook?

Autopsychography

The poet is a faker
Who’s so good at his act
He even fakes the pain
Of pain he feels in fact.

And those who read his words
Will feel in what he wrote
Neither of the pains he has
But just the one they don’t.

And so around its track
This thing called the heart winds,
A little clockwork train
To entertain our minds.

Fernando Pessoa (himself)
Translated by Richard Zenith

I make my poems flow

A beautiful black butterfly
I meet her in the nights
We circle each other
In the silence
Weaving the cobweb
Of glances and smiles
For a moment
The sunshine eclipses the darkness

Then we fly apart
Return to our lives
Disappear in the daily rush.

I wait for the twilight
To bring me your shine
Will you come?

("A Beautiful Black Butterfly" by Merewyn Kazan)

Floating Thoughts

So you have been of use
And you have been abused

You know you look pale today
Your self-esteem has gone astray

You sold out and lost your looks
You gave away all your books

You should drown with me

Your hands has been wound up tight
Unwind it with me tonight

You should drown with me

Tyre tracks
Fresh on the ground
Where he will be found
Held under the water
Resting there in a stream
View from the cold water
Buried in green
Orange filter sky

Your drowning in family there
When will you come up for air

You should drown with me

Don't feel you let 'em down
Cos they have already drowned

You should drown with me

..... (after Porcupine Tree, "In Absentia")

Shakespeare became the creepy stalker

The more I learn about Seung Cho, the less I understand people in America. Seung was accused for stalking but actually all that stalking he was turned to police for, consisted of looking into the eyes and writing Shakespeare, "Romeo and Julliet" on a door board? WOW! I wish I was stalked that way.

Imagine, the girl that called police for finding that message, the girl that is the student and should have at least a minimum knowledge about the her own culture heritage, she didn’t recognize that Seung was quoting Shakespeare. How disappointing.... No wonder you do not want to reveal your name.

Shine - Collective Soul

Give me a word
Give me a sign
Show me where to look
Tell me what will I find
Lay me on the ground
Fly me in the sky
Show me where to look
Tell me what will I find
Oh, heaven let your light shine down

Love is in the water
Love is in the air
Show me where to go
Tell me will love be there
Teach me how to speak
Teach me how to share
Teach me where to go
Tell me will love be there
Oh, heaven let your light shine down

A person who repeats the lyrics of this song, about love, everyday, like a prayer, as if begging for help, cannot be evil. And all we want is to understand why he made the evil. My heart is full of compassion for the victims and this is why I seek for an answer why did it all happen?

Seung-Hui Cho

In the memory of all the 33 victims of Virginia Tech Massacre.....

Wisława Szymborska, (Nobel Prize in Literature 1996)
"On Death, without Exaggeration"

It can't take a joke,
find a star, make a bridge.
It knows nothing about weaving, mining, farming,
building ships, or baking cakes.

In our planning for tomorrow,
it has the final word,
which is always beside the point.

It can't even get the things done
that are part of its trade:
dig a grave,
make a coffin,
clean up after itself.

Preoccupied with killing,
it does the job awkwardly,
without system or skill.
As though each of us were its first kill.

Oh, it has its triumphs,
but look at its countless defeats,
missed blows,
and repeat attempts!

Sometimes it isn't strong enough
to swat a fly from the air.
Many are the caterpillars
that have outcrawled it.

All those bulbs, pods,
tentacles, fins, tracheae,
nuptial plumage, and winter fur
show that it has fallen behind
with its halfhearted work.

Ill will won't help
and even our lending a hand with wars and coups d'etat
is so far not enough.

Hearts beat inside eggs.
Babies' skeletons grow.
Seeds, hard at work, sprout their first tiny pair of leaves
and sometimes even tall trees fall away.

Whoever claims that it's omnipotent
is himself living proof
that it's not.

There's no life
that couldn't be immortal
if only for a moment.

Death
always arrives by that very moment too late.

In vain it tugs at the knob
of the invisible door.
As far as you've come
can't be undone.
......................

http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1996/szymborska-poetry.html
Merewyn (03:03)