October 2006

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by Pablo Neruda

And because love battles
not only in its burning agricultures
but also in the mouth of men and women,
I will finish off by taking the path away
to those who between my chest and your fragrance
want to interpose their obscure plant.

About me, nothing worse
they will tell you, my love,
than what I told you.

I lived in the prairies
before I got to know you
and I did not wait love but I was
laying in wait for and I jumped on the rose.

What more can they tell you?
I am neither good nor bad but a man,
and they will then associate the danger
of my life, which you know
and which with your passion you shared.

And good, this danger
is danger of love, of complete love
for all life,
for all lives,
and if this love brings us
the death and the prisons,
I am sure that your big eyes,
as when I kiss them,
will then close with pride,
into double pride, love,
with your pride and my pride.

But to my ears they will come before
to wear down the tour
of the sweet and hard love which binds us,
and they will say: “The one
you love,
is not a woman for you,
Why do you love her? I think
you could find one more beautiful,
more serious, more deep,
more other, you understand me, look how she’s light,
and what a head she has,
and look at how she dresses,
and etcetera and etcetera”.

And I in these lines say:
Like this I want you, love,
love, Like this I love you,
as you dress
and how your hair lifts up
and how your mouth smiles,
light as the water
of the spring upon the pure stones,
Like this I love you, beloved.

To bread I do not ask to teach me
but only not to lack during every day of life.
I don’t know anything about light, from where
it comes nor where it goes,
I only want the light to light up,
I do not ask to the night
explanations,
I wait for it and it envelops me,
And so you, bread and light
And shadow are.

You came to my life
with what you were bringing,
made
of light and bread and shadow I expected you,
and Like this I need you,
Like this I love you,
and to those who want to hear tomorrow
that which I will not tell them, let them read it here,
and let them back off today because it is early
for these arguments.

Tomorrow we will only give them
a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf
which will fall on the earth
like if it had been made by our lips
like a kiss which falls
from our invincible heights
to show the fire and the tenderness
of a true love.

News Audiences Increasingly Politicized
Online News Audience Larger, More Diverse
Released: June 8, 2004

 

Source: The Pew Research Center For The People and The Press

by Hafiz

I have a thousand brilliant lies
For the question: 

How are you? 

I have a thousand brilliant lies
For the question: 

What is God? 

If you think that the Truth can be known
From words, 

If you think that the Sun and the Ocean 

Can pass through that tiny opening Called the mouth, 

O someone should start laughing!
Someone should start wildly Laughing –Now!

The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take
risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice.
Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded,
sometimes destroyed.


Ernest Hemingway from A Farewell to Arms

I’ve been a fan of Ashleigh Brilliant since purchasing one of his books I May Not Be Totally Perfect, But Parts of Me Are Excellent from a shop in Santa Barbara, California (where the author resides) when I was 16. The old man makes me smile.

Hubble Site: Eigth Anniversary of Hubble's Smash Hits


I can’t sleep tonight. Everything feels a little upside down. It’s an absurd notion - when maybe I’m the one upside down.

I spent some time flipping through images of the universe on Hubble telescope’s website; something I highly recommend. It hasn’t helped me sleep but it’s certainly cleared up any confusion I might have had over whether or not my little existence means anything.

Being born for one blip of time into such beautiful chaos is a blessing. If it means nothing in the ultimate scheme of things, that’s OK. It means a great deal to me.


James Nachtwey

Another amazing photographer I stumble(d)upon. His images are not for the faint of heart but neither is the world in which they were created.

by e.e. cummings

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skillfully, mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals

the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands


This poem was mentioned in the film Hannah And Her Sisters, by Woody Allen

I recently stumble(d)upon this photographer. This image is one of my favorites.

believe nothing,
no matter where you read it
or who has said it,
not even if i have said it,
unless it agrees with your own reason
and your own common sense.


                                        -buddha

Leonard Cohen

The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don’t dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.

Ah the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.

We asked for signs
the signs were sent:
the birth betrayed
the marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
of every government –
signs for all to see.

I can’t run no more
with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places
say their prayers out loud.
But they’ve summoned, they’ve summoned up
a thundercloud
and they’re going to hear from me.

Ring the bells that still can ring …

You can add up the parts
but you won’t have the sum
You can strike up the march,
there is no drum
Every heart, every heart
to love will come
but like a refugee.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
That’s how the light gets in.
That’s how the light gets in.