"To Risk"

To laugh is to risk appearing a fool,

To weep is to risk appearing sentimental

To reach out to another is to risk involvement,

To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self

To place your ideas and dreams before a crowd is to risk their loss

To love is to risk not being loved in return,

To hope is to risk despair,

To try is to risk to failure.

But risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.

The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing is nothing.

He may avoid suffering and sorrow,

But he cannot learn, feel, change, grow or live.

Chained by his servitude he is a slave who has forfeited all freedom.

Only a person who risks is free.

The pessimist complains about the wind;

The optimist expects it to change;

And the realist adjusts the sails.

-William Arthur Ward,

Beograd

    Ja volim ovaj grad. On je moj, ujedno je i grad mnogih drugih ljudi. Ja ga poznajem, a zauzvrat, on, poput kristalne kugle, mi daje vid proslosti prozivljene u njemu. Svaka ulica nosi pricu u kojoj bih mogao da se izgubim. Secam se prvih poljubaca, prvih nestashluka, prvih iskustava koje nosim i nosicu zauvek sa sobom. Sve je to napisano u pricama nekih drugih vremena, zaboravljenih u metezu danasnjice.

    Svaki put, kada se vratim sa putovanja svetom, vidim ovaj grad ochima koje nisu iste. One su videle stvari sa kojima sam se, nekada davno, kroz mastu samo razdragano poigravao. A sada, one nose neopisive slike. Slike koje pricaju price previse kompleksne za proste rechi. Svaki put kada se sretnemo ponovo, ovaj grad je, pored svega sto delimo, nov. On raste, kao i ja. Raste u smeru koji nikada nece moci da se definitivno opise kao 'dobar' ili 'los'.

    Ovog puta medjutim, mozda zbog vremena i temperature, mozda zbog golih grana i zimom prljavih trotoara, primecujem poglede drugih, koji me vecinom ni ne primecuju. Ti pogledi su sada nemi i mirni, kao oshibani vetrom, samo sto rane nikada nisu zarasle. Mozda ni vetar nikada nije prestao da duva. Oni koji bi trebalo da se smeju cute, nepomicni u svojim kulama. Njihova tisina je ispunjena vikom onih sa ulica i stadijuma, onih iz ratova i zatvora, onih suvishe pametnih za srecu njih samih. Njihovi glasovi nadjacavaju druge u vecernjim satima vikenda.

    Oni, mali broj njih, koji se i dalje smeje, njihov eho se cuje kroz zivot ovog grada. Nevinost u njihovoj zelji za izrazavanjem ostaje stub zivota ovde, sada, dok se zemljotres i pored svih ovih godina oseca. Ali on pruza nadu: za neko bolje vreme, bez vetrova i kisha, za lakshe i srecnije.

Communication, interacting or experiencing someone through intellectual, is not the same as with the whole of the mind. Feeling in the body, letting their vibe go through you, without control.

It is a daring thing.

Metaphor

'I was authentic' he claimed. Emotions were showing their faces with every word he pronounced. 'This is me, and this is how it is!'.

- 'So tell me, what would happen if it didn't happen?'

'What are you talking about? You do not know what you are talking about! Stop freaking me out! I do not need your mind games!'. He was agitated, to the point where it ate his long sighted awareness.

- 'It all changes, with your awareness. The language, their meanings, the words, the attachment to the feeling u once felt. They are not permanent, and being fixated by them will imprison you.'

'What? Language is common, we all use it and we all know what these words mean! How else would we communicate, how else would I tell you how I feel?!'

- 'Though if I tell you how I feel, will you be able to really feel how I feel? With all the fine sensations it brings, the physical feelings, the qualitative aspect completely subjectively interpreted by myself. Will you know exactly how I feel?'

'Well, I can guess.. If you tell me, I will understand what you mean'

- 'So you will understand the concept of the word which describes my feeling?

'Well.. yes, but no matter, I will be able to see how you feel.'

- 'And tell me, who created this concept? The concept which the word describes?'

'Well... its obvious. Everybody knows what a concept behind a word describes! On the end when I feel something I use a word to explain it... It's quite linear, simple.'

- 'But your feelings aren't linear, they aren't numbers. Do you understand now why we use metaphors? We avoid the faculty of reason and appeal to the emotions inside you. You paint a picture listening to a metaphor and your sensations appear automatically. You don't need to dumb them down. You feel them.That is the beauty of a metaphor.'

Memoirs

My throat was dry, painfully dry, and she was smiling. I rarely saw her smile, but today, it was one of those days. The garden looked wet, even though the sun was shining at its best, at least for this time of the year. I could feel the dampness just by looking at the colourful flowers planted just infront of the small wooden, probably old, patio. The air felt thin. Thin and cold.
Ever since I came here, I felt that the damp has gone into everything: the buildings, the walls, the people... Damp had this effect on things - on people too - to blurry the lines, to weaken the structure, to pervasively deteriorate the foundations. I felt as if this coldness was subtly touching the edges of my existence. I feared for my warmth, having intrinsic resistance towards the local weather. I was fearing that I would lose it over time...

My hands were grabbing for the long green grass, as a walked amidst the green jungle. The grass looked very long and sharp. It had little peas of water stuck on it, remains of the morning mist. The grass was as tall as I was, if not more. My feet were small. Small shoes, wet on the front, from running through the path which existed only in my mind. Somewhere far behind I could hear my parents talking. It felt like summer. A blue radiant sky. Air filled with electricity. I felt life with every breath. I felt alive. Suddenly I stopped, looking down I saw a pond. I gazed into my reflection. I saw a boy. With puffy cheeks and curious eyes. A curious look. For a moment I stopped. Silence. The world went numb. It stopped. No movement. No vibration. It lasted a second. I turned around and screamed for my parents, happily, as if I have discovered some secret treasure. I saw them standing next to the road, leaning on the old blue car. They were dressed in the light white, grey and light blue garment. I started to run towards them, my legs carrying me, led by a cheerful intent...

- So tell me, how do you fancy it here? And while you are answering, would you be so kind to pass me that ashtray right behind you please? - I was teleported back, instantly. It lasted a moment.

- Certainly. - I turned around and grabbed the ashtray - Here you go.

- Thank you - She said, extremely politely, with an almost authentic ease. Yet I picked up, and couldn't ignore, the generic tone, manner and delivery of those 2 simple words.

- Well, in all the honesty, time will tell. It always does...

i need to grow up.
Need to grow up.
I need scars and wounds.
not stars and moons.

We grow up through other people.
Or we dont and we stay stuck.

I won't stay stuck.
That,
I am sure of.

You are not your experience.
You are not your spelled words.
You are not your actions.
You are not you feelings.

"Watch you when you say
What you are and when you blame
Everyone, You broken king
Watch you change the frame or
Watch you when you take your aim
At the sum of everything"

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.


When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense.

Rumi

Quatrain #158 from Open Secret

qwe

Loneliness is this mechanism of keeping feelings inside. Inability to take it out, to live it through, and to feel it while living. To let the world, the people, the experience, shape up using these feelings.
It is a gap.
Between inside and outside.
That gap hurts. It bleeds through eyes.
Can't change it suddenly. Everything would fall apart. The people, the decisions, the environment.
Maybe I wouldn't be here if it wasn't so. Maybe closest people around me, would be far away.

Shaking the foundations of a skyscraper. Yes, maybe for better, but in the process.. the roof would fall, hundreds and hundreds of meters, until it hits the curb. Once it did, it would smash everything around. Innocent things and people. Glass windows would shatter objects and people on the street. Whole rooms full of things would be crushed against the falling walls. It would be devastating. Even if the foundations moved for the better, the already correctly positioned walls and rooms would fall down as well, caught in the chaos, caught in the movement of the whole building. It would take some time. Time of despair and mess. Time of cleaning up and preparing the new construction. Certainly it would pass and the building would be reconstructed on the better foundations. But the destruction of environment, it would take its toll.

I don't have enough...   right now. But I want to. It is just not the right moment, too many things would shatter. 

asd

I am SO fucking angry and I could crush this fucking wall. Tear down the curtains.
Stab the sofas until there's sponge everywhere.
I could run sprints and beat the rest.
Kill the tigers with my bear hands.
Eat people and rip their heads off.
All of this, but I don't.

I have a volcano in me.
So much energy, that I could fill the planet.

And behind anger.
Is seas of sadness.

But I don't have time, nor solitude,

to summersault in it.

Am I a...

"What humanists believe


Humanism is an approach to life based on humanity and reason – humanists recognise that moral values are properly founded on human nature and experience alone and that the aims of morality should be human welfare, happiness and fulfillment. Our decisions are based on the available evidence and our assessment of the outcomes of our actions, not on any dogma or sacred text.

• Humanism is a naturalistic view, encompassing atheism and agnosticism as responses to theistic claims, but is an active and ethical philosophy greater than these reactions to religion.
• Humanists believe in individual rights and freedoms, but believe that individual responsibility, social cooperation and mutual respect are just as important.
• Humanists believe that people can and will continue to find solutions to the world's problems, so that quality of life can be improved for everyone.
• Humanists are positive, gaining inspiration from our lives, art and culture, and a rich natural world.

Humanists believe that we have only one life, it is our responsibility to make it a good life, and to live it flourishingly"

...humanist?

Design. Creativity. Internet. Media. Social platforms. Mobile networking. Online. Social trends.

IDEO, an innovative company which is constantly trying to invent new solutions to already existing 'good' things, heat concept, the new ATM, is a creator of a, so called Design thinking, based on the Architecture/Design/Anthropology (A/D/A) paradigm. There is a book, reviews, videos, and articles from well known academic institutions positively reviewing IDEO's way to innovation. Now, if you noticed recently, creativity is on the increase. If you regularly read journals regarding economy, business, social trends, and education, it has been a topic clearly repeated in different contextes. It might be that Daniel H. Pink is right when he is saying that the whole of the manufacturing, linear, left brain thinking jobs (including the accounting and financing) are offshoring to the countries in the rise, Africa, Asia, Brasil. Statistically, it is easy to understand without going into the psyche. The number of universities I saw, just in China, really makes it evident that they will catch up fast with the linear knowledge, and be able to offer the non-creative, non-innovative kind of services. So what is left, yes, the left part of the brain: concepts, stories, patterns, bigger picture, out of the box.

The interesting thing is that if you look at quantum physics, it is clearly explain that quants -> vibrations compose materia. Looking at a neuro discoveries, via meditation, psychology, and alternative practices, our consciousness can pick up these vibrations, depending on the level of awareness, and process them as feelings. The feelings than correspond with emotional patterns which depend many factors of personal growth, which transform into ideas. The evolution from physical, over mental to emotional is happening, some authors would argue.

The technological platforms clearly give an incredible sandbox in which these trends are transmitted. They were always there, in one way or another, but the general mainstream perception towards, once-upon, 'geeky-stuff', is radically changing. Yet these are not the same linear programmers, or, so called, geeks. Once yet, but it was devoid of human-centred focus, emotions, thus it was very foreign. Today, it is ALL ABOUT the human-centred programming and creation. This is where Design kicks in.

....

no words left

...

I fucking hate it when I have a perfect thing in my mind.

It is going and going inside of my head, and I just want to put it down.

I am late.

By the time I get to write it, it becomes vague.

An utter piece of rubbish. 

Miserable copy of the original.

Bullshit.

Of course I will delete it.

I am angry.

fucking sake. 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

& 

a!

aggression

Pulsing it explodes
Once hidden in the stone
It is energy moving, chaos in my breath.
It is a feeling which, inside me, slept.
I've controlled it, and fought it.
Yet it always came back, to haunt me.
We sat down, smoke the pipe.
Had anew a meeting, a conversation, no fight.
From enemy, it became an ally.
an ally to use when I feel abused.
no more passivity, no more bruised.
no more snooze, no more blues.

ask and u shall receive.

"I bargained with life for a penny

and life would pay no more,

however, I begged at evening

when I counted my scanty store;

For life is a just employer

he gives you what you ask

but, once you have set the wages

why, you must bear the task;

I worked for a menial's hire

only to learn dismayed

that any wage I had asked of life,

life would have willingly paid."

outwards.

the world only reflects how you behave to your own heart.

heartless chosen leaders.

illusion of being to change them so we can feel better.

illusion to do something physical or mental to feel better.

to physically or mentally feel better, is a perceptual error. 

7 year cycles.

vibrational in the womb.

the emotional as a child.

the intellectual as a teenage. 

the physical as an adult. the transfixed.

later on, in the search of oneself. 

we reverse this pathway of awareness.

we go from the physical

you take on a posture

than to the mental

the use of words with an intent to activate a feeling

through the feeling, we interact with the vibration.

of what we are.

whether we are aware of it as a humanity.

we are a garden.  of souls.

as it move towards an evolutionary experience.

it goes in the same direction.

civilisations same direction.

the caveman - buff. physical mentality.

such a long time. 1000 years.

the mental - o the machinery 

fast... it peaked! 100 years.

the emotional - the increasing need for self-meaning.

known among the industries of business. the 'soft' things.

just got here.

theres a good awareness of mental body.

what about the emotional?

whenever there is someone talking from the heart.

we kill him. or we worship him. we mentally put him to as a head of a religion. 

describe! describe! describe!

mental concepts.

by the time you are in the school. 

the emotional aspect of the being is put aside.

Most of the people who enter any kind of work with the emotions are between 7 and 14 years old - emotional years.

you can see it

watch the politicians behave.

like kids in the playground

trying to beat each other up

we are always operating from the level of emotional development

teenage adult period - we are feeling unintegrated, uncomfortable.

we have, to say, needs and wants which have not been met!

it causes us to lean over in the world!

what do we do?

we walk around, leaning over. 

and we see some one else, leaning over, in the exact opposite way.

and we go: LOVE!!!

so the other person is gonna go: it is soo goood!

we lean on each other. and we think that is what love is.

once it is really cool. we get married.

married is a whole thing. it is great to approach it! 

everybody is on the best behaviour! la la la

and than u sleep together.

no right of passage. no finding your own energy.

sleep together. and u sleep in someone else's energy.

someone is going to take over the room.

and the other person is going to wake up.

and go. who's room is this?!

and he will go and find a sense of himself somewhere.

so he'll go and play golf.

sense of space. because lack of space within.

when together. recognition of the unintegrated emotional body in somebody else.

that is what is recognised. 

because. our idea of love is given to us by the age of 7.

however we are treated by the age of 7.

imprints our emotional body with a particular feeling.

and that particular feeling. is not produced when we meet the person.

because whenever we meet each other and fall in love.

we are on our best behaviour!

but that energy.

the unintegrated emotional body signature

is not seen with these eyes

and even the emotional body awareness is shut down

its not really that is shut down.

its theres no acces to it.

its working all the time.

research in UK.

conclusion. people with most similar childhood issues.

got attracted.

u expect the other person to fulfil those needs and wants

mummy? daddy?

obviously when they turn into that role to fullfil the need for love.

who the hell is going to sleep with ur mummy or daddy.

it just ain't sexy.

the end. it is over.

so go. look for the lover.

because only the lover can lead into the intimacy.

because of the indoctrination.

we see it through. find a good reason. kids! 

it becomes very challenging and uncomfortable in the relationship.

what is really happening.

our inner child starts freaking out! the emotional body.

but we dont know that. so we are still going do the inner child work.

so we pop out some children.

and we work on it on the outside.

so we tune our children as our unintegrated emotions to work on it.

on goes the vicious cycle.

because that program is SO powerful.

unless go through it and experienced it.

it is very hard to enter intimacy.

marriage could be like a rite of passage for intimacy.

it is such a powerful program. it is embedded in the culture.

intimacy is not the part of that journey.

it is not about the other person. marriage is. intimacy is about an experience.

intimacy is not - coming together to be with you.

its about me coming together with you to explore and experience.

it begins with the relationship towards myself.

relationship with the heart.

metaphor for the relationship with the self.

it is by having a relationship with the feelings.

having a relationship with 'god'

with the feelings.

having a relationships with where you are now.

it is with the feelings.

experience.

the relationship with the self, is the microcosm of the macrocosm of all other relationships that you will have.

relationships, directly with the family, partner, daily people, mirror of the relationship with the self.

maybe not paying attention, maybe pushing the feelings down, pushing the feelings down is the same as pushing people away, it will look like people pushing away.

looking at the outside to see what is inside. 

integrity part.

how sound is the structure?

authenticity. author of experience? imprinting. impact of childhood. 

emotional body is the causal point of the quality of the experience

integrity of the building. how sound is structure. sound and structured through the experience. being aware, what part of the emotional body, what part of mental body, what part of physical body has to do with the experience. for what do you go to the emotional body, for what to you go to the physical body, for what do you go to the mental body for. 

unless aware of those things. unless established integrity. there is no way.

can there be intimacy with another person.

because intimacy with another person. is based on having this experiential understanding.

conscious relationship.

Lens.

It is night time. Not too late - quite early actually, I grab my already worn out camera, put the jacket of the same colour and exit through the door. The room felt like a cage. Maybe it was my heart calling for attention, nervousness, feeling of discomfort. I just couldn't get my mind to pay all the attention to it, maybe  I already overdid it today. Drilling deep is arduous, overdoing it can make me fall in, after which I get spit out. As a roller coaster. I need a change of environment.

Passing down the corridor, I notice how empty it is. The corridor. A hospital-yellowish creamy walls, with small lanterns and a grey rugged hotel carpet. It reminds me of those american movies, especially Lost in Translation. I am like Bob Harris, or Murray, as his real name is. These things around, don't understand me. It is another world, not made out of my choice. The presence hits me again and I am exiting the elevator. I presume I was on unconscious auto-pilot mode. I can never remember the small details when it stops.

I am sitting in the seat. All these people around me. Too close, I think to myself. It is not natural, we are suffocating each other. Everybody is pretending not to look at each other. So they stare at the window, which reveals nothing but a black wall and their own reflections, or at the small, probably overpriced, uninspiring advert, sitting close to the ceiling of the train. A cracking voice with an indian accent alerts the arrival to the next station through the hidden speakers, I grab my camera and stand up. Charring Cross, it is written on the walls in some old british letters. A lot of tourists, you can notice them by taking too long to pick a direction once disembarked the train. I am one myself, I think. In this town, it seems that everybody is one...

Blaming others for the quality of our life experience is futile

The victor and victim role play is in reality denial and delusion. The focus on chaos and increased outer human drama is a result of an inauthentic, unconscious, and programmed approach to living. The outer conflicts triggering us emotionally in a uncomfortable way reflect our states of unintegrated inner turmoil. Not integrated and nowhere to run away from - the only thing left is to blame other people for our emotional turmoil.

It is like driving but looking at the rear-mirror and reacting to it.

Internet.

I sometimes think that internet is an evil tit. Yes, a tit. It doesn't have milk. It has information. More addictive than cocaine. You don't get answers from deep inside of you. You don't have time. You are served. 20 thousand words per minute. Information. Billion of pictures. Million of movies.
Internet is others subconscious screaming loud at you.
The only problem is, our genetics are not as fast as a regular speed of new tweets. There is no peace on internet. It is interactive. There to entertain you. At you own will, in speeds of milliseconds. See the new Facebook kids, and compare them to a rural kid which still plays with its toys in nature. I prefer the kid forest child. It is more authentic.
I like authenticity.

blurp.

when a small child died, a bird was born. it killed everything and was never scorn.
it was then that it knew what she has done and gone away.
in the forest where it doesn't rain. with the trees than don't shine or glimmer.
like diamonds on the hands of pretty blonds. dolls and puppets with their strings attached.
dolls manipulating or manipulated by their wounds. wood so deep - scratched you can hear its screams
the terrifying winter and glowing snowflakes. on the child's' shining cheek. teeth white with smile.
in a land where down is up and up is down, airplanes going up but hit the ground.
whatever whenever it is born.
never there was a wall
which not broken it was
by the bombs or what nature has
storms and thunders quakes and water
let it pour til the last drop. glasses everywhere, millions of them on the beach=========

fuck.

decide.

Are you familiar with those days where everything seems slow, everything can happen but is not happening, things could materialise but they keep on waiting, on and on and on? Than suddenly, someone, somewhere, presses a fast forward button, and your brain suddenly activates, as if caffein rushed high on speed full of excitement going just under the limit where everything falls apart. Oh, sounds terrific. But, it is not. I lived them through, too many times.

I like to call them (or calling myself more precisely): not realising yourself - failed to act upon the inner feeling, fucking slowmo. 

I find it very similar to the experience where you are in decision-making situation. The decision HAS to be made. To go left. Right? Right is better! Yet left is not bad too. But you know I have this nudge about right. Maybe it is because I am left handed so I don't ...    and *BOOM*!  Congratulations, you just picked up the street sign and finished in the window of a boutique store. 

Not deciding is a decision in itself. I don't know. I am not sure. Yeah, those too.

The lush eyebrows.

"Devastating as it can sound, it is necessary to learn the rules of, well, everything really. Just so one day you can break them!". He prodded at the boy. Words carried an aura of self adoration, fortunately John was too young to conceptualise it. His big eyes seemed to visualise every sound muttered by the old man, absorbing everything.

"You see, my dear boy, people run away from themselves. Even at young age. They seem to enter a faint of some kind. It is truly a horrible thing to see! Oh yes.. certainly it is! There is no more joy. No more sadness in their eyes. Sucked dry, they look. Small things become big in their eyes. It is all a big lie. To cover themselves, ..yes, ...I see you understand. To cover up all that rotten energy stuck in their memories, experiences, and ah... the thing you cannot cheat misunderstand fake, their own feelings! Such is the nature of everything, movement. Stopping means death. Remember that boy. Never stop any feelings from its coming, and its disappearing. Never stop changing. Never stop yourself from feeling the pulse of life. All of the emotions are the pulse. They come and go. As long as you don't forget how broad the life is. It is essential my dear nephew. There will be times when you will not want to feel something. Contracting, stopping everything, trying to control yourself. Do not EVER do that! Do you hear me!" John gave a slight nod opening his eyes even wider. "Always balance! Especially in anything concerning yourself! Creating and destroying is balance too! It is the law of impermanence! If you could only reason properly you would understand: there are no ordinary moments. They do not repeat. You and I will never have a conversation like this. We can repeat these words, we can recreate everything! Yet, somewhere inside of us, it will not be the same. Outside of us! It will not be the same! Remember that. Do not arrogantly think that the moments are the same. That nothing is happening. Feelings are always moving. World is always changing. Mind can pull that trick on you. Boredom is just an illusion, a contraction of everything. It is a kickstart made as to evade unpleasant moments. Yet they are the same as the pleasant ones, if one was not conditioned by past. Oh my dear boy. This must be terribly complex for your young mind to understand. I am passing such a heavy burden on you. But I must. I must! Your parents are too absorbed in their own pain and fear. They do not see it. They do not see anyone around them. Stuck in a fantasy world they are. Irresponsible of their own experiences! Ah! People can be so irresponsible! Yet, you cannot but love them!" The old men went silent.

His lush white eyebrows were towering the pair of blue eyes. He pulsed, with all his body, and a smile appeared. "It is a beautiful thing love. Love is willingness to evolve. To change! Joy that it brings. Even terrible sadness can bring joy after it has moved! Ah I must not forget! Nowadays people tend to use 'love' as a synonym for their need as to not feel things hidden deep inside. It is not love, it is a conditional fix, conditioned by past, so they feel the same way they did as young. Never mind that boy. We must move on. Fear! Do not ever fear! Fear is a thing of past and future. Not now. Not here. When you fear, you must dissolve your mind, and return to your feelings. Only ideas can bring you fear! Other people will create ideas in your head! They will try! No one wants you to find your own ideas! They want you to believe theirs, going as far as telling you what to do and what is good for you! The key is: always first gather information from the inside, stop doing it from the outside. That way you will not get lost in others ideas. People tend to think they are their thoughts, and it brings them all kind of sadness. Which brings us to the present moment. Now. Do you remember the time you wanted that silly purple toy? You cried and wanted it! Once you finally got it, what happened?"

The boy instantly answered "I played with it!".

"But for how long John?" the old men slowly asked.

"Well, a bit!  it wasn't what I exactly thought it is going to be like" the child happily answered.

"Yes my dear boy, such is the nature of things. We suffer for wanting something, and finally once we get it, we suffer because we cannot hold on to it, the idea, the moment, the object etc,. There will be things you will not be able to get, and you will suffer because of it too! Forgetting what happened the last time, every time. So it is impossible to know what is coming, or what is what is certainly the result going to be like. Technically, materialistically, yes. Our own feelings and energy, no. It is always the now which brings the undoubted joy. Feeling the joy of the present moment, will give you more energy to live a passionate life.  To enjoy every sensation you come across. Every shape. Every sound, touch, smell and feeling. As long as you remain detached from them, you will be in now, and joyful of everything changing.  Living the life passionately while remaining detached, will make the biggest impact, on you, your close ones, and humanity. Things made during such a state are never ignored by people. They vibrate with something which resonated on the same frequency as life. But beware! This is not better than any other way of living. You will never be better than anybody else.  The same way, you will never be less than anybody else.  All of this is NOT about perfection, or victory, or invulnerability. Is is about absolute vulnerability. That is the true courage of living. This is not about stupid decisions! So don't try to fight 10 boys in order to prove you are absolutely vulnerable! You will just get beaten up. This is about your 'inside'. It is about here, and here, and here. Inside. Remember it."

Silence followed, it seemed unnatural after the long discourse the old men presented to John. The boy sat on the edge of his chair, with eyes still wide open, ready to jump and laugh. All of these ideas went into him and disappeared. Not leaving a single trace of confusion or doubt. John was really listening. He was not distracted by concepts, ideas and arguments. He did not form an answer, as to agree or disagree. He felt his uncles' discourse from within. It vibrated in his body. It came, and went. John joyfully smiled at the old men. He received a wide smile back. "You little brat!" laughed the old men". You are too young to understand! Too innocent to forget how it is to be living with angst, anxiety, grief and bitterness. I am jealous of you my dearest boy! Enough of my blabbering! Now go off! Go play with your friends and enjoy it all!"

The boy gave a short laugh grinning, and jumped of his seat. After picking up his jacket, he started walking towards the door.

"John."

The boy turned.

"One last thing I want to tell you. The ones who are hardest to love, need it the most. Don't forget that" the old man smiled.

"I won't!" John ecstatically said and left through the old heavy wooden doors.

Dear morning

I hate mornings like these. Crawled out of bed with a feeling I haven’t slept. Feeling that I actually DIDN’T relax. I DIDN’T stop thinking. I opened my eyes without that refreshing feeling. The heart inside of me froze during the night, it definitely did. I lost the feeling of it. Cut out. I put my leather jacket, which doesn’t feel like new, put my shoes on and barge out of the door. It is cold outside or better said frisky as it is normal in this bloody town I am thinking. Not to be surprised, the moment the sun caught my presence it became bloody warm and uncomfortable, and I cursed the morning.  I continued walking only to enter the bank and as I am entering I am thinking that security guy wherever he is is probably checking me out right now and looking closely if I am going to pull the gun out. I watched too many movies. Though I definitely look like, or at least I definitely feel, like an eastern European. Pale, lifeless, leather jacket, could kill someone, no grace no posture no nothing, nothing nice. After I put all the money inside the bank I call the companies to pay the bills. At least that’s done but no sense of the accomplishment whatsoever. You spoiled idiot I think to myself, you didn’t earn it, you are paying bills, YOUR bills, goddamn expensive ones BARE in mind and want to feel like you did something. Go kill yourself.

As I am walking I am thinking, or as I am thinking I am walking. Everything seems so out of touch, there is a big glass between me and everything else and it seems this glass sucks the fucking marrow out of everything. I think about past, about future, about what am I doing what can I do what is there to do today tomorrow and it doesn’t make my heart boogie. Heart??! That was the organ which gave color to the world, gave energy gave enthusiasm gave life a nudge, a nudge, which becomes a rollercoaster ride, ups and downs, but its fun. I think it forgot to wake up. I can’t feel it. I feel like a drone, a robot. I pass by people, they all have same faces, and everything I can think of has the same gray trick to it. From movies I know people live like this, and I think how horrible it can be, I DON’T WANT TO BECOME ONE. Paradox as it is, I know! that I need the little morning cocoon to shatter that glass press the on button on my heart and all this requires a moment of silence of focus of self feeling out, finding that feeling and starting the beat again. But my cocoon right now is not a cocoon. It all drains.

However even though I projected illusions of despair, felt like a delusional madmen, I knew that they didn’t hold true, that if I just open an eye inside of me all these projections will shatter and the whole life will go to another frequency. It requires courage though sometimes just to live without effort pain and disappointment it definitely is easier to live like a drone a robot a burnt out smoked out cigarette.

I walked inside of Tesco’s, routinely bought the 4 things I need for breakfast, bread, meat, milk, cereals, went out, crossed the street after waiting for the parade of the pretentious looking cavalry policemen and women pass, entered a forgot-whats-it-called store, after a short time thinking bought some kitchen appliances and budged home.

Once I get home, I definitely need to sit down and relax I thought.

The ambitious

'bout: [Murakami]

Something deep gets wounded. So early and so deep, this wound gashes with blood, and continues getting opened throughout the years. He is deformed with this pain. Terrorized with it. He never again wants to feel like he did. He jumps away from it. He jumps too much. In the given circumstances he doesn’t look at his wounds with sobriety. He acts out of pain, in extremes. There he makes a cut. A cut away from his cuts. His refugee is in the will. The strength. The work. The challenges. The hardships. To go on, no matter the cost, to stay strong no matter the loss.  Its wrong, to himself. To build a character out of touch with his depth.  He lives without a heart.  Arrogant so his wounds are not felt. The motto is ‘you learn not to feel bad’, not to be down, not to feel hurt. Nothing is ever enough. Why? Because to be fulfilled you need the mind the body and the heart. So he keeps on. He tramples them. Pursues the girls, the career and everything practical. No emotions please. No romanticism. Because inside he is an idealist. These extremes. These extremes. Afraid of a part in himself. Buried so deep. So deep.

Dear Nagasava.

Mozda

Words were coming to his mind, but none of them was the one he was looking for. The stream of flashing images, symbols, forms, thoughts and opinions passed by his awareness but none of them was the meaning he was looking for. It was as if someone was hectically looking for a key in a wardrobe full of drawers completely filled with LEGO pieces.  After a minute of digging through his memory, he gave up, giving out a loud gasp.

He was walking down the busy main street. As the evening came the street lamps went on, and the whole street had a radiant yellowish feel. People were walking in groups, more often than not, girls all dressed up and guys with their eyes on the quick lay. The whole atmosphere reeked of sexual tension, or maybe it was just him projecting it. But one could not not notice all the testosterone staring around.

Storm:

Clicked. Something revolted inside of him, something very primal, instinctive. The air was buzzing with electricity under the clouds amassed in great quantities, the godlike grey cover stood as far as the eye can see. The street life was swiftly disappearing. People rushed pacing to get to their shelters, their movements evoked an image of a chaotic frenzy of an ant colony with the first sign of water. Plastic bags in different colours were playing the waltz, moving gently in an elegant fashion as if someone was pulling their strings. They danced around each other, silently , as if ignoring the incoming trouble. Occasionally, a child would stop and look with awe at the aerial ballroom, though it would take only a moment until an elder would pull it, dragging it by the arm towards their refugee. He heard an old men, sitting in front of a small shop, say "It has been quite some time, since the last time I saw such a beauty". His expression was of a young boy, waiting for an already planned mischief to happen, smile intertwined by amazement and terror. Somewhere far away it thundered, after the initial jolt he felt like the sound continued echoing throughout his hollow body.

It left him with a pulsating effect, all of his limbs were awoken in a sync. With the light completely dimmed, the street looked unreal, after all, it has never stormed in this city. This was something new there, and this change brought life with it, he felt alive. His heart beat with pain. Until that moment, he was a shadow of himself, or a mere others projection of himself which he fitted with grace. Though in comparison with the vibrating feeling he was feeling, it all looked as grey as the clouds. All of his inner wishes and wants started to resurface, and in this character came stability. It started to storm.

[words]Soul

We live in succession, in division, in parts, in particles. Meantime within man is the soul of the whole; the wise silence; the universal beauty, to which every part and particle is equally related, the eternal ONE. And this deep power in which we exist and whose beatitude is all accessible to us, is not only self-sufficing and perfect in every hour, but the act of seeing and the thing seen, the seer and the spectacle, the subject and the object, are one. We see the world piece by piece, as the sun, the moon, the animal, the tree; but the whole, of which these are shining parts, is the soul

emmerson

organise.1

Organise.

Oh.

That was the thing. I always wanted to organise everything, but I never wanted to put effort to organise things. It is troublesome. Damn, it is troublesome.

Can't delay it anymore, things seem to erupt from the chaos, and I prefer to put the effort to it than to self destruct, in a big purple kaboom. Things like that are fun, excluding the version when is it yourself kabooming.

Eh, now I am getting that writing itch. Time to shift that point of perception where the reality assembles, and explore new things.

be back.

fast.

heritage.

.

.

.

...Ти си мој тренутак, и мој сан, и сјајна

Моја реч у шуму ; мој корак, и моја блудња ;

Само си лепота колико си тајна ;

И само истина колико си жудња.

Остај недостижна, нема и далека

Јер је сан о срећи више него срећа.

Буди беспроватна, као и младост; нека

Твоја сен и ехо буду све што сећа.

Срце има повест у сузи што лева;

У великом болу љубав своју мету;

Истина је само што душа проснева;

Пољубац је сусрет највећи на свету.

...

kicks

cant wait to get away.

the resolution in the mind of the unintentional pain is the prime subject leading to the conscious thinking and unconscious foundations for every action which can be done in the period of time following the great depression.

get it?

me

neither.

[words]Understanding

Your understanding is your understanding. Your interpretation is your interpretation. You will look from your angle. Whatsoever you hear is your interpretation, always remember. Beware of it! It is not what I have said, it is what you have thought that you have heard - and they are not the same things. You agree with your own echo, you don't agree with me. You agree with your own idea. Then how can you change? The idea is yours, the agreement is yours, so there is no possibility of change. You please stop agreeing, disagreeing. You just listen to me. Your method of agreement may be a sort of trick to protect yourself, so that you don't get the shock. It functions like a buffer. I say something, you agree immediately - the shock is avoided. If you were not agreeing with me it may have shocked you to your very roots, it may have shaken you to your very guts. I say something, you say, "Yes, I agree." With this agreement you cut off. Now there is no need to be shocked: you agree. If you were not agreeing or disagreeing.... It is the same thing with disagreement. The moment I say something and there is somebody who says, "I don't agree," he has cut the energy. Now the energy will not go into his roots and will not shake him. We have created so many buffers around ourselves, protections. These protections will not allow you to change. To change, you will need to be shocked - shocked tremendously, terribly. It is going to be painful: transformation is going to be painful. Agreement is very comfortable, so is disagreement. I don't make much difference between agreement and disagreement; they are two aspects of the same coin. The real person who wants to be near me and close to me, who wants to be really in contact with me, will not agree, will not disagree. He will simply listen to me - pure listening, absolutely pure listening, with no interpretation. He will put himself aside. He will give me way.

.

proces a u zelji dobijanja b se zavrsava tako sto odbija b i stvara c.

.after'night

'People are crazy' he thought.

Matter of a fact, he did not mind it. In the back of his mind, an echo sounded his own freakish nature. "You are a hypocrite and a coward" a voice crept into his train of thoughts. Suddenly he was aware of the cold sweat slowly dripping down his back. He was sitting on his bed, alcohol breaking through his skin. A throbbing headache, and a subtle shiver: the night after.

You can spin hundreds of different stories, but the conclusion is always the same, a painful headache, and a weak shivering body. A loss of control. There is a fine line between ecstasy in being wild, and overdoing it. Most of the people overdo it, and again, I am one of them.

Three quarters later his bell rang. It sent a shrieking pain through his skull. He wasn't expecting anyone, but an innate feeling of guilt made him get out of his bed. Grabbing for everything he could for support, he finally reached the door.

.restrukturiranje strukture

digao se. i zacuo klicanje dece napolju. nije imalo imalo smisla. nista od ovoga. Soba je bila totalno pusta, svi su otisli. Bez blama su ostavili pljuge, pepeljare, neke obrnute naopacke, prazne case, neko djubre itd. Izazvalo mu je mucninu u stomaku. Pomisao na svu tu prljavstinu zatvrtela je sobu, iznova. Kratko je izdahnuo a zatim se zavalio nazad u krevet. 'Shta mi je ovo sve trebalo' pomislio je.

okrenuo se na bok u nadi da ce uspeti da se opusti i utone, pobegne, u san. 'Prokleta deca' izustio je. Kroz prozor, pored cistog, letnjeg, svetloplavog neba, koje je izgledalo kao prilepljeno na stagod da je stajalo iza njega, pirkao je blagi tajfun koji bi inace bio prijatan, ali u trenutnim okolnostima, bio je naporan. On nije hteo da vidi, cuje, mirishe, oseca.. To je sve zahtevalo napor, napor primanja svih tih informacija, napor njegovom telu da ih podeli, analizira i reaguje. A napor je bila poslednja stvar koju je zeleo.

david je bio jedino dete u familiji, koja se, posle teskog siromastva, iznenadno obogatila. U tom procesu integracije u 'vise' socijalne krugove, postojao je ceo niz 'prihvatljivog' ponasanja, kojeg su odjednom, svi, morali da se pridrzavaju. Od malih formalnih pozdrava, preko dosadnih razgovora, u kojem, ni jedna strana nije zvucala zaintresovana za ovu drugu. Njegovi roditelji, su se izuzetno trudili da zadovolje sve... osim sami sebe. Kada je odrastao, sve vise je izrazavao buntovnicki karakter. Nije trajalo dugo pre nego sto je otisao iz kuce. Nije ga bilo briga u kakvu skolu, u koju zemlju, niti koja je buducnost koja proizilazi iz njegovih odluka. Hteo je da se skloni. Da ode, i da pocne sam na svome.

'zakljuchano kljuchanje.

sedim u zatamnjenoj sobi. Da li da odem i da trcim ili da nastavim da sedim ovde? Gomila pitanja nastavljaju da naviru, i pasivno donosim odluku. Razne stvari mi prolaze kroz glavu, razni delici zivota: posao, ljubav, stanovanje, zezanje, i sve ima kontradikciju u sebi. Mogu da nadjem problem u bilo cemu. Mogu. Uvek vidim da bi nekako sve moglo bolje. Postoji ta iluzija, ocekivanje? Kroz otvorena vrata terase dopire na trenutak deo nekog narodnjaka. Dovoljno dugacko da me ponovo pronadje fleshback proslosti. Uhvacen sam u jedan veliki lup secanja i emocija koji se nadovezuje na sadasnjost, i vrti me. Vrti me skroz. Imam unutrasnji, prirodni, nagon da sve promenim. Polomim? Osecam se kao ni na nebu ni na zemlji. Nisam u oblacima. Niti me je zivot ugenjcio skroz u zemlju. To je proslost. I upravo to. U tome je problem. Lebdim. Ne mogu da opipam stvari oko sebe. Ni jedna stvar nije cvrtsta. Relativnost. Jedino sto je cvrsto, su odluke i stvari koje radim.

Totalno proseravanje. Znam dubinu stvari. Ovo je samo faza. Razlika je samo u tome kojoj kolicini cu da se u'vatim za nju, i flegmaticno prepustim. Cim napravim odluku. Neku malu odluku i vidim smisao u njoj. Kratkotrajan smisao. Sledi presek ovog stanja. Status quo. Govori iskustvo, a ne emocijonalno razmishljanje. Skontao sam. Presek. Ne verujem u to, ali iz istog iskustva znam da to radi. Mogu da ostanem ovde i da se prepustam godinama, neki to rade, ali vec sam to pokusao, i to nije put. Ne za mene. Ustao sam - navukao patike, ustao sa sofe, na kojoj je ostao mali laptop, jedini izvor svetlosti u zatamnjenoj sobi i otisao da istrazujem ostatak puta..

dizai'n, etcetera.

Tekstualni refreni, pesme slika u koje uvlace, samo ako pricas istim stilom. A stil, pa. Pitanje srece, izbora, odrastanja ili emocijalnog sastava. Mozda sve zajedno. Kreativni smo i zelimo da zivimo. Buncam, ponovo.

Stilovi, i moda. Nova muzika koja je totalno in. Dizajn koji vlada. Polako. Uvek je bio tu. Ali znas da kada harvardov journal press, i top biznis skole posvete 4 uzastopna broja dizajnu, nesto se desava.

Perfekcionizam. Verovatno u stilu, sve mora da bude cakum pakum. Malo je veliko. Meko je tvrdo. Da bitno je sta radis. Kako, je ono sto izdvaja. Prezentacija. Sve mora da bude u jednom toku. Dizajnirano sto bi rekli. Smisao, namena i razlog. Viktorijanski detalji nisu bili samo nabacivani, tek tako. Prica. Prica je sve vise, vise, vise i vise vazna. Ako nesto ima smisao, razlog i neku namenu, onda mora da ima i pricu. Kako drugacije da se objasni. Crtanjem? Mozda.., ali ne uvek. Naravno. Mi smo ljudska bica, i da, volimo da pricamo sa i o drugima i da zalimo druge, sakriveno u 'pomoci za nekoga', rekao je Niche - da bi se osecali u moci. Nije bio prvi koji je to rekao, naravno. Dublje, ono sto je zaista, je empatija. Empatija, saosecanje sa nekim. Ne postoji sud. Cista emocija. Osecaj zapravo. A ako verujemo naucnicima, svako osecanje, a tek misao, se fizicki meri. Meko postaje tvrdo..

a igra.

igra.

moras da volis da se igras sa stvarima.

ne moras ustvari =

moras da pustis da izadje. svi volimo da se igramo.

svi smo bili deca. nije sve ozbiljno kao sto izgleda.

.

.

.

.

.

heathrow.

Blurred mirrors everywhere. Screens and polished surfaces. I am walking forward. My mind is not at its sharpest state. Everything is made of metal or glass, at least that is what the impression should be. I am guessing all those cups of wine did eventually leave an effect on me. People are walking by, big luggages trailing them. They are all of different cultures, or at least origin. The variety astounds me. It was always around me, nothing new. But for whatever reason, right now, it is striking to me. Furthermore, it is their expression which draws me. Most of them are worried. Puzzled faces built upon a machine of thoughts and doubts, questions which will just raise more questions until there is a change of subject. They do not notice me. Even though, as I walk gently, I stare at each and one of them. So wound up in their dialogue, but soon, I have a feeling, they will not even know where they are going. I am not better, I am the same. But I like to notice and observe. Not judge. Sometimes it is hard, but whenever it happens I just find all the arguments of why that person should not be judged, why no one deserves such a treatment. At least I believe so. I am convinced that most of the times, our brain is like a monkey, it just jumps to conclusions, and the saddest part is that, we fall for it. I walk by a big family, originating from Africa, I guess. They are standing and waiting for something. About 12 people, children, women and men, As I pass by, I notice the 3 oldest looking men, scalding the children for doing what children do. They are dressed up in full suits, and I find that ridiculous., as the remains of the family is dressed up in clothes more depicting their culture. I am laughing inside. Why the hell would you ever accept those values, west is as screwed up as any other. I shake my head and presume that people still believe that west is better than their own rich, meaningful and beautiful culture. Propaganda!. It brightens my mood but a bit. Not because of them, but for the phenomenon. I am on my way to home. Yet I am possibly searching for every reason not to go home. There is no hope. Without money, I cannot even relax in the park. The rain these days is quite stubborn. I pass by an Indian father taking a photo of his son, and I grab for my phone. An invitation from a friend. I quickly evaluate the proposition in my mind and decide to go. It certainly cannot be worse than being home. Sitting in the room. The room which I know too well. While being there my thoughts are bound to wonder and put her in my mind again. Pleasure and pain, mixed in a violent stream of images. All irrational. Chaotic. Unreal and imaginary. I understand, and for this, I prefer not to be the victim of my own brain. I notice the sign which marks the path to the Underground, and I swiftly turn left down the stairs..

'summer rain

It is a warm summer night. It is raining. The drops feel cold against my skin covered in a blue thin shirt. I am walking, keeping to the left side of the curb. I have never figured out if people should walk on the left side, mirroring how they drive around here, or it applies only to cars. Nevertheless, I do not make a big fuss about it as the street is a ghost town. There is only me, and the rain. Something in the evening is pulling me. I cannot quite explain it. The rain is getting harder, and my blue shirt is slowly becoming a dark blue shirt. I do not feel like going home. There is nothing there for me, I know it way too well. I suppose it is a trick of mind but I feel how that place cages me, and I want everything else but to be caged right now. I would rather get lost in this summer storm, in this secretive city. But, for some reason, I still continue heading home. I finally arrive at the the bus stop. My shoulders are wet, but I do not mind. I am not quite my usual self. I lost the I. I want to observe, to look, and to listen, things which are beyond my control. Be in ave with the stubborn, ruthless life. No one really cares. I am convinced that caring today, in this society, is something deformed and wicked. People are sitting at the small red bench. Couple of Arab guys. After exchanging glances, they stand up, and jump on the bus which just arrived. Its passing-by splashes the water, creating a big wave, but it only reaches the top of my wet shoes. I am alone again. The rain is getting stronger. I realize that I do not want to be sitting. My body wants to move. So I stand up, glance to my right, searching for the bus, which is not there. Heading for the next bus stop, I leave the cover of the little plastic roof. By now I am convinced that I enjoy moving. Perfection of physics. It gives me a sensation of lightness and transparency. An individual, who is not really an individual. I am the world around me, and it is I. I am conscious of it, and I enjoy every look, smell, touch and feeling of it, but I am still detached. I hate feeling heavy, I notice. The wind somehow changes the direction. Now the rain is heading straight to my face. The truth is, I do not mind it, not at all. I slow down my pace as I cannot see properly. It enables me to feel the drops tapping against my skin, my cold toes snuck into the wet shoes and the sound of occasional car passing by, more intensely. As I continue walking down, I notice that once again I am alone. By the light from the side posts, I notice how hard is the rain. It reminds me of snow for split of second. It flashes the eternity I have spent in the snow. It now seems like another life. I notice the bus stop further down the street, even though I can barely see. As if someone is splashing a water gun in my face, purification, I think. Not to say that I felt dirty in any way, be it metaphor or not. I am wet. The shirt one size above mine, is now stuck to my body, perfectly depicting the lines of my average shape, both the un and attractive aspects. Unaware, I grab for my phone, now completely wet, checking for a missed call, a message, an effort of reaching me. The same old display. But I am used to it. I put the phone back in the pocket, and continue walking....

thinking while listening.

¬
Listening with absolute openness means being that we are fully receptive to what another person says, without interrupting or formulating mental responses while the other person is talking. This includes suspending natural tendencies to “react” or hastily “interpret” whenever we feel under attack.

What we often assume as an attack is nothing more than a habitual assumption. By listening fully and defencelessly, we start to hear what others are trying to communicate. This is a vital part of discovering what the situation is really all about. And unless we are clear on this, we never find new knowledge that truly resolves the situation.¬

Work work work work work work work work work
on.

2 parts. 2 energies.

yin and yang.

male and female.

warrior and artist.

extremes of both

scale of rainbow in the middle

fight to death

create what u feel

ha.

so I do this regularly, from time time.

Balancing myself out, just to have that point of unbalancing my balance.

I do things these things, so inside I hear the scandal.

Not one, but five, trying to feel the adrenaline live

I guess old habits don't die fast, they stay until the last

moment of the past, is a passing moment of the old stance.

First unbalancing, than blasting my fence,

and find my self fencing my idiotic self.

the questions, the fears, the super stupid ideas.

projecting like never, never-ending story of a clever,

person who died in own thoughts. what dumb ideals.

stronger and more sensitive.

paradox.

Stop! Wait!

Not now.

No..

In fact, yes now, bring it on! Swing!

Give it the best you have.

I wanna see how much can I take.

I want to test my limits. I want to know when do I break.

I want to experience my limits.

I want to pass my limits.

By not limiting.

Bringing it to extremes of my perception.

I won't die. But even. Death's what makes me live.

So come on!
Don't hold!

You're not altruistic.

I understand you pain.

But I want to see, and feel.

it will set me free.

From the bonds which bond me,

from before now. the past is longing.

I don't need it.

So hit!

Come on already,

I don't have a whole day,

a whole week,

a month,

a life!

Its tough

I know,

but its your pain you want to let go.

I am here.

I've done my bids.

Shed the tears,

focused on my weight,

and now I need you,

so I can have the clean slate.
Of now.

And here.

to react from my real nature,

to what I hear,

experience, and feel.

So come on!

Hit!

See the smile and the brown eyes.

A glow of beauty which blinds.

It blinds the blind. It stuns the others.

A laugh, carries joy.

Any boy, stops in his feet.

For she isn't another toy,

another someone, another anyone.

Dazed, confused.

Can only mumble a word.

The one who isn't : doesn't,.. is a fool.

Too rough to see, too scared to breathe.

Fear of the what is inside. So they mostly see the shine,

of the makeup,

for aesthetic beauty, is also there.

The one which turns heads,

and calls the hunters.

of the outer glow.

Her beauty so strong.

Burns and flies, in beholders eyes.

Sensitive. how it is, to be.

So close, to feel,

but not touch.

To share

but not own.

To open,

but not be on your toes.

Not watching from where will come the blows.

This feeling. It builds. Foundation, for the new things,

trust comes with time.

She

shakes

screams

smiles in miles!

throws hands up in style

laughs

looks

sees

feels

when angry kills

bites and digs

has some things

like tears

moments of down

a princess without a crown

in an astonishing gown

but oh the looks

the skin so soft;

become lost

when near her thighs,

hips,

the only tattoo which

her uniqueness tends,

and legs.

a road

shapes and curves

like satin, soft.

lips, tender,

a beauty like none,.

true,

but in the morning,

when she smiles,

without hides,

is when the clues.

of her beauty.

sing that blues

in the lonely mornings of snooze.

Neverland, press play, and your imagination runs wild.

A little road, green rocks, cold laughing wind, and a blind tree.

People are smiling,

but the smiles are distorted,

smiles are rainbows.

Raining the blows,

the red drops

become black snow.

Everything in this world is sorted,

but,

not quite.

Light up that spot,

not there,the one on the right,

does that seem all right? Go more left,

its where it really is;
Kids wearing silly things,

suits and ties, blues and lies.

Blue images flying in the skies. They do.

They form ties,

to get by, try, and try.

Trial and error, sensitivity to terror, horror, crippled aberration in honor,

put it in a bag, and just

kapoooooooooooof!!!

A myriad of shadows, dancing on the wall. Once he stood tall, but now he is just a shadow of himself. Just a shadow, he is still so strong, to him a crown of kingdoms could belong. Though ignored for too long, the past, it grew too heavy and it enveloped him. His heart veined with pain and fear, and the demon more often appeared,with indecency resided within him, since days when he was a boy.

"I know you.. you sinful demented creature" said he. Burning inside. Waking up from yet another set.

"I know you very well. You are mine, born by fear. Though I do not sense the fear anymore, I just see you. Atrocious as you are. You are what they call in those pathetic stories, my doom; in which I fell, a heinous painful demise, the abhorred partner in the trivia of all the ridiculous paradoxes"

The room turned red. The walls black.

"Appearing only when I am foolishly weak, when the troubled past of mine starts to creep close.

I am you, and you are me.

We play.

Rough blades of old, dances of subtlety in the cover of disfigured emotions, bloody wounds and wicked smiles. It shakes the bones of others. That is why they cannot possibility know. Only he senses it. He is of my blood after all. Others do not know. They cannot comprehend, the games which lasted generations, decades, the tradition between our curse and you.

You and me will play on.

Until, one of us, removes his presence in this life. I know well, matter do not your treacherous words; it will be me who disappears first. I know that you know. Mark my words though. You will go down with me too. You will cease to exist, dark tool.

It is my consolation, my ace, which you cannot steal.

In others.. maybe"

Paused for a moment. A tunnel. Stream of memories. It stopped. Too fast. Abrupt.

It stopped on him. He stood. Sharp and determined. A warrior. With a sensitive hearth.

His sad eyes opened wide. Terror, it struck him. Heavily, precisely.

".... but not him. Do not dare touch him! Or I will eat you alive.I will bend my already bent back to burn your black soul. I will eat you, bloody will it be.

Do not even dare.

Do not even dare to be there, next to him, where,

he stands taller than I was, wiser than you are.

...."

Silence. A moment of recognition.

From the sea of silence he knew.

The blackness of everything told him.

Not in words.

Not in thoughts.

"Dare him. I dare you. He has vastness which you don't see. A space which will absorb you. DARE HIM!

And you will see your end.

You will lose yourself in the dept.

Petty is your existence"

He died.

A smile on his dead face.

A dead body on a chair.

In the black room.

Somewhere.

Far away.

Late night tinglings

This tingling in the chest,

it's almost like a beat.

Beating on, and on and on,

Stripped, naked, bare and strong.

The beat is yours, its vibrant.

It is life, it vibes with ALL

Its a key, unlocks things.

Its a bomb, it brings explosions.

Restlessness. Discomfort.

I definitely feel. I feel the feelings of now#

The feelings of now, and the ones of before.

They are linked, its how I react, to the act of her, and her.

Mixed in her.

Her.

Yes her.

No, I am not helpless. No, I am not a romantic. I do not fly, in illusions of the moment.

I fell down. Many times, so now I know. Time gives wings.

Only if you appreciate time.

Time and its moments. The moments of the moments.

The minutiae.

Her minutiae. Her eyes, the looks. The windows, tinted in brown. The corners of the lips, the little smile. The nervous tapping. Her smile. Yes. Her smile. Raw. Expressing. She is the beauty of natural.

The way she moves, she screams, she laughs.

Her curves. It drives me insane. Her softness.

Its not of this earth.
Her ranting, annoyance and flaming up. She flames up.

Burns so fast.

She burns and burns. Over and over. So soft in nature, delicate to effort. ¬

She needs freedom. She demands space. But not coldness. But support of warmth.

No judgement is needed. We are all different. No ones pain is greater than the others, nor it is lesser.

I am not a romantic. I am not a helpless illusionist.

I like to build. Stability and peace.

I like to feel airy, excited and free.

Sometimes sensitive for chaos and strong for freedom.

I am no ones. No one is mine.

But we share.