@ 14 poetically: males in the mirror.

May 6, 2013

It sounds trite and boring to repeat it. Some of these killings have already announced before completion of their sad and then they are subsequently accompanied justifications that the blame due to unbalanced or marginalized.

But the bad man is a relative or trusted friend. The hypocrisy speaks of love and jealousy and it transposes it into a biological inability to restrain himself by the male. For sure it’s the woman’s body that continues to be violated after death in the images, in legal procedures and the reconstruction of the events.

We speak of an emergency. But it is not a phenomenon of today this murder with the obvious desire to annihilate a living being that is considered inferior by the violent as a mere object available.

These tragic events are narrated with shock and paralysis, and they are concluded with a general exhortation to understanding and combating of ‘phenomenon’.

The males refuse to turn over the matter and their victims: they are eclipsed.

Now, without invoking the common sense, intellectual honesty, the basic principles of ethics and law, it is sufficient for males to listen to your body.

Think about it, we males fugitives as if we were sprawled on the ground, undressed, with blood and urine, and the gaunt face in front of everyone, maybe neighbors who are scratching your head, sit down and nose and exchange phrases in the look for land , with the inevitable idiot which ranks near the cameras of some journalist. Think only physically in the cold, the stench in your body. Just this.

And of course everyone looks unhealthily the victim (on the street, in newspapers, on television) without thinking about the murderer.  Where is the murderess? It is the husband? The father? The brother? The victim in front of the public without compassion.

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Jakub Schikaneder, “Murder in the house”
– Picture taken HERE

Security is not everywhere: water, sun faded, sand and sea are already a hazard. And this is a lie: the one who generates life is offended by the complement of male generation that believes one unshaken principle.

She is alone: think of males in vain to ask for help to relatives, friends and judicial authorities. Imagine us walking the streets seeing everyone happy or upset to the everyday problems and feel marked and liable to be seized and crushed at any moment in front of indifferent gaze. Feel it in the stomach this horror. Listen in your veins awareness of being massacred in short, where even the crying will be punished.

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Jakub Schikaneder – Picture taken HERE

There are itchy hands? You feel the anger growing inside you? Here you multiply that feeling by a thousand in the stomach, knowing they can not do anything and that all this will explode inside. Imagine you how to get mangled trunks without memory in a dirty beach and desolate.

The red umbrella with traits defined as follows, with respect to the forms almost liquefied, picks up the warmth of the heart and the soul and reflects it to the surrounding environment. The rain does not refreshes: afflicts slowly to normality as an inevitable compulsion. The body of the woman and her walk are imposed by rains that cut and not soothe, like tears of acid. There is a mock sun and obscured by cultural requirements and power, which are passed off as natural and eternal.

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Andre Kohn – Picture taken HERE

Dear males think about the normality of every day, which is made of gray and oppression, like a simple to walk and dress imposed. Just think just that.

# 16 Contamination: appointments stolen

April 29, 2013  

The childhood, youth and adulthood are marked by rituals and sharing with their peers that permeate and strengthen ourselves and the past that lives with us. We are confident that occur in a similar manner to those of a little more ahead of us, accompanying safety and certain promises for the future.

It is not always so for the peoples of the Earth, and for individuals.

Those that promise, they can lie about moments of our lives and lead us in ways scornful and cruel sac, as if they were appointments stolen. Compared to the aspirations of every day, the dissatisfaction is winning. If we base the future and the image of our lives by virtue of what you promised yourself, the result will always be limited. Despite all this we can not say incontrovertibly to passively accept everything, because the environment and the men, however, can cause damage.

We succumb, despite the fact that the self-respect to stand circles with your fingers downward on the cliff into the abyss of the soul without hope. Aid to continue to imagine new lives, can be supplied by the example of those who, while living at the antipodes, through the weaknesses and failures, have managed to survive and ultimately to live.

Ko Un, Kunsan, August 1, 1933, is a poet, writer, essayist, playwright and painter South Korea, one of the most representative figures in contemporary South Korea.

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KO UN– Picture taken HERE

A KO was forced to learn the Japanese Empire during the Japanese rule, and then the Chinese language. He cultivates learning Korean anyway. When war broke out in 1950, he was shocked by the horror and attempts suicide. He saves and takes refuge in Buddhism. He begs and teaches free Korean language and art, and in addition he writes essays and poems. In 1962 he abandoned Buddhism, disillusioned by the corruption of the clergy. He reads foreign authors, and continues to write, alternating periods of prostration. Twice he attempts suicide.

But at the beginning of the 70s he continued confidence. He is responsible for human rights and became an activist against the Korean dictatorship and for this he was imprisoned several times and he was sentenced to life imprisonment in 1979, and also primarily for his literary and political.

In 1982 he gets amnesty. He falls in love and marries and starts a new phase of artistic production, publishing numerous works, ranging in different styles, receiving awards of any kind and repeated nominations for the Nobel Prize. The poetry, essays, plays, translations, has characterized his underground path of fall and rebirth.

From “Flowers of a moment” KO ONE

The soul of a poet

A poet is born in the spaces between the crimes,
theft, murder, fraud, violence,
the darkest part of this world.

The words of a poet insinuate themselves between the
expressions most vulgar and low,
in the poorest neighborhoods of the city,
and dominate for some time now.

The soul of a poet reveals the lonely cry of truth
emanating from the spaces between lies and evils of his time.
It is a mood beaten to death by everyone else.

The soul of a poet is doomed, there is no doubt.

And I listen to you and answer Ko Un.

The answers are due – Flax Milita

The testimonies of the suffering endured,
are required attention
for the lazy ears horror suffered.

The soul of a poet is obliged to ask for listening,
and if he receives it, he reveals the interstices of light
between walls without reflection, collected by anyone.

And then every rhyme in time crushed,
propagates in the faint wind waves rebel
to be reborn from the pain exhumed.

@ 13 poetically: To be born from the wind

April 22, 2013 

Sometimes we complain about the winds and we consider them oppressive and annoying because they freeze the neck, or we want them in the warm and pleasant caress the cheeks. If then they spill splashing water, we respond with repercussions of ancestral curses.

The phenomena are expected and almost obvious from those accompanied the move. The wind passes and he has similarities with what is destined to disappear. It is the home state of the analogy between the word and the wind. We are solid, with our feet firmly on the ground. The horizon is the reference that provides and indicates the transition of the Sun and Moon, and the shape of the places where we ourselves transiting.

In Italy we depend on the winds of distant places. The alternation of heat and cold, where it is underpinned by seasonal cycles, it takes on different connotations for each year the winds that come from the Azores and from the Sahara.

The Azores anticyclone and high pressure African play continuously between them. Cleaning is one, and the other is wet. They appear exclusively, or coupled.

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image taken HERE

We despise the air and see the clouds, but we depend on them. A variation or their whim, however, affects the way we live, rain or drought, or moisture. They delay the advent of spring, and anticipate the summer. They linger in the fall. Our way of life, from going out or not, the idea of cold and warm, our mood, depends on the unpredictable their incessant evolution.

The cold winds of the East as the Brujan are constant, precise, direct like a train, but they live in the house of winter. And here in Italy we have different perceptions. In the Tyrrhenian Sea to the Apennines holding back the winds of the East and those of the polar cold. The Azores anticyclone and high pressure African, give both cascades of moisture, in the Po Valley, Sicily and Sardinia. In the Ionian these two jokers quarrel with the shower heads of the Middle East, and their oscillating between drought or frost as if every time we had for the first.

The same glaciations have had easy game when the winds of the Azores have been lazy in the Atlantic and high pressure African, shy, remained in the Sahara. We draw from the fruits and thorns, sometimes we fight. But it is a rigged match. We are also made of wind, in the heart and in issuing of the voice, and in the interplay between the eardrum and Eustachian tube.

And of all the sorrows and pains, we sentiamoe The Wind That Shakes or pushes the branches, or that he travels and appears in the narrow streets and the walls of the houses, he informs us of the time, of our body that is made by him, and he leads us to the places still hidden from our sight.

We are nourished of the wind, we are in the wind, because he is an indicator of becoming and time. We, the men made ​​from water and dust, we are born with the wind.

By Rainer Maria Rilke (my traduction) 


 The awakening of the wind

In the middle of the night, sometimes, it happens
you wake up, like a child, the wind.
Only, slowly, he comes down the path,
and he enters the sleeping village.

He gingerly strip, until the fountain;
Then he pauses, unspoken, listening.
The houses sit pale, around;
and all the oaks are silent.

The poem is taken HERE

And the wind is always the child: he is born every time. He is not polite at first. He always wants to play. Wild, irreverent, mischievous, wretched occasionally, but he always brings countless gifts from one part of the globe.

To listen to “The Stone and the Wind” by Aldo Tagliapietra click HERE

Contamination # 15: The race for Miguel

April 17, 2013 

The race evokes primal movements of every human being ….

But it is a fallacy! Up to 150 years before the use of plastics in the shoes, the ride was punctuated with steps, even barefoot. The very concept of destination was understood as a line run by an arrow shot towards a defined goal. But it was not so straightforward calculation and the manner of the way.

The race as a method and an expression of life and a conception of respect in the world is recent: it is not now runs to break down, kill, escape, raiding, arriving in a safe place, bringing to an end an office inevitable. Today we run for to express new conceptions of the body and to uphold freedom in harmony with everything that you come across. The races for runners who are not marches trample and stamp their feet.

It runs well who touches the ground. He enjoys the smile of the race with the others. The Marathon is the maximum expression of freedom and equality in a single gesture: the first who win the medal and the others who come after, all together. Freedom to run in safe ground in each country, that is all.

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Miguel Sanchez picture taken HERE

Benancio Miguel Sanchez was born on November 8, 1952, in Bella Vista, province of Tucuman, Northern Argentina. He loved life, athletics, Argentina. In the morning, at dawn, he went for a run. Train, work out, still training, night school to complete those studies that was not finished. He was a self-taught poet. His “Para vos athlete”, “For you, athlete,” was published by Gazeta Esportiva of São Paulo, December 31, 1977,

For you know that cold
and heat 
 of triumphs and defeats
losses that are not.

For you who have healthy body,
wide soul and big heart.

For you who have many friends and many 
 yearnings,
joy adult 
 and your child’s smile.

For you who do not know of frost or sun,
neither rain nor grudges.

For you, 
 athlete who walked countries and cities
States joining in your go.

For you, athlete, that you despise the war
dreams and peace.

Miguel loved the Argentine people, race, freedom and poetry. He was too dangerous for the dictatorship. They kidnapped him on the night of 8 January 1978.

@ 12 poetically: the panoramic contemplations

April 15, 2014

There is a youth imagined and placed in a long time, perhaps never happened, where the walk, and stasis on the steps of the house, or on a bench in the street, or a local pool, it was more than just a stand or rest .

There was the excitement of meeting friends and loved ones, after a day of work or minimum formal commitments. Walking strolled paths in the circuit just talking or to observe passers-by, this was already a momentary response to the unspoken questions of the dreams of the night and the sunrises tormented. Both in wet weather, but more to the mild days with the Sun bothered by pinches of the clouds, they are driven by winds naughty, we just smiled out from the walled spaces of the mind and body.

The events of the past even if that did not happen, though they appear in the presentee they are comfortable. They dress the consonant harmony between the sensations of your body relaxing in the primordial perform actions and emotions, which call for a panoramic view of the surrounding space.

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Jean Béraud, Avenue Parisienne

The contemplations offer happy moments with the physical sensation of being simply without asking “why” and not focus on the “how.”

If you looked at us smiling at the familiar places, almost always felt indifferent with respect to our common daily chores, we would have a fulfilling aesthetic vision that turns into an immediate physical well-being.

This particular sensation that is considered normal when it appears and that it has always pursued in places of isolation and anguish, is an expression of contemplation to be distinct, but in consonance with what accompanies us in becoming all things.

Affinity – Lino Milita 

I sit sunny
covered in the shadows
with drink
of gold is leached
from the infinite source.

The absent frosts
dismiss tunes
granulated by
hypocritical pretensions
affinity
that are unnecessary disputes.

I contemplate full
good-natured
each footprint hot,
she grazes in the shade,
leaving plans that are
reflected by splinters
my harmony. 

To listen Buena Vista Social Club -“Chan Chan” Click HERE

* 6 Special Guest: Choral allegories

April 10, 2013 

The painting of Jan Vermeer (Delft, October 31, 1632 – Delft, December 15, 1675). Allegory of painting, offers a variety of plans to interpret the art and technique of painting, in addition to the object represented. It is a relationship that for thousands of years by the mutants technological support, we always use: the cave, the totem, the television, the phone, the billboard. It’s almost natural look and contemplate. Of course, the artist takes a step forward in design and creation.

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Picture taken HERE

The picture shows a view of modern man conscious of being an autonomous entity of action towards an environment that it is ready to be evoked and imagined through the play of light and shadow.

This painting is an allegory and then each item that is pictured, invite a reference to a conception of the world, the role of the artist and the observer. What would you like allegories?

Who or what would you like to be in the picture? Or what would you like to do?

@ 11 poetically: The happy crescent moon

April 8, 2014 

The Syrian musical tradition is characterized in general as that of the neighboring Arab countries (Egypt, Lebanon, and Iraq) and the crescent moon itself, the importance given to improvisation. The main form is the “taqsim” impromptu prelude to a solo instrument, in free rhythm. Its voice is the equivalent layali, a vocalise the words “yālayl, ya ‘Ayni” (“oh night, oh my eyes”).

The most popular tools are the ud, or Arabic lute (then imported into Italy in 1400, and made a major contribution to Renaissance music).

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Oud – taken from HERE 

The qanun, a kind of zither trapezoidal or kanun, is a stringed instrument with 78 strings of the classical Arabic tradition. It consists of a trapezoidal zither, with numerous choirs of strings thesis on a soundboard of parchment. The length of the strings can be changed before execution by acting on small metal frets, thus changing the tuning in function of the chosen scale. The strings are plucked by two big horn plectrums.

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Qanun – taken from HERE

The qanun has in music teaching Arabic, Greek and Turkish has the same function that the monochord has played in the medieval west: it is a practical tool for learning intervals. It was introduced in the West in the Middle Ages, with the name of Cannon.
Nay, flute straight (dating back to 5000 years ago. Researchers have discovered artifacts in the ancient city of Ur). The ney (a word of Iranian origin) is a reed flute composed of 9 nodes and its holes follow strict mathematical rules, which are useful for the execution of the different maqam (Arabic for place or location).

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Nay – taken from HERE

Each maqam describes the “tonal-spatial factor” or set of musical notes, including models and the development of the traditional melody, freeing up the “rhythmic-temporal component” because it is open to the feelings of everyone, even the Andalusians Far West.

The century-old trade between Maghreb (Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia and Makresh;) (Libya, Egypt, and Medioeriente) musical instruments have merged, edited and regenerated, through the Roman Empire and the Maritime Republics, to the empires of the day our.

And everything still passes today in Syria, under the sound of bombs in the country by numerous vocal, ethnic groups and sounds throughout Europe and Asia.

We are happily surrounded by these millennial sound improvisations, where the sun and moon playing in this crescent moon who lives in the Mediterranean.

It is a harmonious mixture that appears in modern Syria and in the Andalusian guitar …. And at the heart of who plays them.
To listen to the guitar Syrian and Andalusian click HERE

# 14 Contamination: An answer of the East

April 3, 2013 

Of course the West that anticipates and provides for the course of events on Earth, it is now considered the most effective and consistent way to appear. The problems, however, sometimes arise in considering the East, such as India, for example, a remnant of our action and knowing. As if the lands where the sun rises, they said it all.

The poems of East how I respond to the world offered by the poems of the West? What they say to the emotional style of the West? How do you respond Rabindranath Tagore?

One of the many responses came from Rabindranath Tagore, born in 1861 and died in 1941, the poet was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1913, musician, composer, painter, educator and philosopher Indian primary protagonist along with Mahatma Gandhi, including religious movements, political and social . Tagore uses the tools of the West, but he attempts a poetic language that Buddhism takes the idea of ​​a separate nature from Nirvana and that makes contradictory picture of Western history as a struggle for biological life.

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Rabindranath Tagore image taken HERE

Gitanjali VII

MY song has put off her adornments.
She has no pride of dress and decora-
tion. Ornaments would mar our union ;
they would come between thee and
me; their jingling would drown thy
whispers.

My poet’s vanity dies in shame before
thy sight. O master poet, I have sat
down at thy feet. Only let me make
my life simple and straight, like a flute
of reed for thee to fill with music.

 

Tagore in the hollow tube is not the West that it runs the risk of being weak to be eradicated, or as the poem “Broom” by Giacomo Leopardi in which this flower tries to resist and to fight against forgetting.

Here the barrel is already full, because it takes on new forms and substances Sheet.

 

@ 10 poetically: The disorienting attractions

April 1, 2013 

The fear of loss sometimes comes from the dissolution of things and memories. And even more when we are unable to comprehend what appears. The absence of a response and the escape of meanings, causing paralysis. Despite all this we also try to give an aesthetically meaning that allows us to conceive of a range of possibilities to determine a space of existence in the future.

We are afraid of the attractions of the motion of the water and the earth, where they open the doors to the vortex and whirlpool. We run away from them, but our eye is attracted.

Stasis resulting from the awareness of the futility of escape and attraction towards the maximum danger, because we feel the suggestion of a new form of existence and knowledge of the world.

We should sit in the edge of the coast near the sea evoked by eddies. Let’s see, finally, the mirror of the infinite backdrop that is our fear. Eddy and fear are two abysses that meet swirling in the center of anxiety.
And being stuck, let us approach the arctic wind that lingers on our shoulders, which is contrasted by the warm current of the Sargasso, silver crackling and flaring of the north with the purple tones of the south, in our speck of existence.

Imagine a sailing winds that embraces all the drops as possible, like a sailor who seeks the route in the eye of the hurricane. Hurricane that is its own eye.

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“Wanderer above the Sea of ​​Fog” by Caspar David Friedrich (1774-1840) – Picture taken HERE

 To listen to “Into The Sea” by Sivert Hoyem click HERE

@ 9 poetically: Folly and celebration

March 28, 2013 

We want, in general, a complete sense that offers stability and that it confers to become a purpose that is in line with the cause, although it appears that manifests itself indefinitely. The variety and unpredictability are concepts that attempt to harness what we do not see and do not intend to.

We usually imagine a recipe, a formula and a belief that it is a shield to infinity appear. We sublime anguish towards becoming a tremor and crippling fall forever into nothing.

Everything in order, both in time, both in the report that goes from the origin to the end. Birth and death of the subject and the verb, soul and body, invite you to consider us in splits with a fake faith, agnostic, scientific, religious, we recomposed entirely or leave us in an indistinct appear that we will be silent and into oblivion.

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Image taken from HERE

And the silence due to fear, pushes the imagination to invent other languages ​​that they are not so in the belief that a mechanical cause (genesis) is unquestionably the effect arrivals (dissolution). And we want other words, other sequences and suggestions. Other forms of suffering which are not the rationality of fear. A folly that multiply in the game other ways of becoming, for further shores of existence.

We want the folly that translated into two notes, gifts of faith multiply different sounds in an infinite composing that makes it suspended the silence of nothingness.

To listen to “La Follia” –  Arcangelo Corelli, click HERE