The Smile of the Unvanquished

'How did I come into this', he told himself in thoughts, munching on a buttered ham sandwich, matter-of-factly, with the air of a man who has seen it all and came to accept the vicissitudes of life, still somewhat grudgingly. Suddenly, unaware that his moody rethoric question would turn out to be an adumbration of his forthcoming brewing imagination,this lama guy materializes close to him, floating saintly above the floor, all rugose leathery skin, all the bearings of sanctity, and all Eastasian insular smugness that comes with those ruddy chaps. It was one of those reincarnistas , who play with words: dharma, karma but sadly no shoarma to salivitate his appetite running asunder. The lama secreted bliss and smiled patronizing. No less like a magician holding all cards and conning the crowd to believe in his tricks. His speech was sheer catechismus,repeated over time til his voice, now shrill and trembling, buckling under all that panache, could no longer mask that his enl...

Loneliness... So often we complain in our daily contacts, in literature or as a form of social criticism, about loneliness, but how spurious and pale it compares to the loneliness only known to the dying before his consciousness is stolen and he surrenders to the night-without-end. The senses extinguish each after the other, reportedly the auditory one last to leave. By then, the consciousness probably has long since burned out. And before this falls to him? Sinking into a dream state, pennants of hallucinations lancing into the shuddering mind or the same mind drifting into an alertness clear as a mountain brook whereas all sensations start to become cloudy, nesting in a large empty hall while fading away like tenuous air that flows in the highest strata of the atmosphere kissing the void of outer space. Or maybe it is not different to a radio, playing music, then suddenly a hand turns the radio off, weaving threads of silence that dance to the drumbeats of loss while eyes veiled cast...

Live frugal in demanding times, but do it always in style.

On meadows and men Only when consciousness and volition interact with matter, the seeds can germinate and warrant that the fields grow hefty in flowers... there are in meadows many flowers and their colours and shapes come manifold, but there are from the same soil and bonded together for time immeasurable, introduce a new variety, all alien to the nature of the local species and environment and while some may disappear, some are hardy but will be few but another might take over, imperious, and all that was full of charm and life may grow in a monocultural devastation... Of course, man tends to break down barriers and resist the pressures put upon him, but why should one go to be in someone else's place, and shift the priorities in that household to oneself? What's the benefit, what's the scope... simply because it can happen, doesn't make it right nor should it be accepted but dealt with... Deem they us so poor that we need enrichment? And if introspection helps the in...

Some sceneries have no reference in time, nor are they exactly bounded by coordinates in space. They could be considered an entity on its own, perhaps even to some degree sentient, born from the waves of musings and the song of birds, consort to a supreme chrystaline SILENCE, and whose name is sculpted in stirring awe: BEAUTY. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TInni-4oCe0

Hopelessness, futility, "the senses stripped", the black flag planted in my skull (Baudelaire, 'Spleen' ): if you roved around in my dreams, those plagues of recent date, you would find a world of gray chaos, where violence is rampant and sorrow a lucullan feast. The deceased chained to bed filled with catheders,the mental ill sculpt into rigor, eyes in pain, mouth agape in supplication, hurt never erased. Reproach everywhere. Cluttered and stale rooms, halfway buried memories, pygmee goats buttheading you in a fight for domination to show you up, pests scurries around your feet and white-colar ghouls try to claim you into their ranks,always in terms of submission. The Grand Guignol inflicts pain of a psychic order; hope smothered, disorientation and beyond one's wits searching wildly, anxious and yet not defeated, resolute, angry and somehow three steps ahead of the tendrils and suckers, for a way out of this pandemonium. You run through streets and façades tha...

I always maintained that a balanced mind is achieved in open, cleared and void spaces, a retirement from from the chaos and fickleness that takes hold of our lives trapped in society, work, even family.... It certainly works healing for the short dash, or as a repeated therapy, a ritual performed with a certain and fixed frequency... But I'm not so sure of that helps in the long run... this ceremony can become a flight from discontment, that fails to find another mode of expression... or it devolves in some kind of addiction, like everything else ordinary and good, and tried, thanks to a familiarity in putting the mind to non-active and settle into that comforting ceremony... However, a balanced mind could be the umbrella term for a range of qualities that create a special, particular and unreducible personality. Strong and couragious, sharp-minded, original and apt to open new visions and perspectives, and so forth... Even hatred can be transmutated to a force then, one that is co...