A Poem by E.E.Cummings

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

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

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

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

e.e.cummings

Undeva nu am calatorit niciodata, bucuros dincolo
de orice experienta, ochii-si au tacerea lor;
in cel mai delicat gest al tau sunt lucruri care ma ingradesc,
sau pe care nu le pot atinge pentru ca sunt prea aproape

cea mai nesocotita privire a ta ma va deschide
desi m-am inchis precum degetele
intotdeauna ma deschizi petala cu petala asa cum primavara deschide
(atingand dibace, misterios) primul ei trandafir

si daca dorinta ta fi-va sa ma inchizi, eu si
viata mea se vor inchide foarte frumos, dintr-o data,
ca atunci cand inima acestei flori isi imagineaza
zapada atent cazand peste tot

nimic din ceea ce trebuie sa percepem in aceasta lume nu egaleaza
puterea intensei tale fragilitati: a carei texturi
ma constrange cu culoarea tarilor sale
intotdeauna, cu fiecare respiratie, restituind moartea

(nu stiu ceea ce, despre tine,
se-nchide si deschide; doar ca ceva din mine intelege
vocea ochilor tai e mai profunda decat trandafirii)
nimeni, nici macar ploaia, nu are maini atat de mici.
E.E. Cummings

Philosophy of Silence

Though there’s not so much to say about silence..it is silence, isn’t it? Only silence can speak about silence (I mean “speak”). I would prefer this language instead of other types of language, for instance…talking non-sense. Silence is useful as you cannot communicate all the time (only assholes do that). Talking too much or not even talking at all. Silence means lack of words or lack of sense? If it means lack of words, then it is embarrasing. If it means lack of sense, then it is..autistically available. Silence can be provided by poetry. Silence can be provided by anything related to language.

Listening to Rimbaud

this guy is sublime..so great! It’s the only poet without whom I cannot imagine the hands of poetry.

Indifference..fucking stupid capitalism, fucking absence of feeling! Yeah, let’s consume..let’s consume ourselves and forget about ourselves. Fucking SHIT!

Ed Wood

directed by Tim Burton, 1995. Ed Wood..the worst director ever! Certainly he was goofy. No talent, no luck.. only the dream of becoming the best. This dream is not enough…a piece of mind and patience are also required.

Common sense psychology

Why do women need protection? I don’t know, but any person needs security. Why do men need women? I don’t know, but women also need men. Women find protection through men, men find protection through themselves (only if they’re heterosexual). Protection…basic need (see Maslow’s pyramid). Security is gained without an effort, if one knows the ~manipulation how to~. Ok…that’s it. No big hair, no empty nails..just protection!