"i sometimes feel like an alien creature for which there is no earthly explanation. sure i have human form, walking erect with oposing digits but my mind is upside down. i feel like a run on sentence in a punctuation crazy world and i see the world around me like a mad collective dream, an endless stream of people move like ants on the freeway. cell phones, PC's and digital displays. in money we trust, we'll find happiness, prevailing attitude. like a genetically modified, irradiated big mac that's somehow symbolic of food. morality is legislated, prisons over populated, religion is incorporated. the profit motive has permeated all activity. we pay our government to let us park on the street and war is the biggest money makers of all. we all know missile envy only comes from being small. politicians and prostitutes are comfortable together. i wonder if they talk about the strange change in the weather. this government was founded by, of and for the people but everybody feels it's like a giant open sore. they don’t represent us anymore. and blaming the president for the countries' woes is like yelling at a puppet for
the way it sings. who’s the man behind the curtain pulling the strings? a billion people sitting watching their TV in a room that they call living. but as for me, I see living as loving. and since there is no loving room
I sit on the grass under a tree dreaming of the way things used to be. pre-industrial revolution. which of course was before the rivers and oceans and skies were polluted. before parkinsons and mad cows and all the conveluted cacafony of bad
ideas like skyscrapers and tree paper and earth rapers like monsanto and dupont had there ways as they continue to today. this was pre-us. back when the buffalo roamed and the Indian's home was the forest and god
was nature and heaven was here and now. can you imagine clean water and food and air, living in community with
animals and people who care? do you dare to feel responsible for
every dollar you lay down? you're gonna make the rich man richer or you're gonna stand your ground? you say you want a revolution, a communal evolution, to be a part of the
solution...?
Maybe I’ll be seeing you around…..” Woody Harrelson
(...) To see a world in a grain of sand And a heaven in a wild flower Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour (...) in Auguries of Innocence by William Blake
sufocada pelo cimento, pela altura dos
edifícios, por aquele cheiro da cidade. deslocada…desfocada… os olhos procuram a
vida no meio do caos. entra no carro e acelera. é urgente sair dali. uma voz chama-a para a floresta. tens que vir... não esperes
mais... não adies mais... o cimento e o barulho vão ficando para trás. pára o carro.
não vais precisar mais dele. corre, corre…tira as sandálias. os pés
descalços batem com força no chão. a erva pisada liberta um cheiro familiar. e
a cada salto começa a rodopiar e os rodopios levam-lhe o vestido, soltam-lhe o
cabelo. corre, corre…não esperes mais – sussurra a voz que a impele para a
floresta. o corpo solta-se largando camadas de pele, pele da cidade, pele
cinzenta de cimento. por leves instantes olha para trás. vê-se em mil pedaços
espalhada pelo chão. coisas que foi deixando pelo caminho. corre! não olhes! e os braços atiram-na para o ar, apontam para o céu, viram-se e tomam
a direcção da montanha que a chama. com o vento fresco vem o cheiro a terra. sente a maciez do musgo e das folhas
debaixo dos pés. e a voz que a chama diz-lhe que não pare. nua,
corre entre as árvores. sente o bater do coração. o pulsar da floresta. respira!… deixa que ela te transforme. uma dor aguda atravessa-lhe o corpo. grita.
hesita… tem medo… olha para trás. grita cada vez mais alto. deixa-te levar,
liberta-te. não hesites… não podes! sabes que te esperam. sabes que o que ficou
para trás já se perdeu no tempo. há muito tempo... j
"an idea comes - and you see it, and you hear it, and you know it...we don't do anything without an idea. so they're beautiful gifts. and i always say, you desiring an idea is like a bait on a hook - you can pull them in. and if you catch an idea that you love, that's a beautiful, beautiful day. and you write that idea down so that you won't forget it. and that idea that you caught might just be the fragment of the hole - whatever it is you're working on - but now you have even more bait. they come, more often than not, in small fragments..." David Lynch
"This garden that I built for you, that you sit in now and yearn. i will never leave it, dear, i could not bear to return and find it all untended. with the trees all bended low. this garden is our home, dear, and I got nowhere else to go. so bring it on, bring it on, every little tear, bring it on, every useless fear, bring it on, all your shattered dreams... and I'll scatter them into the sea, into the sea. the geraniums on your window sill, the carnations, dear, and the daffodil... well, they're ordinary flowers but they long for the light of your touch... and of your trembling will. ah, you're trembling still and I am trembling too. to be perfectly honest i don't know quite what else to do. so bring it on, bring it on, every neglected dream, bring it on, every little scheme, bring it on, every little fear... and I'll make them disappear. so bring it on, bring it on, every little thing, bring it on, every tiny fear, bring it on, every shattered dream... and I'll scatter them into the sea." Nick Cave
