Blind People

Uln, construct delicately, the linden wood surfaces ensuing to be paint. Yet does not have a defined idea, but always, while he work on these fabulous textures, new ideas are born; deaf dissertations , emotions that are hard to define.
In the same body, many souls!?
I cannot rationally explain this metamorphosis ... and does not even have any sense.
Being simple is an attitude , a dress of philosophers, they try to make us immortal, but I cannot forget this heavy sentence, which grind in me:

From earth we are born and in earth we will return!

When the world wakes up, all is self significant, as this termite hill, raising every minute, without much philosophy!
The rules are uncomplicated but prolific!
Yes musings!
Anyway you implant words in a phrase ,something, ,something slips out ...

But want God I want to tell you?

From thin shingle, Uln, builds a rectangular space, it melt pitch in petrol, and then impregnated the board with this viscous solution.
Its a builder, who loves his job, and knows that durability of anything, it means a perfect job, and much soul ...

The canvass no longer satisfies him, is too silky, too feminized!

On the black surfaces, color shines fresh, revive, with a lonely voice, coming from the depths, he said:

Life comes from the darkness, not from light, that is his philosophy , his way of understanding the world!

The smell of tar fills the stairs, the apartments, the neighborhood, so I know that, Uln, the painter, started a new job, and a long time he will disappear in a world of colors and illusions...

All these boring details, at first sight are written in his illusory intimate diary.
Every change, every detail, are useful when you want to interfere in life, when is necessary, when time will ask!

Often do not see what is happening around you ... after a long time or suddenly you think, or you want to remember
and you discover missing days, missing months, years!
Yes you do remember than you are old ... and all your life is contained in a few minor scenes ...
It is sad doesn’t it?

Liandra, the woman who has ears like shells, of considerable size, is the only who daily come into the painter’s apartment. Some say she climbs the stairs slowly, reaching the ears of the walls to listen to their secrets, dark history in them
Sometimes she stay long on knees, and listen the walls!
No one dares to tell a word to reprimand or to distract her.
She listens our life, and when we know for sure that we need the presence of a women around, surprisingly , fast she apart, but not you look or ask you what she has to do!
She weighed time and words and souls and manages to embody us , make us to live together...

Unexpectedly, today Uln, visit me, it was when I finish writing a poem dedicated to the poetess, Amely , this old tabbie attracts me, imagining that I could charm a handsome young women only by the power of words.

I am troubled by the appearance of unexpected bottle of vodka sitting in the middle of us, clear black.

Lonely... my poet?
His hands hang like willow leaves fallen in a clear water that runs on rough stones...
The smell of oil smoke pierces my eyes.

My old man ...

Today Liandra is missing and I cannot to scratch a line
in her absence,
I find it hard... so in solitude I cannot live.
You get it?

Yes Kalp... I feel that wonderful transformation from caterpillar in butterfly, the explosion is terrific, a sharp pain likes that of the woman who reinvents life inside, and give birth of the new child... her giving us the way, the freedom to grow, to mature, like God.

I think that I was a child, but now, when the future is just today, I realize that I grow in intimate connections with emptiness, a space that does not recognize me!

Yes, I tend to knock with index finger in the sky every night but still no one tell me, log!

I hope it does not bother you or bother you yet!
I thought to share tonight, let's give it color!

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Tuesday, July 26, 2011 - 19:34

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Title: Membro
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