Cherries

In the garden where cherries grow, grow every year

I sit and wait until next year comes

There, cherries, the diamonds reflect my memories

me as a child, as a girl, as a blossoming flower

there I sit and wait longer, and longer

and all memories arrive back to me

and I see my grandmother in an old- fashioned apron

leaning back, under that tree, that tree of solitude

waiting for cherries to be thrown down by me

there are gone, memories decay

but I still sit and wait, and wallow, wallow

waiting for year, the year that follows

my memories

tones and lyrics that always create wetness in my visuals

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4o4Cditrb8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vxQs84FMWQ

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rO8JWbG6bVw

I sometimes wonder how each of us, each individual, each soul, each wandering body, and questing apples, we all can bear the beauty of the world.
Do you also need to cry when you see it? When you have that over-encompassing feeling, when it all is brimming over, over your soul because mind has exposed you to the cradle of prettiness, not prettiness like you see, but you feel, you breathe in, and out, like the air, the simple invisible, air, the most relevant particle in our life.
THE PERPETUATING IRONY OF LIFE. THE IMPORTANT IS INVISIBLE TO EYES. Even the little prince, so big in his heart knew it.

I' ll buy an airbag for my soulquake. Note*: Please.

As I have heard yesterday on a lecture of one famous Czech religionist, love is into a great extent a decision, a product of our will, and not just a mere consequence of happening coincidence between the emotions or feelings between two eyes, two souls, two human corpses. Is love?
I strongly believe in that belief. We know, that loving somebody, or rather possessing profound passionate emotions toward somebody emerges within circle of constant reassuring judgments that the choice is correct, or on the other hand adding up all the cons that are emerging within.
This all is so complex, and in fact we still keep on distinction between will, emotions, love, decision, cognition, and so on.
I will be a scientist, I even might be one already. I will be soon officially though. This does not prevent me from spending time pondering about things between heaven and earth, between physical and mental, more than anything I wanna be myself. Find myself, whether among tables and figures of cognitive science, or between lines of poems, and stories. Life is a combination of all the possible possibilities. We make them possible, and that is our will. My will is never to lose hope for seeing them. Life is a story, we see lines, in between them.
I stay humble, humble in from of the conundrum. LIFE.

wow, suddenly encroached with fully- blown wind from all street corners, ruthless winter sharpening her teeth, and leaves under feet, everything seems to be so precious.
Fragile pieces of human life are written down on the sad days pages, I believe, I see, and I scream for more silent days as if somebody had broken my heart without my permission. I would like to be a king of my own life, my own heart commands, and as I can see these days, followed by easily impact- of- a huge- intensity distorted reality of mine, this might be the most combat- requiring part of human life.
Do you remember the lady with umbrella I had mentioned several blogs ago?
We expect certain things to be flowing according to pace of our mind. To fit. To be scrubbed by it in case of evidence shows different testimony.
Mind is a tricky mechanism (if it really mechanism is), and I ,myself, am fully aware of its from truth misleading damages it can cause. This is a spot that I precisely did not wanna be facing. That whole Truth or Non- Truth question, or philosophical quest.
No matter how we call it, we all believe in some truth, percentage of information conceived ( and yes, I say conceived) by ourselves, that would be consistent with our belief about truth of that information.
And I am everlastingly trapped in the belief of the truth I just conceived by help of this (even not mine) keyboard. I am reveling, so reveling in it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=He0aIxpItBw&feature=related

life oddity

There is always one leaf falling down from your LIFE tree every day. At night, when you are sleeping , I am standing under, catching it. Will YOU, will YOU be the savior of MINE?

i felt in love with the words of a biologist

as i read a book called tree of knowledge by maturana and varela i encountered a very compelling definition of love, and it relentlessly swings back and forth in my mind.

"the expression of biological interpersonal congruence that lets us see the other person and open up the room for existence beside us."

so i got up and opened the window.

i have found a new window tonight

I have found a new window
a window without widows in its frame
where scream does not echo
as in dreams that are echoless
opening the window
i besiege you for your faith in me
since to you i bestow
when you look too close
the window has your face
and i am being hurt in silence

To you all my honor falls (to (not just) Lord Byron)

To the well of your soul
all my honor,there it falls,
suppose it' s your fault
that I would crawl
to the end of the world
(does it exist though?)
to find myself as yours.

gone

i cried your name
and you did not come

you cried my name
and i was gone

dedicated

dedicated to the lost, not the found.
dedicated to you, as you lie next to me, sharing that heat.
dedicated to the air, that finds the road to the wheels of your breath.
dedicated to the flesh, that happens to be the physical representation of love, not shared but given.
dedicated to this dedication that cannot be finished because time still rules.

about the quality that sustains the chances to perceive the world qualitatively.

for those of us whose threshold of sensitivity of world perception floats beyond the standards of humankind, threshold neither of visceral nor neural quality, maybe combination of both what does not equal the sum of them,the quality wallows in the quasi-impossible dimensions regarding from the point of standby stranger.

This is that fallacy, because it has its own existence within the realm of my existence, maybe yours too, as far as I perceive it. Simply quality and maybe quantity of train of thoughts described by J.S. Mill is a proof of possessing that quality. where this mesmerizing quality belongs to is my question. it is not a mere cognitive capacity, because capacity implies the quantity that plays just secondary role when taken into account.
Whether the human existence is harmed by it, and suffering as we could describe it, is a question. We, unfortunately, do have the right to ascribe it the negative connotation of suffering, as long as we see ourselves as solitaires in this concern. I have the endeavor to express myself, however, vaguely, concealingly. When you have experienced climbing up a tree and slowly sliding down, you have an idea of my state of mind. There is energy and effort, but the accomplishment lies far behind that. You lose it, and suddenly found it when not necessary anymore.

sunset orbits around heaven
gives me an infinite zen
sunrise closes its infinity
by the wink of morning face
i am right here to give you a story
trying to find a right place
i am just heading to the destination
unknown
this is the time to spend night alone

---------------------------------------

i am a star
a fallen star
an open scar
an unfinished war
sitting in hangar
please, please, please
don' t let me fall

-----------------------------------------

Ice crumbles in the chronicle
of me and you, the pyramid
and we are nothing more
than ephemeral ice cube
floating on your heating body
after the moon cried in you

-----------------------------------------

Swallowed by the grains of your imagination
I wallowed in you
close enough and far away
like tulips smell after hours of lovemaking
I am getting nowhere
So i wallow swallowed

------------------------------------------

Love Love Love
just a piece of flesh
just a dew on flowerpetals
lost sailing ship
you meander
until the dead end
you are so far from me

------------------------------------------

when life without you would be metaphor for infinite happiness

where does it end and where does it goes?
the lady with that rainbow umbrella walked on the street full of chestnuts, and didnt look at me. you laughed that it is not important whether somebody devotes a look , a smile or even a gaze to you. you looked at me, laughing, smiling, and that made a difference in the state of my own devotion to you. there is a lonely circle of reinforcement feasted on your face.

How would the world be different when we could recycle rainbow?
And laugh at the death?
And missing black and white color? Would we be missing also black and white thinking?
When metacognition would be just a part of slippery shoes?
When a sound would not matter?
When love would be a metaphor for a lack of hatred?
Or when life without you would be metaphor for infinite happiness?

The train of my own thoughts slips away from the walls of my creativity as digits are being lost when we do not carry money.

Saccades thrills the ripples
of watery surface on the lake
of you and me reflected in it

what follows?

collage

Once I was said, "Best ideas come from others". That was neither aghast revelation, nor a cliche got rid of dust. Ideas. They penetrate our brain cells, and move them. Modify them, lead them in different direction, and what is most important different dimension. Darker dimension, dimension yet undiscovered, unrevealed, unknown. And yes, that is in what I believe . Brain cells copulation, doomed melody of unsecured spaceline, avalanche of priceless ideas. Road to somewhere else. Fareaway from the one you think you will be following. Collision of two different discourses, and their combination. Mixture like a painted picture. Makes sense as a whole, as a result, as a consequence, we realize its eminent impact. Discourse leads us further without conscious endeavor.How ideas are bound with emotions, this is more than a plausible hypothesis. Vicious circle creates another one, one becomes perplexed.
I would love to tell you, I have my own thoughts not afflicted by emotions. This is the unitary entity of an invidual, when emotions hardly can be separate from ideas, because cooperation and constant calamity brings about just fog above. And we are physiologically predisposed, or restrained, to have a certain set or repertoir of emotional , as well as cognitive processes.
This sounds so fatal, so deterministic, so prisonry.
Unless one realizes the power of will, I'd say free will as Hobbes or many others would refer to, even though will is always free. I am very glad for the will, is it the only capacity that makes us free humans?

listen to the raindrops
played by piano keyboard
cry cry and cry
out of that polluted heart
silently within
the keynotes
find myself
as a prisoner of love

ode for misery

we always will, always will , be lonely
till that while will come the while will come
when disguise will shovelled, just shovelled be
then we will die, will die
lost

we all are just beggars for life...

When life comes heavy, and meaningless as we sense the imminent approaching of death, one might wonder what comes to play to decide for euthanasis. Is it the strenght or weakness of a person? Is it an unbearable intensity of one's own suffering? Isn't life per se just a battlefield where we are wound, and healed, and wound, and wound again, without healing. Suicide is basically a mental euthanasis, as I think. One suffer mentally in such a great extend, that the universe is not universal anymore, one doesn't find the roots of own identity within it. I often wonder, how people, as often seen senselessly, decide for the end of their life. We disdain it, but who is the possessor, the owner of our own physical, and mental cage? WHo? You? Who ELSE? No hands raised?
But who is here to say that we euthanasis as a consequence of perceived and experienced physically, and as a result also mentally unbearable state of pain is somehow allowed. Society has decided to agree with that at least. How come that mental suffering followed by suicide is considered...no it is not even considered..
I am not here to say that when one feel mentally on the edge of bearable threshold of pain, one should end life. I am not encouraging it, but rather to say, that the way it is perceived and regarded by society is just a creation of society, and we passively take it as a social construct of ours. The is an insidious danger when regarding reality as an ultimately real phenomenon. And we are disposed by filter when regarding it. Filter created by society, culture, past experiences, history, and history again, and you too. You are also an influencing factor of my filter. This little slate of mind is one omnipotent calory, as being used and being feasted, its engine help us understand and predict the reality. And as shown above in case of suicide also misunderstanding, and toward-social-pressure-and-scoial-constructs vulnerable piece. To use it, means to shape it more and more dynamically, as a roller coaster spinns over and over, and every turn is not the previous one. (So there is nothing repeated twice, because just time makes different when it is described linguistically as previous, current, next).

To be honest, I often feel desperate, possitively, or negativelly. Yes, I really mean possitively desperate. As I stand, speachless, at the edge of a huge conundrum called LiFe. Or The Earth. Or life on the earth. We all are pretty fortunate to be able to witness:
evening sky mourning. trees blooming and getting hollow. meeting the eyes. the energy around, the eminency of mother earth, and her vices.

But as we come to a closer look, we see, we all are connected by sharing the soil, the one poor witnessing garden of tears, battlefields of spiritual fights, the place of embraced beauties.

I guess, I intended to talk about euthanasis, and the right for renouncing this earthy connection. I came far far from that idea. But this is a sort of therapy for me. I write as my thoughts are popping out, forgetting some of those fighting for asserting their own words. And the same way, as every single thought is fighting for being a significant one, we fight with the earth, with life, to leave our trace, our own artwork, forgetting that the earth has a sandy quality.

With love to the earth,and to you,

lost in understanding

a pigeon just landed on a near- by anthene of neighbour' s house. What does he see? Crops of love , or fields of misery? Oh, he cannot see because he doesnt have consciousness, as would add cognitive animal- consciousness- hating scientist . Oh, a poor bird. I would lend him my consiousness solely for the sake of science falsification. {and my vindication}
Who are we to say that animals dont possess consiousness? We have created the construct of it, defining it in categories senseless for pigeons. And owls. And also dogs.
We stand here and there, creating the sense in non-sense, raising everything HUMAN on a pedestal. We wanna approach closer the self- transcendence, by defining us, our exceptional capacities, depressing everything what comes into well-traced journey.
Self-possessed, and self- obsessed world of humans, is just one bubble among others. As Popper would say, there are three worlds and three different perspectives on looking at the world.

therefore,

Is world looking at us, or we are looking at it?

Fresh air is coming through the window. You are half- sleep barely realizing all sacred circumstances encroaching your senses.
Succumbing your chin into the edges of your sharp knees, violently pressing down, more and more, your joints are hopelessly screaming, you are ful of dreams. You, one pure figurine on a battlefield of your own fatigue, you come and go, and go further exploring kingdom of the heavenly dreams. As an outrageous snowflake, relentlessly dancing through the sunbeams, in a portrait of my imagination, I am swinging on the ropes of your dreams.

Warning sign.

I am sneaking in, sensing the cruelty and non-chalance, discovering...I am far away from being a part of them.

Dedicated to all hopelessly romantic dreamers.

paradise call

Spring has come. Certainly. I can see it in your dancing eyes, in trees bending down to me saying : "miss, you look pretty today", in cascades of morning dew on my barefeet, in prettines of blossoming greenery, and green blossoms, in talking leaves, in my own solace for better days, for better light on my life journey. In book pages, you can catch sight of me, swinging from the beginning to the end. You wake up one morning out of that wintery hybernation, ready for socializing with that stranger on a street, with a new book in a park, with birds perching on willow trees. Winter somehow prevents us from socializing, brings laziness in blankets and cups of tea, reading a book under a sad-looking lamp, with every page read welcoming sleep.

Are we all the same, celebrating spring on HER whistle announcing love for lovers, song for birds, poem for dreamers?
Spring brings us closer to how it looks in paradise. Nobody imagines paradise as cold cave, greenless walls, and airless chambers. If spring is love for air penetrating all your senses, love for every step approaching sunful lust, love for colored pieces of every sight you give, a love for people reading in parks, love for majestic creativity of the earth, can you feel that easiness on your chest recently?
Everything has a smile. A life. An ardent look. No injuries. Just palpable curiosity.
Everything evokes idiosyncrasy missed a second later, created in new image.

When spring comes, a sudden lust for echoes in deep wells overreigns me.
I wanna scream out of that easiness in my chests:

Thousand times good night to a winter!

i am in love

Orion , oh , Orion
forget you name,
and I 'll be yours
forever in your arms
lingering I'll be
infinitely happy
wondering I'll be
insanely colorful
my soul will be
forget your orbit
and I'll forget mine

a week doesn' t have seven days since yesterday

Again here. Here? Where here? In my mind or roots of my consciousness?
It is not easy at all. Neither mind nor the focused part of it, consciousness is going to explain it all. The mess. The chaos. The inevitable force of energy within each of us.
Close. We are getting close. Approaching maybe? Touching the edge of our consciousness?
Ha. Like the overbrimming of the wine glass full of that sparky illumination. Consciousness. Yes. there it is. Pressing against the inner edges of the wine glass waiting to be discovered, to be part of our momentary reality, to conquer our ideas and dreams. And we? Are we just simple helpless victims of forceful conscious stream? We are initiators. Apparently. Initiators with closed eyes, opening eye-lids does not help. Ears are deaf, taste buds intact to react.
Shut off all the sensors, all the bullets impatiently waiting for THE beams of perceivable. Yes? No?
Imagine the beams shooting from the outer world on us while consciousness wants to be here. Here. Map of our mind. The map of our ideas. Here it comes. Within the wine glass, with the seasons of our senses that have to be shut off. Like switching the code for dressing locker. Like on. Or off. Consciousness possesses the right code. For us. To be realized. to be processed.
Our senses are just tools upon which consciousness can interact with external world of shooting pressures of informations. Informations contain signs we have to recognize if we want to be conscious of them, but for it not be be so simplistic we filter those informations by rule of previously perceived informations. Those have individually relevance value.
Approaching external world, we use senses alongside with consciousness, we assume to be approaching reality. But here is the questions, as phenomenologically proposed, as we a part of reality, we as producers of unique experience created out of perceived situation, by projecting our own previous private experience, spirituality, relevance of situation, beliefs, and intuition, we are becoming part of this reality...therefore are we able to know the reality per se? Is reality a reality of every single unique human entity?
By every single new situation (new is considered a perceived discrepancy of in closely comparable situations, where consciousness plays role in realizing this discrepancy, therefore certain effort has to be imposed upon deliberately consciousness to be involved in this situation from this moment of realizing the novelty of this situation) human mind become more determined toward certain interpretation of any single oncoming situation. Therefore, senses are not immutable, rather prone by power of consciousness to act in a way dependable on every single stimuli previously involved.
---> senses undergo process similar to phylogenesis of any species.

Imagine a new born child equipped with all senses without any imperfections. Trapped in power of consciousness? Apparently no. Trapped in space and time. InDeliberately.

saturday is bloodier than bloody sunday

I stand under the crying moon, willing to fly over to help wipe its tears.
I go down to the water, I take a look at the reflected image.
I am standing there wiping the tears of moon.


I am standing humble, words chasing each other , then staggering in the row...
"there is always a way..."

on hYpocrisY

Oh such a start.
This is quite mysterious start. As I have been searching through images of Egon Schiele,the most mesmerizing artist of my world, I came across people´s blogs, realizing I do not do any blogging. Why people do that? ...occuppied my mind for a second.
Because they feel lonely? Have nobody to share their thoughts with? Are exhibiting their words, their thinking? Because they are mourning their lovers´loss?
I find it pretty artsy. As one can create own website, give to it its own meaning and gist, and get connect with others, their world, as I assumme what you write reveals what your thinking looks like. Isn´t that tremendously simplicstic and hypocritical? I infer on personality from words. Does that mean that less verbally capable people have poorer worlds?
Oh! I am a hypocrat (bending my head down, rolling my eyes around, to find somebody to refuse my statement)...and this is it. We justify what we know would be judged not in a good light. Do you feel also that hypocracy rules the world, one is hypocritical before himself, justifying own deeds as good to get rid of guilt and realized human savage? Human guilt is a mysterious concept to me, and as we all have different boundaries and limits encroaching our guilt territory, we all are just the same, we all protect our self- image and self-perception by finding the birds that prove our sins as naturally human. We progress, we regress, instantly. I can feel the insidious peril coming from posting this blog. I admit, I would also chase myself out of falling Damocles´sword.
I wanna provoke your ideas, your thoughts, move your brain cells in direction "out of comfort zone", calling for rescue.
I was named Misha.