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

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

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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

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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

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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

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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?