Solace

Solace
Main Entry: 1so·lace
Pronunciation: \ˈsä-ləs also ˈsō-\
Function: transitive verb
Inflected Form(s): so·laced; so·lac·ing
Date: 13th century
1 : to give solace to : console
2 a : to make cheerful b : amuse
3 : allay, soothe
— so·lace·ment \-mənt\ noun
— so·lac·er noun


Mark Rothko, Center Tryptich for Rothko Chapel, 1966, Houston

Home

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

adamant

adamant
2 entries found.
1adamant (noun)
2adamant (adjective)
Main Entry: 1ad·a·mant
Pronunciation: \ˈa-də-mənt, -ˌmant\
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Anglo-French, from Latin adamant-, adamas hardest metal, diamond, from Greek
Date: 14th century
1 : a stone (as a diamond) formerly believed to be of impenetrable hardness
2 : an unbreakable or extremely hard substance

21st century

Confusion will be my epitaph

“An artist’s only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else’s.”
~J.D Salinger

Haiti

Haiti

First come slavery and its hardships,
Rage and dictators followed suit,
Strong winds and heavy rains, from time to time
To undo the little that was done.
Then a mighty quake.

You smile at adversity, you pray the right prayers
Sacrifice what’s to sacrifice,
You try rage, yes rage is also good
It cleanses you, makes you look in command for a little while
But all is lost in face of things…

I think about it over and over,
And get no further than this :

Oh when the saints go marching in
When the saints go marching in
Oh lord I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in

And when the sun refuse to shine
And when the sun refuse to shine
Oh lord I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in…

Black is beautiful

Adoration

Hesed

"In the Hebrew Scriptures, hesed refers to a sort of love that has been promised and is owed—covenant love, that is—as in Hosea 1:1: “When Israel was a child, I loved him and out of Egypt I called my son.” Covenant love is the love God promised to give to his covenant people, and which they in turn were to respond with in kind, loving the God of the Bible with all their hearts, minds and strength. Hesed does not suggest some kind of generic love of everyone. Like marital love, covenantal love is given within the context of a relationship where it is already promised and where the recipient is commanded to respond in kind. Covenant love, like marital love, is neither optional nor unconditional; it is obligatory. This is not to say hesed is compelled—just as in a marriage, love cannot be forced—but it is commanded. This love may be freely and graciously given, but, from the biblical point of view, there is no such thing as free love."

in From Hesed to Agape
What’s love got to do with it?
By Ben Witherington III

so nice

More here

Mardi-gras is coming soon this year

Went out together for a brisk walk into the cold night
Our breaths like fog out of our mouths,
all along the way.

Near home, two women, with infinite care
Strapped a baby’s chair to a car seat, then hugged and kiss :
- Good night, good night
Another passerby, also looked, you could sense, how
he too felt enveloped by the warmth of their tenderness.
From a window shop a pirate stared unmoved,
Mardi-gras is coming soon this year.

Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters

"The story Seymour read to Franny that night, by flashlight, was a favorite of his, a Taoist tale. To this day, Franny swears that she remembers Seymour reading it to her:

Duke Mu of Chin said to Po Lo: 'You are now advanced in years. Is there any member of your family whom I could employ to look for horses in your stead?' Po Lo replied: 'A good horse can be picked out by its general build and appearance. But the superlative horse - one that raises no dust and leaves no tracks - is something evanescent and fleeting, elusive as thin air. The talents of my sons lie on a lower plane altogether; they can tell a good horse when they see one, but they cannot tell a superlative one. I have a friend, however, one Chiu-fang Kao, a hawker of fuel and vegetables, who in things appertaining to horses is nowise my inferior. Pray see him.'

Duke Mu did so, and subsequently dispatched him on the quest for a steed. Three months later, he returned with the news that he had found one. 'It is now in Shach'iu,' he added. 'What kind of a horse is it/" asked the Duke. 'Oh, it is a dun-colored mare,' was the reply. However, someone being sent to fetch it, the animal turned out to be a coal-black stallion! Much displeased, the Duke sent for Po Lo. 'That friend of yours,' he said, 'whom I commissioned to look for a horse, has made a fine mess of it. Why, he cannot even distinguish a beast's color or sex! What on earth can he know about horses?' Po Lo heaved a sigh of satisfaction. 'Has he really got as far as that?' he cried. 'Ah, then he is worth ten thousand of me put together. There is no comparison between us. What Kao keeps in view is the spiritual mechanism. In making sure of the essential, he forgets the homely details; intent on the inward qualities, he loses isght of the external. He sees what he wants to see, and not what he does not want to see. He looks at the things he ought to look at, and neglects those that need not be looked at. So clever a judge of horses is Kao, that he has it in him to judge something better than horses.'

When the horse arrived, it turned out indeed to be a superlative animal.'"

Write a new entry

Write a new entry
Into the blog.


Went to the see the nurse this morning
Had my blood pressure measured,
Dizzy this morning
Dizzy every morning
This week.


Write a new entry
Into the blog.

Keep a diary
You never had before
Funny how after all these years,
Fifty in a little while,
You decided to keep a record
A blog of all things
To settle issues
Buoys to help you navigate
The flow of things.


Write a new entry
Into the blog you never had before.

Innocent

Via Trama

(everyone has a second motherland, where everything one does is innocent)

IRM

The most intimate track on the album is "IRM" — that's French for an MRI scan — which pulsates with clanging industrial beats. In 2007, Gainsbourg suffered a brain hemorrhage in a waterskiing accident and surgeons had to drill through her skull to save her. Despite recovering fully, she insisted on undergoing MRI scans for several months after the accident. "The sounds inside the machine are nasty to hear," she says. "They're brutal and aggressive, and rhythmically very chaotic. But they're also musical." The lyrics on "IRM" address her attempts to exorcise her medical demons: "Leave my head demagnetized/ Tell me where the trauma lies/ In the scan of pathogen/ Or the shadow of my sin."

Read more: http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1955505,00.html#ixzz0duBBNFNA

welcome the spring

Shaul Schwarz / Reportage via Getty Images for TIME


"You know, folks ask me sometimes why I look so calm," Obama told several hundred worshippers from the pulpit of Washington's Vermont Avenue Baptist Church, where slain civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr once delivered a sermon.

The US leader is famous of his aura of unflappability in the face of crisis, but he acknowledged that there are sometimes roiling emotions beneath the surface.

"I have a confession to make. There are times when I'm not so calm. My wife knows. There are times when progress seems too slow. There are times when the words that are spoken about me hurt. There are times when the barbs sting. There are times when it feels like all these efforts are for naught," he added.

"Change is so painfully slow in coming. And I have to confront my own doubts."

But the president said it's his faith that gives him inner calm and peace, and urged congregants at the church on Sunday to find solace in theirs.

"So let us hold fast to that faith," Obama urged the congregation.

"Together, we shall overcome the challenges of the new age. Together, we shall seize the promise of this moment. Together, we shall make a way through the winter. And we're going to welcome the spring."


CALLIE SHELL / AURORA FOR TIME

todos iguais

Coprolalia
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Coprolalia is involuntary swearing or the involuntary utterance of obscene words or socially inappropriate and derogatory remarks. Coprolalia comes from the Greek κόπρος (kopros) meaning "feces" and λαλία (lalia) from lalein, "to talk". The term is often used as a clinomorphism, with 'compulsive profanity' inaccurately referred to as being Tourette syndrome.
Related terms are copropraxia, performing obscene or forbidden gestures, and coprographia, making obscene writings or drawings.

No outro dia cruzei-me com uma senhora que evidentemente sofria deste síndroma. Apesar de saber que era doente e que não era nada especialmente dirigido a mim, não pude deixar de sentir um arrepio na espinha quando ela passou junto a mim.
Como uma suspensão da respiração, uma contracção involuntária de todo o corpo...acho que sucedia o mesmo a todos pelos quais ela passava. Coitada.
A semana passada, entrava todos os dias um velho na minha carruagem do comboio, não se aproximava de ninguém ficava no canto mais distante, mas fedia. Fedia a urina.
Todos sentíamos por igual, todos aguentávamos a respiração. Coitado.
Somos todos iguais, não somos ?

Money

Só ontem reparei o bem feito que está este vídeo...

Only yesterday I noticed how good this video is...

love YouTube

An american original

read about her here

Mozart

Mozart is the musical Christ.
Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

disfrute

Follow this link please

Andromeda

A beleza salva.

Beauty redeems.

cover your eyes

Sonho e metafisica...principalmente silêncio.

Dreams and metaphysics...mostly silence.

A new era

playing tricks

this image was taken from here

I'm a small boy playing a trick - I'm a small boy playing a trick on the world,
I'm a small boy playing a trick with the present - I'm a small boy,
wish you could see me now...

Sou um rapaz a pregar uma partida - um rapaz a pregar uma partida a toda a gente,
Sou um rapaz a pregar uma partida ao presente - Sou um rapaz,
Quem dera que me pudesses ver agora...

like a Summer rose

ruined Picasso

Somebody ruined a Picasso by accident
The Earth trembled in Haiti
The famous butterfly waved its famous wings
But nothing new really happened,
Or did it ?

the messenger

ride home

the pain of love

Le Baiser, de Carolus Duran

Derek Walcott: The Fist

The fist clenched round my heart
loosens a little, and I gasp
brightness; but it tightens
again. When have I ever not loved
the pain of love? But this has moved

past love to mania. This has the strong
clench of the madman, this is
gripping the ledge of unreason, before
plunging howling into the abyss.

Hold hard then, heart. This way at least you live.

RYAN MCGINLEY

RYAN MCGINLEY
New York based photographer Ryan McGinley is one of the sharpest knives in the utensil drawer. His very nude, yet harmful photos rich in colours, almost comes to life with the joyful motion it captures. Visit his kickass portfolio now!

http://ryanmcginley.com/

—Niklas Hultström, Oct 06 2009.

the hum of your voice

5
I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you,
And you must not be abased to the other.

Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not
even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue
to my bare-stript heart,
And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.

Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass
all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women
my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and
poke-weed.

from Song of Myself
by: Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

shhh...

Sonhava constantemente com futebol, quero dizer sonhava comigo a jogar futebol, revivia jogadas que tinha feito, refazia as que tinham saído mal. Contudo só jogava bem quando me esquecia, quando o corpo jogava por ele, sem interferência da razão.

Algum tempo depois, comecei a ser ostra. Deixava a água passar por mim, contava-lhe histórias e a água dizia : - Como podes contar histórias tu, que não sais daqui, não vês nada de novo ? e eu respondia : - Não vês água que tu vens de todas as partes e eu por ti vou-me inteirando de tudo. É que está tudo ligado.
A água respondia : - Bahhh, tretas...e continuava o seu caminho toda gaiteira.

É uma tarde de principio de Verão, bate a nortada como costuma acontecer, aqui no estuário, onde o rio é mais aberto, largo como um mar. O nosso barco, mais o seu pequeno motor, tenta passar por entre a mareta, sabemos que estamos por cima dos bancos de ostras, agora mortos e tentamos regressar a casa, a pescaria hoje não rendeu e com este vento vamos ver se o combustível nos chega para o regresso.
O meu tio Constantino passa na traineira dele e larga-nos uma corda, vamos a reboque, seguros até casa e tudo fica bem. Nessa noite dormimos ainda embalados pelo tactac do motor, a pele seca do sol e da nortada.

Gostava que as coisas fizessem sentido, gostava que o meu corpo ainda me pedisse para pontapear todas as pedras da rua, gostava de partir para o rio e encontrar sempre uma saída.