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Posts Tagged ‘this is just to say’

sunday night, cat-like, i made a mash-up (with all its letters) of a girl possessed.

{last two minutes are empty cuz i’m new at garage band}.

*click at your own risk*

.

L.

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this is just to say
awkwardness wears off in time
and we will be gentle and kind
to each other
when nobody else is.
we can be groupless together
and devoid of a nation
as we count all the ways
of the blackbird.

 

L.

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Awkwardness is when you are new in a language and people  twist their tongues at you.  The milk of human kindness is so scarce these days among strangers that  no grin is natural at all: smiles carry knifes, or,  if you’re lucky, their carry yawns.  As Morrisey very well said, it takes strength to be gentle and kind.  So be careful when you wish to go out into the “real” world away from your base — because it’s only a  trick. No real world lasts long for anyone. It exists only -and perhaps- in solitude.  As soon as a person enters a new world (different from what he calls his own) he encounters that it is all  fractioned, jealous and  divided into oh so hermetic and confined groups.  Fiction again. And groups -needless to say- create a domain and a code of their own.  It is only in-between worlds that the real, or at least a wider scope of realism can be glimpsed. How hard it is not to loose one’s enthusiasm -even if it’s slight- when one moves around different groups of people and their realities; and, moreover, when one is forced by need into taking part in them.  Groups, by definition, are jealous and nationalistic. The painful thing is that, by entering (or trying to enter) one of this  groups, you need to cherish in silence what you believe as worthy, and keep poetry and warm thoughts close to body and safe until finally the cab drops you home and you can overflow.  You have to learn to speak their coded-language first, and you have to learn it even if its seems stupid and slack.  However, I think this is the only way to live: moving about and  taking the necessary -and unnecessary-  risks that your restless mind demands, and searching for the thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird.

It all boils down to civilisation and it’s discontents. Every person chooses his own family and familiar thoughts — this is his group of things: things as they are, or as he thinks they are.  He has been creating all his life a jealous country of his own, a nationalistic (barely globalised) one, in which it’s very safe to exist. The very sense of jeopardising this  by taking part in an other world can be devastating,  and could turn anyone into  a constant impersonation of awkwardness.  But still, it has it’s beauty, even if an exhausting kind of beauty.

I guess that with time one learns to move about and to bury treasures skin-deep and fast. The primal mistake relies in thinking that what one imagines as real, is real, and that people are kind and gentle per se.

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