Oh, FUCK! I’m in love?!
22 Duminică nov. 2009
Posted Stari de Suflet
in22 Duminică nov. 2009
Posted Stari de Suflet
in07 Sâmbătă nov. 2009
Posted Stari de Suflet
in„Solitude is the school of genius”
Aristotle said once that the one who is delighted with the solitude is whether a wild beast or a God.
Far from being a God, I keep the thought of being a wanna be Genius in many aspects of my life.
Yet, I see lately that the domain where I am a deplorable human being is human feeling. I don’t know how, yet I succeed almost constantly to be the victim of the most noble feeling a person could ever be part of, which is Love.
Although I put this word and feeling on a pedestal all my life, somehow I get cheated by my own feelings.
Is it the condition of a genius to be alone in order to reach the supremacy of my feelings?
Not being a God and surely not a wild beast, I wonder how come the solitude awakens the most intense inspiration and the most intense thoughts?!
Overwhelmed in this moment!
04 Miercuri nov. 2009
Posted Vorbe cu verbe
inEtichete
a iubi, cateodata noi, eu, verbe, vorbe
Timpul meu este la viitor
Iar timpul tau intotdeauna a fost la trecut
Cumva, totusi, am reusit
Sa strangem destul de multe verbe la prezent
Ma face sa tresar modul conditional
In care se formeaza, invariabil, prezentul nostru
Totusi, parca nu as renunta la anonimul infinitivului:
A iubi!
01 Duminică nov. 2009
Posted Sacul meu cu bunatati, Stari de Suflet
inEtichete
Inspired by the following song (discovered by coincidence believe it or not) I thought once more about the meaning of our words.
I keep listening to it without having enough (yet) because each one of these words leaves a mark on my vivid soul, eager to capture all senses, even the slightest shade.
Happy with that, recently I was thinking about whether I should write down my own soul lyrics or not?! In a prisoner world would my poems bring the hope of a better feeling? would my poems be the food and the water of that prisoner’s miserable life which is LIFE itself?
P.S Thanks Sfinx for your words (if your hands and eyes still pass through my place)- indeed, being a perfectionist is so torturing, yet….
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