On wit

"a kind of discordia concours, a combination of dissimilar images, or discovery of occult resemblances in things apparently common."

"the unexpected copulation of ideas"

"Those who desire to partake of the pleasure of wit must contribute to its production, since the mind stagnates without external ventilation."

Samuel Johnson

Shine on

While grief is fresh, every attempt to divert it only irritates. You must wait till grief be digested, and then amusement will dissipate the remains of it.

Samuel  Johnson

I wish I could assist you in all the pain you endure 

I wish I could embrace you with my arm

and squeeze out of tears

because there is no greater pain

than to see you

suffering

and leaving you alone with it

I want you to be still sweet 

and not turning into a bitter chocolate

because you're on this way

I'd like you to let it go

don't hold to it

I admire your strength

and perseverance 

but there is a limit to everything

and if it is not your life than

at one time you should 

say to yourself enough is enough

and close the door

and dance on the wooden plank

of the coffin from the past

Because once I hope to see you

in the fun fair

amusing yourself like a bimbo

with a wooden stick of candyfloss

joking around 

and grasping the moment as it is

smiling till the early hours.

An open letter to everyone who lost their way

Hey,

you just have to stick to the things you like to do and keep on doing them
to concentrate on carrying them out,
don't give up!
on no condition you should give yourself up,
keep on moving forward, do the thing you always wanted to do
and get rid of any doubts that you won't succeed it
if you really want to do it, to achieve it, you will finally.
And remember work with dates, give yourself a deadline to do it
and do everything to achieve it in time.
Push yourself to the boundaries and win this game with yourself
only then you can leave satisfied.

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

Too much artistry

On the rear occasions when our dreams succeed and achieve perfection-most dreams are bungled-they are symbolic chains of scenes and images in place of a narrative poetic language; they circumscribe our experiences or expectations or situations with such poetic boldness and decisiveness that in the morning we are always amazed at ourselves when we remember our dreams. We use up too much artistry in our dreams-and therefore often are impoverished during the day.

from The wanderer and his shadow, Nietzsche.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FfJ9Q_k66Ek

Pendo dalle tue labbra

[...]bo dusze się w tej klatce

bo samotna jest dusza moja aż do śmierci

bo kończy się w porę mój ostatni papier

i już tylko krok i niech żyje Życie

bo stanąłem na początku, bo pociągnął 

mnie Ojciec i stanę na końcu 

i nie skosztuje śmierci

List do pozostałych, Stachura

Three successive nights I dreamt of you,

In three dreams you appeared to me, through

The veil of sommnabulic desire

Where I could not judge

But followed my inner fire

and held you tight 

We didn't speak much

but declared alliance

 a simple kiss

You crushed
my false conviction
when on first night
I felt under your jurisdiction
with your hands around me
and your lips
I felt all that play was a joke
Didn't believe myself, wanted to poke
And I woke up

The second night
I almost survived
walking with you
on the dead streets

And the third night was
the most tender
us whispering in bed
promising once said
that we will be together
or never

Ally

No more going to the dark side
With your flying saucer eyes
No more falling down a wormhole
That I have to pull you out

The wriggling twiggling worm inside
Devours from the inside out
No more talk about the old days
It's time for something great

Want you to get up and make it work
So many allies
So many allies
So many allies
So many allies
So feel the love come off of them
And take me in your arms

Peel all of your layers off
I want to eat your artichoke heart
No more leaky holes in your brain
And no false starts

I want to get up and make it work
So many allies
So many allies
So many allies
So many allies
So feel the love come off of them
And take me in your arms

I want to get up and make it work
Want you to get up and make it work

Hey it’ll be okay

Atoms for peace by Thom York

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoOlrf3x2gI&feature=related

N’importe où hors du monde

This life is a hospital where every patient is possessed with the desire to change beds; one man would like to suffer in front of the stove, and another believes that he would recover his health beside the window.

It always seems to me that I should feel well in the place where I am not, and this question of removal is one which I discuss incessantly with my soul.

'Tell me, my soul, poor chilled soul, what do you think of going to live in Lisbon? It must be warm there, and there you would invigorate yourself like a lizard. This city is on the sea-shore; they say that it is built of marble and that the people there have such a hatred of vegetation that they uproot all the trees. There you have a landscape that corresponds to your taste! a landscape made of light and mineral, and liquid to reflect them!'

My soul does not reply.

'Since you are so fond of stillness, coupled with the show of movement, would you like to settle in Holland, that beatifying country? Perhaps you would find some diversion in that land whose image you have so often admired in the art galleries. What do you think of Rotterdam, you who love forests of masts, and ships moored at the foot of houses?'

My soul remains silent.

'Perhaps Batavia attracts you more? There we should find, amongst other things, the spirit of Europe 
married to tropical beauty.'

Not a word. Could my soul be dead?

'Is it then that you have reached such a degree of lethargy that you acquiesce in your sickness? If so, let us flee to lands that are analogues of death. I see how it is, poor soul! We shall pack our trunks for Tornio. Let us go farther still to the extreme end of the Baltic; or farther still from life, if that is possible; let us settle at the Pole. There the sun only grazes the earth obliquely, and the slow alternation of light and darkness suppresses variety and increases monotony, that half-nothingness. There we shall be able to take long baths of darkness, while for our amusement the aurora borealis shall send us its rose-coloured rays that are like the reflection of Hell's own fireworks!'


At last my soul explodes, and wisely cries out to me: 'No matter where! No matter where! As long as it's out of the world!'


from Le Spleen de Paris, by Charles Baudelaire. 

Silencer

And I pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again


from Ash Wednesday, T.S. Eliot

Ash Wednesday

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice


T.S. Eliot

(in parenthesis)

Have you ever woken up with 3 tons of weight on your body?
yo u couldn't ge t up from b ed, lyin g th ere for 2 h ours and try ing to ga ther you r thought s, to ar range wha t to do to day, puuush things for ward, mooove a bit in you r t asks...
instead you're lying still in bed, squeezed by weight that is pinning your body to the floor, with a load of thoughts, burden of a recent meeting, flashbacks from yesterday, and fighting with your imagination that creates monsters.
and finally you get up and hope to order your day, to put it in brackets and feel good with every task fulfilled. but burden holds you even after getting up, it doesn't release you but grasps you in the hand and clenches the fist. you cannot eat, cannot make a right move, everything is in parenthesis...
you feel the heart pounding like mad, you cannot breath, feel like vomiting and nervous... and it doesn't release you but keeps on grinding your mind, terrorizing your mind, burning you from inside.
everything is in parenthesis... your life is in parenthesis, you hang somewhere between the worlds, between the emotion and reason, between being alive and dead.

Believe you can

Believe you can and you are half-way through

Some say they will never make it,
Some give up at the very start.
From what I've learnt in life
I hold with those who favor action.
And even if I had to come through all this twice
Hardship, sacrifice
Misery and woe
I am certain that I will go for it once more
And went out of it a happy man
Not because I achieved it or failed
But that I've tried.

Just drive

Some thoughts are like stones that holds you down and cannot release you.
By pondering on their origins, why they are with you, or why there are so many of them - you just make it tougher for yourself to get rid of them. Because you want to get rid of them, 'cause it is harder to live with stones, and we are survival creatures who want to make life easier.
You don't want to have weight on you, you don't want to drag your carriage along you all the time, you need some time to relax, to catch a breath and to soothe yourself.
Stones may carry you to down to the sea or suffocate you once they don't allow you to speak them out.
There is one way to get rid of the stones.

Just find a nice place for them, near the river or in the woods. Gather your thoughts around you and intensify them so you can feel the stones in your hands, grab them and throw them yelling in the air, in the river as far away from you as it is possible. Scream after them, until you lose sight of them, until they are gone. There will be no more weight, no more stone-thoughts, there will be just a new path from the woods, from the bank of the river... Then all you need is just drive... drive on...