I don't know why I came up with that:

It's up to me
It's up to us
Living only for the finest things.
Suffering for no reasons: NO MORE

Many times
They say what we should be like.
They tell us to be just like them.
They provide us a God, lifestyle, and fake wellness

Gotta do this
Gotta say that
Gotta behave like this
Gotta cut down on fat

Surprisingly,
Not many reject those forces.
In fact,
The majority respects them.
And it concludes: "What else could we do?"

Why can't they know what to do?
How is it possible to be that fool?
What about being exploited, used, and heisted?
Untie the knots of these damn leashes
Measure your days by the number of words you spit
See yourself through the eyes of the beholder and make them fit

Don't let those strange forces tell you what to buy, sell, or wear
Don't allow your ears listen to crap radio songs
Deny corporate media
Abolish corporate speak
Don't get me started on corporatewear
Prevent your brain with MTV-proof material as well

Most of my favorite writers has had insane mothers
Has Got alcohol issues and intense sexual lives
They've left plenty of legacy to be enjoyed
and it will not be taken for granted.
They had untied their knots way before they were even born

Follow your deep ID wills
Do NOT erase your past
Rewrite it on a golden covered book
Restore your old pictures
and rearrange all fossils

Run AWAY from demented thoughts
Scream to the top of your lungs
Sort out your desires
Fulfill your needs or procrastinate that as you please.

You are not bad
but you are not good either
You are just like me
But time keeps running out...

by Laila Chris

...

Monday or Tuesday

This is my first post after months (literally months) trying to write something substantial here. I had left my original blog URL and that has caused a sort of hard time for some readers to find me on the web. I've gone through a lot and that is pretty much what I can say about my days down here in Brazil. I'm way glad to have recovered my old posts. I'm pleased with my new template (Lori said good things about it too. "YAY!"). I'd rather publish daily posts from now on but I am still not able to do that because my teaching duties seem to never end. I've been working at a frantic pace, about 14 hours a day, and my head spins just like tops sometimes. I went through meds and I still take some food supplements just to cope with this crazy load of work. My responsibilities have doubled... no no no tripled now. The best thing is that I am NOT complaining. I'm just excusing myself since I have not written a word since two months ago. The excess of work does not bother me at all. It just leads me to a madness for not finding time to dedicate to my writings like I used to. Regardless, I always find time for some reading. I've copied and pasted one of my favorite on this very post. Here's a "short" by Virginia Wolf and I hope someone likes it. I'll be back folks... I'll post more... I'll say it all.

Monday or Tuesday
by Virginia Woolf (1882–1941)

LAZY and indifferent, shaking space easily from his wings, knowing his way, the heron passes over the church beneath the sky. White and distant, absorbed in itself, endlessly the sky covers and uncovers, moves and remains. A lake? Blot the shores of it out! A mountain? Oh, perfect—the sun gold on its slopes. Down that falls. Ferns then, or white feathers, for ever and ever——

Desiring truth, awaiting it, laboriously distilling a few words, for ever desiring—(a cry starts to the left, another to the right. Wheels strike divergently. Omnibuses conglomerate in conflict)—for ever desiring—(the clock asseverates with twelve distinct strokes that it is midday; light sheds gold scales; children swarm)—for ever desiring truth. Red is the dome; coins hang on the trees; smoke trails from the chimneys; bark, shout, cry “Iron for sale”—and truth?

Radiating to a point men’s feet and women’s feet, black or gold-encrusted—(This foggy weather—Sugar? No, thank you—The commonwealth of the future)—the firelight darting and making the room red, save for the black figures and their bright eyes, while outside a van discharges, Miss Thingummy drinks tea at her desk, and plate-glass preserves fur coats——

Flaunted, leaf-light, drifting at corners, blown across the wheels, silver-splashed, home or not home, gathered, scattered, squandered in separate scales, swept up, down, torn, sunk, assembled—and truth?

Now to recollect by the fireside on the white square of marble. From ivory depths words rising shed their blackness, blossom and penetrate. Fallen the book; in the flame, in the smoke, in the momentary sparks—or now voyaging, the marble square pendant, minarets beneath and the Indian seas, while space rushes blue and stars glint—truth? content with closeness?

Lazy and indifferent the heron returns; the sky veils her stars; then bares them.

M a y b e

Talvez

Quando te vi
Não soube o que dizer
Quando te vi
Preferi
Talvez meditar e relevar
Assegurar-me e exprimir
Palavras certas,
Mensagem clara,
Ofertar meu tempo,
Dividir meu afeto,
Não forçar o momento,
Definir o conjunto
De fatores que me levam
Até você.
Não tendo mais o que falar
Procurei pensar
Em algo mais direto
Sem ser vulgar
Só queria mostrar
As pulsações
O concreto
Demorei demais
Cansei-te
Não estando mais lá
Rezei para voltar
Mais tarde talvez
Talvez
Talvez


by Laila Chris

Mount Fuji

These are Márcia's* photos. She took those in Japan while trekking out there. She's a brilliant photographer. Check some more here at http://www.flickr.com/photos/ma_nihey/
*Márcia Nihei was my college mate when I was majoring JOURNALISM. Kisses GIRL!!!! ;-D

I am back for good!

THANKS FOR THE LATEST COMMENTS, GIRLS!!! I'M WAY HAPPY TO BE BACK.
THE ONLY PROBLEM IS THAT I'VE BEEN VERY BUSY STILL, SO I CAN'T SAY WHEN I WILL RESTART POSTING TEXTS OF MY OWN - "SORRY FOR THAT!"

LOVE YOU ALL: FINEARTIST, RAIN, WRITERMOM, ZILLA, SARAH, PHOENIX AND SASSY!!!! I dedicate this video to you all!!!

Short story mood...

WE DREAM OF SCAPE, WE WAKE UP

February in a dying city, and nothing on the radio. You next to me saying I think I'm pregnant. You next to me, saying nothing. Telling me that the last time you saw your father, he lived in this neighborhood, and I can still smell you on my fingertips. I can still remember being in love with you.

And you say That one right there, and it's a crumbling four story apartment building in between a liquor store and a locksmith, and the door to the front hallway is gone, and the first floor windows all broken and boarded over. And you tell me to pull over, but I don't. The sun is low, directly in my eyes, cutting through the layers of grime on the windshield. It swallows your voice. It means nothing.

What I'm thinking about are your sister's hands. Her lips.

And do you ask me why I hate you? Probably. And I turn a corner, out of the sun, and the light at the next corner is red. I look over at you. You look out the window. I try to think of what to say. I turn the heater down. I can't remember how to get back to the bridge that will take us back over the river, out of this part of town. The light turns green.

Or this.

Your sister next to me in the same year, in the same city, on a different day. Smiles and asks So why don't you leave her? Takes off her seat belt, lays her head down on my lap. Undoes the button of my jeans, unzips them, says Keep your eyes on the road.

And I don't know what it was that you gave me, but my face feels flushed, my eyeballs sweaty. I can feel my heart pounding, can suddenly feel the words buzzing around in my brain, can feel them crawling in my mouth like ants caught in tar. I watch you at the edge of my vision, your hands as you feed a few pills to yourself, and I wonder briefly about the pregnancy. I try to ask you a question about it, but the words are busy somewhere else. My mouth is dry. I focus on the road.

We ride in silence for five minutes, maybe twenty, maybe an hour, and I open my mouth again, then close it. I turn on the radio and get nothing. I notice that we've left the claustrophobic sprawl of downtown behind, are passing vacant lots, abandoned factories, piles of garbage. The apartment buildings turn to trailers, the sidewalks to gravel and weeds and railroad tracks. I check the gas gauge. It says E.

I look over at you again, and you're looking back at me, all white-blond hair and deep brown eyes, and you smile, tight-lipped, trying to hide your crooked front tooth, and I never wanted to know you this well. Never wanted to know myself this well. And I look back at the road, and the sky is filled with clouds. I look at the gas gauge again, and what you finally say is I think I might be pregnant, and I know I'm not lost but think I'm getting closer.

by John Sweet

...:::Poetry Friday:::...

AnyLonger

from this day on, I won't fear any longer
from this day on, I won't see dead materials

I know I have to stay indoors,
sitting before my computer,
so that fear does not surpass my being.

I won't ever have an ideal neighborhood
who cares?
who cares if our cars can't be parked on streets?
who cares if there will always be trash dumped on my house lawn?
who cares if it is needed chains, lockers, fences, and cameras?
at least my relatives won't visit me on holidays
fine
just keep the doors closed, then I am safe
Besides, who's alive that is never gonna die anyway?
in fact, who's not dead yet?
Your quiet average neighborhood???
I bet they are.
"of agony
of confusion
of horror
of fear
of ignorance."
I'll die... eventually

by Laila Chris

Slowdive - Catch the Breeze

Feels like all the days are gone
Just catch the breeze
You know it had to fall
Rain, washes, ways down

And I, I want the world to pass
And I, I watch the wind to fly
You can believe in everything
You can believe it all

Hey, are you feeling something new
Just watch the rain, it helps in all you do
The breeze, it blows, it blows everything

And I, I want the world to pass
And I, I want the sun to shine
You can believe in everything
You can believe it all

C O D E S

Different Codes

Meaning

Finding meaning

Relationship with the universe

People and nature

Nature and arts

Arts and survival

Survival and war

Meanings

Looking for answers

Conscious and events

The events and gestures

Gestures and voice

Meaningful products

Made to provide meanings

Given meanings

Meanings for the existence

Existence and death

Presence and absence

Science and religion

Local and universal

Knowledge and lack of

Paragraphs and chapters

Chapters and no-stories

Meaningful meanings

for meaningless minds

Build meanings only,

that’ll serve them right.

Since they’re finding

There won’t be fight any longer.

By Laila Chris

Bukowski Interview 1982

NOTHINGNESS

by laila Chris

there is
no fun
anymore

you dunno...

what don't
I know?

no clue?

hell no.

there is fun.

you know?

no.

anything?

nothing.
no one
knows.

noble
knight
knew it?

nope.
neither this,
nor that.

never?


nodded.

ever?

nonsense.

naturally new
knowledge?

numb

news.
don't
nurture them,
nowhere.

no?

not at all.

none of
them?

null!

no-good?

not

noticeable?

and noxious,
nearly deadly.

that bad?

have no
idea...

you said
you didn't
know.

nevermind.

?

?
by rebekah hearn


if the earth
switched to green and purple
if life was blooming blood on every corner,
if space could multiply itself, square it,
triple it-
if love could be communicated
and translated into one grand, bursting
raincloud, showering itself on us all, smother hate but
not fire,
it would be utopia. apologies
exhaust our time together—
sweat steeps our pores in regret. yet, here—here, you ask?
here,
i would catch the night with my toes as it passes by,
and listen to the sunset fall,
and release darkness when you
were ready. and the rest can wait, for once.
but i am selfish.
i love only you.

and the rest of the earth
is my broken paradise!

too bad i cannot live 1000 years to make you
realize
my eyes
are on fire
when you come to mind.

THIS by Fernando Pessoa

They say I fake or lie
in everything I write.
No, its symply that
With me imagination
Feels - I don't use
The heart.

All I dream or go through,
All I fail or lose out
On, is like a terrace
Facing something else
Again. And that's the lovely
Thing.

It's why I write
Steeped in things not readily
At hand - free of emotions,
Serious about what isn't.
Feelings? That's the reader
Lot!

(1933 ?)


translated and edited by Edwin Honig and Susan M. Brown

°

Chaos
Chaos
Dodging fights brought me fear
A frightening idea...
Hey, waiter! Give me another word for fear!
No! No! Actually, I need another one for idea.
What a scare... an unthoughtful one!!!
Just one more dare?
Anyone? Who'd care for some more?
Hey, Sir! Serve me another chance to spare...
... my old fears, ideas, and swears
(despairs)!?

by L.C. June/2006

Art-bitch

I don't actually listen to this Brazilian band called "Cansei de Ser Sexy" but their myspace page is placed under my top 8. Why is that, you psycho? Simple. The reason is not for their music which is fun, colorful, and modern in a way. The reason is mostly for the lyrics. They write songs with dry, sometimes harsh words, but they always wind up soft. I appreciate their sour mood. It's poetry to my ears.

Art Bitch
by Cansei de Ser Sexy

My art is called egocentric soft porno
Or maybe it's just narcissism
My one and only subject
Goes from something like anything but
Me ism

Wouldn't it be easier for Beardsley
He could drop the paintings
And photograph his penis
Or take pics of the chicks
Yeah, you know what i mean
Wouldn't it be easier for Escher
He could drop the marh
And make it happen on his mattress
2 girls and a cam
3 girls and a cam
Put a dog there and you got Polaroid scam

I ain't no art-ist
I am an art-bitch
I sell my panties to the men i eat
I have no port-fo-lee-o
Cuz i only show
Where there's free al-co-hol

I am so hardcore
I sell my crap and people ask for more
Call me re-vo-lu-tionaire
I poo on a plate and get it published on visionary
What i do, it's called art-shit
And don't you dare make fun of me
Cuz everything i do was featured on the pages of id

I ain't no art-ist
I am an art-bitch
I sell my panties to the men i eat
I have no port-fo-lee-o
Cuz i only show
Where there's free al-co-hol
I ain't no art-ist
I am an art-bitch
I sell my paintings to the men i eat
I have no port-fo-lee-o
Cuz i only show
Where there's free al-co-hol

Lick lick lick my art-tit
Suck suck suck my art-hole

I ain't no art-ist
I am an art-bitch
I sell my panties to the men i eat
I have no port-fo-lee-o
Cuz i only show
Where there's free al-co-hol

hehehe

In the mind of god
The dead sleeping lie
And the little cogs though unmoving
Hover over the turning wheel
All life's a farce
The broken bird is draped over the paths
And paths and paths and paths
And those who say this world is not
The bloody gleaming paradise of blood and jewel
Lie
Opal and pearl bloodsocket castings
Ruby jasmine jasper onyx
Chalcedonthrone and ambergriscrown
Golden green leafwork
Scrolled with the farstars
Pitted with the moonworlds
Mother alldewey
Arrayed with the twinkling lights
The wovengold spungilded blinking godeyes
The spearshafts of heaven
The souldwelling rockhomes
Are...
Dormition and Dominion
Dormition and Dominion
The Mother is dead
The Mother awakens
Dormition
She sleeps
Dominion
He rules
She sleeps and rules
In her starry bodied glory
The Mother sleeps
The Mother loves
Dormition and Dominion
I wait
..Are the holders of the world and its dreams
I say there is no death
No death
We have lived before and shall live again
And again
We have slept before and shall sleep again
We have danced through the shallow pools
And shall rejoice once again
To those who say there is no hope
I say liars
Liars
Liars you are
Over the starry dancing stars
There is a land
Under the sweatribbed brow
There is a land
And this is the globed world of the Pantocrator
Finally I have understood
I have understood
I have understood
Though when I slip sleeping and silently
From this ribbed room of sighs
You shall not find the history of His personal visit
Sewn into my linings perhaps
Nevertheless I have understood
Where the logician watches god hinge all on a die
Nevertheless: I have understood!
That all this is the breathbetween moment
Our eyelids open and close
Between is the land
Between the time I first was accepted
In between Your brightboned body
Between then and there and the time You wept:
"Goodbye my love goodbye to you"
Goodbye oh goodbye
There there was the land
In the pearls of our heart
There is the immaculate heavenly loveland
In the middle of the forest Actæon is slain by his own hounds
In the middle of the forest Eustace meets the crisscross Stag
There is the land he has reached paradise
There is no death
There is no death
There as the stag turns and smiled loved
There he was takencaught by the prey
All the flowers are blossoming
And all the world calls to you:
"Dormition" -- so you sleep
"Dominion" -- so he rules
Dormition -- oh You sleep, Mother
Dominion -- Father, You rule

by Haroldo de Campos

Babies...

Missing blood!!! Missing my own blood!!! I've been missing you girls... I've been missing you FERNANDA, my baby sis!!!!

I ain't the trainman!!!

I've come to realize that most of my students have taken the red pill... So that means, I may not be a teacher - I AM THE ORACLE!!!