Infinity

I’ve thought about this over and over again…
to give up everything and start fresh…
everytime I think about it,
it reminds me about a post I read by infinity,
to give it a bit of subtext, at the time when he wrote this, he was madly in love with his Australian princess,

Poster 1: Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose.

Poster 2: That’s definitely not how I understand freedom. “Freedom” to me is the freedom to choose your own direction and to express who you are.

Poster 1: Yes, that’s what freedom is when you start out. And as you choose your direction, decide and express who you are, acquire loving relationships, children, career or volunteer work which makes a difference and makes you happy, or whatever it is that’s for you, your life becomes rich and full and busy.

And there’s not so much room left to choose your own direction, without throwing away the direction you’ve already chosen and still like. And not so much room to decide and express who you are, unless you feel the need to change who you are every year or two like a new wardrobe, and then it’s not who you are anyway.

So there you are, having made the commitments you still feel are the right ones, chosen a direction you still like, expressed who you really feel, and still feel, that you are, but a little childish part of you would still throw it all away just so that you could start again from a clean slate and have all that freedom again. Even if you’d make all the same choices again and you still like all the choices you made, you don’t feel as free while you live them out as you did while you were choosing them.

So that’s what I mean. I don’t mean freedom is bad, it’s lovely. But it can go too far; if you’re in love with feeling free, you can’t commit to anything – a person, a career, an expression of who you are – because commitment makes you less free. You’ll never feel as free as when you had nothing.

I’m more “free” now than I’ve been in a long time, and I’m here to tell you that it sucks. I liked having someone to commit to, I liked having a reason to wake up in the morning. Are there burdens that come with giving up one’s solitary journey through life? Of course there are. But those burdens are nothing compared to the realization that living for yourself — and only yourself — does no good for anyone or anything else. It’s about as unsatisfactory as cooking a gourmet meal for myself. Sure, there’s a certain satisfaction in a job well done, but I don’t want to have to look in a mirror just to see someone appreciate the food.”

zillions

I need to cry.

We get inside and I press the button.
She looked into my eyes and I die a little.
“I need to tell you something!”
My heart starts beating a thousand times per minute.
She is serious, this is not like her.
The golden curls glow in the dimming lights as we step outside.
I look into her eyes and I know I really don’t need to know this.
“Tell me something!” I play the prick I always do.
“I may be getting engaged.”

Come, walk with me,
Watch, shadows play,
Quiet down, echoes in your mind.
Leave the world behind.
Touch the chord you’ve hidden from the world.

The tears have dried up. I’ve been dead inside for far too long, and I don’t know when exactly I died. I need to cry but I just can’t wake up from this life. Somewhere deep down, somehow I dreamt of the day I wake up next to you, to your smile, to your big brown eyes, to your curls all over my face. It’s an innocent love, and it never left my heart, I can’t help it. I’m sorry. For me. For us.

A time to rend, and a time to sew

A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose;
A time to lose; A time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time of war, and a time of peace”

con.te.partirò

i walk through my days without a destination in mind
at nights i sleep asking for help
help to find my path
find my way

we walked through the park
we walked under the metal awnings
we walked near the creek
until we reached the source of the music

he sat in a wheelchair
and sang
sang like their is no tomorrow

there are omens along the road
i just have to open my eyes

Southbank

As.I.Walked.Out.One.Evening

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
“O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

i really… i mean… i hate this.

The.Picture.of.Dorian.Gray


Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.

Oscar Wilde

Aleph


Our life is a constant journey, from birth to death. The landscape changes, the people change, our needs change, but the train keeps moving. Life is the train, not the station

Paulo Coelho

c’est.qu’tes.yeux.me.rendent.un.peu.bête

i wait for her week after week
hoping to get a glimpse of her eyes…
i wait for her every week
hoping she doesn’t show up…
i look her up now and then
knowing she doesn’t know it…


I went on a journey without me
There I found joy without me
The moon that hid, could not see
Cheek to cheek with me, without me
For beloved set my soul free
I was reborn without me
Without spirit drunk are we
Always happy without me
Erase me from memory
I remember, without me
Without me with joy I plea
May I always be without me – mullavi

 

i’m.sensing.a.recurring.theme

“…our minds are wonderful explanation machines, capable of making sense out of almost anything,…, and generally incapable of  accepting the idea of unpredictability.” N.T.

“We are pattern seekers, believers in a coherent world, in which regularities appear not by accident but as a result of mechanical causality or of someone’s intention” D.K.

“We want to see causality. We want to understand the world. We want to see order. If things are just random, it’s not comfortable.” D.A.

 

In a different life, I would have been a behavioural economist, been more social and would have spoken naturally with lower volume.

I really want to change the stupid music on this page as well (hopefully in this lifetime) but i just can’t be bothered now!

maybe in the next life…

sleep here I come!

A.Year.From.Now.You.May.Wish.You.Had.Started.Today

Everyday I meditate upon this, and every night I groan
Why is my own existence to myself the least known?

Whence have I come, why this coming here?
Where to must I go, when will my home to me be shown?

I am in desperate awe, why was I ever created?
For this, my creation, whatsoever was the reason?

Whatever is of the celestial realm, of that I speak
I am ready to go, my clothes are packed to be away thrown.

Why, take me to the tavern of that mighty King
I am drunk of that aroma, only by that wind may be blown

Joyous be that day that in search of the beloved
I take wing towards that land, upon that air I am flown.

Where is that ear that can hear my speech and song?
Who is the one who puts voice in this mouth of dust and stone?

Who is in these eyes through which gazes out to see?
Who is the one who wears this garment of flesh and bone?

Until I am lead without a doubt to my way home,
I will hold my breath, will only complain and moan.

Let me taste the wine of eternal communion
Cry out in drunkenness, intoxicated, broken, alone.

I did not come here on my own accord, nor will I thus leave
He who brought me here, shall return me to my very own.

Think not that I write these verses in a sober state
If sober, such seeds I could not possibly have sown.

 – Rumi

روزها فکر من اینست و همه شب سخنم …. که چرا غافل از احوال دل خویشتنم

از کجـا آمـده ام، آمدنـم بهـر چـه بـود؟ ………. به کجـا میـروم آخر؟! ننمایی وطنـم

مانده ام سخت عجب، کز چه سبب ساخت مرا … یا چه بوده‎ست مراد وی ازین ساختنم

جان که از عالم علوی است، یقین میدانم …. رخت خود باز برآنم که همانجا فکنم

مرغ باغ ملکوتم، نیم از عالم خاک ………. دو سه روزی قفسی ساخته‏اند از بدنم

ای خوش آن روز که پرواز کنم تا بر دوست ……. به هوای سر کوی‏ش، پر و بالی بزنم

کیست در گوش که او میشنود آوازم؟ ……….. یا کدام‏ست سخن می نهد اندر دهنم؟

کیست در دیده که از دیده برون مینگرد؟ … یا چه جان‏ست، نگویی، که منش پیرهنم؟

به تحقیق مرا منزل و ره ننمایی …………. یک دم آرام نگیرم، نفسی دم نزنم

می وصلم بچشان، تا در زندان ابد …….. از سرعربده مستانه به هم در شکنم

من به خود نامدم اینجا، که به خود باز روم …….. آنکه آورد مرا، باز برد در وطنم