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- Dakota Fanning -

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- Clarice Lispector - The Passion According to GH -


finding means going to get lost and not knowing what to do with what it is discovered.

intense All understanding is finally revealing a profound incomprehension. Every moment is lost to find yourself. I'm so scared that I can only accept if I have lost someone I imagine his hand. I am creating what has happened to me. Just because life can not tell. Living is not livable. I have to create about life. And without lying. Creating yes, no lie. Creating is not imagination, is to run a high risk of access to reality. Understanding is a creation, my only way. Will point to a translation effort telegraph signals, translate the unknown into a language unknown to me, and without even understanding what these signals. Sleepwalker speak in that language if he were awake, would not be language. And do not forget to start work, be prepared to be wrong. Do not forget that the error had been made many times on my way. Whenever it was not true what they thought or felt, then there was a gap and, if before he had had courage, and would have gone for it. But I always felt afraid of delusion and error. My mistake, however, should be the path of truth, because only when I go out I'm wrong about what I know and understand. If the "truth" was what I can understand, would end up being just a little truth in my size. The truth has to be exactly what I can never understand. And, later, would it be able to understand later? I do not know. The man of the future, do we mean as we are today? Absently, distracted with some tenderness, caress our minds as we do with the dog that comes to us and watching us from inside their dark, silent and sorrowful eyes. He, the man of the future, we cherish, understanding remotely, remotely like me then I would understand, low memory memory loss of memory and a time of pain, not knowing that our time of pain was going to happen the same way that the young child is a child not static, but a being that grows. Ah, but to get to the silence, what a great effort of the voice. My voice is the way I look reality, the reality before my speech, it exists as a thought that is not intended, but by fate I've seen and I am driven to know what you think clear thoughts. The voice actually predates the search, but as the land above the tree, but as the world above man, as the sea above the sea view, life above love, the matter of the body above the body, and in turn, the language will preceded by one day to the possession of silence. As I have appointed, and this is the glory of having a language. But I have much more to the extent that I can not describe. The reality is the raw material, language is the way I look, and as not meeting. But the search and not find what I was born did not know and instantly recognize. Language is my human effort. By destination I have to go find and target return with empty hands. But back to the unspeakable. It will only be given me inexpressible through language. Only when a building, I get what she failed. And it is useless and will shorten the way to begin, knowing because the little voice says, starting to be impersonal. Then there is the path and the path is not only a way to go. The path ourselves. With regard to live, you can never get before. The Way of the Cross is not a diversion, is the single step, but do not get through it and him. The emphasis is our effort, renunciation is the prize. This one only comes when you have experienced the power of building and, despite the taste of power, it is preferred to resign. Quitting should be a choice. Desist, it is the choice of a holy life. Desist, it is the true human moment. And this is only the glory of my own condition. The resignation is a revelation.

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- Olga Moiseyev - The Dying Swan -

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- Samuel Beckett - Litany -

at nightfall when the soul was to be reclaimed

here that just sitting
gave an hour before joining



listen to them
words to words without word


steps to steps one and

a

imagine if this
if one day a happy day this


imagine if one day a happy day this


was over
imagine

the urge every day to be alive one more day
clear that not without sorrow
have born on

night so we implore you
dawn night

please drop a breather Saturday



no more laughter from midnight to midnight



not mourn the silence that existed
before and there never

torn by the sound of a word without a past
for saying too much more
unable vowing never to old to go silent


old stops away


go away
stop

Peg Sokker Kordfløyel

- Rain -

What Should My Bearded Dragons Eat A Mouse

- Jorge Luis Borges - Haiku -

1

Algo me han dicho

la tarde y la montaña.

Ya lo he perdido.

2

La vasta noche

no es ahora otra cosa

que una fragancia.

3

¿Es or not

sleep I forgot

before dawn?

4

Callan strings.

knew Music

what I feel.

5

Today I rejoice

almond orchard.

Son tu recuerdo.

6

Oscuramente

libros, láminas, llaves

siguen mi suerte.

7

Desde aquel día

no he movido las piezas

en el tablero.

8

In the desert

happens dawn.

anyone know.

9

The sword idle

dreams about her battles.

Another is my dream.

10

The man is dead.

La barba no lo sabe.

Crecen las uñas.

11

Ésta es la mano

que alguna vez tocaba

tu cabellera.

12

Bajo el alero

el espejo no copia

más que la luna.

13

the moonlight

the shadow that stretches

is one.

14

Is an empire

light that goes

or a firefly?

15

La luna nueva

ella también la mira

desde otro puerto.

16

Lejos un trino.

El ruiseñor no sabe

que te consuela.

17

La vieja mano

sigue trazando versos

para el olvido.

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- Pizarnik - Words -

Se espera que la lluvia pase. Se espera que los vientos lleguen. Se espera. Se dice. Por amor al silencio se dicen miserables palabras. Un decir forzoso, forzado, un decir sin salida posible, por amor al silencio, por amor al lenguaje de los cuerpos. Yo hablaba. En mí el lenguaje es siempre un pretexto para el silencio. Es mi manera de expresar mi fatiga inexpresable. Debería invertirse este orden maligno. Por primera vez emplear palabras para seducir a quien se quisiera gracias a la mediación del silencio más puro. Siempre he sido yo la silenciosa. Las palabras intercesoras, las he oído tanto, ahora las repito. ¿Quién elogió a los amantes en detrimento de los amados? Mi orientación más profunda: la orilla del silencio. Palabras intercesoras, señuelo de vocales. Ésta es ahora mi vida: mesurarme, temblar ante cada voz, temblar las palabras apelando a todo lo que de nefasto y de maldito he oído y leído en materia de formas de seducción.

El hecho es que yo contaba, yo analizaba, yo relacionaba ejemplos proporcionados por los amigos comunes y la literatura. Le demostraba que la razón estaba de mi parte, la razón de amor. Le prometía que amándome iba a serle accessible a place of perfect justice. This would tell him to be in love myself, having only me will be loved by him and not another. It's so hard to talk about. When I saw his face for the first time, I wanted that out of love to turn to my face. I wanted his eyes on mine tumbling. Of this I speak. Of an impossible love because love is not. Love story without love. I hasten. There is love. There is love in the same way that night just went out and said, no wind. There is a story without love. Rather we should speak of the substitutes.

There are gestures that give me the sex. Thus, fear and trembling in sex. View su rostro demorándose una fracción de segundo, su rostro se detuvo en un tiempo incontable, su rostro, un detenerse tan decisivo, como quien mueve la voz y dice no. Aquel poema de Dylan Thomas sobre la mano que firma en el papel. Un rostro que dure lo que una mano escribiendo un nombre en una hoja de papel. Me dio en el sexo. Levitación; me izan, vuelo. Un no, a causa de ese no todo se desencadena. He de contar en orden este desorden. Contar desordenadamente este extraño orden de cosas. A medida que no vaya sucediendo.

Hablo de un poema que se acerca. Se va a acercando mientras a mí me tienen lejos. Sin descanso la fatiga; infatigablemente la fatiga a medida que la noche --no el poem - and I was on your side and nothing, nothing happens as the night comes and goes and nothing, nothing happens. Only a far-away voice, a magical belief, an absurd, old hopes of better things.

Just said no. Scandal. Transgression. I said no, when you agonize for months waiting and when I start the gesture, when he began ... trembling trembling, harm me, hurt me, excess thirst (ever think the importance of the syllable no).