Patagonia la tierra de sueños

Redescubrí este video, e comparto esto para no perder ;)

Todavía sonhoo con la tierra y el pueblo Chilleno!

We keep fighting to transform evil into good not because we have any choice, but because we have no choice.

We fight through the night and the darkness with light not because we fancy it but because all other means lead to despair.

We hold the banner of hope not because we have by our utmost reached it, but because we desperately seek it and hold to it.

...

"There is no light" whispers the night and our bowels answer "there is no hope"...
Our memory is our accuser and our hearts have no redeemer..

Who will cast life to the dead and laughter to the one that has been torn apart?
We hold on the banner of HOPE high; it is what we can do. Yet beyond our strengths, beyond our nature it persists, YES a banner that is born of our death and is therefore not of us. Cast away it was and is, yet it higher waves above our corpses because in us it cannot be found. Look above, raise your brow, there beyond death you will see it as vivid as the pain you now feel.

The study of proper language is nothing more than the study of aesthetics. Proper language makes our communication easier and possibly more precise.

Can we not say the same thing about aesthetics itself?
Perhaps about art?

So much of the art I have been exposed to makes my life so much more difficult, communication and interpretation of life less precise. Should we esteem this art as high as the one that makes our life sharper and preciser?

Não mais um des-amor

Enquanto meditava estes dias eu percebi o quanto amei.
Cada fragmento, ainda que quebrado, tal caco de vidro arranhado pelo asfalto, amei.
O problema maior está não no amor, mas em nao se des-amar.
O des-amor nunca foi inventado, não existe (e por mais que o diabo queira não existirá).

Quem por mais que quisesse pode desfazer um cafuné?
Quem por mais que queira consegue des-cheirar? des-chorar? des-dar-se?
Quem por mais que queira pode desfazer um ombro chorado?

"Fidelidade até mesmo à ex é o que tens" por vez me disseram.
Purissima verdade que só hoje entendo, ao saber por fim que não existe des-amor.
Realidade mais forte isso por fim traz a tona ao maior mandamento:
"Amarás" é o que o Senhor diz, não por assim necessitar, mas por não existir o des-amor.

Flood waters, the dream I was in

Listen to "Flood Waters" by Josh Garrels.

Winds of the modern thinker

The same mouth that proclaims protection of life in nature is the mouth that puffs the smoke of his cigar to bring death to his lungs. The same hands that will protect a voiceless baby cub for its right to live are the hands that surgically extract the the fetus from a mother's womb. The same chest that fills with revolt with a politician taking what he can from the public good is the chest that defends that each man ought to direct his efforts to himself.

It causes indignation to be numbed by doctrine of religion but not by the effects of narcotics.
It causes indignation to dissolve a contract, a peace treaty, a friendship but not a wedding.
It causes indignation to abstain from ones desires for the service of God but not for the service of money.

Self immolation to satisfy beauty standards is fine, self sacrifice for the sake of a moral standard is not.
So many would hastily recognize the shamefulness of the holocaust of history books, so few would recognize the shamefulness of the holocaust of the news papers.
A man killing another is condemnable a nation killing thousands is fine.

To let ones moral conscience be guided by the winds of modern times is to conform to idiocy.

The bigger your inner world gets the smaller the outer world seems.
The more organized your inner world is the messier the outer world becomes.
The messier your inner world gets, the more inaccessible the outer world proves to be.

The outer world triumphs when your inner world is small, organized and uninteresting.
The triumph of the inner world though is a lonely and sorrowful path ... who will full heartedly follow it?

I feel tormented by the discovery of my sojournings, that folly is therefore preferable to wisdom,  for in fooley there is a passing joyfulness that wisdom seems to know nothing of. Would not the preacher, son of David agree?