Untraced / Intraçado

Sings and spoons and life we be
The wood of a tree,
made soft by leaves.
made tender by air,
made love by light
and floats to bang in all directions

I am source
I do not know
The sprout of all my deeds
Let only we be
Sourceless in all


Cantos e colheres e vida eu sou
a madeira de uma árvore
amaciada por suas folhas
envolvidas pelo ar
feito amor pela luz
que levita a explodir em todas as direções

Eu sou fonte
Eu não sei
O salto dos meus fazeres
Somente que somos
Incausado em tudo

G.

Portrait of a giver \ Retrato do que doa

so one should trust what follows / então um deva confiar no que segue adiante

The Wonder of Birds (by Clare)

My friend Danielle pointed out this little hummingbird to me over the weekend while we were walking along the Marina. I would have missed it otherwise. Luckily I had my camera and the little guy sat long enough for me to take its picture.
The next day I saw an enormous vulture warming its out-stretched wings in the morning sun, while it sat on top of a telephone pole. Both birds touched my soul. Hummingbirds are like delightful little fairies, bringing happiness and good luck. Vultures are nature's undertakers, solemn in their dark, feathery suits. They transform death into new life, into new beginnings. I bow deeply to both birds.

Clare

º Curvlines

As a ring touches all ends
Direction is at bay
Feels that we be kind

Spinning fusions in surprise
So then I close my eyes
See the ring’s my pupil’s sight

A mouth’s hole to oblivion
Am I mirror, input or
Have I spun this to me all along?

In our own way

I wanted to be great like Mozart
What should I think about that?
When I was in kindergarten
We were told you could be anything
You could be an astronaut
You could be the president
Now I want to be great like Mozart
And part of me is afraid
For having such high ambitions
Like if it were a mortal sin
To want to be as great as Mozart


(Written in 2007)

Out the veranda / Da varanda

Around 5:30 in the morning / Por volta das 5:30 da manha

Em busca / In search

Nossa busca pelA resposta, é perceber que a resposta é o dilemma. E que o sustento da monção enraíza a problematicidade*. Então enquanto há problemas, buscamos suas respostas, mas se gostamos de respostas, é por causa dos problemas, então o que gostamos mesmo é de problemas, e a máquina da vida é uma perfeita máquina de problemas. Sorrindo a nossa inata capacidade por respostas, nasce a escolha, pois mesmo que o chão esteja posto, há tantos caminhos a serem trilhados quanto nossa abilidade por gerá-los.

*de toda sorte, sendo um dos mais básico a busca pela próxima refeição.


Our quest for The answer, is to foresee that such an answer is its dilemma. And that the basis of motion is rooted on problemicity*. So while there are problems, we seek answers, but if we like answers, it's because of the problems, so what we really like are problems, and the mechanism of life is a perfect streamline of them. Smiling at are innate capacity for answers, so choice is born, coz’ even though the ground is laid, there are as many pathways to be followed as our ability to concieve.

*of any kind, being one of the most basics a quest for the next meal.

Definition in an Open Canvas

Most people don't know what to do
So they do what they're told
Others don't know what to say
And follow careless ways

I listen and reply
Proposing paths

My commitment to truth
Is to sync with nature's virtues
so I respect the system
And it guides my strings

Affirmation’s path

Step on step up ladder’s way
Feet grow stim with each new day

Self-examined growth
Is an endless will to give

And live life to its fullest
Like air balloons inflate to whistle

if I stood still i’d still be moving

``

It's quite a lesson in
To take a mistake for what it is
To not exclude it from the process
that indites us to be we

Mistakes may be misjudgment
of a cause that's pure in essence
But we can do it our will

So good will I will

Let it be

If not a single soul were to be found
On the face of Mars
I’d still cherish me, and put me to bed
And tell me it’s all right
coz’ I never leave my side

but god am I glad
To see true-hearteds
Sharing their joy,
to the sun and the breeze

To the smiles open smiles
My feed

A flavor in being

This poem is not a poem
It's an invitation
In between crisppings of silence
To tender tiny specks of sound
Unfold patterns of imagery
Is the poem I breed
Only the true author of such a poem
Is whoever is willing to try

Those bright ideas

Our thought processes are. That being said, the question is how we choose to interpret them. For example, I look at a table, but I do not see a table. What I see is a geometrical shape visually inspected of color set out to correlate with a certain texture, also with certain size in proportion to all the other shapes and sizes of any given nature I see. I then relate it to previous experience that in the land of verbal communication, such a thing has been called upon as table and that it has common use as a flat surface to put things upon.

The attribution of meaning is a thought process itself. Thought processes are spontaneous as subsequent analytical digestion of sensorial diversities inflowing from within and around us. Some thoughts derive directly from a comprehensive and questful attempt to such data, others derive from the process of itself thinking, which is the same as the previous one only now directed upon itself. As I reflect upon reflection I am questioning the weight of assertion that such comprehensive attempts may implement on my interpretations of being. Such is a permuting dialog between what is self-generated and what is amidst surroundings.

I do consider some thoughts as indeed generative to a source which is only partly accessible to conscious identification, others seem to be more surfaced in consciential perception by which ground control can debate over the happenings of Major Tom*. Both are my own, only the former is when I become all and differentiation’s light weakens to a darkened glow of subtleties. Indeed thought processes should not be mistaken as themselves the self, rather as varying levels of awareness by which we can abstract and harness our likings and dislikes in means of improving the chances of effectively carrying out to plan.

*Reference to Space Oddity from David Bowie

Genuine / Genuino

What would happen if my paintings were jealous of my drawings were jealous of my music were jealous of my words? I’d quite certainly be heart-broken. They all live inside me knowing that I give each my best in expression of will; as long as it comes from the heart, there is much so much to do still.

O que aconteceria se minhas pinturas tivessem ciúmes de meus desenhos tivessem ciúmes de minhas músicas tivessem ciúmes de palavras? Certamente ficaria de coração partido. Todos eles vivem dentro de mim sabendo que dou a cada um deles o meu melhor em expressão de vontade; desde que vindo do coração, há muito a ser feito ainda.

As montanhas que escalo / The mountains I climb

Between desired and undesired problems I cherish those with the most creative results.
Entre problemas desejados e indesejados eu cultivo aqueles com os efeitos mais criativos.


Abelhinhas e mosquitos
Sempre hão de existir
Talvez se eles sumissem
Perguntaríamos; pra onde foram?

Mas isso não me impede
De lhes dar uma lapada
Quando tentam me picar

Ainda assim, se eu fosse um deles
Pousaria direto em mim

-

Tincy bees and mosquitoes
Will always exist
Maybe if they vanished
We’d ask; where’d they go?

But that doesn’t stop me
From giving one a good swing
Whenever one tries to bite me off

Still if I were one of them
I'd head straight for me