ANIMAL PLASMA

  The Question in USA is not the Presidency The politician’s speech in front of the camera while the chaos happens, the cruelty extends to extreme violence. Sometimes the talks are only compensated by emptying their rationalists and economic thoughts. In any one of them the quiet inscription is written: “L'État c'est moi", the speeches said all these words. The world is watching the convulsive horror that is happening. Apologize or impeachment is not a choice related to an unknown pride or honor. It is locked, the government structure need open the luggage showing the passport and holding an ethical decision that does not come through of void words. Clean the floor with embedded cloth is not solution does not solve the structural problem. It is not the decline of democracy there, but its lack showed in a public demonstration of absence of ethical values. A lack of faith in democracy on the organization of the State. The obedient apparatus of the State does not reinforce fo...

  We have dreams. When one has a dream, the realization is a constance searching. I know that everyone has been dreaming. She has dreams and fight to execute them. Dr. King told us: "I have a dream," and the subject of his dream follows being a reality still today. The structure of his dream doesn't have a spurious or ideological form, so the magnificent dreamer that was Dr. King shows us the dream as a metaphor from real practice, an ethical design in that we have of "dreaming"; this is, our duty to act. I have dreams that are not possible hand over, and dreams that are not dreams and don’t have materiality related from every day. They are thoughts of a singularity. You can know of your dreams in convolution move, putting them into practice. You have dreams and can understand the "dream" in the speech of Dr, King. We have dreams and can act. It is the truth of real dreams that the prejudice doesn’t see, but it is towards us to wake whole those that ar...

  If you like architecture history or tends to like it, imagine what still lives in the “be quiet” voices that emerge in the construction places. It is possible to hear the murmurs, sounds vibrating and leaping in the air. In that moment there’s the whispering memory telling lowest bringing that expression: “The first we plan the home, after the house, its materiality. It is because I made the fire place before to treat from architecture properly,” it is what Mr. Paul Schweikher could have said if he does not said through art and architectural intent that transponders his thoughts for what meaning à home. He has a paper like testimony from his ethical treatment ways: “How Should the Impacts of Scientific and Technological Change be Reflected in Architectural Education?” If you would like to do some comparisons from his works with Mies Van Der Rohe - Japanese House and Dorothy Miller House you will have to come back to review the book Kyoko’s House by Yukio Mishima or Kawabata’s b...

  I was thinking in opera about. The voice extensive flying into theater provoking and trucking on heart bitten. Sometimes I watch from libretto and parts noted from some sites of the web. I have hearing an alter love never we could imagined. A ghost alive that is touching and is worn on our souls. She coming and the voice somehow materializes in an entity like human as well as moves the false reality being into us the eventual truth that receives us for a particular experience, it is human but is too beyond us. The art touches us like a fate that in the after still resounds. Opera is the superior contextualization that willingly shows us some hope of a world that seems not to fade.

  He has a house by the beach. He has it in a beach town. The tide has moved through, of course, that has changed with the recent warm global environment. Actually, due to this situation, the last waves came to severe damage to the house. Some months after that he despair like vapor and appears apparently unconscious about what happened. Does not long ago the effects of damage seemed never to occur. The house was cleaned, and very different in relation to aspect. Nowadays, he has a house on the beach; it is entirely in the water. The house was by the sea. However, he had thought about that before; the house floats, and with the new equipment and engineers he bought, we can understand that the house is a boat already to navigate for crossing the ocean. Tomorrow we will see his family sailing toward the Mediterranean Sea, and one day, far away from tropical waters they will tell us how it is living at home in that the yards are around made of water.

  Tomorrow is the morning of a while day. The eternal to emerge and to be what it is  light that falls down on everything shows many times what would seem hidden, and clearly what is in front of us and we do not see. We could say that our life changed because of an imposed schedule, but to live against all aims does not have an expected outcome of things like a proposal that needs some legal insurgence, saying that it is a revolutionary act in front of the fantastic sunrise. To be better is not a lone position, we change in the convulsion of social relations, and it is    not is each one in transformation, but the other who moves our existence. The complex all of us is what makes us someone in the world. Tomorrow is something that happens now and each instant and we can know that it is a new year, and it is still the unconventional cogency    of the eternal tomorrow.

  I have seen what I did not see before. Beliefs in one thing; I lost it. I searched after to look forward, until that moment I did not realize my need for it. It was very important to me, and at that time I started to walk toward the senses of my life discovering how much it meant for me. Still I did not understand. Maybe yes but, I did not get with deeply. I questioned myself; I tried to reach this overwhelming point with rationality, and it was not enough; something did not fit. Then I felt. The feelings, the passion and a truth will could take me right for this thing. But, seeing back, in an instant I lost. I know what is, and I do not know how to describe its form, its shape or dimensions, color, endings, this thing which I have been studying for a long time is the most amazing part of the whole thing I knew. It is this thing, and I have been lost each beat from my heart.

  Take your feet and go to the Moon. Still have time for you. If you do not to want to do that you will be unfortunate for the rest of your life. The strangers from other galaxies are stupid like many beings that speak around you, the difference is that they are superlative. They understand only the words bound with things, for example; love can be a car, barbecue fire, your or an ice cream. You can talk aloud like an ice-scream-man, they never will understand you. Forget. This people just are living between bipeds here on earth. They are thieves, soul collectors, trappers, falser, fakes and pretenders. From a planet unknown, they are coming all the time.  The Invaders come, they are using your indulgence to enjoy anything, your time, cashes, clothes, taking the dog to walk like it was nothing. They are come cracking down the door from your worth pride and honor, putting their dirty hands on everything, smiling at suspense, in scaring for your soul, pretending joy. You are a t...

  Before dying, I will throw a plague against you, but while it does not happen I machine what I could do. I think in any way. I will be cruel, you will have read publicly the reporters from public departments of art and culture from those ordinary authoritarian countries from the last decades. Naturally, if you had not any literary knowledge, I would elect you as the must of the world in art and culture to be a candidate to exchange positions with any actual and singular dictatorship.  They accept any purpose. As stupid as they are, they will support you. It is until now my plague. I imagined you making some homage to slavers, misogynistic, ageist, country heroes or on the contrary such is the same. If you do not have as to do that. I wait for you at the hell door. Wait, and you will see.

The literary reflections on Nature, between imaginary and reality fantasy.   I’m looking at the field lo have been here to hear the birds sing since 1.100 a.C for was possibly emerged this plane. I live nearby here and each morning still dawn, before sunrise and its rays are cutting out all borders along the mountains flashing up the reflection on river skin filling the lake of a blue never seen creating an atmosphere of light refreshing by wind that crosses all regions taking wings of many colors dancing in the air and diving to the bushes, fluttering joyfully among late flowers with the new of the season. It is     springtime and it is possible to still see an ocean of blue and orange from winter. I have been more cautious with modifying my feelings of equality of the weather; I was skeptical about beliefs on nature equality, but it is not with human intervention. The seasons are no longer the same, colder and hotter in variation with raged winds and rains,   ...

  Notice: This work, or not-short story follows while I can do that, writing to give a new start for each moment. While it can be possible I will write to you without searching for answers, only trying to offer continuity. I do not know if I will have the condition for, but I will try. I do not remember climbing up a tree top; I just had seen the distance before I fell down to the ground. Sometimes we fall from the top of our own ourself believes. I have some age to follow the path to the graveyard, and I no longer have the promise to have a place to live, how it can be possible in any neighbouring distance. Maybe, I think I would live beyond humanity as a helper, hero, and philanthropist. The worst human those who is intelligent and able for to manipulate people little intelligent, but does not only that I suppose, is necessary that people be grotesque, low moral values, religious by interest, and easily to be led to ignominious acts following a command. A psychopath can from his ...

Love do not exit for many Knowing that from old time I did not Love is not forever         our enemies care of the end They enter into our life- something short and filled of impossibilities We go enjoy a little peace and there is the mourning from battles War remains odd flanks Ongoing with terror Each one goes away and a feeling of absent cover us We see through misty the indistinct journey of the death No remorse when knowing that the evil lived what we had to witness However in a lovely loniliness and sweet dispair wether can read something from other language and culture unknown until arrive to complete unknowing They took our hope and now we have ourselves and what we will not being

  She likes me and I like her We like us I don’t know anything. I believe that she doesn’t know about that too. She says love stuff and I make the same. She and me both. We miss each other and search for to be together.    Love is something of a cowardly force that leads everyone not wanting others absent. To be alone causes panic for these people. To be in yourself. A yourself without roots, anchor, or existence sense of an individuality that is enough auto centered. In the same way it is a pursuit, as are the aims, knowing that they lack something. The love for to reach fame, glory, a goal produces a repetitive intent of fill a void, the transcendental hole called self-love. In reason of that, we never arrive to completeness awareness, love is in all mode a modular will of to have a witness that release, remembrance our confidence in seek peace, the miror reflexionable for where the love emerges and translight in transcendence.  It is it clearly an belonging from e...

  “God said”, told the old man sat along beach in a day of cold summer. “What said the Lord?” Others asked in follow up this. In this confusion of everyone takes the word, asking all the time continuously. Those whom said that “God said” in an impetuous scream: “Forget, it is enough, I did not say anything.”    The silence ate the wind, until that a man posed behind them, manifested: “Who he thinks is he? In my election I do not want problems.” And the gods wrote on sand beach.

             Cansei das mesmas violas, e falo comigo mesmo outra vez. A impertinência diária da terra abarrotada, ainda que choveu não passa de minutos, vejo antecipado a secura de tudo, essas flores que vejo. E não vieram por enquanto. A relva dura, as formas pudicas, uma contenção de lágrimas.              Podia pensar em outro arranjo, deixar o tormento de imaginar. E a música que repete em algum desvario, a fala cantada dessa gente miúda que voa. E mais porque penso nas certezas do incerto, tomo-me e levo-me à cozinha, lugar de poucos riscos, achatados barulhos. Ter um aparador ali, que pudesse alcançar e ler as receitas poéticas de algum amável desconhecido, os desvarios de um pedaço de queijo e uma taça de vinho de Epicuro.           Abriria páginas dormidas de Quincey e cairia sonolento. E logo a dispor-me ao trabalho fatigante que a fome alegra preparo todas as preparações para enfim, ...