Tuesday 28 October 2008

What can & can't be Taken from You.

They can control your actions,
but never what motivated them.
They can control what you read and what you write,
but never what you really think.
The can control your body
but never your mind.
They can control what you say,
but never what your opinions really are.
They can tell you who the bad one is,
Put him in jail,
But you will always know who the guilty one was.
They can own your labour,
Steal your profits
Throw it all into a black hole of debt
But your reasons to wake up the next morning
will still be only yours.
They can imprison you,
But your love will make you free.
They can take your body,
Starve your body,
Break your body,
But your soul will always remain untouched.

Resignation is the only thing worse than suicide...


ps: actually, suicide could be considered good under certain circumstances (i.e. Socrates & the poison).

Saturday 25 October 2008

All the litle things...


they are, yeah, the litle things that remind you of all the big things...

like the almost mute sound of the ticking of a clock, it reminds you that you won't live forever.

or the litle drop that falls from a leave, and reminds you that you have to pee.

or all those litle things you want to share...

with your love, with your friends

with an invisible audience,

all those litle things you want to capture in a picture

like the smile of a stranger,

the view of a fast passing coutry side from a train's window,

an amazing quote written badly on a wall...

and all those litle things you want to remember forever

like the smell of someone you love
of the cold air around a lake,

or the taste of a an amazing cheap sugary candy,

or a joke that's so good that you still giggle everytime you think about it.

they are, all those litle things, that remind you of the big things...

like when your boyfriend gets a tatoo, and you cant be there, and it reminds you that you are 1000 miles appart.

those are the litle things, life is made of.


x

Tuesday 21 October 2008

OcToBeR

October is full of promisses...

the change of season,
the bright decaying colours,
your visit that went as fast as the wind that blows the leaves away,
so you blew away my fears.

I'm free when I hold you.
I can now breath the cold air.
I had you so real,
I had you so close, in October.

October does carry a different mood with it
the days get shorter,
the streets darker,
a ghost walks by my side, whilst I remember your smile.

Sometimes I shiver and I'm scared,
that our lifes would go so fast,
as time accelerates when we are toguether.

x
azile

Monday 20 October 2008

Never Too Late


Its never too late, to be who you want to be.
to better yourself,
to become who you always dreamed to be.

Its never to late to apologize,
to start all over again
not in a clean piece of paper,
but over a draft, out of experience.

Its never too late to say I love you.
Its never too late to cry all those held back tears
Its never too late to change.

Its never too late to dream
or even to sleep.
Its never too late to start a party.

Its never too late to become the person you admire.
Its never too late to be a child.
Its never too late to share who you are.

to learn
to think outside the box
to try again
to read, to write
to paint, to act

to teach.

Its never too late to live the life you always wanted, the one you deserve.

azile.

ps: I really thought about deleting this post, then I thought, hey! I know it's cliche and everything but there are things that need to be said.

x

declartion of mortification/drama

Things would be so much easier if i were stupid.

Im a complete disappointment for my mother,
she makes me feel so, like a bad bad human being, nothing of what she tried to shape, nothing that she would love if I wasnt her own flesh.
she thinks I use people for my convenience, yet I dont. I just try to use logic. She's shocked by my different ideas, when I thought she was a person with whom I could share them.
I dont think I cant live under her roof any longer...
I dont want to.
I have no choice for a couple of months/ half a year.
The way out is becoming narrower as I get closer to the exit.
The secure thing I had outside this house is becoming weak, dependant and heavy (yes, sorry that's how I feel).
I dont know where to go.
I dont know whether to keep on fighting this pointless battle.
I cant please anyone I love.
The ones I love hate me when I try to please myself.

F£$k off.

azile.

MoLoToV

home made bomb
stalins foreign policy adviser
mexican band
whatta wicked word!
Red Letters

Because I'm the only 'Red' under this roof, because I cant deny my own blood, because Ive got it written in my skin. I always wanted to talk about this with you, my american boy. Really, seriously... We had our two nations fighting a frozen war, for years, for us to end up in a pond of deep love. How? when? why? what? are we similar enough from our very different backgrounds to endup sharing it all?
Im not scared, I know your soul. I know a nationallity cant change my feelings anymore.
I'm not going to start a kremlin in the backyard, as long as you dont try to sell me anything I dont need. What a crude joke. I always wanted to know if you cared... are our ideologies going to clash some day? Are we going to end up having to seize each others terrain? I will give up everything but I wonder, would you do the same?

Red letters as red is my blood, Im not preparing the grounds for a future war.

I just want to let you know, how much I care about us and our souls, my love.

azile


Now, poetry:


Let my lyrics rhyme

let the rhyme get on track

let the track keep floating

let it float to a shore

let the shore sing a chorus

let the chorus repeat itself

yes, again and again.


Let it gain direction,

let it stray

let it pack up and fly, yes, fly away.


let it get so high,

let it fall so hard

let the lyrics of my song

reach the clouds and touch the grounds.


give me a taste of heaven and hell

from the same bottle

let it be called poison

let me just call it bliss.


let the letters jump from their place,

to create new world

to exite your mind

to get you closer

to my island

to my cold paradise

no one is like you round here.


let them disappear


let the lyrics rhyme

let the rhyme get you

it might seem grime

but i promise

there will always be a way back.


maybe not home,

let the world be home

let the grass be your bed

let me stay.



the Very first time.

For when i started typing this very first post today, I had a completely different topic on mind. It was compromise. I shall later on write about it, because in this precise moment I'm being overwhelmed by it. But no, I came face to face with an empty page and a chance to write a first post. Yet this is not my first post, I had a blog before and I lost it. It is now a floating hologram of my past self, with no one to read it or to care... this makes me wonder...

Are first times, truly first? We are told so many times, but its so difficult to understand, that we are all made of the same materials and atoms that had existed since some thousand of million of years ago in this very same planet we are currently living in. for instance, the water we drink from our Evian bottle (to give it a name) was once in a raoring river running through the centre of Japan. We were dust and dust we will be, I dont want to get biblical, I'm not religious at all, I just believe that we're all made of the very same thing.

So, this is not the first time that I write a post, but lest get more practical, how about the first time i had a cup of coffee? I can recall my aunt serving it in my ladybug mug and me enjoying it although I was just 6 or 7. But I had thought of that moment before, I already knew its flavour, I knew its colour, temperature, smell, aroma... Is then, the very first time we live things, when we first abstractly experience them in our minds?

I think therefore I am. Descartes said that once, meaning that we can only be sure of our existence because we think and doubt our existences... maybe too philosophical for what I really wanted to talk about. My first kiss. Im not sure of when or how it happened, does it need a dose of love to be a real fist kiss, was is when I had other people's lips over mine? was it the perfect kiss i imagined, a dream? is it the experience of the innocent kiss in the darkness of a wardrobe?

My first post, which is not first at all, recalls all those first experiences. How do we know we know the things we know? Do we have a past memory? an instinct? how do we know what to do? what to say? when to say it?

my grandma used to say 'No one is born knowing' meaning that we dont have an instructions book given to us when we are born, we just learn, and thats what First Experiences are for... Although, because US as matter already existed, is there such thing as a first experience?

'both under influence, we had divine sense, to know what to say, mind is a razorblade...'
The Knife

aZile