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Kaval Sviri

The first voices lived their entire lives in front of us, filled with sorrow, joy, adventures and death.
Before their twilight, however, they gave birth to new voices: their children, playful and innocent, hopeful and naive.
The parent voices were already mature, so they teached the baby voices about their ethos, the sounds of their people's soul.
Together they pulsed and expanded their culture and their universe, until one by one the mother voices ceased echoing.
When left alone in the world, it was only natural for the newer voices to echo the older ones, living their entire lives in front of us...

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Something else,

Somewhere else,

Someone else.

It will consume you.

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Three planes racing: one stopped at Vienna, one at Prague, and one is still going...

Finite or infinite game?

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Letter to Anyone

 

I‘d walk in the rain by anybody’s side, 

I’d hold your hand and guide you, 

not through light, but through your darkness 

and mine.

 

I cannot see, and yet I see you.

I forgive you all for not seeing me. 

For my heart is stronger than my sight, 

and it beats for all of you.

 

I know your fears and struggles, 

more than you imagine. 

And I would be there, 

if any of you just asked.

 

But there is only so much loneliness a girl can bear, 

and my voice is weak of shouting silently, 

unanswered.

 

No magic dragons for me, in this life.

 

How many years must a mountain exist 

before it is washed to the sea, you ask?

 

I don’t intend to find out.

 

Lisa

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Schrödinger's Humans

Generalized unrest took the world last week, when the true origin of the abominations we now know as "The Undead" came to light. It was first unveiled by the brilliant theoretical physicist Erwin Schrödinger in 1935, in his experiment known as "Schrödinger's Humans", the excommunicated follow up to his famous "Schrödinger's Cat" exercise.
The experiment unfolded thusly: The Earth has, according to the recent census, 8.2 billion people*, with a margin of error of plus or minus 2%. In other words, 96% of this number is alive for sure, with the other 4% being the focus of the experiment, as this accounts to a total of 328 million people who are, at the same time, dead AND alive. Yikes!

 

*updated numbers

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Earth Minus 2

 

They were soulmates, got together in the end and lived happily ever after.

 

This is the story of everyone else.

 

The entire population of the Earth (minus 2), out of resentment from not being chosen, grouped in factions based on some flaw or undesirable trait: the Ugly Ones, whose physical appearance was not attractive enough; the Annoying gathered loud-speakers, nose-pokers, foul-smellers; the Friend-Zoners were the ones who were even desirable, but didn't "spark"; and many others. These factions inevitably warred against all others, throwing God's green Earth into a Biblical proportionate Apocalypse. Meanwhile our Adam and Eve were lost in an Eden of their own creation, and were happy ever after until they contracted some disease and died. No one wanted to help them.

 

Even today you can find some remnants of one faction or another scattered through the few survivable spots on the planet, fighting for water, food or crumbs of affection.

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Mnemon

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On a most ordinary day, a knock at the office's door. I open it to find an odd looking man, silently gazing at me.
I ask him "You are Mnemon, aren't you? Shouldn't an ancient being such as yourself be dead by now? I mean, you are at the very least 2 years old..."
He says nothing, places his cold hand on my belly, holds it there for almost an entire second, then walks away.

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Rebellion, Silence

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Crossing over, the yellow entourage jumped, fell, reached for her glistening soft lips, rosey silk surrounding.

Meanwhile, twirling and swirling down came caramel locks, dancing round and round, framing the softness of her face, stressing, livening. 

Blue fireworks exploded soundlessly, two wells boiling with freezing water, two moons a shining reflected on them.

Lace knights rode silk valleys of daisies, up and down, anxiously breathing, nothing lingering, stretching, aggressing nor lacking unexpectedly. 

 

The brief moment that lasted forever ended.

 

The yellow entourage vanished, the caramel turned grey, the wells went dark, the knights lost both k and s, moonless.

But a beacon for all hope remains: the illumination of a turned page that will never again come to pass, vivid colours from the sweetest of memories.

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Supra-speech

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The wild cat heard the warning, through the ochre blades of grass ahead. How could it understand the threat embedded in that screech? The cat does not speak eagle, and yet…

A squeak sounded shortly after, acknowledging defeat, trying to express as much fear and cowardice as possible. Both the eagle and the wild cat understood exactly what the toad said, despite toad being from a totally different root than their native languages. What is going on here?

Recent studies revealed that the answer is not in any individual language, but is common to all of them. It is the Supra-speech, which links all the different particular dialects, allowing communication through an inaudible mainframe.

It was developed through millions of years of trial and error (generations of unknown soldiers died in the process) and resides on both ultra and infrasonic ranges of the sound spectrum, adding extra layers to the ones hearable to humans. That allowed animals to communicate hidden messages for millenia, the example above being just a simple usage of an apparently much more complex system. 

More studies and exploration must be done on that field now that it has been unveiled. Who knows how deep this communication goes, which classes of animals use it, or what has it been used to? Are we being set up by an animal conspiracy? Orwell would be thrilled. Are they secretly leading us to our own destruction, or maybe slowly guiding the human race to see past our shortsightedness and into a peaceful coexistence with them? Do they even care that much? Are plants also part of the mainframe? Only time will tell.

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About Tears (and Venice)

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I cry a lot.
It is not that abandoned hopeless crying of children, it is an expression of atonement, of feeling emotional. First time visiting a place, for example. And I am not ashamed of it. In fact, I work pretty hard towards crying.
What is the purpose of being cultured? Isn't it to increase our sensibility in general?
I remember my first time in Venice. A few minutes of walking in and I found (interesting choice of word, most accurate would be "lost") myself in an almost hidden passage, facing one of the canals. An unsuspecting person there would feel nothing but the urgency to backtrack and resume the herculean task of finding the Rialto or San Marco. Not me. I sat down and started crying. And not because I was lost, but because it was a dream I had that was more than 25 years old. I just felt the weight being lifted and repeated out loud, in awe "I am here... I am here..."
The whole effect was enhanced by Jimmy Fontana's "Il Mondo" playing in my head since the bus, so there's that. See, I was not a tourist blindly following the travel agency's tour. I knew the tradition, the history. My search for culture increased my sensibility towards that place.
So, as a person who pursues the goal of a lifetime of tears, I never stop educating myself. It is hard work and it is worth every second. Every time the tears are flowing, it is that hard work paying off. Those are the moments when I remind myself, Jimmy was right. Il giorno è arrivato.

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The Beast

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The creature unveiled itself suddenly. He had no defense against it, at all. Locks of a pale gold paralized him, even at a distance. Pierced by the light that traveled from the creature's shoulder, he lost control of his limbs and remained there, staggered. Then the flaming red cheeks of the beast scorched him, rendering him powerless for the killing. And killed he was, for upon turning those hateful, impossible, Lovecraftian eyes to him, the monster removed all sanity he onced had, forever.

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A Night Full of Terrors

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The white blade of light made her jump, shattering the blackness ahead and cutting out the dreaded silhouette of the tower, rising unforgiving from the edge of the narrow winding path. There is no return, even if she could find her way home through the mist and the menacing woods. No, she must push forward, she is the only one who can do this. Inhaling the little cold air she can muster through the million piercing needles of icy water, she gathers what remains of her ragged dress and keeps going. Tumbling her way through the etched path she arrives at the tower's door. It opens itself, inviting her to face the horrors within the blackness inside. Her heavy breath stirs something unseen, making her moan, frightened. Still she perseveres, groping the walls until she finds herself in a torch lit oval room.

Inside it lies the reason for her journey: the pale, soul sucking, wretched figure. He tries again the same old move, that smile and that look, pushing his body against hers. But she is not a foolish girl anymore. This time the mask falls off to reveal a hideous horror that only now can our Ingrid Berman see as Mr. Hyde, whom she once called "love".
As he is about to bury his fangs once more into her pale neck, a red explosion turns his chest into dust. The pistol is dropped from her shaking hand as the abomination falls on the floor, gasping blood instead of air for the very last time.

She did it. She is, once more, free.

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"A incrível história de Marcos e Diana, que nunca tornaram-se um casal devido a um desencontro na porta-giratória de um Shopping"

Fim.

 

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Her Words

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She had a way with words that made everything better. 

 

In her own true fashion, saying those words made the whole world seem the most wonderful place to me, enormous and impossibly impressive.

 

Colossal trees, heroic titans. The grass outgrew me in real time, as did pebbles, feathers, and dew drops. I looked in awe as people, animals, objects and plants became bigger, casting increasingly greater shadows over the growing world around me.

 

Such was her immense power with words.

 

It still amazes me how she was able to turn everything gigantic and perfect right before my eyes, being that her words were said to me, and about me.

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Ommadawn

 

Axiom 1 - Words of The Prophet: “The 7 is the Number of the ‘Young Light’. It forms when Darkness is increased by 1.” 

Axiom 2 - “Before the Universe and Time, there was only Darkness.” 

Axiom 3 - “The emptiness of Darkness equals 0.” 

 

Hence: The dawn of the Universe minus 1 equals Darkness, or 7 - 1 = 6, or Darkness = 6

By action of Axiom 3, Darkness = 0; or, 0 = 6.

 

Returning to the previous equation, 7 - 1 = 6, or 7 - 1 = 0, or 7 = 1.

 

Now, if 1 + 1 = 2 and 1 = 7, then even a child can conclude that 7 + 7 = 2.

 

From that point the same child, even in its sleep, could also derive that:

 

7 + 1 = 14

14 = 8

14 - 7 = 13

8 - 7 = 13

13 = 1 = 7 (only 4 steps already we arrived at a triple equality)

…

 

Following the same pattern of increased equality to infinity and presenting in a logical order, we have:

 

1 = 2 = 3 = 4 = 5 = 6 = 7 = 8 … 

 

Or Ommadawn, the proto-number, the only number.

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Rough Roses Snippet

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Warsaw tried to stop her, but it was too late.

The red cylinder went circling parabols, first a big one, then half big, then half of that. No more than five seconds had passed since it left Nessa’s hand, landing among the moving fleshed bones downhill.

Both Nessa and Warsaw started running, and were overtaken by the booming sound, loud as loud can be: boy, Maude is gonna be so pissed…

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Le Mot

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Dites-moi seulement le mot que je veux entendre;

J'ai soif et ce mot est suffisant,

Pour me faire satisfait.

Je te répondrai avec les seules mots que je porte en moi, silencieux:

"Oh Capitaine mon Capitaine, je suis perdu, et je me retrouve seulement en toi".

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Qui je suis?

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Lunedi je suis l'aliment pour que a faim;

Mardi je suis le boisson pour qui a soif;

Mercredi je suis la magie pour qui a l'imagination;

Jeudi je suis le remède pour qui se sent malade;

Vendredi je suis la lumière pour qui voit seulement l'obscurité;

Samedi je suis la Lune pour qui est amoureux;

Et Dimanche je suis le Soleil aprés d'un hiver prolongè.

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Qui je suis?

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