svētdiena, 2011. gada 24. aprīlis

svabada.


es nespēju sevi nodefinēt
skapis pilns nevilktu drēbju
ne cilvēks, ne marsa būtne
sūtne?

nē.
absolūta prombūtne.
nespēju sagaidīt, kad tu atgriezīsies!











atkarība.







pirmdiena, 2011. gada 4. aprīlis

it kā milzīgi viļņi jūrā, bet bez vēja.


Kā man patīk tā kaislību garša, kas parādās gaisā, tas spēks, kas viņā plosās.
tā sajūta, ka pat viņa spēj nogalināt, tā valdzina.

ko gan izsaka vārds- kaisle, tas varbūt kaut kas viss dziļāk primitīvais, kā arī dvēseles augstākais dzinulis.


fiziskā un garīgā plāna apvienojums.
es negribu runāt par to kā kaut ko pārejošu, jo mirklis tomēr ir mūžīgs.

tās pamatā ir gandrīz viss, kas mums apkārt, māksla, zinātne..paši mēs.


es pilnīgi jūtu kā manī virmo šīs divas dabas, uz pasauli raudzīties caur kaislību un spontanitāti, pilnīgu jūtu prizmu.
un miers, absolūta harmonijas, klusums, plūdums.
it kā milzīgi viļņi jūrā, bet bez vēja.
vai tieši otrādāk, pārpasaulīgs vējš , kas tikai slīpē ūdens virsmu.




pieskāriens.
skatiens.
skūpsts.
glāsts.
otas triepiens.
ģitāras nots.
aktiera netīšu ievērots skatītāja smaids.
asaras.
kliedziens.
un atkal skūpsts.


*Ai, Laimai ir jāiet gulēt :D



svētdiena, 2011. gada 3. aprīlis

iedvesma piedur.


atradu klejojot pa globālo tīmekli, domāju ir vērts šeit iemest, piedodiet, ka angliski.




secondhand inspiration.

by =Corina90

i am more than a girl with dirty hair and burned fingertips.

i am more than the insecurities that pile up and fog my mirror, and more than the cowardice i write about so lovingly on my fractured clavicle. i am not just this freckled skin and i am not these cramping feet that twitch under mahogany desks. i am not the girl that sits in the corner and allows the world to draw a box around me, and i am not the girl to sit and allow the world to thieve my words and plant them in their own private gardens.

i have my poems in a headlock and i am holding them under water until they breathe inspiration again. i am chasing down shadows and demanding they give me my words back, demanding that they spit up what they've stolen from my ribcage as i slumber. i am not the world, but the world is me and i will not sit in quiet as it plunders the dream box at the back of my skull.

you see, these syllables that craft my spine and run through the unseen blue of my veins are not the same when they trip secondhand from your lips. the stolen ideas run red from the mouth of a thief and the counterfeit can be seen from those who cast their eyes on the makeshift tent you hoisted on raided land. you are writing your tragedy with the flaxen hair that falls over my shoulders, and you are spilling your soul in the colors of my voice. you are slipping into my skin when i'm caught unaware and trying it on for size, admiring the flaws in the mirror and imagining up ways to make the nuances yours.

it's a tragic unfolding of events and a sorrowful end, but the graves that you are building around the magnetic core of your life are pilfered and swiped from the graveyard of mine. i am standing on my back porch and watching the ground i have so lovingly planted ripped up; i am watching my windows broken and my front door hanging from the hinges. i am holding my elbows as my home groans and collapses, and though i am splintered, i shed only a tear.

you see, i can build another home and i can plant another garden. i do not have a finite supply of stolen emotions, but an endless fountain of fresh inspiration. so, i will sit in the middle of untouched meadows and i will run the soil through my hands. i will know in the my heart of hearts and my darkest thoughts that i will turn this virgin land into rich and fertile ground. i will plant my stories into the meadow's breast and watch as they flourish. i will breathe life into a new home and stand.

and when you again see fit to steal and claim this as yours, i will simply move on.
i will continue to move and create and pity those who simply imitate.

Laikam izsaka visu, ko vēlos jums šodien teikt.