Art is powerful. Art is a way of living. Art is a mirror in which spiritual world reflects its shapes, colors, shades, sounds, movements…
Gray people…gray day.
Cold drops of rain.
Crying tries –
Black birds across the sky.
Under broken umbrellas.
Lost in their thoughts.
Three bright yellow lilies,
Wrapped in a wet piece of newspaper,
Gently hold in an old man’s hand…
Delicate flowers, wrinkled skin.
The beginning and the end.
The beauty … lost of it…
Bits of moments…countdown.
What’s their story? Maybe life…
Three yellow lilies…
We still breathe under a blue sky.
The world is new, the eyes awaken …
“There are no ‘good’ or ‘bad’ people. Some are a little better or a little worse, but all are activated more by misunderstanding than malice. A blindness to what is going on in each other’s hearts…nobody sees anybody truly but all through the flaws of their own egos. That is the way we all see each other in life. Vanity, fear, desire, competition – all such distortions within our own egos – condition our vision of those in relation to us. Add to those distortions in our own egos the corresponding distortions in the egos of others, and you see how cloudy the glass must became through which we look at each other. That’s how it is in all living relationships except when there is that rare case of two people who love intensely enough to burn through all those layers of opacity and see each other’s naked hearts. Such cases seem purely theoretical to me…”
Tennessee Williams to Elia Kazan
It’s about fiercely living and squeezing every single drop out of life and not denying any aspects of it.
– Kristen Stewart
PS: Happy Birthday and thanks for being so real and so YOU! Just love your perfect imperfection.
It is a superstition and an ungodly thing to believe that an act of a majority binds a minority. Many examples can be given in which acts of majority will be found to have been wrong, and those of minority to have been right. All reforms owe their origin to the initiation of minorities in opposition to majority.
– Mahatma Gandhi
Late evening of a still cold March –
You are rushing to meet a forgotten dream.
The streets are empty. The city is numb…
And…slowly, the snow starts to fall down.
Chilly wind carves in your lips
And tortures your bare hands.
You are almost running …
You are desperately running to meet yourself.
A dim light stretches its shadow
Through the transparent door.
It barely touches the first three steps…
A lonely stair immerses in darkness.
Mirrors, obscure lights, used clothes scattered around –
White cane hung on a huge window frame.
Red chair in a dark corner-
Angel’s wings lost among rubbish…
Theater basement .
Between history and triviality-
Everything makes sense.
Even… your life.
You are oppressor, a dreamer, a whore.
Broken pieces of sound and light –
You are playing! You are living!
The stage is your world!
Foolishly happy –
A life in a second –
Right before your eyes…