neomorts & living cadavers through a death by protocol.
*inspiration Gray, C. H. (2001). Cyborg citizen: Politics in the posthuman age (p. 182)
[ naquela amarela ]
consider yellow, for example. We may try to define it, by describing its physical equivalent; we may state what kind of light-vibrations must stimulate the normal eye, in order that we may perceive it. but a moment’s reflection is sufficient to shew that those light-vibrations are not themselves what we mean by yellow. they are not what we perceive. indeed, we should never have been able to discover their existence, unless we had first been struck by the patent difference of quality between the different colours. the most we can be entitled to say of those vibrations is that they are what corresponds in space to the yellow which we actually perceive.
Moore, G.E. (1873-1958), in Chapter I: The Subject-Matter of Ethics., Principia Ethica (1903)
so, how do you perceive yellow?
{random poetry #105}
[ Late October ]
Carefully
the leaves of autumn
sprinkle down the tinny
sound of little dyings
and skies sated
of ruddy sunsets
of roseate dawns
roil ceaselessly in
cobweb greys and turn
to black
for comfort.
Only lovers
see the fall
a signal end to endings
a gruffish gesture alerting
those who will not be alarmed
that we begin to stop
in order to begin
again.
Angelou, M. (1928-2014)
"while it's true you're haunted by your past, it's truer that you've traveled spectacularly far away from it. you swam across a wide and wild sea and you made it all the way to the other side. that it feels different here on this shore than you thought it would does not negate the enormity of the distance you traversed and the strength it took you to do it."
Strayed, C.
{random poetry #104}
[ On Work ]
You work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth.
For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons,
and to step out of life's procession, that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite.
When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music.
Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all else sings together in unison?
Always you have been told that work is a curse and labour a misfortune.
But I say to you that when you work you fulfil a part of earth's furthest dream, assigned to you when that dream was born,
And in keeping yourself with labour you are in truth loving life,
And to love life through labour is to be intimate with life's inmost secret.
But if you in your pain call birth an affliction and the support of the flesh a curse written upon your brow, then I answer that naught but the sweat of your brow shall wash away that which is written.
You have been told also that life is darkness, and in your weariness you echo what was said by the weary.
And I say that life is indeed darkness save when there is urge,
And all urge is blind save when there is knowledge,
And all knowledge is vain save when there is work,
And all work is empty save when there is love;
And when you work with love you bind yourself to yourself, and to one another, and to God.
And what is it to work with love?
It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart,
even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.
It is to build a house with affection,
even as if your beloved were to dwell in that house.
It is to sow seeds with tenderness and reap the harvest with joy,
even as if your beloved were to eat the fruit.
It is to charge all things you fashion with a breath of your own spirit,
And to know that all the blessed dead
are standing about you and watching.
Often have I heard you say, as if speaking in sleep, "He who works in marble, and finds the shape of his own soul in the stone, is nobler than he who ploughs the soil.
And he who seizes the rainbow to lay it on a cloth in the likeness of man, is more than he who makes the sandals for our feet."
But I say, not in sleep but in the overwakefulness of noontide, that the wind speaks not more sweetly to the giant oaks than to the least of all the blades of grass;
And he alone is great who turns the voice of the wind into a song made sweeter by his own loving.
Work is love made visible.
And if you cannot work with love but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy.
For if you bake bread with indifference, you bake a bitter bread that feeds but half man's hunger.
And if you grudge the crushing of the grapes, your grudge distils a poison in the wine.
And if you sing though as angels, and love not the singing, you muffle man's ears to the voices of the day and the voices of the night.
Gibran, K. (1883-1931)
Viver consiste, muitas vezes, em não acreditar no que existe; e concentrar toda a nossa confiança naquilo que não existe.
Ser feliz é, na grande maioria dos casos, acreditar firmemente no que não existe.
Pedro Chagas Freitas
in In sexus veritas
É preciso viver como se a existência fizesse sentido, construindo uma realidade cujos valores possam afirmar até mesmo a falta de sentido: como quem diz 'vale a pena', apesar do trágico. (...) O que se deve buscar é um saber que se afaste da verdade, lá onde ela é mortal - foda-se a verdade -, e se dedique a construir formas, ideias, técnicas que nos ajudam a afirmar a vida. Isso é uma decisão de princípio.
Bosco, F. cap. melancolia, in Alta ajuda (2013)
havia dias em que era difícil viver. quando tens o coração partido, entranhas expostas e o pensamento cansado tudo tende a correr mal. bem haja o negro sentido de humor, a capacidade de resistência e a crença no amor, com a simplicidade complexa que o amor tanto exige. e lá sigo, seja qual for o inferno, arquiteto e trabalho para a melhor realidade possível. vivo em pleno independentemente dos meus secretos anseios por uma doce morte precoce. não sou dada a dores nem a lamentos, ressentimentos ou invejas e não hesito em partir quando o pedem ou o permitem.
[ 600 milliseconds ]
“most humans are never fully present in the now, because unconsciously they believe that the next moment must be more important than this one. but then you miss your whole life, which is never not now.”
Tolle, E.
{random poetry #103}
[ Talvez ]
Talvez digas um dia o que me queres,
talvez não queiras afinal dizê-lo,
talvez passes a mão no meu cabelo,
talvez não pense em ti, talvez me esperes
Talvez, sendo isto assim, fosse melhor
falhar-se o nosso encontro por um triz
talvez não me afagasses como eu quis,
talvez não nos soubéssemos de cor
Mas não sei bem, respostas não mas dês,
vivo só de murmúrios repetidos,
de enganos de alma e fome dos sentidos,
talvez seja cruel, talvez, talvez...
Se nada dás, porém, nada te dou
neste vaivém que sempre nos sustenta,
e se a própria saudade nos inventa,
não sei talvez quem és mas sei quem sou.
Graça Moura, V. (1942-2014)
[ simply explained ]
“and when you fuck her
do so until her body breaks
and her mind escapes her.
then hold her in your arms
until she finds her way
back home to you.”
via graciouswords
"but maybe a time would come when the computer would run every aspect of a person’s life. Then we get tired of it. We start growing plants or something. maybe slowly we will turn around and go away from it. if computers take something away from us, we’ll take it back."
in The soul of a new machine, Kidder, T., (1981)
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