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ZLATNOŽUTA PJESMA

Zlanožut je park, zlatnožuto je srce
i hod sad u ginuću zlatnom.
Zlatnožut je put, zlatnožuto je srce
i dvoje u ginuću zlatnom.

Gle, par u zlatnom razgovoru;
zlatnožuto je srce kao jesen;
i hod u zlatnom razgovoru,
riječ srdaca zlatna je ko jesen.

Dva srca zbore zlatno u snu zlatnom.
Ta oba srca nejednako žute.
Moje je srce u svome snu zlatnom,
a tvoje prima druge boje žute.

Zlatnožut je park i vjetar zlatno kosi,
leptiri zlatni klize svuda;
zlatnožut je put i vjetar zlato nosi
na put. Zar lijevo ili desno, kuda?

Henrik Visnapuu

metilda je napisao/la:“The serial number of a human specimen is the face, that accidental and unrepeatable combination of features. 
It reflects neither character nor soul, nor what we call the self. 
The face is only the serial number of a specimen” 

Milan Kundera

ne mogu se složiti s gosn. Kunderom...lice i te kako može biti odraz karaktera i duše

Alhambra je napisao/la:

metilda je napisao/la:“The serial number of a human specimen is the face, that accidental and unrepeatable combination of features. 
It reflects neither character nor soul, nor what we call the self. 
The face is only the serial number of a specimen” 

Milan Kundera

ne mogu se složiti s gosn. Kunderom...lice i te kako može biti odraz karaktera i duše

Nisam čitala novelu Immortality iz koje je izvađen citat pa ne znam u kojem je kontekstu gosn Kundera napisao što je napisao. Možda je sjedio u kafeu i promatrao ljude koji prolaze sa svojim maskama i zaključio da iz tih maski ne može iščitati ništa o njima. 
Iz mog iskustva s ljudima znam da neka lica isijavaju dobrotu koja me duboko pogodi u sred srca, a znam neka koja su tako dobro složene maske da iz njih, da ih ne poznajem, ne bih mogla iščitati ama baš ništa. Ali promatrajući nepoznata lica koja prolaze pored mene ne bih mogla ništa zaključiti o njima, nisam toliko pronicljiva. 

Ovdje nekad ilustriram sliku tekstom, nekad tekst slikom, urežem u ovaj prozorčić moju dnevnu ekspresiju... 
Danas sam užasno umorna, pa kako to nisam sakrila iza maske evo i jedna prigodna fotografija. 

...budili me žabe i komari, milovali neretvanski vali... 




Film snimio Obrad Gluščević 1966 godine.

One love, we don't need another love
One love, one heart and one soul 
Your fruit's in season
And these feet fall surely sound
And what goes up must come down
Turns into dust or turns into stone

Dobriša Cesarić

SARA'S GOODBYE LETTER TO GRISSOM: 


Gil, You know I love you. I feel I’ve loved you forever. Lately, I haven’t been feeling very well. Truth be told, I’m tired. Out in the desert, under that car that night, I realized something, and I haven’t been able to shake it. Since my father died, I’ve spent almost my entire life with ghosts. We’ve been like close friends, and out there in the desert; it occurred to me that it was time for me to bury them. I can’t do that here. I’m so sorry. No matter how hard I try to fight it off, I’m left with the feeling that … I have to go. I have no idea where I’m going, but I know I have to do this. If I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll self-destruct, and worse, you’ll be there to see it happen. Be safe. Know that I tried very hard to stay. Know that you are my one and only. I will miss you with every beat of my heart. Our life together was the only home I’ve ever really had. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I love you. I always will. Goodbye

You build on failure. You use it as a stepping stone. Close the door on the past. You don't try to forget the mistakes, but you don't dwell on it. You don't let it have any of your energy, or any of your time, or any of your space.

Johnny Cash

metilda je napisao/la:“Dogs are our link to paradise. They don't know evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring--it was peace.” 

o, da...kako istinito

Alhambra je napisao/la:

metilda je napisao/la:“Dogs are our link to paradise. They don't know evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring--it was peace.” 

o, da...kako istinito