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The Black Heralds
22:57 May 29 2009
Times Read: 1,114

One of Vampiregothchick`s poem reminded me of Vallejo.One of my favorites poets during my student days.Seems like ages ago... but I still am impressed by this genial poet!

Los heraldos negros



by Cezar Vallejo







Hay golpes en la vida tan fuertes . . . ¡Yo no se!

Golpes como del odio de Dios; como si ante ellos;

la resaca de todo lo sufrido se empozara en el alma

¡Yo no se!

Son pocos; pero son . . . abren zanjas oscuras

en el rostro mas fiero y en el lomo mas fuerte,

Seran talvez los potros de bárbaros atilas;

o los heraldos negros que nos manda la Muerte





Son las caidas hondas de los Cristos del alma,

de alguna adorable que el Destino Blasfema,

Esos golpes sangrientos son las crepitaciones

de algun pan que en la puerta del horno se nos quema





Y el hombre....pobre...¡pobre!

Vuelve los ojos,

como cuando por sobre el hombro

nos llama una palmada;

vuelve los ojos locos,

y todo lo vivido

se empoza, como charco de culpa,

en la mirada.





Hay golpes en la vida, tan fuertes . . . ¡Yo no se!









~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~







The Black Heralds



by Cezar Vallejo







There are blows in life, so powerful . . . I don't know!

Blows as from the hatred of God; as if, facing them,

the undertow of everything suffered

welled up in the soul . . . I don't know!



They are few; but they are . . . They open dark trenches

in the fiercest face and in the strongest back.

Perhaps they are the colts of barbaric Attilas;

or the black heralds sent to us by Death.



They are the deep falls of the Christs of the soul,

of some adored faith blasphemed by Destiny.

Those bloodstained blows are the crackling of

bread burning up at the oven door.



And man . . . Poor . . . poor! He turns his eyes, as

when a slap on the shoulder summons us;

turns his crazed eyes, and everything lived

wells up, like a pool of guilt, in his look.



There are blows in life, so powerful . . . I don't know!





~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~





If you liked it please allow yourself a few moments of exquisite reading here.

Tearing up the nights
15:08 May 23 2009
Times Read: 1,138

I was invited at the art exhibition of two Romanian artists in my hometown.





You can find small galleries with their old works here:



Vasilian Dobos



Manuel Manastireanu



Unfortunately there are no places on the internet where you can view their works of the present exhibition.



Dobos has a quite fascinating semiotic graphics and his "Sfasierile"("The tear-ups") combines the images of my town churches with the transcendental signs and secret writings.Watching his sealed churches on white canvases that have above flying birds or fishes that hold(or sometimes are) keys, trying to decipher the pieces cut from holy books on on the sliced canvas, you have the feeling of participating at the mysteries of a ritual that is point both to man and to the realms secret for the man.



The Nights of Manastireanu are screaming out from dark portraits of children that inspire pity and still reject you.There eyes are either entirely dark, either ripped off by scratching on the canvas like in a sadistic game of hide and seek, of whom nobody can hide and nobody has the eyes to seek.The eyes either refuse to see, either see only dark lights from within, they are staring at you with vampiric hollow orbits that invite you to realize the importance of your own interior lights.He has one portrait of a vampiric lady with vague influences from Mona Lisa but with a really mad and seductive red eyes, glancing at you and aside in the same time, in a desperate and diabolically ironical look.





Two really good peaks from the elite of Romanian contemporary art, that, unfortunately, are not represented enough on the internet.

Onitsura
01:49 May 21 2009
Times Read: 1,143

gyozui no

sute dokoro naki

mushi no koe





nowhere can I throw

the bath water

the song of insects

Basho
01:47 May 21 2009
Times Read: 1,144

furu ike ya

kawazu tobikomu

mizu no oto



an ancient pond

a frog jumps in

the splash of water



[1686]





*





tabi ni yande

yume wa kareno wo

kake meguru



falling sick on a journey

my dream goes wandering

over a field of dried grass



[1694]





ta ichimai

uete tachisaru

yanagi kana



One field

did they plant.

I, under the willow.





*





From all directions

Winds bring petals of cherry

Into the grebe lake.





*





Seen in plain daylight

the firefly's nothing but

an insect





*





Among moon gazers

at the ancient temple grounds

not one beautiful face





*





With a warbler for

a soul, it sleeps peacefully,

this mountain willow





*





A weathered skeleton

in windy fields of memory,

piercing like a knife





*





Lonely silence,

a single cicada's cry

sinking into stone

Sire
02:15 May 17 2009
Times Read: 1,167

It took me two years to become a sire but I am sure it worth it!



Your Status:

Sire



Pages Viewed:

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Time Spent:

67.28 days



You have completed

100% of this level.



Yay!

Old Romanian Witch
02:25 May 16 2009
Times Read: 1,175

http://www.flickr.com/photos/ammut/3012796548/in/pool-enciclopediaromaniei

C4C is back!
23:39 May 11 2009
Times Read: 1,193

THE FLOWER TREE by Nezahualcóyotl
21:50 May 06 2009
Times Read: 1,239

Begin the song in pleasure, singer, enjoy, give pleasure to all, even to Life Giver. Yyeo ayahui ohuaya.



Delight, for Life Giver adorns us. All the flower bracelets, your flowers, are dancing. Our songs are strewn in this jewel house, this golden house. The Flower Tree grow and shakes, already it scatters. The quetzal breathes honey, the golden quéchol breathes honey. Ohuaya ohuaya.



You have transformed into a Flower Tree, you have emerged, you bend and scatter. You have appeared before God's face as multi-colored flowers. Ohuaya ohuaya.



Live here on earth, blossom! As you move and shake, flowers fall. My flowers are eternal, my songs are forever: I raise them: I, a singer. I scatter them, I spill them, the flowers become gold: they are carried inside the golden place. Ohuaya ohuyaya.



Flowers of raven, flowers you scatter, you let them fall in the house of flowers. Ohuaya ohuyaya.



Ah, yes: I am happy, I prince NezahualCóyotl, gathering jewels, wide plumes of quetzal, I contemplate the faces of jades: they are the princes! I gaze into the faces of Eagles and Jaguars, and behold the faces of jades and jewels! Ohuaya ohuyaya.



We will pass away. I, NezahualCóyotl, say, Enjoy! Do we really live on earth? Ohuaya ohuaya!



Not forever on earth, only a brief time here! Even jades fracture; even gold ruptures, even quetzal plumes tear: Not forever on earth: only a brief time here! Ohuaya ohuaya!







Translation by JOHN CURL









A few more poems of this brilliant Poet- King here:



http://www.red-coral.net/Hungry.html

cats
14:01 May 05 2009
Times Read: 1,251

Apples may inhibit breast cancer
13:32 May 05 2009
Times Read: 1,252






Six studies published in the past year by a Cornell researcher add to growing evidence that an apple a day — as well as daily helpings of other fruits and vegetables — can help keep the breast-cancer doctor away.



More from the Cornell Chronicle:



In one of his recent papers, published in the Journal of Agricultural and Food Chemistry (57:1), Rui Hai Liu, Cornell associate professor of food science and a member of Cornell’s Institute for Comparative and Environmental Toxicology, reports that fresh apple extracts significantly inhibited the size of mammary tumors in rats — and the more extracts they were given, the greater the inhibition.



…



“These studies add to the growing evidence that increased consumption of fruits and vegetables, including apples, would provide consumers with more phenolics, which are proving to have important health benefits. I would encourage consumers to eat more and a wide variety of fruits and vegetables daily.”

CTLH
15:08 May 04 2009
Times Read: 1,257

"I have yet to find any secondary (or for that matter primary) source

which lists Kutu as a Mesopotamian deity, or for that matter lists any

name resembling Cthulhu at all. However, having been given a pointer by

DanNorder@aol.com, I have confirmed that Kutha or Cutch was the cult

city of Nergal, the Akkadian god of plagues and the underworld (see

above) and that 'lu' is the Sumerian word for man. So, Kuthalu

would mean Kutha-man which could conceivably refer to Nergal. As far

as I can tell it could mean Joe the Butcher or any of his neighbors

who happen to live in Kutha just as easily. Nergal, of course bears

little resemblance to Lovecraft's Cthulhu beyond the fact that both

can be considered underworld powers. Those interested in further

discussion about this contact might wish to contact Dan at the above

address and they may wish to read alt.horror.cthulhu as well."





Read more here!



http://www.faqs.org/faqs/mythology/assyrbabyl-faq/

Unburial - an ancient custom
23:17 May 03 2009
Times Read: 1,266






Me and some of my relatives just did an "unburial", dezgropare, as we call it.

It`s a tradition related of the custom to unbury the dead after 7 years to see if it was a vampire or not.

The government forbid the unburial itself but we still have the special Christian mass and the "pomana" after that.

Pomana (giving for free) is an ancient custom to give something for free to poor people over the grave or anywhere and to tell him to recieve it for the soul of the dead.Clothes, food, shoes, drink, even matches and candles so the dead could have light on the other realm.



We make the pomana at many hollydays during the year and everytime we seem fit.Even sometime at bar or restaurant.It shouldn`t be refused.It`s a sacred giving.It`s a special day for this called Pastele Blajinilor - The Easter of the Kind Ones (Kind Ancestors).We also do it in the Easter and during Christmas.

A vampiric quote
03:04 May 01 2009
Times Read: 1,221

"Morior, Mori, Mortuus

sum"





"There was

the case of the celebrated old school-master who

was dying. He was a queer man, unmarried,

had few friends and relatives, and was entirely

bound up with his classics and poetry. As he

lay dying, he said, "Morior, Mori, Mortuus

sum", (I die, I have died, I am dead;) ;"my verb is conjugated," and with an impish

smile, he breathed his last."



S. W. Phoon