a blind man being talked to about colors ...

“There are days in which the people I see, and especially those I’m with during our forced and daily cohabitation, take on the aspect of symbols, and either isolated or connected form a prophetic or occult script, which describes my life in shadows. The office becomes a page with people as words; the street is a book; the words substituted for the usual people, the different people I encounter; they are expressions for which I lack a dictionary but for which I do not entirely lack understanding. They speak, express themselves; however, they do not speak about themselves, nor do they express themselves to themselves; they are words, as I said, and they do not reveal anything but only allow a glimpse. But in my twilight vision I only vaguely distinguish what these sudden show windows, revealed on the surface of things, disclose of their interior, which they veil and reveal. I understand without knowing, like a blind man being talked to about colors.” (p. 35)

(Bernardo Soares / Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet. Trans. Alfred Mac Adam)

Reality and Silence ...

“Reality is only reached in silence.”

– Pablo Picasso

inside out

Copyright © 2008 Marco Alexandre de Oliveira

eternal return

Copyright © 2008 Marco Alexandre de Oliveira

“Revolution in the Revolution in the Revolution”

“If the capitalists and imperialists
are the exploiters, the masses are the workers.
and the party
is the communist.

If civilization
is the exploiter, the masses is nature.
and the party
is the poets.

If the abstract rational intellect
is the exploiter, the masses is the unconscious.
and the party
is the yogins.

& POWER
comes out of the seed-syllables of mantras.”

(from Gary Snyder, “Revolution in the Revolution in the Revolution”)

“irrupciones intersticiales”

“En el momento en que se perciben dos cosas, tomando conciencia del intervalo entre ellas, hay que ahincarse en ese intervalo. Si se eliminan simultáneamente las dos cosas, entonces, en ese intervalo, resplandece la Realidad.”

(la estrofa 61 del Vijñana Bhairava, citado por Julio Cortázar en “La muñeca rota,” Último Round)

"Life is all a dream"

“Now this man’s back is asleep. All of him walking in front of me at a speed equal to mine is asleep. He goes along unconsciously. He lives unconsciously. He sleeps, because we all sleep. Life is all a dream. No one knows what he does, no one knows what he wants, no one knows what he knows. We sleep our lives, eternal children of Destiny. For that reason I feel, if it’s true that I can think with this sensation, a shapeless and immense tenderness for all infantile humanity, for all sleeping social life, for all people, for all things.”

“All movements and intentions in life, from the simple life of the lungs to the building of cities and the defense of imperial frontiers – I consider them like a somnolence, things like dreams or resting, involuntarily spent in the interval between one reality and another, between one day and another day of the Absolute. And like someone abstractly maternal, I hover over the bad children as much as over the good ones, all together in the dream in which they are mine. I feel compassion with the generosity of an infinite thing.”

(Bernardo Soares / Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet. Trans. Alfred Mac Adam)

Anxiety

Cold and dark. A crescent moon. Light. A flame. Smoke. A cigarette in hand on hand at hand. Thoughts breathed in breathed out blown up in smoke. Ash. Footsteps on the sidewalk. Step by step. Step over. Cracks. Cracks. Step on a crack and your back and you’re back to the question. What? No answer. Why? No answer when asking where does it come from. The anxiety. Cracks. A flame. Smoke. Puff puff puffing away in a puff of smoke. Ash. Step by step over. And why? But where oh where does where arise the anxiety and why the anxiety when no anxiety really and really how so but know not better. Impressions. Expressions. Smoke. Ash. Footsteps on the side. Walk. Step. Step up step on step over step to step off the step. Step by step. Breathe in. Breathe out. The smoke rises and curls, higher, still, higher still. Rises and curls. Clouds. The sky. Up up and away. Clouds of smoke. Ash. The air. Breathe. The anxiety. Everywhere. Where am I? Nowhere. Who am I? No one. Or else. Anyone is anywhere at anytime. Anyhow. Tomorrow. Today. Yesterday. Here and now. At once. Thoughts. Stones. Words. Stones. Meaningless meaningful meaning. Stoned. You know? You know that you know not that you know. Or not. There is no anxiety. There are no steps. There is no road. To oblivion. Darkness. Cold. The moon. Light. A flame. Smoke. A cigarette. Ash. Out of hand. And foot. Steps. Cracks. No. This side. No. That side. No. Besides. No. Answer. No. Anxiety.

Copyright © 2008 Marco Alexandre de Oliveira