a big end starts with a bang

Owlets or Outlets?

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 12:42:00 +0000

from barn to bay
an outlet to our brain
everlasting peril and pain
my sleep will drain;

flee from the figth;
in a silent flight;
to recover the might;
no doubtful insight;

the first time
as scary as flight;
the truth is mine
might release your might...

glide with your wit
through the monsoon pit
where dreams are lit
and stars are still.

use YOUR feather.

The Lay of Ere (The White Story)

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 10:16:00 +0000

In the passage from ere
few there were
but amongst them,
were the gracious and grateful.

in a bay they were
all gathered, the four.
Fierce as the Sun,
he gave a bright roar;
Átika was the name he bore
in his face a black stain he wore.

Amongst the dark sky
there she was,
with her dark hide;
San was skylike
without knowing why,
she was brought in the night;

The third frizzy and mellow
was in fact a bright fellow
loved the meadows,
but lived for the barrows,
old and merry was Fowx;
and a little bit yellow;

Into the water they lean,
to remember a dream
of something before seen...

that was all;
which was known

The White Story - Beginning

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 12:57:00 +0000

from the inocent jungle
trying to live there, they gambled
until she made it enable
for them to explore a new angle.

She, the youngest of five
growing was a strife
but she still might;
be the end of such night.

Called by her birth date
The Youngest Daughter she was named
a delicate damsel and a fierce maiden
her fame chased her.

glorious for battles won
her father's kingdom;
was again strong
but her thirst went on.

winter came and so did the logs
crackling fire, and barking dogs

She was one with an unusual gift
dressed by the snow, a white glow lit
to her warm body the snow sticks
and a white robe comes from it.

Amazed they were
and some remembered a passage;
from ere...

Uni

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 02:09:00 +0000

in empty darkness
the mind awakens
to the outer limits
of our own 'creation'

only dots shining
our time winding
life arounde me
everywhere but inside me

cold reach the lungs
my throat sunk
while the stars shun
a tree had now sprung

throught it all
I didn't fall
nothing pushing down
soaring unbound

I think I saw the whole
or else I wouldn't know of the old
ygdrädsil is gold as it flows.

Choices

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 02:20:00 +0000

If I knew then,
the things I know now;
I would not go back when,
I did not had the know how;

Missed

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 02:17:00 +0000

Chaplin I've heard of
Bob Marley I've never saw
Jimi was a star
and the minutes took'em far;

Gandhi was there,
and everything was said
at what no one else would dare,
without fear he stared;

striding to power
he never cowered
with pride he devoured
at him they bowered

at the end he seemed a drifter
goodbye Hitlër;

Pelé was kind of skinny
the first to become "god";
like the many we saw;

the voice of Biggie
could be felt in any city
from India to Alaska,
we all know who is the big poppa.

like a boon from the sky
Hazel rocked my mind.

History of the Art,
once none would forget this part
Science began to scatter
and Art was left with few bearers.

I KNOW what happened before me.
Do the same...

alleyway

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 06:56:00 +0000

I heard it from the alley
like a soft whining...
there, was a creature lying

the wind was howling
the sky was crying
thougts flying

I try to contain the loss
but, i am no longer boss
I'm flying like a moth

knowledge by the drop
and information simular to cloth
thin and knotted
almost impossible to be spotted

through me the essence flows
to little I can withhold
confusion now has its abode
and we must rely on the bold.

because the weak will fall;
into deceit.
and after it all;
will be a clean sheet.
it is our own fault;
when bottom we reach...

like the creature we will screech.

death?

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 11:12:00 +0000

the dark ship arouses
with the glimpse of death
made from the fingernail of those who dare
from their grasp be spared

one will certainly conceive
that there is no way to flee
whatever your destiny may be...

everything dies
leaving others behind
to a new path arrive

Long ways ahead lay
an eternity perhaps fades...
few will reach the bay
where one will weigh

that earth;
was only a blur.

or should I go back
for another day

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 02:32:00 +0000

No importa lo bien que lo hagas, siempre habrá un japonés que lo haga mejor.

Earthling

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 10:58:00 +0000

pela terra eu vivo
nela me encosto
para descobrir meu propósito.

mas o contrário é a realidade...
ela vive para a humanidade
e de pouco em pouco ela morre.

o excesso da vaidade
uma falta de sensibilidade
comandam as cidades

uma roda de tortura
antiga como a lua
o nosso tempo calcula

de onde viemos, sabemos
lembrar deveriamos
dos antigos imaculados
as histórias de causos

escrito por homens
"criado" por deuses
interpretado por vermes
ensinado por mestres

algo ensinam,
puro e perceptível,
sobre a honra do arado.
agora é ignorado.

Owner of Freedom

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 10:44:00 +0000

during the path to your vision
wandering is a violation
upon this transition
demanding all your wisdom
try to reason
with the ruler of our freedom

in a constant battle such foe
is unbearable
miles unraveled
of unwritten battles.

but only he can delve them
meddle and change them
build or waste them
but you, only taste'em

its eyes are calm
his soul is raw
her body with no flaw
its mind no one saw...

an architect he was wrought
by hands of longer thoughts
his art no one taught
and wroth,
no more.

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 02:56:00 +0000

de um bloco de notas todo rabiscado
histórias de planalto;
      misturadas com arados
pelo tempo mudados;
o dono do bloco e seus pensamentos,
podados

um velho sábio
       havia se tornado
mas completamente censurado
na vila de louco era chamado
e por seus conceitos;
     condenado.

o desconhecido
se parece com o inimigo
sendo perseguido
mas muitos unindo
a única razão;
      da nossa evolução
é a capacidade humana da imaginação...

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 11:30:00 +0000

the course is set
our houses we never left
by the new 'elite'
the globe is going, somewhere steep
to new things achieve
by the mind of the rich and grim
and so make our world spin
with tricks and riddles
burocracy and deals
no mind attached
only money to fetch
corruption and robbery
seen on the media only by poverty
society's paths can all be tracked
but we've all got to act

Myind

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 11:25:00 +0000

my mind is a cluster
of trash and blunders
but I always remember
my way around her.
in there I need a key
to get out or get in...
either way it's always fun to stay.

Escravaidade

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 21:14:00 +0000

Negro azarado
chicotada na mão
e pé amarrado
com uma paz no coração
que acalmou até o diabo
sarrafo nas costas
dados por um fraco
assistir ao sofrimento
é o castigo dado
por ignorantes soberanos
mortos pelo tempo
com honra enterrados
para quem sabe agora;
pagarem seus pecados.
uma revolução...
nunca chegou
o tempo matou
o ideal do boçal.
durante quatro mil anos
abusos causados
agora o escravo
virou desempregado
o chicote ainda é usado
até hoje
controlando nossos atos.

current path..

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 17:20:00 +0000

dismay may fall,
    and darkness crawl
for that day the hope of change,
    will grow tall

to all this message holds
the truth that has ever been told

for man ignore it,
    for their own curse
for what happens once and twice,
    at the thrice
none shall weep,
    for none shall live.

Piiiils?

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 17:09:00 +0000

we've mastered the body
no illness shall harm me
with pills, injections our mind is left awry
erradicated some and others were left snoring..
sleep in fact is our state of body.

in the century of the race
new thoughts were traced
another stigma made
and a fresh torment is awake.

I wont even dare, to venture in there
the land of the free, the abode of dreams
it can lift all the pain
and likewise place you in chains
mind your mind

welcome to the theater of masks...

Uma Pequena Olhada em Franklin Cascaes, O Ilhéu

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 03:24:00 +0000

“Tive que deformar o Barroco porque foi a única forma de dar graça àquela beleza rústica, a figura do colono açoriano. Tive que recriar o Barroco para poder representar as pessoas do interior da ilha. O homem está se destruindo. Ele pensa que é o senhor absoluto da Terra. Não é! Sobre ele está a natureza comandando, ele é exclusivamente um produto da natureza, como são as aves, como são os outros animais”.

“Tive a felicidade de ser um dos primeiros a penetrar no interior da Ilha de Santa Catarina, antes mesmo de terem lá chegado os massivos meios de comunicação. Em alguns lugares não havia instalação elétrica, nem estradas, o que fazia com que as comunidades vivessem um mundo próprio, longe das influências dos centros urbanos, permitindo que suas vivências e manifestações se mantivessem livres de alterações provocadas por agentes externos”, dizia.

A pesquisa de Franklin Cascaes resultou em 42 conjuntos temáticos formados por esculturas de pequeno porte representativas de figuras, ferramentas, instrumentos, utensílios e também maquetes de engenhos de farinha, rancho de pescadores e outros objetos confeccionados em diferentes materiais. Além das esculturas, o artista deixou mais de 1500 desenhos e centenas de anotações, além de recortes de jornais, cadernos dos tempos da escola, entre outros documentos.

viagem bruxólica a Índia

De forma detalhada, Cascaes registrou costumes, crenças e tradições e características populares referentes à vida dos colonos que habitaram a Ilha de Santa Catarina. Sua arte e sua genialidade são uma das maiores contribuições para o resgate e preservação da identidade cultural do município de Florianópolis. O acervo deixado pelo folclorista encontra-se hoje no Museu Universitário Professor Oswaldo Rodrigues Cabral, da UFSC, numa coleção que leva o nome de sua esposa, a Professora Elizabeth Pavan Cascaes.

Franklin é uma pessoa muito famosa, neste lado do Brazil, ele descreveu quase uma mitologia Açoriana (os colonizadores de Florianópolis) e junto com eles vieram histórias e contos, que hoje fazem parte do folclore Catarinense e são obras tanto escritas como desenhos, extremamente talentoso e diferentes.

Franklin Cascaes is a native from Florianópolis born in 1908, he researched the local legends, and tales and with that he came upon series of witch tales and different tales of different types of "creatures" that now are part of a museum and it is in the heart of everyone in the state. Worth checking out the drawings, and texts.

Criatividade

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 02:04:00 +0000

why leave it to imagination;
we live in our own creation;
la verdad és maleable;
pero logra-la continua possible;

thought or sight leads to our destination?
the human mind is our only salvation.
might as well be our damnation.
everything in our wit is permited.
before deception.
the belief is obsessive.

but the power of insight, will never be cast out.
from unenligthenment, came the wipeout;
humanity's finest memento annahilated
entire texts eradicated;
because of a simple hatred.

mitologia, com tudo que ali era dito,
a ignorância à escondia
mesmo sem ciência, à verdade correspondia,
filosofar ali surgia;

everything once was just an imagination. perhaps a dream.

Droga ou Capitalismo...

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 15:49:00 +0000

deitado
um pobre coitado
para muitos, desalmado
o passado, apagado
jamais esquecido
tudo ja havia dito
o vício do século
nos trouxe o cético

no começo a criamos
depois abusamos
a redescobrimos
e agora guerreamos

uma criação movida a ganância
uma decisão com muitas variedades
foi aplicada de uma só forma
hoje quem dela abusa
ela se torna

Mundo Velho

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 14:13:00 +0000

um pequeno encanto, em um canto guardado
anos encoberto, mas sempre procurado
um mundo aberto, de lado a lado
muitos chegam, pelo caminho forçado
outros amam e jamais são levados

crianças sonham, e vivem por la
adultos esquecem e jamais tentam voltar
a criança em um adulto saberá
até onde ir e quando retornar...

tal mundo existe
e você está livre
para com sua mente voar
e o seu mundo
desenhar.

Generation

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 06:32:00 +0000

with a beep came the generation
full of a 'crazy' temptations
waters stirred decades before
led to the extragavance of the newborn

without this new tech
we would live in wreck
but without history or art
humanity will never go far

it must be taken into account
the misjudgments made in another time
that perhaps should not be mine
by choice or doom it will always roam my mind

from east to west the focus is greed
soon there will not even have seeds.
with that little grain, ideals have been made
a little spark in the brain and our course may be changed.

from niblungs to greeks
a simular lesson they teach
long in the past they were thought
during ages wrought
but for now they were meant
since today we see what has been made.

Worldy speaking...

8 dreams

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 06:13:00 +0000

dancing and prancing
all that could be seen
a shadow chanting
as winter leaves for spring.

curiosity arouses; and forward we go
the entrance was near, but now is behind me
ligths are grey, only a glow
I can fell the way, and nothing to bound me...

from left to right the sound can be listened
it tells us a story, of a divine mistress
from top to bottom she shone bright yellow
she wrote a prophecy, not so mellow...

the parchment in hand, it burned at my touch
no more chanting at the end can be heard
in goth letters and northern writing
it is telling, ragnarök is arriving...

the chanting draws nearer
now all seems clear
a voice is talking
to those who hear.

'keep away my dear, if these words you listen
you ought to be fearless, and leave throgh the rear...
a riddle i give thee, to test thy creativity
show me what lies, in the human psyche'

frozen i stood, without a clue
the voice was gone, there she stood
with a clean dress, and a yellow hood
a gleaming sword, and an ill mood.

my mind, white as a swan
a thought was sprung
not by writing...
she has won.

as i wake up summer is in
no valkyries nor drums, are waiting for me
only the walls and the light bulb above me.

Beginning

beuubitt@hotmail.com (beu) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 04:29:00 +0000

Well, I never believed in this kind of "stuff" blogs and whatnot, for lack of a better MYnd, but it seems like a good idea right now so...
I'll start this way, I feel a little different than the usual person next to me... with that my mynd wanders to fathoms far far away from the real situation. In some of my "wanderings" I found a way to put such trips in some kind of writing, mostly poetry, crappy as I see it, and I don't maybe more. I don't even know what I'm doing but.
Feels kind of sad but it isn't.
Life rearranges everything like it or not, for good or worse but always having a meaning.