Every O-N-E

The beauty of things and in people is not a universal concept.
The capacity to feel that is related to perception.
Perception that we must go after...
Yeah, this capacity to feel what is beautiful is a natural human need.
It is an experience that comes from a contemplated object and also from the beholder.
Several viewers of an art show will obviously absorb different pieces of art in uncountable possible meanings and all of them will be completely true.
False appeals can happen?
Don’t know exactly
However... ...
It’s 6:30 in the morning
Maybe not precisely 6:30
But I know that in some part of the world it must be.
The world has all sorts of hours. During the hours everything is changing: The world will eat more and will pay more for that… The early bird restaurant goers will die from diarrhea or just spoil their stomach
Rotten rich folks who drive their big BM’s and keep their phony
dogs on the passenger’s seat… They will all die TOO
Can you see beauty in this?
At 6:30 they change the rules
After 6:30 they are ripped off
After all, everyone is every O-N-E and in all of them, the beauty lies…
Enjoy the power of the beauty of all words
Words help me be grand and overjoyed.
Sometimes, when I write I take a deep breath and feel each white blood cell, each pore of my skin grasping the air, my mouth waters and even my hands sweat more!
Words are lethal and dramatical; they can work as an invasion of furiousness.
Words fulfill temptations and damage candidness
How obvious and subliminal they are.
The ultimate content of fights – WORDS, like MONSTER for instance.
A fantastic infusion of imagery construction… Just let your voice sound: Curtain, Curve, Focus, Bogus, Catering, Polemic, Polyphonic, Polymeric, Pollution, and the list is endless…
MY words sucumbe the universal concept...
They are beautiful in their own way

by Laila Chris

Leiam isso

Quando minha pele envelhecer
terei na mente a certeza que
os problemas foram resolvidos
as guerras foram vencidas
mas o desafio final ainda está por vir.
Não temo a morte
Não temo nada
Quero ser queimada.
Mas, por favor, não me conservem numa jarra
Não me idolatrem ou tenham pena
Nem ao menos quero ser lembrada.
Quando me cremarem,
Joguem-me para o alto num lugar bem vasto
Quero que minhas cinzas se dissolvam no ar
Quero que meus inimigos respirem o ar cheio de mim
E que meus amigos fertilizem seus jardins com
partículas de Laila.
E meu funeral haverá música, dança, comida e risos
Muitas línguas farão suas devidas honras religiosas
E Deus ouvirá a todas.
Ele perdoará os meus pecados sem julgamento.
Quando eu tiver ido,
queimem também minhas roupas, meus papéis e móveis.
Não quero ser lembrada.

by Laila Chris