Discovering Blues
71Snow Queen
Magnetic Poetry Inspiration
Last year I bought a magnetic poetry calendar because I was hoping my son would enjoy playing with words, putting them together in sentences. I did not expect him to compose poetry. Nothing of the kind happened. No poetry, no sentences, no interest. On his part.
I was skeptical and upset at the beginning, I prefer my calendars to be either beautiful or useful or both. This one seemed to be nothing but the source of irritation. The last year “calendar story” began with me buying two “O.K.” looking calendars with the 80% discount. My budget was tight and this “bargain” made me so happy!
On the 31st of December, 2009, when it was time to put a calendar on a wall, my father with a perplexed expression on his face asked me “Why did you buy calendars for 2009 and not 2010?!” I did not even realize that retailers might sell the last year merchandise. This year I made the same mistake with a planner, the same confusion over discounts and years. I was upset. How stupid of me! So, I was looking for my favourite calendars “Family Planners” with a lot of space for writing appointments and things like that. By the time I was looking for them, it was already mid-January and they were long gone. So I bought into idea of magnetic poetry. When I opened the calendar and looked at it, I was disappointed. Again. I just hated even looking at it. I guess I have this “thing” with calendars. Make a mistake and they get on your nerves the whole year.
However, things improved. The calendar claimed that it had “brain-stimulating exercises and thought-provoking quotes”. It did and it had a certain charm. Every month the calendar gave me an inspiration or an assignment to write or at least to think. The year 2010 is over but I have to admit that the calendar had an impact on me, the one that I least expected. I composed one poem and then another. I am not saying that they are high quality, but it would not even occur to me to try before.
The first quote of the month was:
“One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.” (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)
I wrote it on an index card and it is still on the wall above my desk. It is truly inspiring. And I discovered that I love quotes by Goethe.
Magnetic Poetry
- Magnetic Poetry
Magnetic Poetry, Inc. creates Magnetic Poetry word magnets, refrigerator magnets, garden stones, fridge magnets, custom magnets, word magnets, Magnetic Poetry Kit , magnetic picture frames, magnetic calendars, magnetic toys and magnetic games.
Writing Comes Alive
Here Comes September
Calendar Wisdom
I know that January is considered to be the beginning of the year for most of the world. But Chinese New Year is celebrated differently. I always feel that the true New Year comes in September. New School year… I attended the school for sixteen years in total and now my son goes to school, so September always feels special. Those are my sentiments.
So, September 2009.
Short story or poetry
What plot illustrates my world
A strange character in the library
Creates a novel of me
(composed with Book Lover Kit, but not by me)
I really loved this little piece.
Then came the assignment and the inspiration.
Your Song.
There’s a famous American poem called “Song of Myself” by the poet Walt Whitman. Whitman had to struggle long and hard to get his song heard, but that didn’t stop him from singing (or writing as the case may be). Using the word tiles, begin your own song about yourself. Of course, there are many aspects of each of us – our families, our friends, our work. Consider all these things as you look over the word tiles and look for a word that seems to match up with some aspect of who you are, a way you feel or something you do. Use it as a starting point for a song of yourself.
Quote of the month:
“A bird does not sing because it has the answer; it sings because it has a song.”
Inspired. To Be or Not to Be?
Inspiration by Walt Whitman
Do you feel inspired?
See results without votingSinging myself
“Song of Myself” by Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)
I have never heard of this poem before, but there is the first time for everything. It is not an easy read (especially for someone whose first language is not English). And English literature is not my specialty either.
But let’s get back to reading. I printed the poem and started reading. It felt like stumbling more often than not. What? What are you talking about? And I like our Russian poetry be flowing and gentle to ears. Yes, I am aware poetry does not have to rhyme, but I still prefer rhyming. I like dancing and singing, rhythm is important to me.
I do plan to read the poem to the end, but for the moment, let’s take some lines for the inspiration – I need to start writing my own “Song of Myself”, after all. (Note: I wrote this in Septemper 2009, I still did not read his poem till the end, but I am glad I came across his name).
I celebrate myself, and sing myself
[...]
Trippers and askers surround me,
People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and
city I live in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new,
My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss
or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news,
the fitful events;
These come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,
Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,
Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with
linguists and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.
[...]
Walt Whitman's impact on our generation
Do you like Walt Whitman's poetry?
See results without votingAttempt # 2 at Inspiration
It was difficult for me to start. I just could not. So I picked another piece.
“Song of Myself” by Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)
I celebrate myself, and sing myself
[...]
I know I am august,
I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood,
I see that the elementary laws never apologize,
(I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by,
after all.)I exist as I am, that is enough,
If no other in the world be aware I sit content,
And if each and all be aware I sit content.
[...]
I Celebrate myself and Paint myself
Discovering Blues
Now I will write my song, no matter how insane it is, insanity is only a stage, lack of sophistication is not a sin, I am free to write and sing what I want. In fact, I am totally free…
Discovering Blues
I like memory of dark clouds blending with
Almost tragic truth
Blue wind bringing changes into my world
The view of Blue Mountains seducing me
Into dreaming about freedom
I chase Blue bird of happiness that lives around
It refuses to live in captivity
Happiness and possession are from different galaxies
Captivity is not what the Blue Bird dreams about
It is freedom
I find delight in imagining that I fly like a blue butterfly
And in my dreams I fly so high it is maddening
I learn to love again and whisper tenderly into love’s ears
I find pleasure in accepting, submitting, surrendering
Drowning and surfacing, gliding on my blue moods
Dancing in the blue air
My era is blue, so are my universe and my life
I have been colour blind for so long
Or, maybe, it is only my memory failing me
Forcing me to forget who I am
I don’t want to pretend anymore,
I am letting go, I wonder who I am
If anything
And then Blue Light erupts from within
And I will never be able to go back into darkness
Blue speaks of authenticity, inspiration, sensitivity
Of light, intensity, depth, and happiness
Ask me “are you Blue?”
Always
I paint myself blue and let my soul shine through
I let the Blue light radiate and travel the distance
I am becoming Lighter and Lighter, Bluer an Bluer
For Blue Light is the embodiment of me…
Dissolving in a blue light
My Poetry
- I Prefer Being Out of My Mind
I do hope you keep writing since I really "prefer" your deeper style of thought to so much of the superficial writing that is constantly in our face! (Chatkath) - Jumping Into the Erotic Wave
Everything is left to the imagination of the reader. The automatic thing (a robot?) decided that it was too provocative to add the ads. The story of my life. - The Danger of Riding Erotic Waves
Something is happening. Even if it is not, it feels as if it is... Is it October magic or the magic of new beginnings? - Three Inches Was Erotica. Three and a Half Became LOVE.
Tango is my love. My love is... By losing I win, by winning I lose... Yes, this is a poem. About? About being in love and resisting. Resistance is what makes it love.
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Current Bid: $12.99
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Wednesday Is Indigo Blue: Discovering the Brain of Syne
Current Bid: $6.98
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Joe Bussard Desperate Man Blues: Discovering The Roots Of America DVD
Current Bid: $17.28
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Thank you, Lucky Cats! It is very comforting to hear. You and I seem to be more idealistic than others, given your love and devotion to animals.
If I ever get to the point of writing about my Dream Job (I always question myself why I even bother writing here. Even though I just started), it will be about having an orphanage for children who are refused by everybody.
It is a Dream, nothing more, I have no qualifications whatsoever, I just like people and I love children for their authenticity (here we go again - lying is not my thing).
Thank you, thank you again for not saying it is too much, she is too intellectual. Too intellectual for what? I am just the way I am. Not perfect.
And I am glad you are familiar with Whitman and you like him versus "Who? What? Why? Literature? Who needs it?" I do.
great hub!
I love the diversity of Hubpages and you definately have your own brand that is interesting and adds value to the site. Thanks for sharing and bringing a new insight to my eyes!
Thank you, SimeyC!
.....well exploring your hallowed hubspace is akin to being in an intellectual candy store where I could really indulge myself ...... and you are one of the most provocative/engaging writers (minds) that I've had the pleasure of reading at the Hub in a long long time!!!!!
Oh, thank you, Epigramman! We all make a difference, you make a bigger one, I seem to be located in a slightly remote part of the universe (or hubspace), LOL!
Hello Kallini,
I am so happy you stopped by and left this link...Which I will link to my blue poem if that is okay...I love this quote too...
“A bird does not sing because it has the answer; it sings because it has a song.”
Just like us who do not need a reason to write...it is just because we can... :)
Whitman says so much but with simplicity and depth...I would love to keep a copy of the one you posted, "This is what I shall do"...
I am a simple person but with deep thoughts...I too love children and animals...I say that because...There is innocence where there are no games...Just love...As Whitman said reexamine all that you are told...every season and then let it all go...Wonderful thoughts...
“My era is blue, so are my universe and my life
I have been color blind for so long
Or, maybe, it is only my memory failing me
Forcing me to forget who I am
I don’t want to pretend anymore,
I am letting go, I wonder who I am
I know this feeling too well…so profound…more than you may know...We all come to a place hopefully…a safe place where we can finally breathe…and say I am here and it feels good..
Thank you...I so enjoyed this...
Sunnie
Svetlana - this is surely among your best, though I must read it again. I came from Sunnie's hub to see, and not to linger, but I will be back. It's a joy to see you write in 'blue and with such gorgeous illustrations! Breathtaking. I remember you told me that blue - or turquoise - is your color. So this seems a deep reflection of that.
Hugs.
Dear Sunnie:
Thank you for your comment. I will tell you -- when I wrote this "poem" I thought "this is so STUPID!"
But it is not stupid at all. Our problem is not that we cannot breathe or be ourselves. Who else can we possibly be?
You do breathe, don't you?
So do I, the moment I stop...
Our problem is that we are blind. We are too busy with ... God knows what.
When I reread this article, certain things just jumped out -
"I am august" (You see how I picked long time ago "august" - even before I knew Augustine. That was a reference to Mein Lieber A.)
To me the main thought in this quote:
"I don’t want to pretend anymore,
I am letting go, I wonder who I am
If anything"
was "if anything". I don't really have to define myself.
I will cut my profile from
“In a sense, we haven’t got an identity until somebody tells our story.
The fiction makes us real.”
to "In a sense, we haven't got an identity."
Maybe we don't need it. We don't come to this world knowing how to live life (despite all the "how to's).
We are taught and I am afraid taught badly. Then we discover that what we are told is not true.
Maybe that is why I so detest things that are not true and the social agreement to conform.
"You cannot do that!"
"Oh, yes, I can. Watch me."
Thank you, Nellieanna! It is nice to see you here.
Blue is my first colour, Green is second. (Gold is third, Orange is fourth and final). It is said that we are all plaid, but I hate the pattern.
I say that I am Blue-Green (you mix them and voila! Turqouise or Teal) - I love different shades of ocean colour.
But in fact, I want to be Blue-Orange.
It is all a play of words. It has more validity than my 42 number, but I love my references.
Just came across your work today and was pleasantly surprised to find another very gifted writer. Lovely photographs by the way - I am looking forward to getting to know you.
Thank you, kims3003. This is the very beginning of my road to writing. I wanted to write about "Orange", but I never did. As soon as... I will.
I like these lines
gliding on my blue moods
Dancing in the blue air
and
Am I blue
always.
I await orange.
I can't believe I missed the first opportunity to read your poem. It was beautiful and an outstanding first effort (that we've seen).
It's funny how inspiration comes from places we least expect. You may have not started writing poetry if you bought the the write calenders in the first place. As for Daniel, he has talent. Most son's have the genetic attributes of their mothers. I know you may be concerned over his mental well being, but his talents will present themselves soon if hasn't allready. Thank you for sharing.
Mike, thank you for awaiting Orange, but I am afraid I am stuck with Yellow for now. But that song most definitely will come ("Before I have met you...").
I don't think I am that good at poetry. There are some poems that really strike the cord (if it is the correct expressions) - poems written by very talented poets. Maybe I am missing the music...
I've published my "Yellow" pub/hub/hug - unfortunately, it does not show clearly where it is all going and how it is even related to the trip to Italy. But it is, it is all connected.
Thank you, Augustine. As I said I don't feel comfortable writing poetry - I find all my efforts lame. The only thing that came effortlessly was "I prefer being out of my mind" - I was just listing randomly things I like. But I tried to repeat it - and I could not. Maybe time is not right.
Daniel has a knack for colours and art. I am sure he has more talents than I am aware of. Of course, I am concerned about other genetic surprises or side effects, but there is very little I can do now to change it - he already got his "genetic ticket". The only thing I can do is be there for him. I try.
I sensed you were hurtling toward orange. The thought of you finding your passions was a reward. Poetry, I find, generally erupt from pain. That may just be how I preceive it. There are some joyous poems. There are sensual poetry. Pain I understand. So, that you do not have a wellspring to draw poetry from could be a good thing.
Bright youngsters usually grow up to be bright adults.
Yes, Mike, I think you are right. Orange is something I want to have - as a personality trait. The whole "colour" scheme is about "opening the eyes and seeing it (?) as if for the first time".
Bright colours have this "waking" power - it is hard to stay asleep when the sunlight beams relentlessly. I even wake up when the moonlight lands on my pillow - the light is too bright.
The poetry - I agree, poetry is about feelings and sad feelings are harder to part with. I love sad love songs and sadness. I just cannot write it myself.
Even the original article for/about Ian was titled "Life is tricky with enchanting pathos" - it is a name of a poem that I like. But I had to change the title - it just became too long. The poem I will keep.
These words, "I even wake up when the moonlight lands on my pillow", are the beginning of a beautiful lover's poetic verse. Who among us can easily paint such princess's tale of longing?
Mike, maybe someone else... I would not even know what or who to long for?
When I wanted them (someone to come to my rescue), nobody did. When I stopped wanting, here they come in droves.
Nobody wanted a Caterpillar, everybody wanted a Butterfly. It is a common misconception that you need a Butterfly to teach caterpillars how to transform into Butterflies. But it cannot be taught, nothing is more futile than teaching how to speed up natural processes. How to speed up the process of opening a bud. Speeding up leads to ruining, not blooming.
I am still very much a caterpillar. A Blue one wanting some orange stripes.
I stare at my Flaming Wall that is in the Hall - to see it I have to keep my door open - how is that for a metaphor (I prefer to keep it closed, but now I have to decide on the stripes... yes, that crazy, almost military/militant, so...)
I can swear that Orange puts me in a more active mood - it is very, very stimulating.
The moon can wait.
Do you think they will offer me the moon? A night swim?
I don't even have words for their reactions:
it is like when someone completely lost the ability to express himself, yet cannot refrain from stating (testosterone rising)... a surprise... or ... I don't even know.
I just wanted to say "Give me a break, I am the same person as I always was and you look at me as if you see me for the first time. Open your eyes. More often."
"Abre los ojos".
You have discovered your ‘Orange’, don’t lose sight of it. Don’t close the door. (Ok, metaphorically don’t close the door.) Your words reveal that you have not found what you had hoped to find. You words reveal that there was an image and that image did not develop. But to not know what to long for, this is difficult for me.
I once saw a painting primarily in blue. It was an abstract. When viewed vertically the image did not speak to me. When it was viewed horizontally, there were wings, escaping the blue in a burst of light to freedom. Sometimes I think you view things vertically.
The night swim is recurring in your comments of late. It was memorable, you were free, you were vulnerable. I forget the word you used, but you felt unburdened. That’s the goal.
Yes, Mike, you are right - the major torture is "not to know". Strangely enough, writing helped - I stopped stressing too much about it - I keep going no matter how far from perfection my road it. So far ... from it.
I think the word is "liberating". "Breathe your liberty, take flight and don't ask me where we are going". Maybe the nakedness is for "the way we are". Not dressed up by society - we forget what natural is.
So far only Ian's bricks take flight, but it makes me laugh. Maybe it is another purpose of writing. To sail past this time laughing.
I think I should write this part 2 of the Dolores' night (mare), otherwise it will drive me insane. I keep writing it my head.
Ian has taken up a very low profile. I know he engaged in long conversations in his comment stream. Other than that he has said very little.
Liberating, that is a good word. No mask to hide behind, in dim moonlight, in cool water, no pretense.
We can steel our hearts, but then "not to know" becomes a cage of our own making. You are young (yes, yes) and can see with clear eyes.
Part 2 of the Dolores', when??
I can never "steel" my heart. Steel is a very interesting material - it can be different - I studied it long time ago. It glistens in the moonlight nicely, too.
"When" - I cannot say. I had it written, now I am re-writing and my characters do what THEY want and I am thinking ... "What, I am only the typist?"
The only thing that is definitely staying is BATH. And flying bricks - but that BRILLIANT idea I had even before one (brick) flew over "a cuckoo's nest".
I like, "what, I am only the typist?", that is when the best work appears, the whole story unfolds, neatly, easily, masterfully.
The Bath, definetly, a nice clean story. Weary travelers as the are by now.
So, that was steel glistening in the moonlight?
Mike, you always make me remember things. There is/was that type of steel called "Bulat (Boulat)", super hard, super flexible, it allowed to make very sharp blades..."
There was a singer with this name Boulat - he was singing in Russian. In his songs lyrics are the most important part. I always loved him - his songs are/were/are very soulful. I just looked him up and I will share one song with you - I will translate the lyrics some other time. The main thing "Every writer writes as he breathes... fiction is not a lie...
Good morning Svetlana. I posted a couple of songs to your Facebook page. I thought they were soothing. Your engineering background adds to your writer's mind.
I will look up Boulat. And I am sure that even in Russian the very soul essence is revealed.
“You are so sexy”, this phrase is so over used that it has lost its meaning. It has taken on a meaning that is more vulgar, more suggestive.
That may be why when you hear those words that it does not carry to your ears music but another noise with crude intent.
Writer Online, gave an enlightened answer. The eyes are portals to our souls. Our souls need to be soothed, rather than our feathers ruffled.
Your eye has never turned your thoughts? You are more disciplined than I.
I don’t think you are weird; that must mean I am weird.
Hello, Mike:
It is nearly mid-night in Toronto. I was going to ask you how my engineering background has surfaced all of a sudden... and then I remembered "steel".
The word "bulat" (I put an extra letter for the pronunciation - "ou" as in put, not as in "cut". The ever present problem,the same one with "sputnik", it is "ou" as in "put" (Putin, Rasputin). I could never recognize the bloody word. Or rusky. What? "Roussky")
Anyway... the word "boulat" is a poetic word. Nothing belongs to poetry exclusively, but for some reason cold weapons (blades, etc. are cherished and sung about). "A boulat blade" is a poetic expression. "AK-47" is somehow not.
I am pretty sure it was some other nation who invented "boulat", but it stayed in our language. It sounds so Russian (it is Persian).
I think I am oversensitive to most things. Words in particular. Maybe it is the reason I tend to recognize similarities in different languages. If I could recognize Italian words pronounced differently...
Mike:
I don't think the word actually lost its meaning. It only became more pronounced.
"Sexy" - provocative, desirable.
That is the theory of "suggestive command". The word "sexy" is 90% dominated by the word "sex". The brain automatically reacts to it.
There is nothing to think about. Of course, it is not as clear cut as to visualize the act itself, but the direction is clear. The signal "Ready!" "An invitation to ..."
Most people don't pay attention (don't hear) what they say. Men and women alike tell me this and the more I hear it the more it drives me nuts.
The power of suggestive command: "Come and play". I did not find your poem erotic - because I cannot make a disassociation. When I think about you - sex & erotica is out of the picture. One thing stayed. Not even the music.
A glass of wine. I wanted that wine a few times when I was in a club, but there it is expensive, $8-$9 for a glass, whereas I can buy a bottle for the same price.
All I needed was another reminder - and voila! I do have it.
I do have stoppers or brakes.
I don't let my imagination go ... but sometimes when I have a disturbing thought - it is just hell.
The mere fact that it is forbidden...
I am not more disciplined than you. We cannot even compare it. But I never think about a man "he is sexy". The most revealing compliment for me to say would be "You are so handsome!" The rest? I am being provocative and flirtatious but knowing that it is just a mindless and innocent game. When I see a man taking it the wrong way...
It is all really pathetic. Women trying so hard to be sexy. It is not about how it all looks. My best man did not look sexy at all.
I had a few "interesting conversations" with men who told me I was sexy. When I put it that way "You say that I make you think about sex in general or sex with me" - well, one of them was not convinced because it was precisely what he wanted. The other two would probably forgo "the immediate benefit" for a longer lasting same thing.
I wanted to write "a poem" - a response to both "Just tell me" and "Come and play" - and it was so pathetic, so lame. I should have said "I am only in the mood for wine, a conversation and ? moonlight?"
Another suggestive command: Light. The end of light in Russian is "the end of the world". So...
I have to try to finish writing my Dolores/Rome/...before all my characters run away. Chasing sexy women.
Damascus steel swords, from Persian born bulat steel has metaphor built into metaphor. You are sensitive to words, you have studied them and learned them so well that when they are used incorrectly it does not make you think about the words, but it does make you think about the person or persons who used the words. You think, ‘I learned these words, and you can too.’
As for the continuation of your comment, I consider it an honor that you think of me at all. Your mind is so active and your thoughts pull you in so many directions at the same time. In the last episode of your “Unsung Heroes”, you announce many times about the ‘splitting headaches.’ Those words rang true, more non-fiction, than fiction.
The exercise of painting Daniel’s room and your room gave you energy. It also let you use your imagination which lifted your spirits.
“Come and play” was not intended to be erotic. I thought the challenge was to write something intimate. It was a simple invitation, not a pick-up line.
Can you tell me why, “The end of light in Russian is "the end of the world".
Dear Mike:
I don't know why you are surprised that I think about you. We converse here a lot and I feel a strong connection. Of course, I prefer to be face-to-face, but in my current situation - there is no one I can have a conversation with. A meaningful conversation that can be had over a glass of anything, without a man jumping out of his pants to ravish me - a desire to ravish interferes with thinking... Yes, I do evoke strong sexual ..., but I am so tired of it. Because I want to be seen as something more than an object of desire. I want a man to see my intellect. I want him to reciprocate. I want to be interested in what HE has to say. I am not interested in what I have to say - I already know it.
That is why "You are so sexy" became a source of irritation to me. To me it is not a compliment, but another reminder - there is no one... around... males, not men.
My longing is for intellectual connection - sex I can have any day. I don't even have to dress provocatively - there will be a line up either way. The funny thing - they do enjoy the intellect, the fact that I can make them laugh.
"Nothing is gonna change my world".
I love words for their meaning. If someone starts throwing them at me like dust, I stop, clear my eyes and ask "What does this word mean?" "When do you call me "sexy" what do you mean exactly?"
"Mmme, baa...mmme... bahh" - eloquent beyond description.
"Sexy" is not poetic. "Erotic" is.
"Lust" brings disgust.
"Desire" is desirable and welcome.
Essentially, these pairs are close.
One word is enough to have a meaningful conversation. What needed is slowing down and savouring the details.
You can have a meal and enjoy every bite of it or swallow it in one gulp without chewing and have a stomach ache later.
Poetry is music, music of words. I think we should just stop and smell "the word roses". First, just stop. And breathe.
"A touch of thought" is all that is needed. I was longing for a conversation. For a connection, for a touch of thought, touch of sense. I want him to be a man to add tension, yet... that "poem" was not erotic. I was proving a point - put the word "sex/y", "erotic" and you get attention.
I got that feeling that your poem was not erotic, but I created this combination "erotic wave on HP" and I put two poems together - yours and Augustine's.
I had a feeling you were not comfortable with the topic.
I am just terrible - if you ask me... better not ask... I will cross out things that make me uncomfortable. I am not good with erotic/sex talk. I never ventured into the territory. But "why"? Why do I cross out this word and not another - because it is just me.
For example, "Just tell me" rubs me the wrong way. It is not about Augustine, it is about ... If a man tells me that - it's over.
I want him to tell me enough and in a way that I like to put me in the mood/mode that I at least can BELIEVE that what he is saying is TRUE.
I had a man like that - he told me the sweetest things, yet he never wanted me enough. And eventually I let him go - saying "There is nothing more off-putting than your lack of interest".
"The end of light" is the end of the world = In Russian, the word "light" has more than meaning.
1. Light
2. World
3. High Society
There is an article I wrote earlier
http://kallini2010.hubpages.com/hub/I-Will-Remain-
it is all about suggestive commands - I only looked through it now (I would have done it differently now, but I am not going to change it).
If you don't want to read the whole thing, read the section "Svet-lana" under the flower of multiple colours.
I think I ventured God knows where.
I wrote about my name, so that when asked I would have all the explanations ready. I meant to continue writing about names, but that project is on hold (indefinitely).
Short example of phonetic suggestions:
"kallini" - guelder rose, which is not a rose, symbol of Russia, beautiful Russian brides, colour red
"kallini" - kalla (calla) lily, which is not a lily, yet another flower, beautiful
Donna Rosa - I am not a rose/Rosa, donna is a link to German (donner - thunder), "light" - lightning.
God, Mike, remind me the next time, when I write 42 kilometers of text - convert it into a hub.
I hope I did not tire you too much.
Have a nice day.
What happens when the butterfly cannot fly?
Mike:
That butterfly which cannot fly has a role in my next chapter (maybe that is why I have it on my mind).
I was re-reading my old articles - there are so many things that I have already said and mentioned.
Strictly speaking a butterfly that cannot fly, dies (Never touch wings of a butterfly, it won't be able to fly!). It will die anyways. It is just another way of dying.
Speaking of names:
I picked a book in a library (where a stranger writes a novel of me) - Bernard Werber "Le Mystere des dieux" - "Mystery of Gods"), he is a French author, but the book is translated in Russian.
I opened it - and I stopped cold... As if we were writing it together.
"Dream.
I am dreaming.
I am dreaming that I am a man and I live like everybody else.
Wake up...
...
Wake up...
I leave this reality and resurface in another..."
There are so many things that feel like we were writing his book together.
There is one reference:
"Your name is Michel (in French pronounced Mee-shal". However,
Maja put you somewhere up in the clouds...
from the book
"Your name is "Mee-ha-el" meaining "Who" ("mee") - "ha" (same as) - "el" ("God")
in short "Who is like God".
Could you imagine pushing the word "God" every time your name is said? In English? (that what suggestive command is).
"Who is like God",
"Who is like God",
"Who is like God",
"Who is like God",
"Who is like God",
"Who is like God",
I am not going to torment you with the chapter about colours.
One detail only. Now "blue" is the most popular colour. For a long time, blue had a negative meaning. It was a symbol of death. It did not even had a specific name - it was an "in between" colour. It was a colour of dishonesty.
"Discovering Blues". I might end up buying this book in English. It is fascinating.
Joyous morning to you Svetlana. I am hoping the dance floor was yours for the evening and that your heart was set aflame by the music. I lead with that because I am going to tell you a tale. You have 'infected' the CD player on the computer at which I sit. I put a James Taylor CD in one morning a few days ago. Then in my conciousness I hear a Latin tune, a dance for sure. I tell my conciousness to go back to sleep, stop playing this cruel trick. I open the player, James Taylor stops singing but the Latin music continues. I open every button to see if I can find that music. I think you sent the music. I will never doubt your October magic, and now believe you can fly.
Mike:
You are most definitely the master of poetic prose.
Maybe it is how suggestive command works.
Never immediately, but your brain is finally primed for new things - music, too.
It takes time to start hearing...
not listening, hearing...
not looking, seeing...
The magic is YOU.
Svetlana, what a charming comment. This just floored me.
Ko and for love you too lol
Thank you, kyara fleming, for your comment.
Interesting, inspiring, thought-provoking, to be pondered...
Excellent poem!
According to this I, too, must be blue. And now I am confused. You said I am orange and I could not disagree. Though I felt/feel red. Ohhhh, let me just be a rainbow :)
Like you :)
You have all the colors of the rainbow and even more in you.
I've voted this hub up and awesome :)
Martie - I am not a psychologist, not a master of colouring either...
Blue is my dominant colour - for "people/people personality - helpers, mentors, teachers...",
my second, however, is GREEN - the Why colour - scientists and such...
Orange is my last - but the truth is that if you work on certain traits - they can be improved - my problem was always - lack of action. Too much thinking, too little acting.
Whether it is the effect of socialization and education, whether it is my intrinsic drawback...
well, it does not matter at all
You are certainly Blue, too - because you stay on the front line for me - no matter what - you do help me and you offer your help unconditionally
I think you are more Orange than me and that is beautiful
And Red suits you in every aspect of it.
The rainbow does not appeal to me - I love to pick a colour and savour it one at a time not killing one mood over the other...
Thank you, Martie, for reading. I wrote it long time ago...
Now, I am brainwashing myself into - "Stop writing" and follow your advice
spend my energy productively on my FIRST priorities.
If I have five minutes of vertical existence - it must go into what is MOST important. Then collapse,
then again... maybe this is the only way out.
Love you, love you, love you
you are Godsend
Lucky Cats Level 7 Commenter 16 months ago
Amazingly beautiful hub, kallini2010, You are a wonderful writer with much insight and feeling. I love the Blue poem. I love Whitman and that you took a somewhat questionable experience and turned it into a very good, self searching, "vision quest," and you are sharing this with your readers. Really a good/great! hub! Very much enjoyed! Thank you!