Pernicious Pathopysiology

[Now I will not know more than I thought it
A. If
B. until the last has not forgiven me. Why
C. pretending that nothing was wrong. Q. What part
had in the silence of E.
F. What do you expect, always expecting something. Why
G. did pretend, although he knew well what he had to hide
H. What I would like to add

Does the fact that I was there, standing near,
had any meaning for J.
for K. and the remaining alphabet. ]

ABC - Wislawa Szymborska

Iritis And What Can I Do Sabout It

Maybe before I die I'll learn to embrace who I love.
to give kisses.
to melt.
playing.
Maybe before I die I'll learn that it is better to be hated for what you are, so that it runs the risk of being hated anyway.
Maybe I'll learn to be less accommodating, not to seem detached.
to be as light as a butterfly, let go, to reveal the emotions, to be joyful.
Maybe I'll learn to say what I think without fear of being judged, even if it is nonsense, nonsense that fills the silence, color life. Maybe I'll learn
also not limited to, gifts not only in thought, every time petrified with fear that does not like them. To have thoughts, gestures, glances, smiles. To make unexpected telephone calls.
Maybe before I die I will learn to be comfortable, not to restrain, not to think of having to be perfect to do something and not keep me out because they are not so perfect.

[.... The life of every man is a way to himself, trying to one route, the hint of a path. No man has ever been entirely his own, yet each tries to become one, who sullenly, some brightly, according to the possibilities. Each brings with it until the end, remnants of his birth, moods and eggshells of a primordial world. Some people never become men, frogs remain, lizards, ants. Some man is above and fish below, but each is a run of nature to man. We all have common origins, the mothers, we all come from the same abyss, but everyone, try and run the depth, tends to his own half. We can understand each other, but each can be interpreted only himself ....]

Can Gonorrhea Lay Dorment

written in the sand that the beautiful and charming
are only a breath, a shudder, that the magnificent

exciting lovable not last:
cloud, flower, soap bubble,
fireworks and laughter of a child's eyes
woman in the glass of a mirror, and many other
cool stuff, they just discovered
vanish,
only time a time
just a flavoring, a breath of wind, alas
know sadly.
And what lasts and remains fixed
there is so intimately dear
gemstone with cold fire,
gold bar heavy splendor
the stars themselves, innumerable
if they are distant and foreign, do not resemble
us - ephemeral-not reach the bottom of the soul.
No, the most profound and worthy of love nice
seems inclined to become corrupt,
is always close to dying, and the best thing
, musical notes, which at birth
already run away and spend,
are only murmurs, current leaks
surrounded breaths of subdued sadness
because even how long a heartbeat
are left to force, press,
note by note, just stop already
fades and goes away.

So our heart is with fraternal loyalty devoted


to everything runs and runs,
to life,
not what is firm and able to endure.
soon tire us what remains,
rocks of a world of stars and jewels, we
anime-bubble-of-soap-and wind-driven
ever change. Brides
a time, not duration,
that the dew on a rose petal, so
the beating of wings of a bird dying
a game of clouds, snow
twinkle, rainbow, butterfly
already flown away, so
the braying of a laugh,
that barely touches us in passing, can
mean feast or bring pain.
We love what we like, and

understand what the wind
wrote in the sand. By Hermann Hesse

Happiness, verses and thoughts