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■ A 8th Bienal do Douro sem limites ![]()
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2005-05-14 | [Este texto deve ser lido em english] | Submetido por x Elan that lifts me above the clouds into pure space, timeless, yea eternal Breath transmuted into words Transmuted back to breath in one hundred two hundred years nearly Immortal, Sappho's 26 centuries of cadenced breathing -- beyond time, clocks, empires, bodies, cars, chariots, rocket ships skyscrapers, Nation empires brass walls, polished marble, Inca Artwork of the mind -- but where's it come from? Inspiration? The muses drawing breath for you? God? Nah, don't believe it, you'll get entangled in Heaven or Hell -- Guilt power, that makes the heart beat wake all night flooding mind with space, echoing through future cities, Megalopolis or Cretan village, Zeus' birth cave Lassithi Plains -- Otsego County farmhouse, Kansas front porch? Buddha's a help, promises ordinary mind no nirvana -- coffee, alcohol, cocaine, mushrooms, marijuana, laughing gas? Nope, too heavy for this lightness lifts the brain into blue sky at May dawn when birds start singing on East 12th street -- Where does it come from, where does it go forever?
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