Πέμπτη 28 Φεβρουαρίου 2013

I discovered this cell as a child


Sopor Æternus & the Ensemble of Shadows - ''The Goat''

There is an old goat
Knocking at my window-pane,
Standing upright in a frock-coat,
Somewhat earthcoloured and plain.

He is staring down at me
And the place where i have chosen to hide
In my futile attempt to dissolve... -
I discovered this cell as a child.

There is a medicine-case, he calls "being",
Which the goat carries under his arm.
He says, if i only allow him to enter
I shall never come to any harm.

He is giving quite an importance
To his frightening and urgent concern,
He says: "i have come to be your transformer... -
I'm your doctor, half goat and half man."

He says that this house will soon crumble
And that i am going to suffer as it falls.
He says: "let me in now and i'll be your saviour... -
I'm your healer with hooves and horns!"

η αίσθηση της ηθικής

 'Mην προσβάλλεις τα ζώα χρησιμοποιόντας απερίσκεπτα κάποιες λέξεις. Δεν τους αξίζει τέτοια αντιμετώπιση. Αλλά έτσι είναι η ράτσα σας. Συνεχώς ψεύδεστε κι επικαλείστε αρετές που δεν έχετε και που πάντα αρνείστε οτι τις έχουν τα ζώα. Κανένα ζώο δε φέρεται σκληρά. Αυτό είναι μονοπώλειο εκείνων που έχουν την αίσθηση της ηθικής. 'Οταν κάποιο ζώο προκαλέσει πόνο, το κάνει αθώα, δεν είναι κακό, γιατί για το ζώο δεν υπάρχει καλό και κακό. Ούτε προκαλέι πόνο μόνο και μόνο για να ευχαριστηθεί. Αυτό το κάνει μόνο ο άνθρωπος, εμπνευσμένος από τη μπάσταρδη την αίσθηση της ηθικής που τον βοηθά να ξεχωρίσει το καλό από το κακό και ελεύθερα να επιλέξει. Τι κερδίζει λοιπόν από αυτό; Πάντα κάνει την επιλογή του και εννιά στις δέκα φορές διαλέγει το κακό.'

Mark Twain '' Ο μυστηριώδης ξένος''

Κυριακή 24 Φεβρουαρίου 2013

our choices

Neil Gaiman 'The Sandman - Season of Mists'

''We do what we must, Lucien.
Sometimes we can choose the path we follow.
Sometimes our choices are made for us.
And sometimes we have no choice at all''.

Τρίτη 19 Φεβρουαρίου 2013

until the world stopped turning

 
''A long time ago, in the underground realm, where there are no lies or pain, there lived a Princess who dreamed of the human world. She dreamed of blue skies, soft breeze, and sunshine. One day, eluding her keepers, the Princess escaped. Once outside, the brightness blinded her and erased every trace of the past from her memory. She forgot who she was and where she came from. Her body suffered cold, sickness, and pain. Eventually, she died. However, her father, the King, always knew that the Princess’ soul would return, perhaps in another body, in another place, at another time. And he would wait for her, until he drew his last breath, until the world stopped turning… ''
Pan’s Labyrinth.

Σάββατο 2 Φεβρουαρίου 2013

our dreams are where the poets go


να ειναι καλα ο κουνελος που μου το θυμησε στην εκπομπαρα του!

We are the Dark Romantics
The Dark Romantics in our candle's glow
We are the Dark Romantics
and our dreams are where the poets go.

The photograph child
holds her head in shame
While the Crystal Wilde
fears a statue with no name

The velvet touch
of the warmest mystery
Is where our kind
welcomes serenity

We are the Dark Romantics
The Dark Romantics in our candle's glow
We are the Dark Romantics
and our dreams are where the poets go.

Your eyes are shut
to the world that we hold dear
You mock the way we paint ourselves
You mock our Theatre tears

We bow in love
I know the Angels smile
Drinking on emotion
Lighting altar fires

We are the Dark Romantics
The Dark Romantics in our candle's glow
We are the Dark Romantics
and our dreams are where the poets go.

Oh, we will be
Passionate, delicate
Oh we can see
all that God has given
It's surreal

The photograph child
holds her head in shame
While the Crystal Wilde
fears a statue with no name

Oh, we are the Dark Romantics
The Dark Romantics in our candle's glow
We are the Dark Romantics
and our dreams are where the poets go.

Oh, we will be
Passionate, delicate
Oh, we can see
all that God has given
It's surreal

We are the Dark Romantics
The Dark Romantics in our candle's glow
We are the Dark Romantics
and our dreams are where the poets go.

The dark romantics
Step away, oh
Step away from me
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