Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Nothing More Beautiful...

I've been scolded for being a man...




What does that mean? Being a man?



Well I assume its our (my) inability to keep our eyes to themselves...I lose myself...

















Hmmm...I wonder why...






















Perhaps its because of all the images in the world, of all the majesties afforded the eyes by nature, none is more beautiful than that of woman...



You are an art form...living and breathing...it is your raw power






















You set us afire with out flame...




















You drown us with out water...

























You steal the air in a wind storm...























We float in your presence despite gravity...

























You warm us in the cold...and yet make us break out in a cold sweat in the heat of the sun...






You are an enigma...and we are your slaves...


Saturday, October 20, 2007

The longest books I have ever red: "The Teachings of Don Juan" - the magic of a blameless warrior

I've started my adventure with C. Castaneda's university of magic, maybe 5, maybe 10 years ago? Of course the first sparks of interest were fanned with the wave of general consumption of drugs, which at that times, (I think it was rather 10 years ago), was a very popular pastime. The need for some philosophical excuse, and maybe a universal necessity, maybe even hunger of knowledge have pushed me and some of my friends to study literature connected with drug consumption. There was "Cinnamon Shops" by Bruno Schultz, "Narcotics; Unwashed Souls" by S.I. Witkiewicz and, among others, we have discovered the magical world of Carlos Castaneda, the disciple of Yaqui Master Sorcerer (Nagual) and a Blameless Warior - Don Juan Matus. Unfortunately I couldn't find any pictures of Don Juan, but those two can give you an approach, of how he looked like:
















The stories of encounters of Castaneda with his "master", (so called only, because, as Don Juan says, the Warrior can't be a Master, and no Warrior has a Master), are embedded in the picturesque scenery of Mexican Sierra, and abound in disarming sense of humour. At first we were deeply impressed with the Castanedas adventures with The Pipe and Mr. Mescalito, but soon it became visible that it is something more than just "high". Indeed, I wouldn't recommend those books, (because it is a whole series of books), to junkies, because they are all about magic. And magic could be dangerous. Even one's life could be in danger if, as Don Juan says, his or hers Tonal is self-destructing and you indulge too much... The Nagual is not at all a funny guy. It is really scary.

And so it was, that to understand the principles of the Magic of Don Juan, one has to grow up to it. And it could take years, but it is worth more than anything else in this life, to discover the Separate Reality. And what started here



is really an adventure which has no ending... Although some people say that Teachings of Don Juan is an invention of Castaneda. I have read somewhere, that he was deprived his Ph. D. in anthropology, and have heard an opinion of a Polish Professor, who met Castaneda personally, that he copied his system from Tybetian Buddhism. Was she right? Did Castaneda invent everything? Maybe... But he didn't invent Magic, and he wasn't the only one to follow the blameless path of a Warrior. Invented or not Don Juan and Don Genaro are always characters which you would miss... My adventure with the Knowledge of Don Juan has just started, and I'm always at the beginning, no matter if it's 10 years ago, 5 years ago, or today...

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Fall In Albuquerque

Fall in Albuquerque...



Chilli roasting...














Wolves howling...














Coyotes crying...












Mist on the Sandias...



















Balloons...




























Beer Fests and Halloween...













Harvest and the Full moon...


















My Home...

Saturday, October 13, 2007

SEASONS IN MUSIC



Surf the SEASONS IN MUSIC Website and enjoy this week's Artist of the Week - PEARL JAM !

Magnetism...

It was a late night conversation…
I knew her, she knew me…
But we didn't know each other the way we wanted to,
The way we needed to.

We talked and laughed…
Our words turned to each other…

“Come over?” she asked…
I was nearly overcome by the wave of nervous excitement…

In her living room we stood…
Looking at each other…into each other.
Shadows ran across the room from the moonlight…it was the only light between us.

I moved to her, and she to me…
I can still feel her lips…
Her body felt good against mine…

We parted…
But she left a whisper on my lips…
And music in my soul…

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

WORLD UNITED BLOGGERS





This wonderful project, which unites bloggers from all over the world, is a spark of hope for peace and understanding between people of different ethnic provenience and cultures. Visit it yourself!

Thursday, October 04, 2007

Art in the Strangest Places

So I'm looking at a map; talking to the dots. The dots in this instance represent crimes and I must use the mundane and mechanical to determine what the dots are telling me...

Superficially, they tell me dates, times, locations, and what crime has been committed. But it cannot tell me the next set of events, nor can it tell me how it felt to be victim or criminal. It does not tell me motivation...

I start by using statistics, then GIS mapping systems; I might even throw in an algebra or calculus equation to be sure...

But the art comes by building a picture through imagination. I determine the set of motives based on method of operation (MO), I then use this information to determine what kind of person I am dealing with. Breaking and entering, no evidence, little damage, identified target items for theft with little effort searching...I'd say an experienced burglar, probably male, comes from the dominant ethnicity of the neighborhood if their were no witnesses and it was day time, maybe a risk taker...probably 29-35, been arrested before for various crimes, and will steer from violence unless cornered.

The above comes from knowing the creature...experience. There are other things; I've learned to treat repetitive predators like spiders. I will always tell a detective to ask himself: "what kind of spider is he?" If he has a hunting ground that victims stray into then he's a "webber" and he is comfortable operating in the area because he frequents the area or lives there...he even knows the residents and business persons who live around there. If he has no preferred ground then he's nomadic and hunts wherever he can find prey; say like a wolf spider or the like.

Then there's tracking criminal organizations like cartels, gangs, and terrorists. Developing alternative futures to determine the next set of actions your target may take is something you learn over time. You get better as you go along and can get a "feeling" rather than hard data to support your conclusions. Its difficult to get others to believe in your intelligence product when they know that half of it is done on a hunch; but once they know that your are operating on well developed instinct they learn to respect your artistic ability.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

feed your head


In visual perception a color is almost never seen as it really is - as it physically is. This fact makes color the most relative medium in art.
Josef Albers

just wanted to share this. input welcome.

thanks
-c.


image found here:

http://web.mit.edu/deansgallery/albers/Albers.JPG

Saturday, September 08, 2007

The longest books I have ever red: "Wole Soyinka's Collected Plays" - The rarity of an exotic genious.

How many of you know this gentleman?



Mr. Wole Soyinka. Would it be surprising, to call him the most largely known African in the world? Undoubtedly - the most largely known African writer in the world, and one of the few African Nobel Prize Winners (1986 Nobel Prize Winner in Literature).

My first encounter with the creation of Wole Soyinka was on the first year of my studies on Warsaw University's Instutute of African Languages and Cultures. We thought (along with a female-friend called Milka), that we might persuade colleagues to set up a theatrical circle, and have fun showing some African drama, and as we needed a play, I begun to translate "Swamp Dwellers" into Polish.

It didn't come out anyway but, at least, I started to take interest in Soyinka. I returned to the plays on the third year. I borrowed Collected Plays 1 and 2 and begun to read them:















Surprisingly, (as always, surprisingly), Wole Soyinka was not at all popular at our faculty. Some scholars even mentioned something about the "soyinka schizofrenia". Nobody would read 'em, nobody would wright about 'em. Indeed, a sort of "schizofrenia", if you consider, that Soyinka was the best you could ever get at our faculty... Well... Anyway I must say the reading was not too easy.

The first few plays of the "Collected Plays 1" were difficult, but amazingly beautiful and inspiring. But then it came "The Road". And I got totally stuck. You know why? Because of the language... Wetin be dat? Dat be pigin man... Na wetin be pigin? Pigin be wey dey african tok! Almighty! Dat be dificult tink.

It took me almost two years of daily work to translate those pidgin phrases from "The Road" and other Soyinka plays partially written in pidgin - into English, and make a sense of it, so I could finally understand its content. I finally graduated on that issue, making a dissertation about "Pidgin English in the literary output of Wole Soyinka".

If you will ever face similar problems with Soyinka, now there is a solution. Visit:

Pidgin English in Plays of Wole Soyinka

It is all there, already translated, so you could save some precious time.

And if you are interested in Wole Soyinka, you can visit:

Wole Soyinka. All You Want to Know About.

An obvious work of my love for books.

Cheers,
Raphael G.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

The longest books I have ever red: "The Holy Bible".

Probably, I should not ever write any article about this book, since I fell that my reading of it is not sufficient. But how to write a series like this, and not to mention:


What is more, if you live in a country where more than 95% of the citizens are roman-catholics, you are being thought religion since the primary school, and as a kid, you go with Mom to the church every Sunday, it is very easy to get confused about The Bible and its contents.

The Bible is considered by many people all around the world to be the only book worth reading, and indeed many people still treat it like that. I might agree with that, but... I'm The Reader. I read everything... in a way, of course. As far as I consider it interesting.

Interestingly, returning to The Bible, among those 95% catholics in Poland (or more, like some sources state), you wouldn't find as many passionated Bible reader's as you might have expected. People tend to base their knowledge of The Word on: religion classes (thought since the youngest years - most of all in form of stories about events from Old Testament) and from the church (in form of "The Reading" - fragments of the Bible red by the priest during the mass). And that might be confusing. You might find out, that most people do believe in something, and they can what they believe in, and even name the most important people involved, like:


and the others, and they know their stories as well, but they lack the understanding of the details. Even the intellectuals. Not naming the young generation, who very often choose the comfortable mask of secular humanism, or even worse... Of course, it has its negative influence on Polish tradition, and there are some sings of its degeneration... But this is not the case.

Besides, I'm not better. But I believe. And I know, that Believing in God is an important element of Happiness. And I got the passion for books. Yet, reading The Bible is always for me an amazing adventure. And it is not easy to evaluate, what is exactly the influence of reading The Bible on my life. But maybe it is always like that with The Bible? And, yet again, maybe all the books all over the world are The One? And once you read the one, you read them all? Or maybe, all the books are just The Book in it's numerous permutations? After all, isn't "biblia" the Hebrew word for the book? Never mind. I have probably gone to far fantasizing, but what is the real truth? And where you can find it? Well, there is no doubt, that The Bible is the right place to search for it.

The difficult part of reading The Bible is not in what it is, or not, for you or other people, but in that it is indeed an ancient, historic treaty, full of difficult, and often misinterpreted metaphors. I like to say sometimes, as a self-invented metaphor, that "it is not enough to buy a book, you have to read it too". In the case of The Bible you could say it the other way: "it is not enough to read The Bible, you have to 'buy it' too..."

Monday, August 20, 2007

What is a Man?

What is a man?
I have searched long and hard for this answer,
my travels have taken me far...

I asked the great mountain,
but the mountain was quiet and strong...

I asked the trees,
but the trees could not answer
for they were fighting the storm.

I asked the stones,
but the stones could not speak
for they were too busy resisting presure from above and below.

I asked the sun, master and ruler of the sky,
but the sun could not speak
for he had too much responsibility...

I arrived home defeated to the smiling face of daughter,
"What is a man?" I did not expect my answer...

In the gentle voice that only a child can possess she said "my daddy"

I wept...

Friday, July 27, 2007

The longest books I have ever red: "Yoga Dipika" - The light that shines on and on.

Everybody reads books. That is true. But there is something about them, a secret, which doesn't reveal to everyone. Most people think, that once you buy a book, start a book, you got to finish it, and that one is over. You start another one. But what if a book has more to read, that you can manage in a year, ten years, or more? Exists a whole species of tricky books, which, for some reason, take hours of your precious time, day after day, year after year. BEWARE!!! I will share with you some of those which I, personally, consider the most dangerous.

The very first one - the magical converter of lifetimes - I wanted to present to you, is "The Light on Yoga" by B.K.S. Iyengar. Probably the most famous yoga text book in the world.



My first encounter with that book was about eight years ago. My yoga master (guru) Marcin Hawryszko presented the book to me, since I was his best pupil, and he came to persuade me, to take off his shoulders some of the responsibility for handling some classes. I looked inside the book - what I've seen got struck me completely amazed and enchanted:




























And so I thought: "Gosh! I wanna do like that guy!" Then like a spell - be extremely careful, the magic was very strong - I was displaced to a completely different land, and my life have changed for good. I begun to read the book. But it didn't contain to much of a stories, most of all some decent pictures and instructions. Once I've started to read the pictures of practices (asanas) and instructions how to do them - I have had to change almost all of my life habits to adjust to them. Still, after almost eight years of daily reading, day by day, few hours a day I came to reach, more or less, the middle of the book. And the further you get, the more difficult starts to be the reading. But I do learn form the tortoise... And I slowly advance. My ambition to read it all has got to be fed completely - before I die... Amen.

Friday, June 29, 2007

Her

So I'm sitting at the airport waiting for my flight.
I have my headphones on...
then she comes and sits across from me...

I'm sitting right across from you,
you'd slap my face if you only knew,
but you don't know I make advances,
through the rims of my dark sun glasses...

I don't know anything about ladies shoes,
I only know that they accentuate your skin tone...

You can't see my eyes dear,
that's why you don't even care,
that I'm scoping out your masses,
through the rims of my dark sun glasses...

I turn my head slightly to appear as if I'm staring far off...
Your legs are beautiful and shapely,
and as you cross your legs,
you let one shoe slide off your foot a bit...
I am no longer myself...

You can't tell I look at you,
because my eyes don't show through,
looking hard and making passes...
through the rims...
of my dark sun glasses...

I move up over your body,
admiring your curves and features...
Your lips are maddeningly beautiful,
I am lost...

On the downtown streets on Saturday,
at the theaters after matinee,
I check out all the lovely lasses,
through the rims of my dark sun glasses...

As you get up to leave,
your presence stays...

It is a ghost,
and it torments me...

Saturday, June 16, 2007

For My Father

It is difficult to express the significance of your presence in my life...

For years I feared you, but it kept me in line

For years I hated you, but I was immature

For years I avoided you, but I was avoiding myself

Then, one magical day, I delivered a life into my world...

And I was unprepared for the power she had over me

And for years I have run to you for knowledge and comfort

For years I have turned to you for support, the ever steadfast champion of my causes...even when the world thinks I'm wrong

And now as an adult I can look at you as a man, my father, and say thank you for remaining firm when I needed it, gentle when I didn't understand, and a believer when I could not believe in myself.

You are, as you always have been, my gravitational center,

And a mark for me as a father, and a man...

Sunday, June 03, 2007

Into the Abyss

I have known him all my life, and as friends go he has been my best.

As boys we talked and laughed,

And ran under the eyes of the endless sun.

But he has been poisoned against me.

Not by words, not by deed, but by a vile liquid that turns man to beast.

I do not recognize him,

I do not know him.

He descends into the darkness where only despair and misery awaits.

He wants me to follow...

I am resolved, no matter what this mass of flesh says to me, he is not my friend.

My friends was murdered and replaced by this shadow.

I must now turn my back,

And walk away...

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Majestic, Gentle Sands...

I found myself far removed from my desert home.
Many miles away an unfamiliar environmental aroma engulfed me.
I could no longer see the sky.
I could no longer bathe in the sun.
I could no longer hear the stars so they could whisper me to sleep.
But there was the sand…
The edge of the world my ancestors would have called it…
To me it felt like standing on the edge of forever.
The great ocean, powerful and merciless, was a paradox,
For her song was a gentle ebb and flow that lulled me to sleep…
In my dreams I stood in the water.
I did not know where I was,
But a presence called to me…
It was my uncle, now dead, who beckoned me back to the sands to sit and talk…
We laughed.
We talked.
We walked together as friends along the sand…
He then turned to me and told me to send his love to the family…
And to my sadness he continued to walk where I could not follow.
I awoke to the sun, unusually bright for this land…
His final gift to me, it made me long for my home,
And the majestic, gentle sands and the endless sun.

Monday, April 23, 2007

Or Check Out
Sun Up Till Sun Down

I hope everyone is doing well!

Sunday, April 01, 2007

Saludos Fitness Club...

Pictures of me and my friends from Rickard Fitness Club, from our latest photo session...









Fore more pictures and movies from Rickard, visit: www.rickardfitness.blogspot.com

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Among the Ashes

In the pyre I send my friend. His time has come...

But I will find him among the ashes...

His spirit will flow to the wind...

His words will whisper in my dreams...

His touch will find me in the rain...

His smile will come with the morning sun...

But he will be among the ashes...

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...

A part of him I will keep forever...

Before it I will kneel...

Before it I will pray...

Before it I will laugh...

Before it I will cry...

For he is among the ashes...

Forever committed beyond this world...

Where ashes are reborn to whole anew...

Monday, February 19, 2007

Metamorphosis

I am no longer in control...

There she is...the last time I saw her I drew my hand across the small of her back that was exposed by her shirt...she rose up on her toes slightly at my touch and quietly sighed...

My calm demeanor betrays the raging fire beneath the surface...

I debate with myself but can a man convince a hurricane to be calm and steady? No, he cannot; and neither can I quiet the storm within me...it has a will of its own.

They say that love is the strongest emotion; but love will only purify you for the next life...

Equally, hate will poison you for the same...

Happiness brings stability and calm...

Sadness...melancholy, depression, and non action...

But lust...

From across great oceans and across deathly terrain men have ventured...

Armies have met on the field of battle and lay ruin to each other...

Great nations have shook and fallen by its hand...

The power of lust is like no other in this life...on this world.


My mind is no longer my own...my will enslaved...

She is gravitational, I feel myself falling to her...I do not wish to slow my decent.

Beast I am, Beast I become

I will take her...I will feel a pulse of terrifyingly powerful pleasure that will start at the point of contact and wrap around me through my skin from my head and toes, while simultaneously moving through me to the very center of my psyche...It is a feeling I know well...It is a pleasure so powerful that it shatters my consciousness and strips away my humanity and reason with an electricity that leaves me a savage...primordial.

I will forget who I am...only where I'm at...I will drive myself and her until we are utterly spent...only then will I return to myself...the man slowly returning, as if from a dream...or like the fog giving way to power of the sun...satisfied, the beast will sleep...

Monday, February 05, 2007

Night Sweats...

It was truly forbidden...

I didn't mean too but I've watched her for so long...my love, happily elsewhere...was quietly and slowly put to sleep...it was a transformation.

Over time my guilt faded. She was in our group of friends...I tried not to look at her, but her skin was taunting me...and she knew it.

...Her nails dug into my scalp as she pulled me close to her...then on top of her...I felt like Rabbit getting pounced by Tigger...except I didn't complain.

She always dressed provocatively...and as I looked longer and longer...her clothes became more and more revealing.

Her body was hard. She always made a point to hug me, and slowly draw her hands across my back as she pulled away. I would then spend the rest of my night trying to deescalate...as if I had chased a suspect down...it was truly thrilling...

We would barely let each other up for air...our embrace was so tight...in a single move she took off my shirt and then hers...

We finally got to a point where she would stare back...and smile.

Her hands were all over me now...no more clothes.

Then one day, she mouthed the words..."I want you"...

We met at her house shortly after that...I walked to her...she smiled and walked back. She fell back on the couch and pulled me with her...

I was lost...her body was incredible...her hands and mouth all over me...our sweat causing our bodies to glide over each other...

Then...Ecstasy...

I woke up...I didn't know where I was. I looked over and next to me lay reality...sweat dripping down my face...

I got up and went outside to watch the moon...I could no longer sleep...

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Looking for Inspiration

As many know, the art of writing is like any art...it requires inspiration. As I sit I can feel an emptiness fill my brain...it begins to choke me and I can hardly breath.

I stare at the page before me. It stares back..."Well?" it asks...I do not have an answer.

Finally, in frustration, the page jumps out from the computer and sits on my desk and lights a cigarette.

Page: "Listen buddy, I don't have all day. Write something or turn me off."

Me: "What do you care? Its not like you're going somewhere or have something to do. Just sit and wait and it'll come to me."

Page: "Oh, so I'm just some mindless forum for you to spout that psycho-crime babble to? Do you have any idea how many people actually write on a daily basis? A whole lot. And, unlike you, they have talent."

Me: "You don't think I have talent?"

Page: "Sure. If you call giving people nightmares talent, then yea, you've got it."

Me: "I write on other things besides crime! You can't just say my work is exclusively creepy..."

Page: "Yea...sex. That's what everyone wants to know about you..."

Me: "But I know those things well...I've gotten some good responses from people."

Page: "They're probably afraid of you ."

Me: "You're an asshole."

Page: "I'm going now. I'm going to find someone with real talent. Not some freak who sits in the dark thinking about sex and violence all day long...(laughing)...creep."

The page put his cigarette out on my hand and jumped back into the screen, but not before throwing me a finger...