lyrics. for you to song it, babe.

She tells me she´s in love. says she´s in deep absolute fucking love. and it´s complicated.
oh dear sweet heart, sugar babe, lay lay hun, lay your head hun.
And I tell her I´d been wanting to write love, and to think love. think. such an interesting verb to do love. like some kind of violation, I´d strip it down from it´s masked feelings, and think it. plainly. sexualy, as a ghost.
I tell you, sweet pea, love is almost understandable from two miles below.
I tell you, babe, you listen, eh?
Love be almost plausible, from two miles below.

I mean icecream here out from that park, and I look me this view of clifs and clydes. I find myself at the distance of your eyes. And I see it green, you be sixteen, I am a mean mean ol gal with her spyglass and her vail.
Nah, love, chant your hours away, pray t´yar gods you may, they may come to you at night to kiss your berry lips. I, dear?
I sit over here, I see it all, from two miles below.

And I tell ya, babe, maybe it just be simplest, from two miles below.

Out this park avenue, it´s sunny day, I see them kids, them run them play.
All the little girls and boys, and all o their little toys, seem they all be stil waitin,
just waitin on you.

Love is this, that I think right now, love is this quiet sound of Knowhow,
and the lack of object, and the choke of subject,
and I flow em out, til ya see the bubbles from my pipe-organ.
From outside o´love,my darlin, from inside of every drop of it,
I think love, my darlin, I remember and I build, my darlin,
all the love you live, my darlin,
for my leaves of summer.
for my clay-made mate.

From two miles downside, from two-miles offroad,
I hitchike my away across and over
those no-lonely trays of smiley faces on park avenue

I be tellin you the truth my love.
Love is simple thought, my love. I be honest as god, I be honest to you
as you to your love:
I miss the loss of this road ahead, and I remember the swirle of life over your head. And it´s all so clear, darlin,
from two miles below.

Last night I asked him,
said honey please you do me this one favor:
I could see you walk around town with all kinds of maidens
I don´t mind the many Louises dresses in white,
I don´t mind them feelin you up real nice
I see she´s pretty sweet, that burnet Louise,
I´d treat her real nice, introduce myself, offer her a cup o´tea
hope she´s treatin you right, like once you treated me
glad she be the one by your side when it´s winter, babe
glad she´s puttin up those lights as well as me,
glad she makes you happy, babe, glad she can see.
Ain´t no irony in my friendly gaze towards her, love
aint no sarcasm when I say, love, she be doin you some good,
that sweet Louise.
But I tell you, babe,
Just don´t show up my town with that other maid,babe
Don´t stroll down my town with Johana, babe
Be it Louise, babe, she be sweet and I don´t mind.
Just don´t bring me Johana in your arms, she don´t be kind.
Don´t you dare, babe, tear me up, babe
and give her none o your fingers, mine all to her.
It aint me, or all the world.
It just be this confusing feeling, babe.

Love be this confusing thing, I told her...
Sometimes it just stings your eyes as if it was still there
sometimes there aint no figuring out our own affairs.
I just ask him: do me this favor, babe
don´t you go givin your smile
To Johana´s likes, babe.
that be all, babe, that be all.

And she told me she´s in love. Darlin, dear me. I can think of what you feel, and I love the deep indeed of all this that has gone, and I love me what comes. I can tell you the view of a few clues from up here, babe. The smile on my face from lovin no place from up here babe. The want of a lifetime, the heart of a gaze, from up here babe,
from two miles up.

unfinished

There are winters that last years,
There are nights that last for months
There are places in the world where the dark skies are filled with colorfull lights from a chilling reality,
that people of the summer lands could only call fantasy.
Rules do not aply.
Repetition does not indicate prediction,
and that harsh knowledge is pushed away by rules,
that do not aply.

There are flowers that grow under feet of snow.
As I watched it fall, from the window of a temporary home, summer would change into winter in hours of sleep. Because rules do not aply.
As I fled summer into winter, rules of continuous time, of cicles, rules of passages and phases, melted into ice.

religious thought

A "new" (nothing is new) view on Creation:

In his Unbearable Lightness of Being, Kundera explains that while humans come from other humans, characters are created from an image. A new belief starts to take over me, inevitable, as I embrace and accept more and more my love for those that have created, before me, the image and the words of me. While human bodies may very well come from the combination of other two human bodies... (And I thank my mother and father for their great love to each other, lasting however long it lasted)
All of the rest of a human existence cannot, to me, be reduced anymore to the studies of pshycology. While the human body is created of the human body, so many other parts of the self are, I now believe, created from pieces of the world, that may or may not have been accessed by those called our parents. Works of art, acts of love, random life moments, experiences lived and manufactured by other beings, in moments past may have the beauty and strenghth to create a fragment of someone to come. Fragments of an existence that excedes that specific moment and shines into some other form of being, in whatever random time or space.

Maybe we can divide the idea of epiphany into two: the epiphany of creation, and the epiphany of reception. (Dealing here with the art-related idea of epiphany, since I do not yet comprehend greater meanings). The epiphany of creation is the moment in which the brief experience of the divine is translated into a creation of art: words to a poem or prose, a perfect shot for a photographer, the precise brushstroke or line, a sequence of movements... That one "inspiration" moment that makes creation of something REAL possible. In art, epiphany is possible not only in a creative moment, but also as a receptive epiphany: when the work of some other inspired soul touches you so deeply and imediately that you feel you have seen in it... truth. It is not mere "relating" rationaly to the work of art, it is not subtle "identifying" something of yours, and of the world in it. It is the great moment when you experience that particular work as it is, as it may be, as a whole. Sometimes it feels as a fast glimpse into a mirror. Not an ilusive inverted mirror, but a real mirror. What I believe now is that the moment of receptive epiphany is IN FACT a glimpse into one´s creation. One sees in that particular artistical fragment, a detail in one´s creation. Sometimes I am absolutely certain, when reading very specific words put together by Ana C, or Virginia, or lately Patti, that some parts of my existence have been created by precisely those words.

Maybe the receptive epiphany is not a vision of god, but a vision of our partial creator: that exact moment without which our existence, as it is, would not be possible. A glance at one´s self. I look at a specific Paul Klee painting, and I am sure for a fragment of a second, to have seen myself in it´s most crude form; to have seen a beam of light responsible for one of the cells of my existence, of my soul, of my experience.

I have come to believe that parts of my life and experience, personality and coincidences, reactions and loves have been created by fragments of someone´s life, in it´s artistical form.

Just to have it registered, a self-memo, this was the phrase that brought one spcific part of me to life:

"I learned from him that often contradiction is the clearest way to truth"

by miss Patti Smith, to whom I would, if I could, dedicate entirely this new belief.