Welcome to Daedalus' Labyrinth

This blog has been created with the intention of posting online some ideas, points of view, histories, stories, tales and anything else that its creators want to write about.

The posts will be signed as from "Daedalus" or from "Uranus", therefore, differenciation will be easily noticed.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Flowers in the Dust

This article is destinated to the rare people, because only the rare people can understand what it means to be like a flower in the dust.
Have you never asked yourself the reason why to beare such a burden ? Such a cursed bless ? To be so is to search through dirt deserts of people in hope to find someone else from your kindred. Sometimes it would be better if you do not find them. Because once you've found someone like you, it's gets even harder to go on without this person. You might just want to sew your skin to your alike so you both will never be apart again, but fate is a trickster and likes to play with us, so fate sets us far away from each other by using dayly logistics and some other circunstances.
Why do we have to perform a garden ? Why can't we just stay among the dusty ones ? Why can't we be like them ? Thus why don't we want to be like them if we are so lonely the way we are ?
I have to rush though. Once we've bloomed, it's only a matter of time until we perish.
We, the black lambs, we cannot afford to stay for long among the ordinary ones, we feel bored, trapped and suffocated by their vast emptiness.
Our glances are always distant because we search restlessly for our kindred, for someone far from where we are, for someone who is able to understand us the way we ought to be understood. And when we find people who fit with us like they were parts of us, fate comes and takes them away from us, leaving us even more astray than we were before.
In our road towards completeness, we have to swallow and face all kinds of circunstances with our heads up. This is an
individual and lonely war ando only it's finest warriors can make it to achieve victory. And if you ever feel like if going on is pointless, remember that "we are not as alone as it seems".
Written by Daedalus

Friday, March 25, 2011

Outono / As Quatro Estações

Como já é de praxe, acabou o verão. O verão acaba todo ano desde que a Terra é a Terra, com a exceção da suposta era do gelo, quando fazia-se frio o dia inteiro.
O tempo anda naquelas de fazer Sol e chover alternando mais de cinco vezes por dia. O que é meio chato, pois eu saio preparado para o frio e, do nada, fica quente.
A propósito, o outono é minha estação favorita e por mais que dê desculpinhas e justificativas para que o outono o seja,  gosto mesmo é porque é a estação na qual nasci.
Há uma análise bonita das estações onde:
Primavera - Nascimento
Verão - Apogeu
Outono - Decadência
Inverno - Morte
Na mitologia grega, Demetra era a deusa da colheita e dos bons frutos. Ela sobrevoava dos baixos campos às altas acrópoles e por onde passava, as plantações prosperavam e as flores se abriam. Demetra, porém, cultivava uma flor de valor especial, uma filha chamada Perséfone. Perséfone era gentil como sua mãe, ousada como o verão e inocente como a primavera. Mãe e filha se davam muito bem e não tinham do que reclamar.
Tudo ia muito bem até a manhã na qual Perséfone passeava pelo pequeno vale entre dois morros até haver avistado uma pequenina lagoa. Ao chegar à lagoa e olhar-se em seu reflexo, Perséfone se deparou com um convite sedutor de um Deus que supostamente habitava naquela lagoa. Ao entrar na lagoa, Perséfone se deparara com um escadaria e a descoberta de que a lagoa era a fachada para algo maior e mais profundo. Perséfone desceu curiosa pelas escadarias longas de pedras escuras; as raízes pelas paredes se rarefaziam conforme Perséfone se ia mais ao fundo daquilo tudo.
Percebendo o funesto que era aquele lugar por onde andava, Perséfone cultivava instantaneamente flores das mais belas por onde passava. Criando assim uma decoração particular num lugar peculiar.
Subitamente, Perséfone se deparou com seu anfitrião. Hades, o Deus do mundo inferior, o Deus de Erebus.
Hades ficou perdidamente encantado por Perséfone e pela vida que ela carregava em si mesmo estando em pleno reino dos mortos. O senhor da morte, então, pediu que Perséfone fosse sua companhia ali embaixo para sempre. Perséfone rejeitara a proposta, pois deveria voltar à sua mãe no fim daquele dia como o faz todos os dias.
Hades, contrariado e insatisfeito com a decisão de Perséfone, fecha as saídas ao mundo dos vivos deixando Perséfone presa com ele no mundo inferior.
Conforme o tempo passava, Perséfone ficava cada vez mais triste, ela gostava de Hades, mas também amava sua mãe e não estaria completa sem ambas as companhias...
Enquanto isso, Demetra buscava insesantemente a sua filha pelo mundo, até chegar a conclusão de que precisaria do auxílio de algum outro Deus. Nesse meio tempo, a tristeza profunda que consumia Demetra afetava sua influência sobre a natureza. Sendo assim, todas as plantações secavam, as flores caiam, as árvores se retorciam e o próprio calor da Terra se dispersava num longo período de frio e seca.
Demetra recorreu então à ajuda do Deus mensageiro e intermediador chamado Hermes, Hermes sabia do paradeiro de Perséfone e levou Demetra à lagoa onde sua filha descera ao Erebus.
Ao chegarem à lagoa, Hermes e Demetra chamam por Hades e Perséfone para que aquela situação toda fosse esclarecida.
Hermes intermedia a situação e reconhece que Hades amava Perséfone tanto quanto Demetra a amava.
No final de uma longa discussão, Hades, Hermes, Demetra e Perséfone chegaram à seguinte conclusão : Durante um semestre, Perséfone ficaria com Hades no mundo inferior sendo sua esposa e companheira e durante o outro semestre, Perséfone retornaria à companhia de sua mãe na superfície.
Nos seis meses nos quais Perséfone está com Hades, Demetra sofre de terríveis saudades e a Grécia entra no outono e, no mais entristecer, no inverno. Mas antes que o frio da falta consumisse tudo, Perséfone voltava para passar seis meses com sua mãe. A alegria e a vida renasciam no coração de Demetra sempre que voltava a estar com sua querida filha. O reflexo disso na natureza era a primavera e o verão. Mas antes que o entusiasmo de Demetra aquecesse demais o mundo, esse se perdia quando sua filha voltava ao mundo inferior. Mantendo assim um certo equilíbrio sasonal e resignação ao fato de que Perséfone era dona da sua própria vida.
E essa é a história grega sobre o nascimento das quatro estações.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Spiral Lights in Norway



I've come across this video while surfing the web bored and I started thinking.
I've always believed in the existence of extraterrestrial lifeforms, I don't know why, since I was a child. I used to stare at the dark sky of night and watch the stars, so far away from me, so untouchable, but I knew that there was someone who could touch them, could look at them from the nearby. Sometimes nature is just to complex to be explained, and we humans try to understand everything, even what we can not understand, sometimes it'd be better if we just let go ourselves be lulled by the beauty of nature, without thinking, without worrying.
Believing is beautiful. Trusting is relieving.
Skepticism is the disease of sad people.


Written by: Uranus.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

The Super Moon

As most of you probably know by now, yesterday, the Moon was bigger for some scientific reason or phenomena which I do not remember.
I didn't realize the Moon was bigger though. I remember myself yesterday lying in my bed and watching the Moon outshining the stars upon the sky. The Moon was really big and beautiful and powerful.
Commonly, I feel more sentimental during the full Moon, but yesterday, as I was astonished and staring at the Moon, I felt a strange apathy. I don't know if I can really classify what I felt last night as apathy. I was just hypnotized by something far bigger and more powerful than me.
If I only knew that the Moon was bigger than normally yesterday, I'd have taken some pictures of it. But I did nothing. I just stared at the Moon for as long as I could, which means probably for five or six minutes at the most.
Ten minutes after getting up from my bed, I went to bed again, this time to sleep. And so I slept unaware of the beautiful phenomena I had just wtinessed.
It was a good night of sleep.

In celtic/greek mythology, the Moon was represented by three goddesses. Each one representing one of the Moon's stages also.
The three Goddesses were known as Hecate, Selene and Artemis (the names may change from one culture to another).
Hecate was the Goddess of the New Moon, the darkest night, of the witchcraft and arcanism. The followers of Hecate used to carry flaming torches through the woods during the night and their rituals. Blood, rain, honey and wine have a special meaning for those who adore the New Moon.
Hecate was followed by  two dogs and some snakes. The New Moon, however, was represernted by the Raven.
Selene was the gentle Goddess of the Full Moon. She was charming and a heart-healer. She meant the hope during the night. Night was aforementioned in the blog as a symbol of hopelessness. The Full Moon was represented by a Salmon
Artemis was the Half-Moon Goddess. She was also Apollo's twin sister. The Half-Moon Goddess represented vengeance, the individual justice. She also represented the land, the forests and it's inhabitants, therefore, she was represented by a Stag. The Half-Moon may be compared to an unfinished "business".
I don't even have to mention that I adore these classic marble-made statues. They have such an outstanding, cold and pure beauty that no other style has to compare.

Another curiosity is that the Moon, the Earth and the Sun were also used to represent the mind, the body and the soul. They cannot live out of their natural perfect harmony.
For us, humans, the Moon is one of the few eternal things we see during our brief lifes.
Some things less materialistics can last forever too, or at least, last more than ourselves.
- The Eternal Embrace


Written by Daedalus

Friday, March 18, 2011

Est-elle Saturne ?

Hier le soir, j'ai rêvé de Saturne. La succube avec les cheveux dorés comme les rayons du Soleil et les yeux bleu et mauvais comme la mer en furie. Je l'avais retrouvé dans un place étrange qui semblait une rue abandonnée et froide à minuit. Il n'y avait pas du vent, il n'y avait personne au tour de nous. Nous étions seuls. Je savais que Saturne était mauvaise, Saturne savait que j'en sauvais. Donc nous avons commencé à danser une valse où tous les deux disaient des mots pour blesser et guérir au même temps. Pourtant tous les mots semblaient vide là. Il y avait une attraction entre nous, la tel mélange entre la haine et l'amour. La danse s'était devenue en quelque type de scène où je la poursuivais tandis qu'elle de fuyait pleine de rage et de feu dans son coeur malheureux.
Je lui disais qu'elle m'aimait et qu'elle ne voulait pas le confesser. Mais j'en savais qu'elle ne m'aimait pas, pourtant la situation m'amusait beaucoup. Cependant que la situation se devenait plus intense, l'endroit se devenait plus proche à rien qu'auparavant il en déjà faisait.
Aussi comme aux autres rêves. Je ne me souviens pas de comme est-il commencé ni comme il s'est fini. Nous dansâmes durant des minutes nous adorant et nous détestant jusqu'au seconde oublié dont le rêve s'était effacé. C'était amusant.

Claire qu'il y a des sentiments qui ne meurent jamais, l'amour, la haine, ils continuent en vivant.
Les rêves qui ne sont pas oubliés, doivent être souvenus alors, c'est utile et intéressant qu'on en fasse. Pour avoir comme exemple la peur qui vous pouvez avoir vu dans le rêve, cette peur qui vous pouvez avoir
voulut combattre.
Revanche aux rêves ne vaut rien, car la personne celle qui vous essayez la revanche au rêve n'est qu'une
étrange illusion, une ombre de quelqu'un que vous pouvez avoir connu à la réalité.
Une personne chérie ou une personne détestée, elles ne doivent pas être recréées aux rêves, car ça peut
les blesser dans votre mémoire, en blessant votre mémoire aussi.

Écrit par / Written by Daedalus

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Feed my Void & Skadi, the Winter Huntress.

Today, I had my first swimming at a gymn nearby and it was totally exhaustive ! The pool's water was salty, I had never seen a salted pool water before and it just tasted so disgusting in my mouth. After going to the restroom and exorcising my breakfast through my mouth, I went back to the swimming part where I've got completly fatigued, I am worn out, haha. It feels good though, because the endorphine makes me feel ... well.
I was so dizzy and tired, but then, I just listened to this music and it made me feel so much better and I feel a bit regrown now.
Nothing will grow here
Icy fields - blackened sorrow
Legacy of a lost mind
Feed my void
What you're waiting for

I'm too late it is more than a game
The river reveals now I'm in between these lines

I cannot escape it seems sail on, my friend

All I ever feel is, all I ever see is
Walls they fall
When the march of the others begins
All I ever feel is, all I ever see is
Rise and fall
When the War of the Thrones shall begin

While I sit there in silence
Come and talk to me
I can't free my mind
It is all I'm begging for

While I sit there in silence

Will it ever end?
Will I find what I'm longing for?
Will I ever walk out of shadows so grey?
I'm condemned, I am hallowed
Icy fields they won't hurt anymore
Will you walk with me?
Any further
There at world's end
It's me
I sing

I cannot escape it seems, sadly I sing

All I ever feel is, all I ever see is
Walls they fall
When the march of the others begins
All I ever feel is, all I ever see is
Rise and fall
When the War of the Thrones shall begin


Away
Watch the river it flows
I cannot believe in more
And from time to time we shall go
I will not fail I will not loose faith I know
Now my time will come
Carry on

Will I ever learn from the past?
Will I fade away?
Will I ever stay where the shadows will grow?
There is luck at the gallows
I will free my mind
Soon it will show
Let it rain
There'll be no spring
My dream is a mirror
It reveals
A matter of lies

All I ever feel is, all I ever see is
Walls they fall
When the march of the others begins
All I ever feel is, all I ever see is
Rise and fall
When the War of the Thrones shall begin

Leave a fee for the tillerman and the river behind



~~~~~~ It will be rude if it has passed through your head "shit, spam" when you've read the lyrics. The lyrics are awesome, at least I think so. They rock.


Things are going better at the unviersity too. I am more into the class and more into the subjects. I really need to download this new album from Blond Guardian and some other awesome albums from other bands which I have not yet download because I've been ... lazy.
Njord was the Vanir God of the Seas. He was known for being gentle and for having an aura of tranquility. He used to calm down the dreadest storms for those who were sailing, whether were they vikings or tradesmen. He had a bad marriage with the Winter/Vengeance/Hunting Goddess Skadi (Scandinavia was named after her). 
Skadi was the daughter of a very powerful and known ice giant. Her father was killed by the Aesir when she was very young. Anyway, she made a promise that she would take revenge upon all those who were responsible for her father's death. The Gods were afraid of a vengeance from a woman with so much hatred within her heart, so they proposed her a gift, a gift in exchange for her forgiveness. Skadi accepted the gift. She had to choose one of the Aesir to marry her. She wanted to choose Balder, the beauty God, but as for she had to choose by their feet, she ended up picking the aforementioned sea God, Njord.
She was wrath, coldness, blizzard and retribution. He was tranquility, warm sea breeze, sky clearer and kind. Their marriage didn't last long, but it did last enough so they could have their children. Freyr and Freyja, God and Goddess of beauty.


Personally, I think Skadi should have taken her vengeance upon her father's murderers. It was a mistake of hers to have distracted herself with love and desire by accepting such a futile gift.
Skadi has used her own hatred towards the Aesir to become more powerful and more dreadful. She had a big goal, cut off the heads of the Aesir and complete her own justice. Her heart was cold and decided was the winter, her mind and her weapons were sharp as it's winds. Skadi's fail was in her wrong choice. She should have just killed them all and then took Balder willing he or not to come with her. I admire the figure of Skadi, she doesn't let anything stand on her way and her will is her own.


Written by Daedalus

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Time is Short, Mortal.

Yeah, first day at the uni was kind of tiresome. Maybe I am just still adapting myself to this new life + lifestyle.
Through the same line, I'll be starting swimming tomorrow and fighting that old and well known battle against lazyness. Who has never ever had THAT fight against lazyness ?
I've been solving some issues this morning just to realize that I still have a lot of things to set up. I could really me some patience to beare all of this in a balanced time instead of struggling to solve it all at once.
The plight is that I have no patience for bleing sloooow, so I tend to do some stuff the fast as I can.
Time is short, mortal
Boredoom is like desperation for me, I have to struggle on and on in order to not feel bored ! What is difficult, for I am not as amused as I seem to be. I mentioned more details in the article about the void inside.
Everybody is looking for something. This painting is a perfect example of that. The princess is surronded by fools and entertainers and fool entertainers, but no one seems to be succeding in making the princess smile, because she is missing something, she has longing. Boredom is the fakest peace ever ! Deep inside ourselves, we all know what might kill our boredoms, but as it's almost never possible in the moment required, we try to break free from the spells that where put on us. Just to let ourselves be charmed once more and once more and following our springs and bla bla bla.
Antonia was one of the best movies I have ever seen in my life. It's outstanding in every single way. There is a quote from this movie to be shared here with you.
"Time conquered time (…) Sometimes time crept slowly onwards like an exhausted tortoise. Sometimes it tore through life like a vulture in search of prey. Time took no notice of death or life, decay or growth, and love, hate or jealousy. It ignores all those things which are so important to us that we forget time".
And there is also this other quote:
" The proverb is wrong. Time does not heal all wounds. It merely softens the pain and blurs the memories. "


Written by Daedalus

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Les Idées

Alors .......

L'état n'importe pas, je pense. Parfois, je pense que je change d'idée trop souvent et, maintenant, je me demandais ce qu'il y a de bon et de mal en ça. Avant que je continue, il faut que je vous souvienne que je change aussi souvent mon humeur. Cette constante change d'idée doit être à cause de ma créativité monstrueuse. C'est comme s'il y eût du LSD dans le lait de ma mère ou dans ma nourriture d'enfance, car je suis trop sensible à la distraction et me perdre dans mes pansements.
Je m’identifie avec des autres personnes qui sont aussi des rêveurs, mais au même temps, je les ai peur, car je ne sais pas combien sont-ils coincés dans leurs propres rêves. Je rêve beaucoup, mais je pense que je suis au chemin droit. Pourtant les fous ne jamais se voient comme tels.

     Voilà, j'admire la Delirium des histoires de Sandman. Elle a son unique manière de voir le monde, de lui penser, de lui sentir, de lui comprendre et de lui ne comprendre pas.
Ouais, c'est comme l'employée du sex shop du film "Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulin" avait dit à l'Amélie : "Les temps sont durs pour les rêveurs" Je dois dire qu'elle est très correcte en effet quand elle fait cette citation.

Dans le même sujet, mais en changeant un peu. Le sommeil, le rêver et le mourir sont trois chose si proches qu'à la mythologie grecque Hypnos (le Dieu du sommeil) était frère de Tannatos (le Dieu de la mort) et père de Morpheus (le Dieu des rêves). Sur la photo, on peut voir Hypnos avec son frère, Tannatos en faisant du quoi ils semblent savoir plus ... dormir.




L'incubus et la succubus sont deux démons qu'on croyant venir aux rêves des humaines pour les séduire et voler leurs âmes en faisant d'amour avec eux.
C'est une belle association du grand et terrible pouvoir que la beauté a pour dominer, utiliser et écraser ce qu'elle n'a plus besoin. Ces démons s'utilisent des rêves et des pansements des humaines pour leur voler leurs vies. Avez-vous déjà eu un démon comme ça dans votre vie ? Je pense que ça soit commun que tout le monde l'ait eu déjà.

Enfin, nous avons beaucoup à apprendre avec nos rêves, notre réfléchir et, surtout, avec nos démons, ceux qui habitent à notre extérieur et aussi ceux qui habitent à notre intérieur.

Écrit par /Written by Daedalus

Saturday, March 12, 2011

A Noite - The Night

Há, claro que há, algo de especial na noite. Uma das coisas que acho mais particular das noites em alguns lugares é como as plantas exalam um perfume particular. Algo suave e frio como a própria madrugada. A noite é longa e costuma ser odiosa.  Simboliza a morte da esperança e o inacabado ao mesmo tempo.
Não há como se comportar da mesma maneira durante o dia e igualmente durante a noite.
A noite é a morte, o sono, a queda, o pesar e tudo mais que leva a um fim ou a um novo começo. Costumamos nos esforçar para matar a noite; seja indo de festa em festa, seja dormindo, seja se distraindo com as estrelas..
"Nós amamos demais as estrelas para termos medo da noite"
À noite é quando estamos mais incertos, pois nem sempre as luzes mecânicas compentem com as luzes celestes para ver qual nos guiará, qual nos levará a qualquer lugar.
Eu costumo sentir muito a falta do Sol durante a noite, mas isso não significa dizer que eu não goste dela.
Ainda assim, meu momento favorito é a aurora, a alvorada, o nascer do Sol. É como se a vida voltasse forte, imponente e iminente a mim e de forma certa e indubitável, uma certeza, uma segurança.

The night beckons ! I've always felt the twillight as the saddest hour of the day. The night, nonetheless, isn't a bad moment at all. But we all hate it and the night is indeed hideous. The night means death, decay, fall, hopelessness and we do our bests to slay down the night before it ends up laying us to waste. We try to avoid it by parting all night long, by sleeping as long as we can, by discracting ourselves the best we can with all those few shining stars left visible upon the sky.
"We have loved the stars enough for not having any fear of the night"
The night is a bringer of uncertainty, the mechanical lights begin a showdown with the celestial lights so one of them can guide us through our doubtful ways.
I usually miss a lot the Sun during the night, but it doesn't mean that I don't like the night either.
Still, my favorite hour is during the breaking dawn, when the Sun rises. It's like if life were coming back stronger into me, powerful, imminent and in such a doubtless way, something real to cling to.


Escrito por / Written by Daedalus.

10:10


Algo que me incomoda muito é esse clima de final de festa.
É esse relativamente longo intervalo entre muito e muito quando não acontece basicamente nada.
Será que existe mesmo algum tipo de equilíbrio ? Será que aquelas pessoas hippies que querem salvar o mundo, mas só sabem fumar maconha são felizes ? E aquele pessoal do yoga que passa o dia respirando fundo e gravando aqueles videos eternamente cafonas deles ?
Pois é, esse tipo de pergunta eu só poderia responder caso eu fosse um hippie maconheiro ou um mahabaratadalite yoga desses aí.
Uma das poucas coisas mais idiotas que esse artigo é o fato d'eu até hoje sentir um frio na barriga quando, ao olhar as horas, deparo-me com elas sendo iguais (como por exemplo agora, pois são 10:10).
Dizem que numa despedida, é sempre mais doloroso pra quem fica; pergunto-me se isso seria mesmo verdade. Talvez seja mesmo. Outra coisa que me incomoda muito é como eu fico umas três vezes mais pessimista quando estou entediado.
Oasis, Kate Tunstall e Mozart costumam me entender nessas horas. Ok, sou eu quem me identifico com o trabalho deles, mas finjamos que na do mesmo.

"And all in good time, it's all in my mind"
"You're looking to the Stars for the answers, but all that ya find ... silence and dirty ground"
                                                            "Cuncta stricte Discussurus"

Written by Daedalus / Escrito por Daedalus

Friday, March 11, 2011

What dwells within

I am used to live between alternate states of extreme joy and sadness. It has, therefore, it's ups and downs, my life is like a rollercoaster which I am stuck in until the end.
Today, I am euphoric, that means that I might be a piece of shit tomorrow. But I am used to such as I said before. People like me can't stand to be ordinary, we're either in the highest top or in the deepest abyss.
I feel, inside of me, something warm, like a flame. This flame pushes me on and on, however, as it's fire, it needs to feed. Then it becomes a void, a hunger burning deep inside of me and which I have to struggle on and on to feed.
I don't know if I still believe in love. I'll probably believe in it again once I've found it once more.
I like to tell myself that there's a person, a half-part for each one of us. But that can be frustrating. I've already believed three people to be my other half. But it doesn't make sense, how would a half of a whole unrequite and forsake the other part of oneself ?
Although I've been screwed up by love, I do not regret it, I do not regret anything at all. I just think that there's much more I could have done...
Whenever I find someone who I believe to be a lost part of me, I have the strange feeling of satisfaction, of completeness. Like if my void didn't even exist.
This monday, my life will change a lot, because I'll be starting anew in another town, in the university, into the unknown I shall be diving.

This song kind of expresses how I see love.
And this other song how do I feel inside.


Written by Daedalus

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Inspiración venida cuando yo estaba en el facebook esa noche

A mi me gustaría que yo vivera más do que paso el tiempo en mis recuerdos. Para que no tuviera tiempo para eso, sabes ?
Cuando nos viene un recuerdo malo, lo vivimos de nuevo y es triste.
Cuando nos viene un bueno recuerdo, lo vivimos de nuevo y es bueno hasta que lembramonos que es solo un recuerdo, volvendonos a tristeza.
No creo que deba tener un equilíbrio, pues cada un devería vivir como le gustara más, sea en recuerdos, sea olvindandolos o sea siempre guardando un cierto tiempo por el pasado. 


Mis mejores textos salen de conversas u discusiónes que yo pienso que no sean importantes, pero lo son mucho más do que yo puedo esperar !
Eso es una de las mejores cosas de la vida. No importa lo que se pase, siempre te puedes a ser sorpreso por algo nuevo. La vida es un cambio sin final.



Todo cambia, nada es lo mismo eternamente. Ni la tristeza ni la felicidad. Todo está fadado a cambiar y lo mejor que podemos hacer es sacar lo mejor de todas las situaciónes de la vida. Sea en amargura o en ternura, el peor a ser hecho es que quedemos parados ! Hazlo ! No esperas que te vengas la vida, vate hasta ella, vivela !


Tambien no percas tu tiempo pensando que la vida es cansativa o que no vale la pena ser vivida, eso no está cierto. Vamos a tener la muerte para que descansemos.


Cuanto al miedo, ah ... el miedo. Quien no lo tiene ? Quien nunca lo ha sentido paralisando todo su cuerpo ? Es normal que temamos a lo qué no conocemos, pero siempre que estás sentindo miedo de algo, piensa si eso vale mismo la pena del miedo. Si eso cambiará tu vida cinco años más tarde. Ama a tu mismo y jamás dejate caer esperando que alguien te va a salvar antes que llegues al suelo. 


No podremos volver en el tiempo, andemos siempre adelante entonces.



The Fisherwoman - Odilon Redon

I just love this painting from Odilon Redon, it's so oniric and so magic that I couldn't help sharing this here.
It's like someone who's trapped in a dream and is also dreaming about something distant.
It's beautiful, it's sad, it's a charming nightmare.

J'aime cette peinture de l'Odilon Redon. C'est trèsonirique et si magique que je ne pourrais pas ne l'avoir pas mis ici.
C'est comme quelqu'un qui est coincé dans un rêve et qui est aussi en rêvant de quelque chose distante...
C'est beau, c'est triste, c'est un cauchemar enchantant.

Amo esta pintura de Odilon Redon, é tão onírica e tão mágica que eu não poderia evitar de postá-la aqui.
É como alguém preso num sonho e que também está sonhando com algo distante...
É bonito, é triste, é um pesadelo encantador.

Written by Daedalus
O problema é tudo e o problema é nada. Há umas duas semanas, tive uma fase de ateu cético completo. Foi imprevisivelmente ruim. Nunca pensei que o conhecimento pudesse ser tão escuro, tão vazio. No fim das contas eu pensei "Poxa, na fé, você é tapado; e na razão, você é infeliz".
Uma das coisas mais incríveis e toscas é o amor. O amor faz com que uma pessoa idiota (como todas são, às vezes muito, às vezes demais) ao se deparar com outra pessoa igualmente muito estúpida, ofereça-lhe seu coração sem que a outra nem se quer tenha cogitado em pedí-lo ! Aí a pessoa muito estúpida, além de insensível, claro; Pega o coração da pessoa idiota e acaba com ele, deixando-o duro, amargo, ferido e, por ser idiota, muito dependente.
O amor, ao contrário do que as bíblias da vida dizem, é muito mais do que procriação. O amor, ao contrário do que os cientistas mal amados dizem, é muito além da ocitosina. O problema é que o amor cria algo que não estava lá antes, nós pessoas idiotas que somos que queiramos ou não, acabamos por nos apegar a algo que veio da nada. E quando essa coisa que veio do nada volta ao nada, aí o pior vem; uma abstinência mortal de uma coisa que, tecnicamente, nem existe.
Como suprir o vazio de uma coisa que não existe ? Simples na teoria, não tão simples na prática.
Pessoalmente, eu penso que a vida possa sempre ser recomeçada do zero. Quando uma estrela morre, outra toma o seu lugar.
A relação entre o amor e o blog é de fácil entendimento. O amor é um jogo de perdição assim como labirintos são.
Vale reiterar que nada, além do amor, é o que parece.

Três canções com uma ideia interessante do amor, da solidão e dos sentimentos comuns à humanidade.
Once upon a boredom, there was a galaxy. Via Lactea
The Sun was the reason and who all revolved around.
The Mercury was a foe, too close to the Sun for confort.
The Venus was a flaming red lightless star who was illuded by all that could shine.
The Earth was the ego of such galaxy, the one linked to the whole celestial syncrony
The Moon was the ever-changing satellite of the Earth, always beautiful, always coming and going.
The Mars was the fierceful, individual, warm hearted and lonely one with the strange similarity with the Earth
The Jupiter were the lovers of Venus, they were never seen for long periods.
The Saturn was the mean-spirited beauty, Saturn has broken the rings and was the first who stated to serve the own ends.
The Uranus was the betrayer and the betrayed and the emptiness that comes out when one join opposite values of the same quantity.
The Neptune was something beautiful, but distant like the horizon of the ocean.
The Pluto was, nevertheless, just as present as distant. Pluto may not be close, but it's never forgotten.
The Zena was like the Earth in many points, but lacking Earth's powers and life.
The Gliese was like the Earth in many points, but could fit better as a Moon.


There were also those minor elements who were fundamental in their own ways, well, not all of them were fundamental, some of them were just stones in a shoe.

The Solstices were great companions of the Earth.
The Supernova was the bitter dead star.
The Cloud was a cold vision twister.
The Mist was like a mindless minion of the Cloud.
The Storm should have been with the Rainbow, but it didn't happen at all.
The Space Dust was a way to taunt Saturn.
The Nebula was a less effective way to taunt Saturn.
The Blackhole was just as lost as all it had swallowed down.
The Oreon had not half of the relevance it should have had.
The Shooting Star was a dear rival.

Written by Daedalus

Flu

I hate being sick. I guess everyone does too. I've just got this flu these last two days and it's really pissing me off. My nose is clogged and my my ears feel pressed and my throath is the only which has got any better. Being sick sucks, because it feels like if you had lost control over your own body and your body just want to get rid of that sickness as soon as possible ... sometimes by dying.
I'm supposed to say goodbye to my very speacial friend today and to see other two friends of mine tomorrow and, who knows, even do something in this weekend before I go back to Rio de Janeiro.
How am I going to have a dramatic goodbye with a clogged nose and a screwed up voice ? It would probably be very fail.
Cool, I have less than three hours to get better and look brand new again. Come on, body. Let's work it out.

Why do I hate flus ?
1- Because I like to breath with my whole nose.
2- Because I don't like my natural voice and I dislike even more my "nose. clogged" voice.
3- Because it's #$%¨*& useless to be sick or to have this blasted flu
4- Because it jeopardizes my schemes.
5- Because, obviously, being healthy is like ten thousand times better !


Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Vengeance

La vengeance. C'est acte de blesser quelqu'un qui vous a blessé auparavant. L'histoire de l'humanité est pleine des actes de vengeance parmi ses grands héros. La vengeance est comme combattre feu avec feu. Nous ne créons rien, nous effaçons quelque chose d'autrui dont nous croyons qui vaille plus que laquelle perdue de nous.

Il y a vengeance à cause de la violence.
Il y a vengeance à cause de l'or.
Il y a vengeance à cause d'amour.
On peut bien dire que 90% des vengeances sont faites à cause d'amour, mais les gens préfèrent dire que font la vengeance à cause de la violence ou de l'or au lieu. Pourquoi ? Je pense que la vengeance pour l'amour soit trop cliché déjà.
On est trop aveugle pour voir qu'on a déjà écrasé le coeur de quelqu'un pendant un jour et qu'on a aussi sa fois d'avoir son coeur écrasé, brisé, fané et volé.
Il y a ceux qui séduisent par intérêt, ces méritent la vengeance pour avoir volé un coeur en change de rien.
Il y a ceux qui, portant, volent des coeurs par accident ! Parmi vous, il y doit avoir quelqu'un qui a déjà volé un coeur sans le vouloir, par accident. par hasard.
La vengeance fait des chasseurs. Un chasseur sans sa chasse n'est rien. Un amant sans l'autre se sent rien aussi. Je pense qu'alors la vengeance soit la ligne parfaite entre l'amour et la haine. Au même temps que nous voulons la vengeance, nous voulons aussi que nous n'ayons pas besoin d'elle, que nous n'ayons pas raison pour désirer la revanche.
Enfin, la vengeance est la justice la plus personnelle qu'on pouvait créer. Elle vient de nos plus profonds sentiments et, dû à cette circonstance, elle est différente en chaque personne. N'oubliez jamais tous nous avons une manière complètement différente de sentir. La vengeance n'est jamais égale pour deux personnes, parce que deux personnes ne sont jamais égales.


Written by Daedalus

Little Viking statues


Every single time when a toy breaks, an invisible connection between a sweet child and a tender source of joy breaks, the tears that come out from this little creatures full of life surprise us. Even the toys cry every time that they are broken or put aside. They're souls made of plastic, of steel compress in loneliness.
From the bottom of an abandoned chest, intended to collect memories of a soft and light-hearted past, which gets increasingly heavy, our old companions moan, they wonder why we become so evil with time. The broken helix of an helicopter, the low batteries of a remote-controlled car, the mutilated limbs of an old warrior. They're signs of the pain that we inflict to them every time that we do something bad.
The acute scream of their sensations can't be perceived, they can't lead an old child to play again with them, they've no possibilities of giving innocent happiness anymore. But they do never hate ad will never do it. And in my condition of human I can't say if this helps or gets them to be even sadder. They always love, loving is all they can do, like a mirror they used to reflect the love which was poured on them, but which they have lost gradually, because the children became men and women and they burnt out inside of them.
While I write, I stare at three little Viking statues and a little chariot of steel in front of me. Four small figures, four warriors of happiness and hope. I was given them by my parents when I was a kid, I adored them infinitely, I fought lots of wars with them and I won everyone. Nevertheless, I forgot them suddenly, and for years I've been living without them.
Now I've just come across them, I put it in front of me and I look at them carefully, hoping to get my childhood back.
I go on staring at them intensely...
Their bearded faces dilate slowly in sweet smiles, they loosen the grip and let thier battle-axes fall down, they look at each other and start hugging and crying for joy, and I cry with them, their small figures taken by the hands get on the chariot. The rider whips the two horses which start flying leaving a trail of shining stars and silver magic. I can listen to their laughs. I open the window sorrowful because I'm losing what remained of my childhood. The chariot goes out in the frosty air of winter and my dear little Viking statues greet me sweetly with their little big hands, closing and opening the palm of their hands, just like we used to do when I was a child. My childhood's chariot has become a little point in this black night while my friends head towards Walhalla on the way of my tears.
This song inspired me while writing whis. 
From: Uranus

Relógio de Sol

Você já se sentiu estranho no ninho ? Você já se sentiu como se não pertencesse à época ou ao lugar onde vive ? Como se sua vida seguisse um ritmo e um compasso diferente de tudo o que a cerca ? Será que todas as pessoas sempre se sentem assim ou só algumas poucas dentre tantas ?
Talvez eu possa justificar isso ao dizer que sigo os meus próprios fins, mas talvez isso nem justifique nada mesmo.
Talvez também seja ordinária da minha própria idade que eu esteja pensando assim.
Pessoalmente, eu gosto muito do blog do postsecret. Certa vez, li uma boa citação num comentário por lá que dizia "We are not as alone as it seems". Sou agnóstico, mas penso muito que diversas coisas possam ser sinais e que talvez eu não haja visto isso em vão.
É legal ser diferente das pessoas, ter um bom cérebro, ter um modo de pensar bem particular; o único problema nisso tudo é encontrar pessoas que possam provocar-lhe algum encanto. Você paga um alto preço pelo conhecimento e outra imenso imposto pela liberdade. Uma vez livre, nunca mais prisioneiro. Uma vez no saber, nunca mais na ignorância.
Ainda assim, eu daria tudo pela minha infância de volta, mas que, dessa vez, ela durasse para sempre. A felicidade que eu tive na minha infância é inefável. Minha única preocupação era pensar no que brincar na próxima manhã. Não havia medo e meu tempo era regido pelo Sol e por mais nada.

"The Sun will shine. This I swear, this I swear"

Escrito por Daedalus

Monday, March 7, 2011

Fear; Dreams, Memory

Fear seems to be presente in almost all living people. It's an ancestral behavior, it's primitive and irrational in it's own hideous way.
People fear a lot of things, the variations of fear are very wide. But all egree that the unknown is something known as a fear bringer. We feel menaced by what we have not yet seen and by what we have not yet known.
Thus, fear is like anger, you have to master it before it becomes the master of you.
Our families are good schools of fears, because each one of them has his/her own fears, then we find that some of their fears look stupid and silly to us, when our fears might look meaningless to them. These differences are useful when people help each others to get over their deepest dreads.
Dreams. Nightmares are great when it comes down to fear subjects. Nightmares take our darkest dreads and create the weirdest gruesome situations with them, so we can learn how to deal with them at their worst, at their ellusive true form. Each dream/nightmare has a lesson to teach or something to show us. Alas, what we get from our dreams is free and it's only ours.
Personally, I love dreaming and daydreaming. I enjoy my nightmares, because I learn from them. I enjoy my lucid dreams, because I can fly and feel ultimately free. I am silly enough to get infatuated by illusions from my dreams, and it's frustrating when I wake up and suddenly realize that they were nothing but illusions, shades built from my memories.
I do remember a lot about the many dreams I have every night. I've read it's typical from people who are through problematic days and blahblahblah
I also enjoy talking about dreams, I am a very talkative person by the way.




Written by Daedalus

Waters of March

Well, this is the fisrt post of this blog (obvious).
I've been long expecting for March's arrival. It meant new joy in my life, a new life itself.
I've also learnt a lot these last months. I leanrt freedom has a very high price, to be free, one must give up a little part of oneself.
There is an original brazilian song from Tom Jobim which is known as Águas de Março. I've chosen this song as my anthem for the moment, because it means the renew as it announces how the waters of march put an end in the summer and bring promise of life within people's heart.
I've also learnt that life can always start up anew.

I usually give myself a daring advise : Never let anyone stand between you and your dreams

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FrmcSJGvz4s

Waters of March - Art Garfunkel. He has a very beautiful and single way of singing, at least I think so.

From : Daedalus