Sunday, May 15, 2016

To Krystyna Trzesniewska

Majdan Królewski 


The green of your land is alive as your name is alive in my heart. Because your life was so sacred that suddenly I worship it right now.
Every human being is a God who ignores his own divinity. The true God turns into every mistreated human being.
Whenever my life gets me so down, and my way is destroyed by causes that I can't control; I'll think of you, and your dignity, and your hope. I'll feel you near, I'll declare that you are worth and adorable. And I'll strongly advance towards the country of the freedom. And I'll pay tribute to your life with my courage and my struggle.
The forgotten children of the death and injustice will remain in our minds for ever as stars; milions of persons like you, young and bright. 
Live your life through mine, I'll share it with you.
And we will fight for freedom and happiness.
Fascism will be defeated for ever.

Majdan Królewski 


Majdan Królewski 


Majdan Królewski 


Majdan Królewski 


Majdan Królewski 


Majdan Królewski 


 Majdan Królewski 


Majdan Królewski 

Monday, May 2, 2016

The imperfection is the identity of the beings, and (after all) their beauty



The natural colors of the city. The line and the light. The details. The dirt poetry, with its core drenched in humanity. The alive niff of the colors. That which is alive spreads a natural niff that in any sense is deeply beautiful, and we can't trap this beauty. This beauty is invisible when the aseptic minds watch it.
The light, the orderliness and the chaos. The beauty of the alive imperfection. If we look at all the dead things of the world, it turns out that only the lovely imperfect things are alive. The imperfection is the identity of the beings, and (after all) their beauty. The chaos is the main performer of the beauty every time it destroys the dead perfection of the utilitarianist obsession of the Homo sapiens. The chaos save us from the ugliness of the status quo, and it beautifies the humdrum perfection of the orderliness, the humdrum perfection of that which is only valued for its utility.

We need shadows, cracks, moistures, dirtiness, astringency... and an entropy that be constantly creating an inimitable freedom. We need minds that open as the flowers do when the sun lights them up, and be able to see the beauty of the imperfection; the imperfection as a motor of the creation and the beauty; mistery of the instant; natural and astonishing drive that compels us towards the random. Once the random created us as a surprise, as an imbalance of the placid nothingness; and then, the chaos and the beauty appeared.














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