We don't know where our first impressions come from or precisely what they mean, so we don't always appreciate their fragility.
quote by Malcolm Gladwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Americans have discovered the fragility of life, that ominous fragility that the rest of the world either already experienced or is experiencing now with terrible intensity.
quote by Jose Saramago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My.....
My fragility is not differ from yours
I am more delicate or more sensitive
my debilities not reside on my body, in you
your fragility too!
My weakness is my heart wild
In the same compass
who beats in yours
your weakness too!
My softness is shield in my chest
the return of your echoes
that was blowing up in yours
your softness too!
Thanks to you
Thanks to us
for so many imperfection
All my, all your, all ours! ! ! !
poem by Mirna Morgan
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You are precisely as big as what you love and precisely as small as what you allow to annoy you.
quote by Robert Anton Wilson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is precisely our job as Catholics to speak the truth as plainly and precisely as we can.
quote by Sargent Shriver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It cannot be precisely known how any thing is good or bad, till it is precisely known what it is.
quote by James Mill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As if it is a jigsaw
While your cigarette spirals into the air
you breasts against me
talk in an own language
making impressions with their form and fashion
awaking feelings and they feel fragile,
though firm and soft
and I wish that this hour, this dark night
could last forever,
that past daybreak
I can still embrace you like this
and you slim body surrounds me
catches me
as if I it is a puzzle,
wherein I fit precisely, perfectly
as if moments are destined
to be absolutely unique
and breathtaking.
poem by Gert Strydom
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What About Love
[Maxi Jazz]
Come on (3x)
I know you so intimately
Anger and misery
The reason for my heart's fragility
How will it be if you simply set me free
Restore my ability, to hold my head high
To speak only truth where I used to lie
Goodbye to the enemy, it's been too long
Come on
What about love? (5x)
Come on
I know you so intimately
Your heady sensuality
The reason for my heart's fragility
How will it be if you simply come back to me
Restore my stability
Take your fill of me
Finally in step like the military
And just as strong, it's been so long
Come on
What about love? (5x)
song performed by by Faithless
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Like Mountains Lying Far Away And Blue
Like mountains lying far away and blue
love stays constant; it does not become common,
it leaves impressions in the great remembrance
and of this there is something between you and me;
I can never gaze enough at you.
Like mountains lying far away and blue
of which the presence never fades
there is something that looks like true love,
it leaves impressions in the great remembrance
that clings to every other thought,
.as something that does not want to parish.
Like mountains lying far away and blue
your humanity stays eternally true to me,
your face is continually covered with a ray of sun,
it leaves impressions in the great remembrance
and even when your tears shines like drops of dew
our love does stay eternally glamorous,
like mountains lying far away and blue
it leaves impressions in the great remembrance.
poem by Gert Strydom
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There is no support for love… as I have told you: to give one’s love, is very precisely and essentially to give as such nothing of what one has, because it is precisely in so far as one does not have it that there is a question of love.
Jacques Lacan in Seminar V, The Formations of the Unconscious (7 May 1958)
Submitted by Simona Enache
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Any road followed precisely to its end leads precisely nowhere. Climb the mountain just a little bit to test it's a mountain. From the top of the mountain, you cannot see the mountain.
quote by Frank Herbert
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Room Of Quick Desires, A Love Out Of Wedlock Is In The Making
though planned
i enter first using
a friend's name and
then you later
on an invented reason
they do not bother
anyway
attuned to this kind
of compulsion
everyone does it
anyway and with
us on a shallow pretense
they think perhaps
that we are funny
or new to this
adventure if you
call it that way
we begin to know
what bodies are
putting markers
remembering names
and places very
much like ours
we compare it with
some events
those that change
histories of nations
i may exaggerate
what i feel
there was independence
there was the freeing
of all slaves
we were like a very
short film
with a very low budget
that won't hit the
market
precisely that is what
we really want
precisely my own
way of viewing us
like a painting that
i love
without a signature
at the bottom of
the margin.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Facebooking
had the chance of meeting Kaye
still at the agriculture department
no promotion yet happy
nothing new really except
this meeting
me too, nothing new, except
this conversation
of who what where when
then we stop
as it is time to go
the office closes at five pm
and we have to find
our way home
it will be dark
and there will be dinner with the family
then we watch tv
after being tired we turn it off
sleep
then dream and then we wake up
early the next morning
back to work
such routine such boredom
yet we still like to live more days
this is life perhaps
nothing new except
the meetings of old friends
then back to work again
i know you are bored reading this
precisely, precisely, now you must feel the same too
at least
in this boring poem
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In Between Breaths I Take
You are not specifically on my mind,
When I write.
Nor are you far away,
From impressions that seem to linger.
You have been a part of my life for too long.
And you sit among my favorite experiences.
With the image of your face...
Clinging as a craving,
I could not or would not ever replace.
But you are not specifically on my mind,
When I write.
And I do make attempts,
To do that 'all' the time!
Convinced the act of it,
Keeps me disciplined...
And making good use,
Of that time!
Nor are you far away,
From impressions that seem to linger.
Your eyes.
Your voice.
And the soothness of it,
That haunts the emptiness of my heart.
The only time you seem to be there constantly...
Is when I am not writing at all.
Or sleeping!
Or eating!
Or in between breaths I take!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Respect for the fragility and importance of an individual life is still the mark of an educated man.
quote by Norman Cousins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Guilt Ridden With Temptations
If I was to choose to love a man.
And a woman does the same with another...
There is not a law,
Whether it was passed or not...
That could keep us from each other.
IF this was a mutual decision.
The emphasis made on homosexuality,
Or if one chooses to live a lesbian life...
No matter how 'straight' public impressions,
On those heterosexual...
Determined to keep their outlook as 'right',
Will not change a decided preference.
Today,
People are seeking those to match their happiness.
And those seeking to roleplay to mask with impressions,
Are most likely confessiing to someone, somewhere...
They have become guilt ridden with temptations and sin.
While sneaking around to 'downlow' on their spouses.
'I 'heard' you were involved in homosexual activities.'
Oh?
And...
How was 'your' experience?
I'm sure it wasn't gossiped.
You don't seem to have the look of one curious.
And I am not one you can hunt.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A supreme contradiction: the boundlessness of our ambitions faced with our innate fragility.
aphorism by Valeriu Butulescu from Immensity of the Point, translated by Eva A. Ziem
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Editorial Impressions
He seemed so certain ‘all was going well’,
As he discussed the glorious time he’d had
While visiting the trenches.
‘One can tell
You’ve gathered big impressions!’ grinned the lad
Who’d been severely wounded in the back
In some wiped-out impossible Attack.
‘Impressions? Yes, most vivid! I am writing
A little book called Europe on the Rack,
Based on notes made while witnessing the fighting.
I hope I’ve caught the feeling of “the Line”,
And the amazing spirit of the troops.
By Jove, those flying-chaps of ours are fine!
I watched one daring beggar looping loops,
Soaring and diving like some bird of prey.
And through it all I felt that splendour shine
Which makes us win.’
The soldier sipped his wine.
‘Ah, yes, but it’s the Press that leads the way!
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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It's the Attention Given That Sells
A showstopping mocker,
Here to dropp impressions?
No.
I'm not into recreations.
They bore!
My direction has my pace on it.
Comparisons made to others,
Is an honor that flatters.
But I've never been able,
To do impressions well.
And if my toes are stepped on,
I will yell.
With a broadcasting done,
Screaming from the painful agony inflicted.
I can not escape the flair for dramatics.
It's the attention given,
That sells a unique performance.
'Work that pout.'
It's here.
'Work that stare.'
It's here.
'Now work that brow over the eye.
Arch it up real high! '
'Work that pout.'
It's here.
'Work that stare.'
It's here.
'Now work that brow over the eye.
Arch it up real high! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Life is Struggle
TO WEAR out heart, and nerves, and brain,
And give oneself a world of pain;
Be eager, angry, fierce, and hot,
Imperious, supple—God knows what,
For what’s all one to have or not;
O false, unwise, absurd, and vain!
For ’tis not joy, it is not gain,
It is not in itself a bliss,
Only it is precisely this
That keeps us all alive.
To say we truly feel the pain,
And quite are sinking with the strain;—
Entirely, simply, undeceived,
Believe, and say we ne’er believed
The object, e’en were it achieved,
A thing we e’er had cared to keep;
With heart and soul to hold it cheap,
And then to go and try it again;
O false, unwise, absurd, and vain!
O, ’tis not joy, and ’tis not bliss,
Only it is precisely this
That keeps us still alive.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Felicity
All Mankind’s felicity
stays prey to instability,
and may in no time fall from grace, -
as with glass, shattered, none replace, -
they share the same fragility
poem by Pierre Corneille, translated by Jonathan Robin
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