Manuela Cardiga's Blog, page 37
August 3, 2015
OYSTER WOMANI have witnessed every ritualThat can scar a ...
OYSTER WOMAN
I have witnessed every ritualThat can scar a human heart,
I have tasted all the deaths of loveA woman can abide,
And I tell you: no pain
Nor tendernessFrom without can reach me-Bridge the endless distance
From my skin to me;Crack that fevered shell
And set me free.
Except you. You might.
If you should think it
Worth the fight,
You just might.
MC
I have witnessed every ritualThat can scar a human heart,
I have tasted all the deaths of loveA woman can abide,
And I tell you: no pain
Nor tendernessFrom without can reach me-Bridge the endless distance
From my skin to me;Crack that fevered shell
And set me free.
Except you. You might.
If you should think it
Worth the fight,
You just might.
MC
LIFE AFTER LIFE
A Friend spoke of death.
He is afraid of that Dark, I think.
He asked me what I think of Death, and here it is:
There is no Death. There is no end, there is only a moment when we take a deep breath, a pause before we begin again.
You ask: is there Life after Death?
I tell you:
There is only Life after Life.
We are immortal ambition in a sleeve of flesh, so when our sleeve becomes ragged, we wear another.
The moment we call Death is only the space of a breath when we stand naked; that one breath.
So, my dear, there is no space in this moment of Living Life for the agony of fear or regret.
Fear only fear, for fearing Death we stop living.
Fearing Death, we forget we are blessed with NOW.
In fear of the Dark we huddle, and forget to dance the sunlight hours.
Dance faster as the Evening draws near, stamp your feet, rise high your hands, let silken dust raise veils of applause as you whirl.
Wild stars twirl the heavens around your head, so be drunk on them; be alive, be here, now.
Live your Life.
Manuela Cardiga
He is afraid of that Dark, I think.
He asked me what I think of Death, and here it is:
There is no Death. There is no end, there is only a moment when we take a deep breath, a pause before we begin again.
You ask: is there Life after Death?
I tell you:
There is only Life after Life.
We are immortal ambition in a sleeve of flesh, so when our sleeve becomes ragged, we wear another.
The moment we call Death is only the space of a breath when we stand naked; that one breath.
So, my dear, there is no space in this moment of Living Life for the agony of fear or regret.
Fear only fear, for fearing Death we stop living.
Fearing Death, we forget we are blessed with NOW.
In fear of the Dark we huddle, and forget to dance the sunlight hours.
Dance faster as the Evening draws near, stamp your feet, rise high your hands, let silken dust raise veils of applause as you whirl.
Wild stars twirl the heavens around your head, so be drunk on them; be alive, be here, now.
Live your Life.
Manuela Cardiga
APPLE ANNIEWould you likeAn apple?Red, ruby-red,Like your...
APPLE ANNIE
Would you like
An apple?
Red, ruby-red,
Like your lips;
Or perhaps
A peridot-green
Granny Smith
Instead?
An apple, Miss!
Won’t cost
A goat’s snake-eyed
Wink or a toad’s toe
Or a drink from
The Unicorn’s pool,
Your first-born,
Or the peerless jewel
Of your virtue.
An apple , Miss!
A crisp bite
Of a dream,
Or the succulent edge
Of a poison kiss…
It’s just an apple, Miss!
Go on, then…
Stretch out that
Pearl-skinned
Stingy fist
And take it...
It’s a gift,
I tell you…
Lay your lips
To that cool skin
Let out your tongue
In a little lick…
It’s not like
Egypt
Embracing
The Asp;
You won’t feel
The prick of the
Venom,
Just the click
Of your throat
Closing,
The gasp
Of the air
Struggling
To escape
The clasp
Of the
Spasming
Lung,
The clench
Of the burning
Thirst…
Here, Miss,
Have an apple,
It's on me…
I insist!
MC
Would you like
An apple?
Red, ruby-red,
Like your lips;
Or perhaps
A peridot-green
Granny Smith
Instead?
An apple, Miss!
Won’t cost
A goat’s snake-eyed
Wink or a toad’s toe
Or a drink from
The Unicorn’s pool,
Your first-born,
Or the peerless jewel
Of your virtue.
An apple , Miss!
A crisp bite
Of a dream,
Or the succulent edge
Of a poison kiss…
It’s just an apple, Miss!
Go on, then…
Stretch out that
Pearl-skinned
Stingy fist
And take it...
It’s a gift,
I tell you…
Lay your lips
To that cool skin
Let out your tongue
In a little lick…
It’s not like
Egypt
Embracing
The Asp;
You won’t feel
The prick of the
Venom,
Just the click
Of your throat
Closing,
The gasp
Of the air
Struggling
To escape
The clasp
Of the
Spasming
Lung,
The clench
Of the burning
Thirst…
Here, Miss,
Have an apple,
It's on me…
I insist!
MC
WHY ME???
WHY do things happened?
Why did the world do liddle me sooo wrong?
Why am I a constant victim of the ill-intentioned and the abusive?
Awful questions aren't they?
And it feels good to ask these question, doesn't it?
To be honest I whine: WHY! WHY! WHY!!!!
Like I said, it feels good because it removes responsability for our circumstances from our hands.
We know what happened, we know the outcome; but why do strong and intelligent person like us get drawn into these situations in the first place?
Because we WANTED to be deceived.
Always remember that, we are our deceivers and abusers’ best ally. Our lack of self-esteem opens the door, and our eagerness to be loved and accepted and valued holds it wide open.
SO howzabout WE love and respect and value ourselfves FIRST?
So when those smarmy shits come swishing around with that wide-eyed charm whining for a second chance we don't fall for their shtick.
We kick them where it hurts, slam the door and shout: FUCK OFF!!!
MC
Why did the world do liddle me sooo wrong?
Why am I a constant victim of the ill-intentioned and the abusive?
Awful questions aren't they?
And it feels good to ask these question, doesn't it?
To be honest I whine: WHY! WHY! WHY!!!!
Like I said, it feels good because it removes responsability for our circumstances from our hands.
We know what happened, we know the outcome; but why do strong and intelligent person like us get drawn into these situations in the first place?
Because we WANTED to be deceived.
Always remember that, we are our deceivers and abusers’ best ally. Our lack of self-esteem opens the door, and our eagerness to be loved and accepted and valued holds it wide open.
SO howzabout WE love and respect and value ourselfves FIRST?
So when those smarmy shits come swishing around with that wide-eyed charm whining for a second chance we don't fall for their shtick.
We kick them where it hurts, slam the door and shout: FUCK OFF!!!
MC
August 2, 2015
When love falls apart, the biggest blow may not be to the...
When love falls apart, the biggest blow may not be to the heart; it may be to the bank account.
The supposedly amicable dissolution of a relationship turns sour over the disposal of the most modest of assets. Money rears its ugly head and nothing shows up the true character of a person than how they react to the division of material goods.
The person you shared a life with, dreams with and maybe even had a child with has now become a leach, intent on sucking out every advantage no matter how petty.
Sadly, greater than the loss of material assets, is the loss of respect. That awful feeling of finally - after all these years - seeing someone shamefully and repulsively naked.
Money may not be the root of all evil, but it certainly is its clearest mirror.
Manuela Cardiga
The supposedly amicable dissolution of a relationship turns sour over the disposal of the most modest of assets. Money rears its ugly head and nothing shows up the true character of a person than how they react to the division of material goods.
The person you shared a life with, dreams with and maybe even had a child with has now become a leach, intent on sucking out every advantage no matter how petty.
Sadly, greater than the loss of material assets, is the loss of respect. That awful feeling of finally - after all these years - seeing someone shamefully and repulsively naked.
Money may not be the root of all evil, but it certainly is its clearest mirror.
Manuela Cardiga
August 1, 2015
MOONLIT TALES FROM A PLEASURE GARDENThe Emperor of China,...
MOONLIT TALES FROM A PLEASURE GARDEN
The Emperor of China, or was it Japan?
Some Asian potentate - surfeit of pleasure - walked in his Garden under the harvest moon. Night-blooms of the most exotic hue bled and blended perfumes into the balmy air; winding paths led to silver pagodas, wherein waited pleasures that might delight, or spike to desire the Imperial ennui.
Poor, poor Emperor, lost to desire - lost to love; lost in the mire of too much treasure...
He waved away the sycophants offering jade rings, opium, twisted pleasure. He walked and he walked the meandering paths in his amber dragon robe; and in a cul-de-sac he caught sight of a Nightingale in the fluttering ecstasy of her nuptial flight.
Down she flew, proffering her heart. A frantic motion of advance and retreat, every wing flutter perfectly timed to a heartbeat.
Oh, the Emperor was riveted watching this; such aching need in a scrap of life! Such love - it was a while before he thought to look on the suitor of the tiny bird: a great Rose - not scarlet - but pure black.
It stood erect, the furled garland of his head drinking in the moonlight, his scent more subtle than any other; the spiraling maze of velvet petals drawing in the hapless explorer with hints of the treasure at its core.
“Come,” it hissed “Come unfurl one by one my scented secrets, and I swear I will reveal all. Oh enter, enter my embrace, and come into my last secret place: here at the very heart, I am gold…”
But the Emperor saw what the Nightingale did not: all around the velvet head sly muscular arms offered a thorned embrace. Still she fluttered closer, oh closer; and closer yet…until no closer could she get and not be impaled.
The first thorn-thrust caught her through the breast - and here was the Emperor blessed - for from her slight brown throat began to unfold the liquid yielding notes of her death song. Such beauty he had never thought to hear, and lifted urgent compassionate hands thinking to free - and perhaps heal - the fragile creature caught in the deadly embrace of the fierce warrior with a velvet face.
She refused! She struggled closer to the deadly spike impaling her heart; sobbed one last tender note, and pillowed her face on the black petals. He stood for while, watching how the moonlight silvered the stilling dust-brown feathers; saw the proud Rose shake free the dainty thing to flutter down to lie dead at its feet.
“And the moral, my dear friend,” muttered he to himself “There is nothing sadder than a Nightingale enamored of a Rose; unless it’s a woman who would propose to love an Emperor, but that I suppose - that is not so much sad, as silly...” Humming to himself, he calmly returned to an enchanted pagoda on the curve of the sculpted river - where a girl of polished silver and scarlet lips waited his pleasure.
Manuela Cardiga
The Emperor of China, or was it Japan?
Some Asian potentate - surfeit of pleasure - walked in his Garden under the harvest moon. Night-blooms of the most exotic hue bled and blended perfumes into the balmy air; winding paths led to silver pagodas, wherein waited pleasures that might delight, or spike to desire the Imperial ennui.
Poor, poor Emperor, lost to desire - lost to love; lost in the mire of too much treasure...
He waved away the sycophants offering jade rings, opium, twisted pleasure. He walked and he walked the meandering paths in his amber dragon robe; and in a cul-de-sac he caught sight of a Nightingale in the fluttering ecstasy of her nuptial flight.
Down she flew, proffering her heart. A frantic motion of advance and retreat, every wing flutter perfectly timed to a heartbeat.
Oh, the Emperor was riveted watching this; such aching need in a scrap of life! Such love - it was a while before he thought to look on the suitor of the tiny bird: a great Rose - not scarlet - but pure black.
It stood erect, the furled garland of his head drinking in the moonlight, his scent more subtle than any other; the spiraling maze of velvet petals drawing in the hapless explorer with hints of the treasure at its core.
“Come,” it hissed “Come unfurl one by one my scented secrets, and I swear I will reveal all. Oh enter, enter my embrace, and come into my last secret place: here at the very heart, I am gold…”
But the Emperor saw what the Nightingale did not: all around the velvet head sly muscular arms offered a thorned embrace. Still she fluttered closer, oh closer; and closer yet…until no closer could she get and not be impaled.
The first thorn-thrust caught her through the breast - and here was the Emperor blessed - for from her slight brown throat began to unfold the liquid yielding notes of her death song. Such beauty he had never thought to hear, and lifted urgent compassionate hands thinking to free - and perhaps heal - the fragile creature caught in the deadly embrace of the fierce warrior with a velvet face.
She refused! She struggled closer to the deadly spike impaling her heart; sobbed one last tender note, and pillowed her face on the black petals. He stood for while, watching how the moonlight silvered the stilling dust-brown feathers; saw the proud Rose shake free the dainty thing to flutter down to lie dead at its feet.
“And the moral, my dear friend,” muttered he to himself “There is nothing sadder than a Nightingale enamored of a Rose; unless it’s a woman who would propose to love an Emperor, but that I suppose - that is not so much sad, as silly...” Humming to himself, he calmly returned to an enchanted pagoda on the curve of the sculpted river - where a girl of polished silver and scarlet lips waited his pleasure.
Manuela Cardiga
CROSS ROADSSo today I say:This is the way,The path I foll...
CROSS ROADS
So today I say:
This is the way,
The path I follow;
And who can say
Where I'll be tomorrow?
Here is a cross-roads,
An invitation to a new dance
Oh will you not take a chance?
Quick! That-a-away!
Will you not join me?
Or will you shy away?
When you flee from pain,
You hide from joy.
And even as I believe
You do but toy
With this odd choice
That I may be,
I choose to play,
I choose your path
For one more day.
And then tomorrow
Who can say?
I may choose
Another way.
Manuela Cardiga
So today I say:
This is the way,
The path I follow;
And who can say
Where I'll be tomorrow?
Here is a cross-roads,
An invitation to a new dance
Oh will you not take a chance?
Quick! That-a-away!
Will you not join me?
Or will you shy away?
When you flee from pain,
You hide from joy.
And even as I believe
You do but toy
With this odd choice
That I may be,
I choose to play,
I choose your path
For one more day.
And then tomorrow
Who can say?
I may choose
Another way.
Manuela Cardiga
July 31, 2015
Give your past power over your present, and you give up t...
Give your past power over your present, and you give up the future.
MC
MC
GRATUITOUS VIOLENCEIS IMMUNE TO THE ANALYSISOF SCIENCEHe ...
GRATUITOUS VIOLENCE
IS IMMUNE TO THE ANALYSIS
OF SCIENCE
He was a Russian
With concussion
Who'd been hit
With an instrument
Of percussion...
You may ask yourself
Why it is relevant:
Why a Russian,
And not a Prussian
Or a citizen of the Levant?
What made the culprit
Hit the man on the pulpit?
Was it that he blessed
From right to left?
Or that funny black hat
With a cleft?
God don't know neither
And from as far as
The ice to the tropics
To the forests of cedar
The question was asked
Again and again:
Why the Russian?
Was it because
The roof of the church
Was polychrome?
And the dome
Like a cross
Between an onion
And a trombone?
Was it religious?
A seditious attack
To vindicate the outrage
Of a Chechen?
Or to proclaim
The continued strife
For the rights of Man?
"Look here do I really
Need a reason?
It was a spur of the moment
Purely emotional decision
The guy wouldn't shut up
About a season for this
A season for that..
And I left home this morning
With out taking my lithium..."
"But just so you don't think
I'm anti-religious, Doctor,
Tomorrow I take my Bongo
And beat up a man
From the Congo
Any idea were I can find one?
It's all the spirit
Of religious equallity
And good clean fun!"
MC
IS IMMUNE TO THE ANALYSIS
OF SCIENCE
He was a Russian
With concussion
Who'd been hit
With an instrument
Of percussion...
You may ask yourself
Why it is relevant:
Why a Russian,
And not a Prussian
Or a citizen of the Levant?
What made the culprit
Hit the man on the pulpit?
Was it that he blessed
From right to left?
Or that funny black hat
With a cleft?
God don't know neither
And from as far as
The ice to the tropics
To the forests of cedar
The question was asked
Again and again:
Why the Russian?
Was it because
The roof of the church
Was polychrome?
And the dome
Like a cross
Between an onion
And a trombone?
Was it religious?
A seditious attack
To vindicate the outrage
Of a Chechen?
Or to proclaim
The continued strife
For the rights of Man?
"Look here do I really
Need a reason?
It was a spur of the moment
Purely emotional decision
The guy wouldn't shut up
About a season for this
A season for that..
And I left home this morning
With out taking my lithium..."
"But just so you don't think
I'm anti-religious, Doctor,
Tomorrow I take my Bongo
And beat up a man
From the Congo
Any idea were I can find one?
It's all the spirit
Of religious equallity
And good clean fun!"
MC
Wounds don't heal if you keep tearing off the scabs.MC
Wounds don't heal if you keep tearing off the scabs.
MC
MC
