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In order to talk about a group of Mexicans artisans who offer their crafts in New York City is essential to read again the B. Travenยดs book "Canasta de Cuentos Mexicanos".










Every Man Wants Her: A Virginia Templeton Stories (The Virginia Templeton Series Book 1) - Kindle edition by Marsha Casper Cook. , , , , , , , , ,













: "Spaghetti Seeds" by Jack Prelutsky * Here's a thought (or perhaps a lesson) we need to seriously consider this election season. Children's poetry is so enlightening noh?







Thought I'd acquaint you with AMONG THE JIMSON WEEDS by keeneonlife - "Paul Keene has really caught the essence of growing up in a small town..." (Amazon Review)







Orville Mouse & the Puzzle of the Clockwork Glowbirds by Tom Hoffman, "humor, of which this novel has plenty, is handled with consummate skill."




is a strong debut novel by . Itโ€™s an immigrant story and a coming-of-age story. Diversity in literature is important. Support authors of color.


















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My days never breaks it’s seals for night. A moment of dark, could do it. Or else it’s just daylight to my mind.

-s.nk

Finding Yourself - Part 2

So, last post I talked about the presence of two different personality traits - the inherent and the provided. This post will mostly focus on how you can distinguish between the two. Its a difficult path and most of what I write here is based on studies and experiments I have done myself. So I’d love to hear your side of the story.

Let’s start with a basic exercise. Did you ever have that moment when you try to teach something to a kid and they don’t get it at all? Let’s say you try your hand at teaching them how to give a high-five. The problem now is you got to teach him how the feeling works. You show him the ropes, the how-tos and the troubleshooting. It seems like its going pretty well and you start to feel satisfied. Next thing you know he’s looking at you and asking you to explain from the beginning. What’s the exact thought that crosses your mind?

‘Oh, okay. Here you go?’

Maybe. Maybe not. Irrespective of this thought, you teach him once again. This repeats till the kid sees that giving a high-five pleases you. So the next time you meet, he/she remembers that you like high-fives. When they do it without a prompt, what do you feel? A sense of pride? Annoyance? Nothing? And what do you do? Return the high-five? Ignore him? Start teaching him something more?

Once you see the difference in the feeling and the action, you’ll begin to understand what exactly is going on. The reason I took this as the first example is because dealing with kids is usually a more emotional experience than when dealing with adults. But this small action will never suffice to reveal your complete personality. Once you get the hang of this split, you’ll be able to better recognize it when it happens around other people.

One important piece of information I didn’t mention before. Have you ever been to any personality development classes? Watched YouTube videos on how to become more successful? Read inspiration and management books? One thing is common in every thing. They teach you the importance of roles. A single human being can have 7,677,609,200 and counting, roles. Yes, that’s 7.7 billion - the current population. However, we probably deal with a maximum of around few tens of thousands of people in our whole life. For the rest we have a common role. One role for most of the 7.7 billion.

Coming to the tens of thousands of people, we usually have our family roles, business roles, public “image”, etc. It is these roles that define our behavior when we are in those respective environments. So they go on and tell you to define your roles and to learn how to switch between them. They say it streamlines your life, helps you be more successful. Well, they’re not wrong. But, have you ever questioned why?

Let’s explain it by joining this with the previous discussion. Human beings are animals. Yes, yes. I’ll explain. We’re called the great apes, the evolved form of apes. A mutation of one highly resilient species on Earth. This mutation allows us the luxury of “intelligence”. I’ll be posting an article on this so called intelligence sometime later since its slightly unrelated. So basically, if you let a baby grow up in the jungle, he will turn out a bit like Mowgli or better yet George of the jungle. What the creators of these epic characters have succeeded at is showing that human beings can live with other animals in harmony, but failed to show that human beings don’t need to be taught by wolves or gorillas.

The animal instinct is a very powerful thing. Nowadays developing as a sixth sense, it is the guiding light for every animal on Earth. Do you really think that humans are any different? The thing about instinct is that it easily overcome by years of mind-training but it is never gone. It’s still within you. Ever heard of the fight-or-flight scenario? It is usually described along with adrenaline. It is these scenarios that open your eyes to the world of instinct. Once you feel your gut, there is no way you will ever ignore it in your life. Ever. 

It’s like that friend who will never stop talking. Always around even if it annoys you. But, it is this friend who also cares about you. The split is clear now, isn’t it?

That friend is you. The instinct is you. You care for you. It’s called survival.


I’d love to hear from you! Drop a comment or message. Or if you want, drop a mew in my page. I’ll be sure to get back to you. Follow me for the final part of this series - the one that mentions “traps” and “businesses”.

2

Deito olhando o branco manchado que me fecha, ansiando pela volta do sono que já gastei. Acendo o relógio mas ele não marca aquilo que realmente espero.
Que essas coisas, ao invés de mim, sejam pequenas e insignificantes pela distância. Elas apenas parecem fáceis demais de contar, do que nem sempre consigo me abster.
Continuo tentando.
Parece perverso fazer você suportar esse processo, progresso? É degradante questionar se há vontade disso. Pelas vezes que toda virada da ampulheta parecia não ter fim e ser maior que nós, e que toda vontade escrita parecia nunca ter existido. Algo que eu queria poder fazer.
Mas escolhemos tentar.

1.9.19

He is my muse.

I’ve come to realize it over time.

He could play with my emotions.

Pull me every which way.

Make my heart swell.

Or break it 30,000 times.

But I will write 3 poems for each time he does.

And every time I will gain a new perspective.

A new analogy.

A new detail to focus on and write about.

He makes the words flow out of me.

I don’t care if they flow out with my tears

as long as there are wiped across a page and saved

instead of in a tissue and thrown out.

He makes my chest burst with feelings.

All at once.

I believe that’s has to be the best way to write.

But I’m afraid nothing else will have the same effect.

I won’t be able to write if it’s not because of him.

Nothing else makes me burst the same way.

Nothing else makes the words flow out so easily.

What if nothing else ever will?

I want to cherish my muse.

Make him mine forever.

Keep him close so the words never stop,

along with the love.

1.9.19

Remember how we used to hold hands?

So comfortably and naturally.

Remember how we used to search for each other’s palms under lunch tables, classroom desks and in each other’s sweater pockets?

Remember how we used to twirl our thumbs while our fingers were intertwined?

Like our own personal nonverbal sign of ‘I love you’.

That’s how we appreciated each other’s presence.

In the simplest way.

Our little thumb twirl.

We did it so often it became a habit to me.

My comforting gesture.

When my hand felt yours, I had no worries.

No stress.

No anger.

No sadness.

Just peace in knowing you were beside me.

And over the almost two years,

through our arguments,

that was the one thing that stayed constant.

The smallest motion and yet it had the biggest impact.

It has the largest meaning.

And it makes me miss you the most.

I walked defiantly, wishing I had something valuable in my hands, so I could smash it to bits. I said to myself that only a disaster, huge in scale, something on the order of a colossal earthquake, could bring back harmony.
—  Naguib Mahfouz, from Miramar

memories

i know you miss things that now are just memories.


i dont judge you. i miss it too.


but i also know that sometimes you feel stuck in the past and chained by the inertia


cause you lost yourself in the ghost particles of your mind and you cant let go


everything was better before.


i just ask you, please set yourself free from this prison you made


take of this band that stop you from seeing the road that is right in front of you


there is still much to come


there is still much to see


what has gone is nothing more but a thought in your head


and a story isn’t written with thought

is written with untold words

you have to be brave to read them.

Nothing’s Perfect

The perfect song..

The perfect ritual..

The perfect gong..

The perfect sequel.

The perfect kiss..

The perfect miss..

The perfect lists..

The perfect mist.

It’s the perfect one..

That doesn’t work..

It’s the perfect one..

That comes down when you stock up.

It’s the perfect one..

That didn’t stand a chance.

It’s the perfect one..

That broke every stance.

Color Me

Color me a rainbow..

Piercing through a tear drop.

Color me a dense shadow..

That gushes into a fearless mob.

Build me a giant castle..

That touches a cloud’s muscle.

Carve me a silver horse..

That runs through the night’s hustle.

Color me the inside of a den..

Where I can hide when..

Sculpture questions into a cultured pen..

Leading the world to reside oblivious to insane.

Trick me into wisdom..

Talk me out of freedom..

Quote someone to fame..

Just save capture from burning into flame.

Color me as an outcaste..

Out in a forest dark and dense..

Where voices fail to reach me..

Outspoken but annoyingly unbroken..

Like the branches rooting out from a once lustrous tree..

Painting the rivers green..

Color me a portrait..

Of the faith unseen.

Spreading out wide in the land of mean.

To the boy who asked if I ever get jealous,

Do you think a sunset ever worries that it is not the first you have seen?
The great artist of the sky doesn’t stress that their masterpiece will not live up to last week
There is painting to be done.
I love in hues of pastel yellow and lavender.
You are a collage of colors that I could never fully trace back.
Why be jealous when the hints of turquoise bring out your eyes?
Perhaps a woman before brushed the indigo on your lips
Perhaps I am in love with remnants of her as well.
You and I are living in bodies that are more scar than skin
What harm can a little more color do?
To the boy who asked if I ever get jealous,
No. Because tonight, the sunset is especially beautiful.