I Have To Talk With You About Something That Is Dear To My Heart…

It was that last year in proper University, the time before I started slipping into performances to watch professors profess, before I was taking my desire’s desires to heart.

It was for the sake of learning alone.

We are talking my 7th year in university and a class that was one of many beautiful terrors, the terror of beauty.

I can’t explain my struggle with Charles Baudelaire at this moment, but let’s say a French name to my naive glottal was lost and the resulting articulation was one for embarrassment to all who listened, particularly the professor, who corrected me thrice.

And while the Le Fleur du mal transformed my life, the moment I want to tip with you is Walter’s ways with the Aesthetic Movement…

Walter Pater…

I have never experience sentences of your kind.

And that was it.

The exploration of art for art’s sake, and then to find a sentence that kept turning my mind, wanting me to read it over and over and over, was unbelievable to my virginy mind.

A thousand blushes of naivety.

And this one book explained myself to me with words that I hadn’t yet discovered to put upon my own experience.

It had been my experience that being is it, being for the sake of being, being without having to be anything other than the beauty that is life.

And you are life. I am life. We are in existence, and beauty matters to me.

Everything Becomes A Blessing Upon Beauty, Upon Existence, And Life, Art Itself…

If your life is simply your art, than you experience things in a different way than most.

Every moment, when you are awake to it, becomes a part of your story, of your paintings, of your words.

And that only comes after the experience.

To have the experience, adn then turn the translation for others, well that is the art of sharing.

Art of a being is circular.

It lives like this, live and be, create and translate those experiences as you might, share or give away to others to ingest as they will.

And it becomes a kind of circular sensation.

Creating for pleasure…

There are transitional moments in all of it, in places that gifts you the opportunity to feel and emote, to experience and twist life all upon your body and mind.

It’s an excuse perhaps…

An excuse to fondle life completely…

But if you are the tongue and the taste, and the taster, you must believe that nothing turns on another like sharing the kiss.

We will speak more about this soon…

What of that sentence? The Sentence That Many Know…

18 years ago, I didn’t know its popularity, but like a taste of wonder, most who know, know…

But I no longer have the book, which I gave to a friend some time ago, but there is a quote not the one I wish to share, but one that speaks to so many, “To burn always with this hard gemlike flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life.

Who wouldn’t be attracted to such potential.

Hugs and love,
Emeric Damian


Follow along on this adventures and more importantly share your own if you are so inclined.

The two mentioned:

  • The Renaissance: Studies in Art and Poetry by Walter Pater
  • Le Fleur du mal, by Charles Baudelaire

Her Helmet Said Yes, So Why Would I Be So Foolish To Say No?

And hello my love,

It’s always a pleasure to be here with you for a few moments, to share an experience, an unfolding of the existence that we are sharing with each other.

There is nothing in our lives that keeps us from moving together, traveling together to exist upon the mystery.

So we play and we travel and we don’t stop, we keep running into the explorations.

Here I am in this moment, a motorcycle and an open country.

And in all of that beauty waiting for a taste of the living death. You know that sensation that asks you to acknowledge a whisper of hesitation, a slight of fear, a way of being the excites, even though it potentially torments.

And so here we are in that space, walking, running, riding and otherwise lying entwined in the universe.

Of course I said yes!

Wouldn’t you, I hope it’s true, that way we can dance and play and enjoy our days…

Love you,
Emeric Damian

A Whim Into Mystery & An Opportunity For You To Grace The Art of Portugal Upon Your Life…

The Ticket That Took Me There!

I’d love to buy you original art work from Portugal, delivered to your door where ever you are…

But why Portugal? They always ask.

It all started on a whim.

Almost two years ago, at 3 am in the morning after a night of too many innocuous cocktails, the kind that are crafted and poured over the appropriate sized square of ice, in the properly sized glass, a life was about to be turned upon adventure.

I decided to trade one life for another.

Continue reading “A Whim Into Mystery & An Opportunity For You To Grace The Art of Portugal Upon Your Life…”

Moving Without Taking a Step…

You transform as you travel, through space and time, wants and desires rolling over worlds of make believe.

Imagination carries a singular reality, shape shifting upon the conceiver’s mind, one layer of reality at a time.

Experience stretches membranes of existence over your eyes, thin layers of skin continue to disguise.

And as you rub away, to clear the view, the callus cracks scratch back at you.

And in it all you may recognize, you are dreaming without eyes.

The layers laid, thought upon thought.

Decomposing upon what’s not.

You’ve never travelled, yet here you are, still taking your breaths from a distant shore.



A saga arrived today.

A saga of curiosity arrived today.

A lost song that was never known by name, but was part of a mysterious compilation of musings, some known as others disappeared upon the carrier’s death.

The nameless song melted from me too.

But the flesh remembers a feeling, speaks of a desire once known.

You never forget even if it’s a haze around what’s real.

Then the day comes when satellites send down from space a lost sensation.

It’s all communication, as millions of others have known what I’ve known but couldn’t express, the gentle resolve of a melodic duress.

Traces of melodies different but desired.

Memory holds a taste. 

Travel lightly upon the sky

She withdrew.

I entered what was broken in two.

Smooth and wavy a confused grass and clay.

My steps are saturated by the fragrance of wild flowers, a temptation toward their domestic companions.

This garden is more chaotic than tamed.

Still, a design exists…

Moving from the entrance and into the heart of paradise, an eclectic combination of knowledge comes together to form the whole, the integrated crumb of soil intertwined with the two feet that are upon it, intertwined with the roots, stems, flowers, and fruits, intertwined with the air, the clouds, water, and the Sun.

All of this running through me and through you.

Its all too much.

How can I not be satisfied by these rivers of growth.

Seeds becoming plants.

Plants becoming my bones.

Growth becoming me.

There are so many ways to enter the garden.

The stars are in the garden, so why cant I be.

With A Graceful Toothless Smile

On the bluffs of Santa Monica, a few hours before the picture above, a homeless woman in a wheelchair, with a graceful toothless smile, gave me a box of coconut water and said, drink this, Zico; Ive got plenty and you need it more than I do. I see that water bottle in your hand, you’re depleted. You’ve gotta take care of yourself hun, get hydrated.

And your eyes are sad.

I am internal at this moment, walking in the beauty, but internal, pushing through a place in my mind, denying my sad eyes as if I not allowed a moment of dystopia in paradise.

Come sit down with me.

Then she smiled me into her world.

A serpent wisdom I cant resist

And it comes, words of wisdom, tangled emotions, and cliches that are stripped free from the cliche.

And I listen, I watch, I feel and I wait with wonder to hear what it is Im revealing to myself through this woman.

Thirty five years shes been coming to this dancing tree to connect with the earth and breathe the ocean deep.

The ocean will pull it all out of you, all that gunk. When you get all gunked up, come to her. It may hurt but shell heal yah.

She showed me her money making magic, green tattooed on her left palm, the silent incantation. And words balanced on oracle like laughter, floating off for others to catch.

Homeless now and again, waiting for a hip transplant, homeless now but taken care of, her smile attracts.

Theres nothing to fear in this life. Took me a long time to get that, but Id like to think I have. It all balances out.

And then it came, as it often does, when I meet women who have that touch of unbound electric truth.

First the beauty, the wisdom, the compassion and then the story of childhood traumas, of innocence undone, of stinging betrayals.

And then the resolve, I love life, all of it.

The serpent swallows its tail.

She spoke and I listened, stories only for my mind.

And as I walk away the question comes, “why do I speak to myself as such?”

The teachings are everywhere.

Wake up Walking Cloud, wake up.

Realizing today’s fear is tomorrow’s laughter

There is fear running through my mind, coursing through my body, looking out of my eyes and right back into my self.

Sharing this might make me feel better, as action is often the remedy for overcoming emotions that I don’t yet understand.

One strike of the key, then another, fears laid down to sleep.

Searching for it, it flees
Looking for it, it hides
Feeling for it, it tears

What is wrapped amongst my pain is the mentation of living deranged. It’s so, isn’t it?

When you choose to live your life on your own terms, whether right or misguided, fear too, travels near, bed times.

So what is it that I’m fearing?

Nothing rationale, only the dragons of my own creation.

Loneliness, the unknown, being lost in my way, losing faith as to who and what I am, what I’ve become

Do you see it?

The blessing that it is, to experience the void, the falling sensation, drowning in an abyss of emptiness.

To fly in the void, to breathe what doesn’t exist

Drama in these words, such truth too.

It’s a thing that sits in the shadows

It’s a thing that sits in the shadows

It’s something that I am always trying to grasp.

It’s a thing that sits in the shadows, calling to me, comforting me with its lack of boundaries.

The ineffable being that wants to share, that promises to share its secrets with me if only I will walk into the darkness.

I know the fear of the unknown, its all unknown.

How can I live in terror of everything?

How can I live like that?

How can any of us live like that? We can’t.

Then why do we keep trying to?

Maybe the density of our ignorance is more than the world can handle. We’ll soon collapse into an iron heap of exhaustion.

Until then we will grasp onto anyone who offers a hand, knowingly or not; if they are in our vicinity we will stretch out in a desperate attempt to feel, to see, to know if they are the one who will let us experience ourselves, filling us with the false knowledge of who or what we are.

And in the meantime well go on feigning contentment and happiness.

I know I can only be disappointed in them. It’s the way isn’t it?

It’s the way that is the obstacle to understanding myself.

No, it’s the experience that screams back at me, shooting me through with the truth of my existence, that I will never find my space in an other.

How could I?

I am me while everyone else is everyone else but me.

There is only one space where I can be.

You can’t be here. I can’t be there.

I’m glad this is so, even though I am sad that I can never fully know your experience.

I don’t want you to know mine, not entirely at least. There are too many things that I don’t want you to know, emotions, mental states, potentialities that I wouldn’t wish upon another.

What does it mean for me to acknowledge this?

It means loneliness and discontent; it means possibility and adventure.

I haven’t been to that place that I believe exists.

I’m going there if I’m not already.

Maybe I’m an idealist, a romantic who can only fail, but failing by blindness is not the failure I’m participating in.

I’m going into failure knowing that I am in control of my reactions, in control of anything and everything that I experience because I know I can’t control any of it.

That is all I need to know. But is that ever enough.

Let me run free into death. If that is how it plays out then that is how it plays out.