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#WordTravelWithEmeric

poetry of a kind

“May you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days.”

—

If you want to write, if you want to create, you must be the most sublime fool that God ever turned out and sent rambling. You must write every single day of your life. You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one moment, brilliant the next. You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads. I wish you a wrestling match with your Creative Muse that will last a lifetime. I wish craziness and foolishness and madness upon you. May you live with hysteria, and out of it make fine stories — science fiction or otherwise. Which finally means, may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.

Ray Bradbury as quoted in Advice to Writers, Jon Winokur, 2000

“May you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake the world.”

If you are to take to the world, may you be in love every day, while you create and play in your way, the way, which is yours.

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

p.s.

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…

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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.

[Read more…] about A Whim Into Mystery & An Opportunity For You To Grace The Art of Portugal Upon Your Life…

Moving Without Taking a Step…

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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.