Posts Tagged ‘inspiration’
World on fire, they say, and us swimming through like deja-vu’s. Most of us not wanting to achieve anything more than what lays on the carpet ahead of us, and money to pay for this month’s rent and tomorrow’s lunch and dinner.
This is a world on fire, Sir and bridges will be burnt! Generations of young blood will pass through frontiers and rush like wild horses locked in for too long. They’ll make this world explode asking, demanding for a freedom of their own.
It’s not a political adrenaline, although all the important media seem to broadcast it this way. It’s something that comes from years of pent-up frustration and this wind of change will knock down blackboards and desks as they become something more than what the system expects of them. It comes from the madness of trying to figure it what they are to do with their lives, what they can become and where they will be headed. It’s the instinct to shout every time the borders seem to shrink and to cry together in one voice, so that each of them will later be able to stand up on its own.
The Arab Spring.
Occupy Wall-Street.
Protesters in Romania.
Grown-up kids taking the world as a playground for their personalities. For that feral struggle to be free, even though freedom is understood differently by each of them. All around the world people are turning against their governments, their bankers, their parents and their old beliefs. They crack the walls of ignorance, wanting to be known. They doubt every religion of the past, in order to find a truth of tomorrow. They will bring down everything that stands in front of them.
We’re all nothing more than fences to them. They are those we blame today and going to thank to tomorrow. They are the bold ones, the soul of this earth and the movement, when our fears make us cower, startling us.
They are us, just louder. Us, just more brave. Us, taking the first step.
Us, when the time comes.
Photo sources: news.nationalpost.com and politico.com
Age 7: Worked to support family after they were forced out of their home;
Age 9: Mother died;
Age 22: Failed in business;
Age 23: Defeated for legislature and couldn’t get into Law School;
Age 24: Declared bankruptcy and spent 17 years paying off debts owned to friends;
Age 25: Defeated for legislature again;
Age 26: While engaged to be married sweetheart died and heart was broken;
Age 27: Had a nervous breakdown and spent the next six months in bed;
Age 29: Defeated in becoming the speaker of the state legislature;
Age 31: Defeated in becoming elector;
Age 34: Defeated for Congress;
Age 37: Defeated for Congress again;
Age 39: Defeated for Congress yet again;
Age 40: Rejected for the job of Land Officer in Home State;
Age 45: Defeated for Senate;
Age 47: Defeated for Vice-President — Got less that 100 votes;
Age 49: Defeated for Senate again;
AGE 51: ELECTED PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES
The Man? ABRAHAM LINCOLN
“Fall seven times. Stand up eight.”
From here.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
(Dylan Thomas – Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night)
I feel like lying all day in bed with the most precious music in my headphones. Damn, music is addictively gooood!
All you can find on my Facebook wall are music and links. Oh, and quotes meant to fuel the good mood.
All I can do is write nonsenses and eat chocolate. And I just don’t care.
Oh, I try to be productive. I hate the sleep-eat-barbecue holiday tradition around here. So I read things. A lot of things from which I am meant to learn things. And I do.
But I… stare at amazing pictures, plan the next adventures and call my friends. We have hour-long talks and days long texting. Then we go out and stare at the cafe menus before we can decide. And we laugh and kiss each other’s cheeks affectionately.
We trade the city we’re in for new territories and we leave home without telling our parents the destination.
I watch movies and I know my life is going to be even better. I Skype with friends from out of country, and we all agree we’re going to be nomads for a long period still.
I read about successful people and wonder why they just boast, and don’t let other know how to “make it”. Telling me that, out of the blue, you came up with these amazing ideas and, suddenly, thousands of people found it appealing, just doesn’t work, honey. I want to know about those restless nights, about failed first tries and about the library that helped you be in the spotlight. I want to know if you’re offering mentoring programmes.
For free, of course.
I decide that I don’t mind not really feeling at home. I miss work, because, in some hidden corner of my mind, I think I’ve discovered what I want to do (besides writing novels, I mean). I want to take new risks and be damn serious about them. I won’t mind another unpaid job as long as it gives me the thrills of knowledge and a team of great people. I would actually love it.
I try to foresee my future and try to figure out when to schedule dance lessons.
I have a resolution of meeting new people, no matter what the statistics tell me about them.
I am still stubbornly refusing to read all those mails and I sleep a lot, but not excessively. I have these few days of not taking any responsibilities, just feeding my imagination.
For a couple of days I can be anti-social, but I am redesigning myself. How else can my friends appreciate me if they’d see me every day in the same way? Ntz, ntz…
I try to keep myself away from coffee and I think the coffee minds. It might be good to add some whipped cream to it when we meet again.
I am up for jazz, latino, arabian music and making memories.
And you?
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