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For if it were not to Dionysos that they made a procession and sang the shameful phallic hymn, they would be acting most shamelessly. But Hades is the same as Dionysos in whose honour they go mad and keep the feast of the winevat.
You cannot step twice into the same rivers; for fresh waters are ever flowing in upon you.
Two "fragments of Herakleitos of Ephesos.
You cannot step twice into the same rivers; for fresh waters are ever flowing in upon you.
Two "fragments of Herakleitos of Ephesos.
Fly on, Little Wing
Well, she's walkin' through the clouds
With a circus mind, that's running wild.
Butterflies and zebras and moonbeams, and uh fairy tales.
That's all she ever thinks about.
Riding with the wind.
When I'm said, she comes to me
With a thousand smiles, she gives to me free
It's alright she says. It's alright
Take anything you want from me, anything. Anything
Fly on, Little Wing
Little Wing ( Jimi Hendrix)
Devious Journal Entry
"But the Almighty Lord hath struck him,
and hath delivered him into the hands of
a woman."
—The Vulgate, Judith, xvi. 7.
Charles Baudelaire
"The Jewels"
The beloved was naked, and knowing my heart,
had retained only her vibrant jewels,
whose pageantry gave to her a rich and conquering air
such as belonged, on langorous days, to Moorish concubines.
This world radiant of metal and rock
ravishes me, and when its bright
and mocking noise leaps in dance, I madly love
those things in which sound is mixed with light.
She lay thus, abandoned to love,
and from the height of the couch, smiled
carelessly at my ardor that rose, deep and fragrant as the sea,
mounting toward her as toward a pale cliff.
Eyeing me like a tamed tiger,
she posed with a vague and dreamy air,
and cand
ondoyante imperceptiblement
Pistils dardés ! pollens féconds et fleurs trémières !
Un rut immense et lourd semble tanguer dans l'air ;
Les blancs magnolias sont des baisers faits chair
Et les senteurs des lys parfument la lumière.
Les pivoines, comme des coeurs
Rouges, brûlent dans la splendeur ;
L'air pantelle d'amour et ses souffles se nouent ;
L'ombre est chaude, comme un sein sous la joue ;
De larges gouttelettes
Choient des branches, infatigablement,
Et les roses et les iris vont se pâmant,
Sur des lits bleus de violettes.
Émile VERHAEREN (1855-1916)
(Recueil : Les forces tumultueuses)
© 2004 - 2024 oniris
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