Jogos de Cartas

Jogo de Cartas from Richard Silva on Vimeo.

a pretty sweet little short I did

what if you were led through the dark

with faith, held on to embark,

and never ended up where you should?

how frightening a thought,

that what you had caught,

was nothing more than driftwood.

a strong pull indeed,

with such admirable speed,

gives the impression of purposeful course,

but once the sun rises

and we lose nights disguises,

its always current pulling you forth.

what can you say to help impart

to the man who holds his broken heart;

that although life seems so cold

this is how the story unfolds.

albeit it will never end,

the story is the journey friend

for there is no final resting place

no finish lines to end this race.

it is evident in the growth nature brings

the price for life is suffering

let not your tattered garments

and tarnishing laments,

be the only voice thats heard

build the mask you choose,

build the face you're deserved.

who else knows better,

the truths you contain

and the loves you feign,

than the architect of such a voice?

that is all the world will choose to see,

the timbre you project. build a masterpiece.

Shit tracks Randy, shit tracks

I used to be full of shit. (and this ain't gay)

so full of shit my eyes were brown. now they're green, or greening

because I opened up all the shit valves. every pore and orifice and vessel

to allow for the shit to stop building pressure. to let the shit seep out. slow as fuck.

goddamn does it take a while, to not be full of shit. you get soo

PACKED (not fudgepacked) by all the bullshit,

that you're constantly wiping shit off of you. who wants to be around someone

who is always wiping shit? smells like shit, looks like shit..must be shit.

the hardest part is not closing the shit valves again. eventually the shit well runs dry (ricky)

and you can be filled with whatever you want.

so next time you see someone wiping shit off of himself, grab some gloves

and give him a hand goddammit.

he's trying

are you trying to make a monster out of me?

break me down to hands and knees;

to be trapped in a box to thrash as you please?

attempting with vigor to shake loose my "disease".

I can not be disposed of with such little ease.

ready & set to brace myself for impact;

in this tomb of a world, your reward the broken back.

there's no looking, only seeing

when your bracing yourself

darkness has nothing its concealing

what if it felt as if I were oxen?

or a dog to bring the flocks in?

happily utilized for a menial claim

terminated menially for a Show of Faith,

like any slave, servant, to be chaste

for the sake of the save face.

so here I am yours to shake.

as my grip grows stronger each day,

and your grasp fades with each thrash you make,

one day, when these confines break;

I will be master, & you will be slave.

suck on that shit

here I stand, suspended

and rendered unconsciously conscious.

here I am mended by one night

of unraveling, like a loose thread;

tread cautious not to fully undo,

as I fear I will lose tether from the Earth.

If such a state does occur,

one of true shapeless resource,

act accordingly, fashion me

into your desires. I am the mortar

to seam your fractures, a shield

to your weakness & fears, I am yours.

use me as you will. wield me

for thy purpose, I am a vessel for you,

just as you are The Vessel.

It is but a modest compensation;

To repay such a sacred charge

is a burden far too daunting,

for the sensibilities of an unsatisfied

woman. I offer the

enthusiastic assistance,

in maintaining the weight

of the great consideration.

they say its impossible,

but I've found a part of the river

that seems crossable.

just have to lighten your load,

take a chance on the slicker stones,

although the river is wide,

its twice the life on the other side.

and god, must we try..

your freedom is written in the profit margin

marginally

the struggle

thankfully this well of will,

whos depth has yet to be seen,

is so readily available to yield.

so that I may once again summon the strength

to expand my lungs, to strive

for one more breath of life; and that I,

may relish in the relief of its exhale.

9 - 11?

so I have been trying to stay informed of the worlds current events, and in the process of fulfilling that today I stumbled upon some interesting images.

this link goes to a BBC News article on the recent death of Poland's President, Lech Kaczynski, in a tragic plane crash:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/8612825.stm

if you notice, that plane is fucked up. the ground around it? also fucked up. actually, it looks exactly like it did when they crashed the plane on the first season of Lost...and the sixth season!

now here are a couple links, one showing the aftermath of the 'plane crash' into the pentagon, and one of a similar 'attack' in Pennsylvania:

http://911research.wtc7.net/pentagon/evidence/photos/index.html

http://911research.wtc7.net/planes/attack/flight93site.html

If you notice, these scenes look completely different!

Obviously someone has deceived Us. Regardless of the intentions, let this be a warning to you that nothing is what it seems..

especially in the name of war.

ever want to be a fly on the wall?

see some stuff you shouldn't.

www.wikileaks.org

to be not once, but twice cast aside

like a perfect idea, perfected once again

obsolete, rides the ebb and flow of tide

I helped hold the waters back long enough,

long enough for waves to wear my walls

and to see your kingdom flourish

yet, once erosion runs its course

I crumble, collapse to the ground

remaining here, unperturbed

admiring my place in the grand scheme

every kingdom must expand

now, but a pile of stone surrounds

naturally, you'll loathe the blemish

but you forget the intent

of which this wall, had stood

if your ambition surpasses your vision

as you build a wall to further hold

the tide at bay, to keep a kingdom growth,

then you shall see barren days

no man can fight a nature's strength

be it his, the moon's, or Earth

the waves will soon retrieve their ground

regardless of your birth.

be careful what you pretend to be because that is what you'll become

Quiet Rage: The Stanford Prison Experiments

Review of the Quiet Rage video by Hans Sherrer

(September 2003)

http://forejustice.org/zimbardo/quiet_rage.htm

one day,

when retrospect has taken its course,

and clarity on immediacies

& such is relinquishing,

a certain scent overcomes,

this momentary glory.

while pursuit of a definition

in measures present

suffices not to purge emanation,

threaten relentless appeal

to the senses,

as to the nature of their latency.

I was born with too much weight on my shoulders,

like Atlas, trying not to let the world roll over

it happens, I've adjusted to holding this boulder,

made with my father's doubts,

getting heavier as I get older

pieces

As fire screams from between branches
An autumn sky blazes over our autumn years
Black, silhouetted against a crimson sun
Shining light scattered, upon our gaze-less eyes
As the world is broken piece by piece
Our hands callus from the crumbling earth
Set forth by trembling hearts
We lead ourselves blindly to the edge of the abyss
Look at us now! we exclaim
As we dance eyes closed upon the ledge
Laughing down with no voice returned
Like fools, there is no end in sight!
Under our feet the ground slowly slips
Leaving no grasp for callused hands
For we have wandered too far, too fast
Carelessly grinding bedrock for sand
Disappearing, the crimson light trails
Back across the brink
As all wonder falls within
Seeing death before it meets the deep

attn:

Ladies & Gentlemen, may I have your attention?
I have startling news of vile misdirection.
It seems a slave comes cheap these days.
For we are all in shackles in a few different ways:

First they tie your heart to things,
Undermining love, by defining what it means.
Placing fake expectations on the world you "deserve",
Thus limiting reaction to the master we serve.

Secondly, they tie your mind to debt.
Focusing your attention so those expectations can be met.
By keeping the world so far about your means,
Making you live life to catch up, oblivious to the scheme.

And third, they weigh you down with fear.
Creating "security" so that comfort stays near.
Building your life around an idea of hope,
That nothing goes wrong, and you stay afloat.

Eliminating the search to discover who you are,
They name the nameless, and they set the bar.
But you dont have to submit as a pawn in a game,
For each man is powerful, and we are all the same.

rain. rain

washed as white as snow?

more like a thin, watered coat of paint,

it just takes some rain to wash it away.

brace yourselves!

you're falling back to earth

it must be something in the air

to make me fret so

something, to make me fear

that I'm losing something

losing anything

yes, it must be, in the air

if I take a look around

its easy to see

everything I'd like to keep

is still right in front of me

so just breathe, its nothing