124 views posted 06 Dec 2013, 01:42
The crooked teeth mouth smiled
enlarging and wrinkling the face
while the soundless joke hit
his face distord down stupidly
a personal anguish
to the deepest hollow of his brain
was a game of dice
they bet something with no value
just for keep themselves
entretained in the pub
outside the rain keep falling
like the age of those laudly man
preserving then alive
a distance sound of tolling church bells
rival the nonsence of the doll rain
and the jokeless words
as the dice falls
beneath the skin of the sea
lies asleep a tentatular monster
right there where all the monsters live
down south in the old toned maps
of an ancient forgotten earth
While swimming in the ocean
of boredom and mediocrity
I fond a pearl
a bright round sun
shining upon my day
from dawn to twilight
and if there's some kind of a God somewhere
he surely touched you with his hand
That crepuscular spark
that I inject on the ugly thing
between my ears
makes me think with my heart
and feel with my brain
You are the soft breeze
touching my face
waving away putrid thoughts
and from you I learned
truth is not a mannerism
Since my first breath
to my last exhale
there is laughter and sadness
painfull incursions and tears of joy
and there is you
You and your funny feet
and I marvel
Your name translated is music
your words high on sound
but despite all the love
you are not mine
you are not ours to keep
I can only reach you
on the point of the arrow constelation
up there in the night sky
near Christmas time
When you waved your hand
in a slow goodbye
you din't took much with you
but you left a brand new world behind
My shoes fill up with sand
like an old hourglass
can't run anymore
my soul is at my feet
a candy apple with a razor in it
All rooms in my home put together
became a pool which I swim out till dawn
a new wrong that wasn't wrong before
real things are so empty at a close inspection
I swim toward the past
to that part of me that is always alone
I told you all my secrets
terrified of what you might think
and they all have been quickly sold
nothingness becames the common currency
while you promissed the weight of the moon
in absolute certainty and assured dreams
My eyes have closed slowly by the weight of tears
disconecting from all uglyness
I know I'm on the wrong side of life
is that alright with you?
all the doors you provided and closed
making a hallow space in between
Do not come knocking on my front door now
I'm hiding in any place but there
running from my mistakes
have no feelings left
can't be woken up anymore
but I still staged all the day
dressed as the mother of the sun
but having no idea where to go to
walking down this empty avenues
the muffled sound of my feet clapping
all that subsides
are this strange talking
while I disconect my body
gone at last.
263 views posted 29 Nov 2013, 08:51
Todays subject is dear to me. Fortunately we are living times when we are taught to embrace diversity. We accept the concept in full, or we should. That acceptance involving a myriad of interests makes us see the world in all its colours and tastes; we embrace diversity in politcs, in tastes of music, sexual orientations, manners of speach, languages, different and bizarre traditions without questioning its limits or legitimacy, different approachs on clothing turn the old into new, what the hell we even fancy odd shoes.
(i'm bound never to repet an image but this one is my epiphany so, please, indulge me)
That beautiful picture I just portrayed and described to you, this serendipity, rases the core question: if we happily cope with such amount of diverse information why we all fight so much among each other, why this absurd cleavage of interests and is there a possibility to really live in peace or we are doomed to fight endlessly... we all wonder sometimes, for sure.
In fact, we all should be able to attend graciously one anothers idiosyncrasies by now, even though question them in order to exchange experiences and thoughts, we choose instead to wrestling and targeting each others with things much more destructive than pillows.
So, I leave you guys with my question for today:
Is there a meaning for this tug of war?
161 views posted 29 Oct 2013, 19:16
Today at breakfist I was thinking:▼42 comments
I like Halloween a lot so I thought this could be a good way to celebrate. First I need to dress up properly...
...invite a nice good looking friend to go out...
...grab a bite to eat...
...and get a bit wasted...
...walk down the street to do some...
...and play nasty funny tricks,
like annoying people on Kat with my senseless blogs...
...hoping they care to make some comments...
...latter on go dancing and make a fool of myself...
...hopefully find true love...
...phone some friends to join the party...
...people as crazy as I am...
...to talk about important matters...
...like being a Kat member...
...or odd shoes...
...sing along some songs obviously out of key...
...scaring the hole neighborhood...
...that already think I'm some kinf of...
...or a troll...
...anyways just wanted to show you my version of Holloween...
...hope you liked it or... not.
Have a happy Halloween my friends...
97 views posted 27 Oct 2013, 11:54
You all know by now that I'm a huge Elliott Smith fan so today I wanted to show a different side of his personality: the funny guy (dark people can be funny too).
So those are some of the funniest Elliott Smiths jokes/quotes that made me think he's special, he's sharp.
Talking about some oppinions of fans he read on "sweet adeline" web site about why he should do music:
..."anything that people can do that's creative is definitely worth doing, so
this is what i do, for as long as i can do it."
About wrinting songs about alcahol or drugs:
"y'know, some people do drugs, some people exercise. people find all kinds of ways to get out of the humdrum repetitive nature of having to be the same person all the time," he pauses for a second or two's thought and a mouthful of harp. "but it might not be very interesting to write a song that describes the experiecne of jogging!" hahaha!"
About hearing jokes on the tour bus (Keith Cameron's questions):
do you know any jokes, Elliott?
"jokes? i've actually hear a lot of jokes on the bus on this tour. but i'm better at appreciating them than telling them! hmm, trying to think of a good one. all the ones i know are just so stupid! ok, here's one! why don't cannibals eat clowns?"
we don't know, elliott. why don't cannibals eat clowns?
"because they taste funny!"
no, really, it's the way he tells 'em. and there's more!
"there's a whole series of cannibal jokes! one was... haha! so dumb! what does a cannibal get after he eats someone's head?" elliott smith giggles helplessly. "the cold shoulder! hahahaha!!!"
While performing in:
1995-05-XX - LA LUNA - PORTLAND OR
Elliott: This is a song about the moon [about to play Satellite].
Someone in crowd: Just say no to crack!
Elliott: ...There's no crack on the moon....That I know of.
OLYMPIA WA, 07-17-1999
Elliott: What we need are some dancers. Or maybe ...answers? Does anybody have any answers?
Someone in Crowd: Your ass!
Elliott: My ass!? That's a good answer.
And some of his quotes:
“I think that’s a Western notion of demonizing inactivity. No one can be productive all the time.”
- Elliott Smith
“I haven’t done anything yet that I’m ashamed of. I’m bound to fuck up sooner or later. Everybody does.”
- Elliott Smith
“I don’t think the point is to make no mistakes. That’s… just not the point.”
- Elliott Smith on The Jon Brion Show
"Well, I try not to think about the general public since I have no idea what the general public is and I don't think anybody does."
- Elliott Smith
Hope you enjoy this information as much as I did.
Fonts: sweetadeline.net and several fan blogs; pictures and gifs from photobucket and sweetadeline.net.
135 views posted 26 Oct 2013, 01:44
Can you? Would you?
Can you just pretende that your forgiven me?
because you wouldn’t believe
how much you’ve been missed
Maybe you would be satisfied
to see how much I payed the price
All tomorrows became frozen in space
as every street and boulevard
brings you up like a whisper
an unstoppable breath invading my chest
where a heart lives, as to you as before
I had to keep moving on, you see
while you stayed elsewhere
belonging to someone else
I’m lost, still so lost
why did you set me free?
and spread me around
I’m becoming insane
linger on shuffling this memories
that wont fly away
Wont you please die for me?
be an erased memorie
is it you weaving on the dark?
oh, is just me staring in the mirror
would you let me die?
cause I can’t feel you anymore
or put my arms around you
thinking that you’re wrong
nobody loved me as you use to
How can I keep
this monster out
if it’s within my skin
as I crumble in bites and pieces?
In my first death
I didn't die
thought God and Hell are different gardens
on the same landscape
could just be a tail of a superstitious man
wished boredom and the daily insanity
could swallowed me like a naive romance
instead of that gun in my head.
The nights and the days
remainded fragments of a dark ocean
where sleepy stars go to rest
that was my dream number one
so much truthful
as the years went bye.
Old people can only expect to become older
and I didn't want to age
and be ruled by fear of death
that could pick me up in some corner.
If sorrow was a premonition of yesterday
today are its confirmation
anyway can't upset me anymore.
My impetuous heart is no longer a flame
Sherazade's voice echoes in the fog
"the worst thing is not to love"
and everything becomes silent again.
As the day faints behind this wall
the light descends this improbable sky
as a fluid twilight
a scent, a taste
in a bright pale skin.
Collect thoughts are simple conjectures
saved from oblivion
is life a form of splendour
or are coincidences producing that overwelming sensation
like a game of chess that you always loses.
He said I love you
in a whisper
the hands shaked as he took mine
dark eyes, pink pale lips
looking to me from beyond.
When I lost this game
the days became heavier than heaven
I offered him clouds, he turn away
the wind over my head blowed between my fingers
buried me in teardrops
building roads in my face
that you walked with your finger tips.
I was only a shadow cast aside
in this lonely sand castle by the sea
scared as tidal approaches.
You have learned so much about me
that I became a stranger
to my own thoughts.
Can't dare to be happy
didn't even tried ever since
memories slide in front of my nauseated eyes
shouting impossibilities in front of me
like a vivd mob
No longer find confort in decipher awkward symbols
or hope in dull meanings of words
the voices of people are an abstract sound
no melody in phrases.
I don't want a place in the world anymore
never did, anyhow
so many tragedies caught on film
like a personal speech
in front of a wall
strange, leered crossword
a knowing look to you
as I touch your cold lips
don't say anything anymore
just go to sleep
and dream of nothing.
With a head so full of light
he’s seated at the dark table of night
between things remembered and forgotten
he pulls his insides out paciently fishing for courage
but his trembling arms
don’t let him see
like black and white squares
landing on each others
he doesn’t remember him
even when his mirror does
you insiste on losing yourself
in painful guts
looking at them so closely
or so far
they are like sisters
two cuts divide us in half
I’m so could
with my hands dressed in fog and empty sockets
hours get stripped aways of it’s minutes
I stay and remain
sitting at the dark table of the night
feeling long gone
not worried anymore
with the questions made
or the non provided answers.
150 views posted 16 Oct 2013, 03:21
Elliott Smith “comedy of errors” ended tragicly ten years ago. It was no surprise, people said at the time, nevertheless heartbraking and disturbing, at least to me. He had barely turned 34.
His story didn’t ended like some dark suspicious novel that a strange twist make the plot goes somewhere else, unespectadly; it ended like he warn us it would.
I could've waited till the 21st to post this, but I didn't because I wanted to celebrate his creative life not his polemic death.
His first track I came across was “I better be quiet now”, and I thought well, here it is a true hopeless romantic…, secondly “Between the Bars” lifted the warning, this guy is on something, I bet…, how I wish I was wrong… he followed all the “popular ways of failure or killing your emotions”, as he claimed in an interview, till the very end. “I’m the wrong kind of person to be really big and famous”, he also admited.
I found his music two month or so ago, and was already suddenly in presence of the obliterating fact that was not going to be any more words coming out of his mouth or music sounding from his guitar or piano, alive anyway. Couldn’t never ever go to a live concert! was a truth blown into my face.
I discovered Elliott’s music while surfind the internet looking for Tame Impala’s material; no relation, whatsoever, unless if you pay attention to some details of their performances on stage, Kevin Parker and Elliott Smith, they both sustain the use of drugs openly, in diferente degree, I do hope, they also often play offering their back to us, mear spectators and worshipers, playing with and for their fellow musicians, like in a Mandala of sound, interacting with the audience now and then, giving us a taste, but not too much, sometimes a bit gloomy or awkward, of their artistic personas. Although they embrace solitude are, in fact, very amusing in private, both learned to play music at a very young age, became obsessed with it, and rapidly take off and reach success after their second album.
It’s a new generation, I expect with a more down-to-earth smart atitude, wish this guys stick around for a little while longer than Elliott did, unfortunatly.
That said, and similaritys on the side, I was literally sucked into Smith’s supermassive black hole of a melodic dark, depressive, painful realistic world in an instante; that was kind of a surprise to me. Although I’m such an obssesive-compulsive listener/reader, regarding my tastes in music/literature, specially when I found something new that sweep me out of my feet, it was astonishing to realize that even he’s now dissolved into ink, megabites and plastic, could touch a soul so deeply. I wasn’t alone in that path many felt just the same all over the world about him and his work.
What I found really important in this singer/songwriter work was the absolute awareness of how important words are in shaping reality, how he comprehend words: “I think about it more like shapes” he said. The way he used this shapes to create a unique spiritual bound to the listeners, set him apart, as words can illuminate, can charm, can condemn or demean, elevate or heal.
At the same time his vulnerability, his low self esteem, his timidness, his absolute surrendering of every inhibition in over exposing his heart completely to the world made him a “plain clothes” poet, unpretentious and a bit clumsy person caught up in a strange world surrounded with all this other people’s attention and demands, not matching with his shyness.
Neverteless he enjoyed fame, eager for that attention, his mistreated soul never got eghouth of it; he knew very well how to manipulate emotions, his and others, even though at an unconscious level not intent to be harmfull, I think.
I recall Smith’s tunes in “Good Will Hunting”, I saw his performance at the Oscars, in 1998, notice his music in the movie “Paranoid Park” and "American Beauty" and recently in the soundtrack of a tv series about horse races. In none of this occasions I pay special attention to him, just recognize the quality of the music, it was all. Maybe you’re touched by certain things only when you are ready to fully appreciate them, not before…
But when I finally did, felt totally in love with his intricate depressive lyrics, the art pouring out of his fingers throughout his guitar or piano, felt deeply sad about life abused him and him abused life. And when I came across his music I did not immediately realized that he died 10 years ago, that’s when I saw the word "tribute" somewhere, that the bell ring.
Couldn´t believe in it, took me a couple a days, I confesse, to go in search for the unwanted truth.
Since then, I read hundreds of words about him, saw dozens of hours of live performances available on the web, despiste the low quality image, the sound is often good (seems like he’s playing us a funny trick from beyond, he wants to be heard not seen).
Collected all of his songs that I could put my hands on, learned his lyrics, often in tears and, maybe in some macabre way, found the details of his horrific death. Just couldn’t let go of this growing “thing”, this euphoric quietness!...
For a countless number of days, I walked alone by the river, as usual, with my headphones on, listening to all I needed to hear from him, trying to figure him out, feeling his presence (how crazy and strange that is?) and have no shame, whatsoever, to admit that Elliott Smith’s music make me company like hummingbirds singing getting out softly from my computer while I do my everyday stuff.
Even when I embrace silence and solitude, which I do very often, the sounds that he brought out to this world, are actually a part of my absence of noise.
He is my ghost in my town.
In my research for Elliott’s life story I've laughed with his jokes and get angry about words written denigrating his artistic habilites posthumously or calling him “a pathetic booze and drugs addicted always feeling sorry for himself”, “a sad sac” or “Mr Misery”: if he was all of that he was also unquestionably more, much more, just “couldn’t get things right”, as he wrote, maybe when he “was no good” (I suspect oftently) he was “an exception to the rule”, artisticly speaking.
All rock, pop, punk or whatever stars, are a bit like grown up children, technically because the oniric part of their brain are more excited than the rest of us, or they have to much money and time to spend always unsatified with something or someone, I can reason with that, of course.
Also although a few rock artists are well knowned to courted the idea of suicide so regularly and openly as Smith (some of them in fact done it) all have in comum a history of a profunde state of depression, some cope with it and go on, some don’t.
Write about dark places and dark feelings, turn those thoughts into music, helps sometimes to illuminate them: in Smith’s case, nothing seemed capable of lifting his depression.
Somehow, this dead guy, a post-punk byproduct, turned around and emerged as a solo artist because didn’t want to stay “in a little box becoming like a connaisseur” of himself, who achieved to virtuoso levels in some of his work, with strikes of geneality, felt different to me.
Maybe it was the way he wave to people, like I do, in a childish kind of manner, the intensely personal songs, the passion for red roses and cats, the notion of a strange beauty in decadent city landscape, the love for piano and guitar and to "The Beatles", the dificulty to actually relate to people, the bad temper and lack of apreciation on others interferences, even when they well minded; can’t separate one impression from the other.
Could be his liquid blue slipering eyes always hiding shy, lost elsewhere stoned in many occasion, the cutting pain in his almost spectral visceral whispered voice involving you like a spiderweb, the sweetness, the innocence stolen away too soon.
The man that sung “ I hate my face”, is the kind of exotic introspective ugly/beautiful, intelligent, critic and honest about himself “not uncomfortable, feeling weird”, that I try to find or look upon in people nowadays, and all I get in return is the well dressed pretty empty mob all act alike, a dilacerating emptiness, surrounding me all day long, the fake plastic happiness, vomiting stupid songs, trying to forfil others expectations rather than their own.
Maybe because he remind me of some of my old friends, that I lost contact with, many years ago (I suppose they maybe died of o.d.) that I encountered and hung out for sometime, already as an adult, though still young. I remember that they protected me ferociously when, in a light and unpreoccupied stupid way, I wanted to do some heavy drugs experimentation: “you wont be able to come back, if you do it, you will lose your soul forever” they said.
I was lucky. I followed their lead on this matter and don’t regret it a single day. To get to know them, things and places they have showed me had, in fact, shaped a complete change in my personality.
Since then I could never look at an addict the same way; until then that kind of humans annoyed me, thought of them like dirty shallow lazy week people, but since my addicted friends I could never think of people with addictions that way.
Through Elliott Smith’s life history I could mourn my friends, I suppose, I don’t know… We all have our own demons to go to war to, I just try to keep my heart always way up high.
To state the obvious, I’m not romanticising death self-inflicted or otherwise, in any way it’s always a tragedy. Or see any point neither on doing drugs, drown in alcohol or maintain harmfull addicted behavior of some kind, but I understand them. More, I can clearly see the troubled soul behind those actions, and standing in face of human degradation, never again allow myself to rase a mean, cruel or careless judgement of caracter.
Anyway, the profound connection to Smith’s music grown as I grief with frustration that never going to see a “brief smile crossing his face” and as the phrase “I’m, never gonna know you know, but I’m gonna love you anyhow” became an anthem thought to myself: I hope he had forgiven himself, by now.
As a footnote and to finish, the following are, as far as I’m concern (and after a true hard time to reach a final decision) the 10 best songs in Elliott Smith’s catalog.
I pick them for three reasons: 1. they sound as his most generous, genuine and melodic songs, to me; 2. least fucked up when played live; 3. then again for personal reasons, have the finest combination set music/lyrics, the good taste in words and melody makes everything fall into the right places, layer upon layer, more compelling and moving to my heart and spirit. The following are my choices, you have yours, certainly.
To the Artist and the man that gave us all so much I say farewell; thanks Elliott for creating those:
10. “Angeles” (from "Either/Or", 1997)
09. “The Biggest Lie” (from "Elliott Smith", 1995)
08. "Stupidity Tries" (from “Figure 8”, 2000)
07. “2:45 A.m.” (from "Either/Or", 1997)
06. “Division Day” (from the single “Division Day/No Name #6″ 7″, 2000)
05. “Alameda” (from "Either/Or", 1997)
04. “Bottle up and Explode!” (from "XO", 1998)
03. “Speed Trials” (from "Either/Or", 1997)
02. "Can’t Make a Sound" (from “Figure 8”, 2000)
01. “Waltz #2 (XO) ” (from "XO", 1998)
Elliott Smith: born Steven Paul Smith in Omaha, Nebraska, 6 of August 1969 - 21 of October, 2003, Los Angeles, California
Fonts of inspiration: Elliott Smith’s lyrics, Michael Nelson’s article, several news, opinion articles and interviews found on the web, pictures borrowed from www.sweetadeline.net and all over the net.
1 view posted 30 Jun 2012, 21:06
The flowers are not just beautiful, they are also inteligente. The origin of the angiosperms (flowering plants) has long been considered one of the great unsolved questions of biology.
Flowers are almost everywhere, but the origins of flowering plants are far from clear: Charles Darwin called the problem an “abominable mystery.”
Flowering plants, are thought to have evolved around 130 million years ago from gymnosperms, the prevailing land plants when dinosaurs reigned in the Cretaceous and Jurassic eras. Angiosperms have become the dominant plants on Earth today.
But this blog is not about the evolutionary problem of the "sudden" appearance of flowering plants on Planet Earth but the clever ways this beautifiul living organisms found out to be so well successful, regardless, in same cases, their fragil appearances.
The case of Heliconia and the Slave Hummingbird
This flowering plants are native to the tropical Americas and the Pacific Ocean islands west to Indonesia. Many species of Heliconia are found in rainforests or tropical wet forests of these regions. They are quite beautiful, but good looks are not enough to guarantee survivor. Because they have very small flowers peeping out from the bracts, they need a specific polinizer: an insatiable bird with a long beak and tongue. Hummingbirds are already the main pollinators of Heliconia flowers in many locations. But the female Purple-throated Carib hummingbird is the perfect slave of the Heliconia. By dosing the amount of sweet nectar available turns the bird into an addict: it never leaves the flower, visiting frequently for another dose, fights away all potential competition and is a permanent polinizer always available.
The case of the Saguaro Cactus and the Nectar-feeding bats
The magnificent Saguaro Cactus, the state flower of Arizona, can reech great height and weight. A dense group of yellow stamens forms a circle at the top of the tube. The sweet nectar, together with the color of the flower, attracts nectar-feeding bats that get their protein from pollen.
The Saguaro has more stamens per flower than any other desert cactus but not all of the flowers on a single Saguaro bloom at the same time. Instead, over a period of a month or more, only a few of the up to 200 flowers open each night, secreting nectar into their tubes, and awaiting pollination. These flowers close about noon the following day, never to open again. If fertilization has occurred, the fruit will begin to form immediately.
The saguaro cactus flower is held out at just the right angle for a hovering the only two species of bat to access. The flowers are just the right size for a bat to put his face in. In fact, the bat tongue is just long enough to be able to access the nectar in a saguaro flower. As they move from flower to flower the bats pollinate the saguaro flowers.
The case of the Dragon's Blood Tree: specialized in water retention
A dragon's blood tree grows on Socotra, a small group of islands in the Indian Ocean. This tree has a unique and bizarre appearance, its upturned, densely-packed crown having the shape of an upside-down umbrella. The dragon's blood still mantles the high plateaus and the misty valleys, hidden between the crags of the Hajhir Mountains, that are the highest mountain range in the eastern, inhospitable and dry Arabian peninsula.
Each branch of the tree is made up of a series of sausage-shaped sections of part of the large, dense crown thereby forms to minimize evaporation, acting like a funnel that redirect the water to the center of the tree. Also the waxy leaves is reminiscent of a sword minimizes the lost of precious water.
It gives shade and channels humidity from dew, mist and rainfall down the branches and trunk and into the ground for dissolved nutrient uptake by tree roots. The shade and the anti-evaporation measures help both the tree and the tree’s seedlings which often grow beneath their parent, that benefit of each drop of precious water that fall in the grownd.
The case of Australian Red Mangrove: the perfect salt filter
The Red Mangrove (Rhizophora stylosa), grow more often in north-eastern Australia are evergreen trees or shrubs, often with conspicuous aerial roots easily distinguished from other species by tangled, reddish prop roots. Leaves are oval-shaped, small, creamy-white bisexual flowers occur in branching pairs while the leaves are arranged in opposite pairs on the stem.
Mangroves are uniquely adapted trees and larger shrubs that inhabit the tidal sea edge.
Stout, large arching prop roots are characteristic of the species, which support the main trunk and contain numerous lenticels (air pores) on their surfaces. The lenticels are air-filled spaces that connect with underground root structures. Aerial roots growing from the tree's limbs also help the plant breathe. Mangroves eliminate salt at their roots as water is taken up. Excess salt that finds its way into the plant is stored in the leaves, and removed from the plant when the leaves die and fall from the tree.
Red mangroves serve as feeding, breeding, and a nursery for different fish, birds, and other wild life. They also trap mud therefore increasing the soil around them.
The case of Number One success
The most successful plants on Earth are not the flowers or the specialized three. That place belongs, by right, to the simple gramineous like corn, rice and wheat, the cereal grains and the central role they played in getting civilization off the ground.
Their dessemination were directly responsible for the human population explosion, and even today, the planet couldn’t support most of its inhabitants without them.
Several articles and pictures available on internet.
0 views posted 23 Jun 2012, 17:24
Chachapoyas means "people of the clouds" in the ancient language. The Chachapoyas were a pre-Hispanic people that lived in the Andean cloud forest region of Peru. Their culture is thought to have developed from 800 AD. They were conquered violently and become overpowered by the Incas in the 15th century, shortly before the arrival of the Spanish in Peru.
The Chachapoyas had a very close relations with their dead not only preserving their mumified bodys in specific buriel sanctuarys but also emboss the bones in the walls of their homes. They also preserve the mummies in cave-like niches set in a cliff areas almost unaccessible.
A cache of more than 200 mummies was found in Peru in late 1996 by machete wielding grave robbers (they cut through the cloth wrappings, looking for jewelry and other treasures).
Some of the very well preserved mummys can be seen in the Leymebamba Museum, Peru.
The anthropomorphous sarcophagi resemble imitations of funeral bundles provided with wooden masks elements of funeral architecture observed throughout the Andes.
The architectural model of the Chachapoyas is characterized by circular stone constructions as well as raised platforms constructed on slopes. Their walls were sometimes decorated with symbolic figures such as the Lepard; they belive shaman could use the bravery of this animal to protect the village, the crops and the spirits of the ancestors.
The Chachapoyas people built the great fortress of Kuélap, with more than four hundred interior buildings and massive exterior stone walls reaching upwards of 60 feet in height, possibly to defend against the Huari around 800 AD. Referred to as the 'Machu Picchu of the north,' Kuélap receives few visitors due to its remote location.
La Fortaleza de Kuelap is the biggest of the pre-inca Perú. This citadel lost in the Peruvian jungle still awaits to be fully discoverd.
Archaeological sites in the region include the settlement of Gran Pajáten, Gran Saposoa, the Atumpucro complex, and the burial sites at Revash and Laguna de los Condores (Lake of the Condors), among many others.
That proximity and cult to the dead in architectural and mortuary variability do suggest social inequality, and early documentary evidence intimates that demonstrated prowess in warfare and sorcery, as well as heredity, provided routes to leadership status. In reality, the archaeological evidence for local and regional Chachapoya socio-political development is paltry, and open to various interpretations because there is yet a lot to discover about this people.
Another group of Chachapoya mummies was recently discovered (late 2006) by a farmer in a burial cave complex some 82 feet below the earth's surface (the cave is known as Iyacyecuj, or enchanted water, by local people). According to an article in the London Daily Mail, the "walls near the mummies in the limestone cave were covered with paintings of faces and warrior-like figures which may have been drawn to ward off intruders and evil spirits."
The mummies were not made accidentally, but a detailed analysis has not been released of the mummification methods they used.
They were placed in a flexed (fetal) sitting position and bundled in cloth. According to one account, a face was stitched onto the cloth over the head. Most of the bundles were placed in a two-room two-level stone mausoleum built against the back wall of the cliff overhang (entry was through the roof only). Elite burials appear to have involved coffins made from cane. The Chachapoya also ensured preservation (whether knowingly or not) by choosing a dry, well-protected site covered by a ledge.
The Cachapoya were also called the "Warriors of the Clouds". Before they were defeted by the Incans, they were fierce fighters who took the skulls of victims as trophies and were believed to also eat their hearts. They worshipped mainly pumas, eagles and snakes, with a mummified jaguar found in a royal tomb and images of these animals depicted in their art and constructions. Animal and human sacrifice were also performed at the temple in the ruins.
The citadel bilt by the Chachapoyas people was never taken by force because of it's incredible design. The only entry points through the high walls were two gates, one on either side of the complex. The gap in the wall starts wide then narrows as it ascends the steep stairs, like the shape of a pizza slice.
Many attacking soldiers could charge in together but would get jammed as the passage narrowed, and the top was wide enough for only one person to pass at a time. This single soldier would be met by a wall of spears and other weapons, and both sides of this gauntlet would be defended by soldiers slinging down rocks and other instruments of harm. Even to reach the outer wall you needed to charge 1.2 kms vertically up from the river below. At 3000 m altitude, this is no easy feat by itself. Furthermore, there was a guard tower at the top of the complex that had a direct line of sight to the fire or smoke signals of the three nearest villages, providing an advanced warning signal for attack.
The citadel was never taken but, instead, it was sieged for about 20 years - cutting off access to outside food and water - until they eventually surrendered. They survived off huge stockpiles, some farming within the fort, but mainly by their intense hatred of the Incans. Only 60 years later the Spanish invaded. Even with the advantage of arms and other technology, they could not take the citadel by force either. However, due to the highly infectious Small Pox brought over by the Spanish, this siege of the now Incan held fort took a little under a year.
This civilization, that ruled over a large area for almost 1000 years, didn't fear death and most houses had tombs for deceased relatives at the door for the believed protection it provided from evil spirits.
General web articles and pictures
0 views posted 14 Jun 2012, 12:52
Sometimes the banality can became quite beautiful at least to my eyes that can't stop to see the beauty of this blessed planet and the junk stuff we all overfill it.
The perfect cold crystal
He picked up his glasses
that sliped thru the tip of the nose
get them close to the eyes
and looked at me
something in that glaze
told me it was time to go
The cold of the winter outside
reminded me that I never get enought cloths on
the perfect crystal snow
choose the freckles of my nose
to die on
distracted me from my meaningless thoughts
my footsteps echoed as I went along
sounded like heels in the muffled sond
but could not be mine
never use heels
A hot cup of tea two minuts after
took me back to reality
that one that I keep forgeting to remember
that one with smiles in the wrong places
like a fire swallowing the green of a forest
remember suddenly that I forgot my book
at his place
what the hell now he could keep it!
I never lend books to anyone
they are like family to me
might as well lost this one
I'll think of a proper obituary later
like it was a lost distant cousin
the bar was closing and I was back
in the arms of the winter
making love with the cold wind
and the dying snow in my face
The light of the lamps near the river
acted like a magnet
had to seat there for a while
in the wet balcony
take my gloves off to touch the small ponds of water
that formed in the irregular surface
couldn't stop the gesture of
liking the gelid water from my finger
that turned blue in the meantime
I get up, it was to much cold
even for me
had to be somewhere
can't remember where
maybe present in my life, maybe that...
but that could wait
I had to get myself numb again
and now I feel to much alive
in that cold snowy winter
blame the cold
that keep freezing bodys alive.
poem by D.
0 views posted 09 Jun 2012, 10:39
The time is a villain, people say. It's like a bucket full of memories, the old at the bottom and the fresh on the top, they keep messing with each others up as time goes by, one pulling the others like a string made of beads, while we touch bead by bead, the comeout is a smile or a tear, maybe a bit of anger or desapointement, some regret, perhaps.
Nevertheless it is a certainty of life: we all have time; what we do with it marks the path we go thru.
The 17th-century English poet Robert Herrick wrote something beautiful about making the most of the the time we have.
To the Virgins, to make much of Time
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer,
But being spent, the worse, and worst,
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.
Time, has weight and meaning and many shapes, or no shape at all, but the first thing that we remember when we think about time is it's more usual shape: a clock.
Time pulled a string of my hair
it was a white rose at the end
fresh with tender petals
sliped from my hands
and became a river
the rapid stream pulled a string from my dress
it was a bird at the end
rainbow collered feathers
but it flown away
nothing but a trace of smoke in the sky
the wind blow a waft of air
and I fly away pulled by a white string
it was from a cloud
it had anothers person hand at the end
I grab the hand
it had a heart at the end
the heart was made of a white rose
a bird with collered feathers
had the shape of a cloud fluttering with the wind
but there was a storm and the hand sliped away
losted the heart with the collered feathers
with the shape of a white cloud
the rose had a torn
that get tangled in a string of my hair
reach for it but there were no more strings to pull
no more feathers, no more collered clouds
lied down to rest on the spring of water
but it was to late to float
my skin was my cloud
and my dress was my long hair
time wad flooded my bed
it was the day to sleep way
and, as I look around,
hundreds of beautiful strings with unimaginable colours
was floating very slowly along my side
like a maiden eyes going to sleep
poem by D.