tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36654341743551148332024-02-20T21:27:32.381+01:00KhiyyiLiving with Crazy Stuff as we life in the Crazy World.Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-55843820126610795002010-08-10T00:10:00.001+02:002010-08-10T00:14:18.224+02:00"There is no Try"<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><object style="background-image:url(http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/PcjnbIF1yAA/hqdefault.jpg)" width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/PcjnbIF1yAA&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/PcjnbIF1yAA&hl=en_US&fs=1" width="480" height="295" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>When things turn black, there is always the chance to start over. I was very silly in my youth to be so afraid of doing things that well, I thought would make me happy. Know it's good to know that I could've just take them all by opening my hand. Anything. We empower ourselves to a new marketing of emotion, in a mental world crisis and things could get worse, but just maybe, they won't. "Try Not. Do or do not"</div>Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-38384407335634994042010-06-27T19:09:00.002+02:002010-06-27T19:15:26.217+02:00Miami International Airport. Picture by JHS.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpYHw7RWv4-LSb-Kmx3LZf2QN9vNwDe0QCwpIUqUCdjE0aHSQZfYX59Wd19ebfdvPwxNZ_Rg1GIfe8cUzE_FjfQTqsws7wp8JCTw5r8_grUzo2UeCApSfiaNrFGAlxRvLIQSZCLtB5B1ap/s1600/IMG_4389.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpYHw7RWv4-LSb-Kmx3LZf2QN9vNwDe0QCwpIUqUCdjE0aHSQZfYX59Wd19ebfdvPwxNZ_Rg1GIfe8cUzE_FjfQTqsws7wp8JCTw5r8_grUzo2UeCApSfiaNrFGAlxRvLIQSZCLtB5B1ap/s400/IMG_4389.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487503207020302626" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />Are we ready to get confused with politics?</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><div><!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Must of us hate politics, mostly when it's interrupting our favorite television shows? We can see people living and fighting with politics anywhere you point your finger at. What makes politicians so easy to hate and us to lazy to even know something about it?</span></span><!--EndFragment--> </div></div>Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-27718754519192081792010-06-27T19:05:00.002+02:002010-06-27T19:08:49.593+02:00"Almost Utopia" editorial<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica, serif;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica, serif;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;mso-ansi-language:EN-US">For over a year, I have traveled looking for characters and topics to inspire from to write my first novel. I have then studied and read about human behavior in society. Then finally in the back of my head I was able to filed out some of those encounters with the subject, and found groups formed by the interaction among individuals. This interaction leads us to decide whether to have a simple life, a mediocre life or just whatever version we get to have. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;mso-ansi-language:EN-US">At the conclusion of my journey I have discovered a complexity but yet flexible patterns that makes the world just spin around. Work the way it does. From the weather influencing the spirit of the people, to religious wars, the world goes unstoppable. We go to work, we get a girlfriend or maybe cancer, and then we buy a house, the cat dies and the world moves on. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">Laszlo Barabasi called it links. Links that unites us and connects us. Wherever we are.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;mso-ansi-language:EN-US">And after all this time I have come to the conclusion that this phenomena is so complex that the mind of an average character of the worlds stage will never even dream of reaching. It would be like a mouse reaching the peanut treat on the head of the elephant. Just a few will actually be able to reach it. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;mso-ansi-language:EN-US">The more I get informed about the world, the lonelier we get.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;tab-stops:.5in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-family:Helvetica;mso-ansi-language:EN-US">After a few years of waking on earth is funny to say that I still feel like an alien in my hometown. Discovering my homeland with a "ham satellite" in a far away land.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We must see each other on a mirror and most of all unite on a universal code, perhaps in a new definition of “almost utopia” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:Helvetica;mso-ansi-language:EN-US">But yet the poor signal is interrupted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>How can we know that what we see is true? We cannot change the world. How could we, if we have to live attached to it? How could we take the right decision, if our mirror, is the television, controlled by others, destined for us to chew and easy digest?</span><!--EndFragment--> </span><p></p>Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-1886835770054145782010-03-02T21:55:00.001+01:002010-03-02T21:55:25.222+01:00"Silly"<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-GB">I woke up today and everything is so screwed up. Thinking about many things at once, plus the stupid hand over from last night. No matter how many friends, or clothes or things you can accumulate, life with it bitchy mood come to kick you in the balls. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-GB"> Such is life; we cancel plans and sail into the void. The black hole that surrounds us sometimes and does not let us see straight. It interrupts us</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I will have to stay in Italy, and who knows when I’ll be able to start with the list. I thought I was going to be able to manage at least a few for the next months, but the words are not coming out of my mouth to reality as easy. It happens. It doesn’t happen that easy.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-GB">I will stay in Italy longer than expected. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-87331437447019119102010-01-29T16:25:00.004+01:002010-01-29T16:35:42.375+01:00"Homeland/Wonderland"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe9yhwfVTKVn1QpWBOgzUCjjQqjVAoIhnnIgyi8TVq5yn1fgre958o7cy_rSuVaxiDsgXQ_Ix1hOoukNOVW9kr8L4OTisvLL_9_GZvaAReDtJJprXidRg2ffWfTt3Ab6Sdv5E-G9GdK6ib/s1600-h/IMG_2328.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe9yhwfVTKVn1QpWBOgzUCjjQqjVAoIhnnIgyi8TVq5yn1fgre958o7cy_rSuVaxiDsgXQ_Ix1hOoukNOVW9kr8L4OTisvLL_9_GZvaAReDtJJprXidRg2ffWfTt3Ab6Sdv5E-G9GdK6ib/s400/IMG_2328.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432184670139206802" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; "><div style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kunstlerin N.V 09 </div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Simple moments make a good day, or a shitty say. I used to receive mailed songs from my mates back home, and I usually couldn’t download them at work. Everything was controlled. They count the minutes and the seconds on us. It was a terrible measure of the days. Listening to complains from people is a job, then I come here and I stoped listening to the music, I listen to the people in the street, complaining but it’s another language, it’s like theatre. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I step on a banana peel for the first time in my life in Milan? Like in the cartoons. I participated in a wedding bouquet thing in Piazza San Marco for the first time as well. Hey, my friends are smart and they don’t get married. What can I say? I come from a tropical banana exporter and it never happened to me. What can I say? I love those pieces that match somehow to make it a bit more interesting. Irony, man! I could make love to it and then dump the whore back home. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I can’t blame it. I put my finger in the fact that we can make of home a wonderland. Advertureland listening to music while driving home after listening to everybody’s needs. After doing exactly what the world expects from us. Let’s be naked in front of the mirror and say, “ that’s me, fat ass and all” Would you make love to yourself? I once heard that is the only way of self-improvement. If you would not be able to make to yourself, you are pretty screwed. If that is the case I can just give you a little tip. Somebody will do it for you if you give him or her the chance.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Simple, we can kill the routine or make it more easy. Let's see what pieces of our life make it great and sinful. </div>Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-30513228775956551232010-01-27T11:52:00.015+01:002010-01-29T16:36:35.776+01:00"Traveling Without Moving"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmkH5xWlVGL6Z1_yM7zScP-V4ChQPn16bX523T5_z4pt4DMsebvE98GSpLDIAY2Z0VKftMbjZUOK1Bvuh5__XIosm4WL0dstFgHuM45UJTwG1w5MCbUp84mmr6Yd04GfXxp71soU85-mJy/s1600-h/IMG_1322.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmkH5xWlVGL6Z1_yM7zScP-V4ChQPn16bX523T5_z4pt4DMsebvE98GSpLDIAY2Z0VKftMbjZUOK1Bvuh5__XIosm4WL0dstFgHuM45UJTwG1w5MCbUp84mmr6Yd04GfXxp71soU85-mJy/s400/IMG_1322.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432180979515072738" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 13px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; line-height: 20px; ">Photo by Kunstlerin N.V 09 </span></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span><a href="http://warp.net/records/nice-nice/player/video/everything-falling-apart">http://warp.net/records/nice-nice/player/video/everything-falling-apart</a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I found this and it just fits. Everything is falling apart. I see some sun for the first time in two weeks. I was about to forget what it was to actually have the sun around.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Where are you now? I wanna know. What are you doing? Are you sitting in your desk “Working”? Are you drinking coffee at overpriced Starbucks? Are you checking your email for the 11th time today? What are you listening to? Are you watching to crazy people saying the most random, selfish, senseless things? Do you think about how it would be to get away? “Travelling without moving”. Can we lose control for a bit and rest our senses into feeling it all? Can we actually force the routine to suicide? I know there is a way. There must be. Everything is connected, we can surely find an answer to it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I use music to travel. Is easy, cheap, it rushes hard and slow. It makes your guts move inside. Bouncing. Stripping out the layers of the mind and the body. Surely there is a link to everything. Like Borges said "Everything touches, everything". </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Have you ever imagined how many people are listening to the same exact song somewhere else? Under different circumstances, weather, city? Have you wondered how some people imagined things like “ It’s a cruel cruel world, to face on your own” or “We do out time like pennies in a jar, what are we saving for?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">There are around 4 million people travelling with thoughts, quests and curiosity every day. Many people travel alone, others just can’t stand it. I have always admired those people who travel alone. I wonder what it is to arrive to a completely unknown place and be a stranger. We travel or we wish we could travel. I haven’t travelled in a while, not at least since a long coast trip in California. I’ve never been happier. Where do we imagine ourselves? What do you have in your mouth, how does it taste? (Yeah, that sounded a bit bad, take it as it is). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We just need to sit down and be brave and face the music of whatever it is we want. Settle down is a bargain, moving it’s hectic. Loving is painful, important decisions are never easy and bla bla bla. Everything cuts like butter while listening Hot Chip’s “Hand Me Down Your Love”.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">What does it take to go where the mind is?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div>Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-25660201396481905282010-01-26T15:39:00.001+01:002010-01-26T15:50:00.216+01:00"The List"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgww9iHK_UxOvwxQWfFkIik7odrjOmds-wsGMuWziz8LTeWL331RB89T8cxkzxM-ZxKcKM2tlfaqTQr5_7EaNc7-MV_uAJcbgEQISLRGHf-2DPHjbneHvPI3Qo2JpoA8Aixccmk2Z3AmHGY/s1600-h/IMG_3844-pola.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgww9iHK_UxOvwxQWfFkIik7odrjOmds-wsGMuWziz8LTeWL331RB89T8cxkzxM-ZxKcKM2tlfaqTQr5_7EaNc7-MV_uAJcbgEQISLRGHf-2DPHjbneHvPI3Qo2JpoA8Aixccmk2Z3AmHGY/s400/IMG_3844-pola.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431060780771880002" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4G4UtspsHq7EBWahLczJN2Y0fJ4_VndlbFanQusQttL6HvUPa9Q0j_1dGt2Ms3V8IUBNulUhz7uWWUjlZN7GyVU6NQ178wglFksRvkZ3mtUbXaVVGdbmgZoHRWQzbAp8pgipYD5vqjY95/s1600-h/IMG_3843-pola.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4G4UtspsHq7EBWahLczJN2Y0fJ4_VndlbFanQusQttL6HvUPa9Q0j_1dGt2Ms3V8IUBNulUhz7uWWUjlZN7GyVU6NQ178wglFksRvkZ3mtUbXaVVGdbmgZoHRWQzbAp8pgipYD5vqjY95/s400/IMG_3843-pola.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431060778697116370" /></a><br /><br /><br />Photo by J.HoLden.S.<br /><br />I just had an idea. Grabbing my old sketchbooks, I found a very interesting thing to do. I found a list; a precious list of things I want to do for the next two years. Let’s see if I can make it happen. I will be giving up stories about everything I will do, starting today. I have no money, some of these things are crazy but others are just completely easy to do. I guess such us life. Stick around if you want to see me driving this spaceship. <br /><br />1. Ride a hot air balloon.<br />2. Swim with calm sharks.<br />3. Witness a sunset in the desert.<br />4. Learn how to ride a motorcycle.<br />5. Take a Helicopter ride around the city.<br />6. Stay up all night in an extreme party in New York.<br />7. Meet and love an important character of Modern Times.<br />8. Jump in a clear blue reef.<br />9. Ride a Black Cadillac in Vegas.<br />10. Ride on a camel, an elephant and an ostrich. <br />11. Make my own wine bottle.<br />12. Be part on a theatre or movie production<br />13. Go to “The Beach” in Thailand and to Butterfly reef.<br />14. Help Animals in risk of Extinction.<br />15. Watch an Aurora borealis or an Iceberg.<br />16. Swim in Lake Michigan<br />17. Kiss a stranger in Rio de Janeiro.<br />18. Dance in a fountain under the Moon, like Silvia on the Fellini Movie.<br />19. Talk to a Real Geisha.<br />20. Watch a “Cirque du Soleil” show.<br />21. Go to the Opera to see Swan Lake.<br />22. Hear the voice of God in India.<br />23. Touch a Pyramid.<br />24. Be head over heals in Machu Pichu.<br />25. Buy a sacred good luck item in Cairo.<br />26. Go to a salted dessert.<br />27. Watch the Cherry blossoms fall in a real Japanese garden.<br />28. Meet a real guru or spiritual guide and be blessed.<br />29. Hang out with rock stars for one night.<br />30. Run in a Marathon.<br />31. Learn how to surf.<br />32. Watch the Blue Whales sing.<br />33. See a tiger in the snow.<br />34. Make friends with an important Criminal<br />35. Inspire a person to go on with living.<br />36. Win a poker tourney in Vegas<br />37. Do snowboarding.<br />38. Ride on a real submarine.<br />39. Have breakfast at Tiffanies.<br />40. Make street art in Barcelona. <br />41. Dance to tribal tunes. Learn a song in Japanese. <br />42. Create an art piece that will be on an important museum of the world. <br />43. Watch a grizzly bear while fishing salmons up north.<br />44. Participate on a “Lucha libre” match.<br />45. Ride a Gondola in Venice.<br />46. Make love on a train.<br />47. Learn to cook a dish from every country and city I visit.<br />48. Skate on a frozen Lake or get inside of an igloo.<br />49. Ride a canoe in Hawaii or Bali.<br />50. Sing Karaoke for Total Strangers. <br />51. Visit my friends in Israel and see.<br />52. Publish my first Novel. <br /><br />This is a Kunstlerin life. Simple. In the meantime I will keep on writing my brains out, like a bullet. I made some editing of course. Mostly becuase the real list I made it on the train like 2 months ago.Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-32795321979985086602010-01-26T14:29:00.000+01:002010-01-26T14:35:38.865+01:00"The Chicken and the Brave"<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOdSs8c0ts9QnNreaDmbiRNpmWudURNDNz8uRoFXF-DSaGwYGDFKIyxExxL9tMwAYBUkzJ0sf4Y6tS7QlS0kZc9OT9ToLbZVmg1crhhPb4AlMZ_8E9hUsxH0iCCZWvAUtM-3uMfetnEZDk/s1600-h/Khiyyi+Chciken.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOdSs8c0ts9QnNreaDmbiRNpmWudURNDNz8uRoFXF-DSaGwYGDFKIyxExxL9tMwAYBUkzJ0sf4Y6tS7QlS0kZc9OT9ToLbZVmg1crhhPb4AlMZ_8E9hUsxH0iCCZWvAUtM-3uMfetnEZDk/s400/Khiyyi+Chciken.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431040875696992354" border="0" /></a>Photo by Kunstlerin N.V 09
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<br /><meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 10"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 10"> <link rel="File-List" href="file:///Users/Natalia/Library/Preferences/Microsoft/Clipboard/msoclip1/01/clip_clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Times New Roman"; panose-1:0 2 2 6 3 5 4 5 2 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 1 0;} @font-face {font-family:ArialMT; panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-alt:Times; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:auto; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Times; mso-ansi-language:EN-AU;} p.MsoBodyText, li.MsoBodyText, div.MsoBodyText {margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:justify; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Times; mso-ansi-language:EN-AU;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU">It’s actually very hard to decide to be brave. I wish I knew what it is to be brave? Brave not necessarily means to know how to do the right thing or makes taking decisions any easier, but it gives us a relive that no matter the consequences of our actions, be will be able to fight it. It’s like been blindfolded with a sword. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU">I only have 2 months left here in Italy, seriously I couldn’t wait and not that the moment is so close everything is terrifying. You can’t go home again, that’s for sure, but we somehow manage to make home of whatever it is around us. I least I know some people can. I want to be like those people. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU">I was with the shades closed all day today. The grey day was still making everything white and surreal and I seriously thought of jumping for the rush of it. Just to burn my minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-AU">I was just thinking about how sad it was to not know where I would be in the next 2 months, but then I talk to Israel Girl again. She told me the story of the young lady with the eggs. A girl has 5 eggs to go to the market and sell and in the road she things and imagines of a farm and a house and many chickens coming from selling the eggs and she slips and the eggs fell into the floor. Let’s be careful with what we wish for. I have decided that my next step us going to be Australia and getting there will be harder than Italy ever was, with all and all. Let’s pray to the Aussie Gods to let me in. Let’s write a political Novel as well and let’s pull out the pussy crap and be adults in the making. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU">There is a need to rip everything apart, like we need to just take a chill pill and let’s pull the strings into making the shit happen. How can we faster the process and not break the freaking eggs? You tell me. As mind travels faster than time and time flies let’s make a little shortcut in the form of the head bandaid. Let me fantasies about me taking a freaking plain and grabbing my “ peruvian </span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;">lluchu</span><span lang="EN-AU">” and my suspenders, going all the way into the </span><span style="font-family:Helvetica;">Irukandji</span><span lang="EN-AU"> infested waters. Let’s see, what to do?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU">Two months left in Italy, School, work is pretty much over and the last 2 delicious cigarettes, February and March. Empty pockets don’t help, but not even this can stop the creative mind of men to make it happen. Is a year after the crisis anyways, we got to find some ways to enjoy a bunch of days well deserved after the nightmare at the Italian “</span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;">questura di milano</span><span lang="EN-AU">”. My friends are starting to leaving slowly, all the people leaving soon, I have no idea if I will see them again, and that makes me love them more, I want to shrink them up and put them away in my overloaded bag and take him to the tropical paradise I don’t want to return to. I am exaggerating, it’s life and it does not make any sense. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:12pt;" lang="EN-AU" >Besides if life is to be complicated, why do we want everything so easy? OK. Let’s break just one egg for the sake of my insanity, which is, after all, my machinery.</span><!--EndFragment-->
<br /><span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:12pt;" lang="EN-AU" ></span><!--EndFragment--> <span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:12pt;" lang="EN-AU" ></span><!--EndFragment--> Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-81160686056749000162010-01-23T23:47:00.000+01:002010-01-24T00:18:39.416+01:00"Wanna go to that Stupid City"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_liwY9GySEyQ4YkWIIs7JzL3mJtCeQFqHqp7tAUcDeTwtHx136YoUE6_d1qhIUPip5JmE9GWBv2UvTF8LglIeYtAZtjN4wm1h2OVy-u0kZF7C5k-qWpU1BgQnne1-avE-PApCSs24su8t/s1600-h/Khiyyi+Rome.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_liwY9GySEyQ4YkWIIs7JzL3mJtCeQFqHqp7tAUcDeTwtHx136YoUE6_d1qhIUPip5JmE9GWBv2UvTF8LglIeYtAZtjN4wm1h2OVy-u0kZF7C5k-qWpU1BgQnne1-avE-PApCSs24su8t/s400/Khiyyi+Rome.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430075271833032610" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">I just woke up. It’s 16:23 and I’m listening to my latest download. A cupcake from Dosh called “Substractions”. The room is a mess, there is empty vine bottles, cigarette butts all over and well, yes in fact I did have a little party with myself last night. Me and a bottle of San Genovese. Whatever I am it’s not important. There are people that work, and there are people that live not working. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Stupid Italy, I love it but it’s so raw!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">Let’s not make jokes about how we got here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I struggle with the world and myself for a long time.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I was talking to lovely Camli from Israel on the kitchen while sipping coffee from Costa Rica, that’s right, in Italy. She comes illuminated and says: “there is no perfect place. There is not perfect country” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">Italy is surreal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>You can see a picture of Italy and your body never gets to understand how every single detail of the city of Rome, for example, is made out with so much love. It’s like my friend says, “Old school’s got something”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color:windowtext;">It’s like a shell that hides “Venere”. A work of art made for hundreds of years for many grains of sand. People were making love with this city. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">We can find it, or we cannot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>No wonder why many artist and writers have come here to look for stories, finding their own at the end, dying. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Italy is not a land of possibilities. It’s not a place to do. Italy is a place to explore and to feel it all. How do you train yourself to feel it all? You know what I’m talking about, don’t ya?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU;font-family:Times;font-size:12.0pt;">Still I would like to go to Chicago, and get lost in stupid Tokyo. But that’s another story. </span><!--EndFragment--></div>Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-52431780818349598042010-01-23T00:43:00.000+01:002010-01-23T00:46:33.454+01:00"The Trilogy of the Kunstlerin"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZPrgmRBrtlZWN8Lc5jeLlWaDlg8g6WPtrbMmgRwvAMxCHMOOPJImYRoY93ISifIkA7NF1uCa0BeiUXBc8NcPis9vg7HSdL2Ts3sLru_YE9T6GAqbPldwdwjLKQToOADV7Gth6sU3SS7DZ/s1600-h/Rome.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZPrgmRBrtlZWN8Lc5jeLlWaDlg8g6WPtrbMmgRwvAMxCHMOOPJImYRoY93ISifIkA7NF1uCa0BeiUXBc8NcPis9vg7HSdL2Ts3sLru_YE9T6GAqbPldwdwjLKQToOADV7Gth6sU3SS7DZ/s400/Rome.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429714473236266162" /></a>Photo by J.HoLden.S.<br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> My first day here was a hot roman day. The sunset was burning the orange old walls, the graffiti’s were surrounding a city drowned in a false calm. People eating gelato. Tourists checking the maps. People taking the tram. Getting away from the heat.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">But as a good traveller, there are moments like Venere is that well cooked shell. There were 3 scenes that made me feel that I arrived. The first was leaving the train station from Fuimicino, watching this Italian woman sited all wet in the side of the road. She was high, maybe on heroin. She just was washing her face and chest in a Roman Fontana. She was looking the sun fall among the all buildings. I was able to see in her eyes, she was hallucinating. She was scaping from her surroundings with joy. She was also feeling pain.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> The second was at Trastevere. Getting off the tram I saw this beautiful Italian man with her woman. They were ahead of us, getting off the car. They just kept walking in front of us, and then I saw a delicious moment. The man grabs the butt of his woman with "Italian desire", in the middle of the street. For everyone to see.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">She was wearing a beautiful white mini dress and roman sandals, her honey hair ran through the transparency of it. Bitch. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Then they kissed and entered into a small trattoria, where people were drinking wine. The third and last was after we checked into the hotel. I put on my red shoes after making love. I was sick from the travel that seemed endless. Then just a few steps away from my “albergo” there it was. A full movie setting, in the middle of the piazza. Of course, from the moment I stepped out of the plane to this moment. “</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">It could not be other way”.</span></i></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; ">The heat is dripping on my clothes. People talk and I don’t understand, their language is music to my ears. The lights make the street a surreal theatre and I’m on my way to “Dar Poeta”.</span></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"><b> <o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-10740674483907230752010-01-22T16:15:00.000+01:002010-01-23T00:35:32.251+01:00"Friday under "0" degrees"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEW4VCLmMmwsJ9gsxsAXi6yhlqelIlUg0z-yPSsN-RK5mZFY5p523DGAzZ-ZoeetRKpE2VMDqEU4bWHkr2uNSTcbGseJrYOtosiMXBINPT9qehKEVjH5zOrR4RbMqreZ6A4-3syX25Pn7-/s1600-h/face.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEW4VCLmMmwsJ9gsxsAXi6yhlqelIlUg0z-yPSsN-RK5mZFY5p523DGAzZ-ZoeetRKpE2VMDqEU4bWHkr2uNSTcbGseJrYOtosiMXBINPT9qehKEVjH5zOrR4RbMqreZ6A4-3syX25Pn7-/s400/face.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429584263657099602" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;">Drawing by <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: normal; "><em style="font-weight: bold; font-style: normal; ">Kunstlerin</em> </span> N.V 08</span><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">We wake up into an uncertain day. Past is gone, we can’t do anything about it, but future depends on us. There is nothing more anguishing than having our fate in the hands of others. I don’t know were I’m going. Do you know? You may have everything you want at work, but what about your personal life. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">This is a feeling mostly known on our generation. When we are about to graduate we know we want to work and really make it but we don’t know in fact how is it going to be like. Then we start making internships, trying very hard, we say we want to travel to see the world, what do we find? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">This is what this writer thinks. The wolds is uncertain, but there are reliefs, ways to know not exactly what is going to happen but to shape ourselves into whatever is it we want to do. To be able to live whatever we chose to do, it’s important to be ready by heart and mind to struggle with whatever it takes. There is not such a thing as a dream job. There is a perfect job description but they all involve things from us we are willing to give, and sometime, we are naïve in thinking that everything just runs so simple. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">I think that a happier human being is the one who tries to make whatever they do, a joy of it. I was working on a job repetitive and sad. I was a troublemaker; the person managers didn’t want to deal with. I was always rising questions like why is it that we all here have more potential and this job is when reached a certain point a repletion of the save day, day after day. The same questions, the same solutions. The same catch up phrases and the same empathy and deliverance to all and the same co-workers making their sad little jokes sometimes during weeks. Talking about work with co-workers. I always try to take me away from this job because it was not what I wanted. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">But I didn’t succeed. I always turn out to be in the middle of something. Then I realized after that call that there was something for me more than the same day all over again. I didn’t know if they would take me, I would think, if I can’t go away to Italy, then I don’t know what to do, I thought of going to live in the beach, but God knows that I didn’t want to isolate myself form the world, and the Beach in paradise are getaways from the rest of the world. I wanted to see the hardcore world, dirty, painful and raw.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">I wanted to live in a city, experience being alone, completely alone in the world and I thought I was prepared for it, prepared to the work of finding a future; It was harder that we expected, right? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">But think about past, I would collect all the good deeds and win over experienced that put us into were we are. Would you change it? Would you trade all your experiences to start over? I didn’t think so.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">Looking back I can say “Je ne regret rien”. For every year lived I want a 10 bottles of champagne and to make love until the last day of my life. I want to die tired and full of experiences. I want to share the best with me with all my friends. My One-day friends, my everyday friends. “Vorrei amare tutto”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Sing like a kunsterlin, cry like a singer. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">Life is too short. Yes, it’s devil scary to see the reality of the live, how blurry and abstract it is, but then we focus our minds and we start figuring a few things out. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU;font-family:Times;font-size:12.0pt;">Mistakes? we all make them. </span><!--EndFragment--> </div>Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-65566863411789444432010-01-22T14:13:00.001+01:002010-01-23T00:40:17.499+01:00“Yet, about whatever it’s called (Love?)”<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhai3zj0DyXxOqriWSxQWK2ClIh8HWANItrE0hMPGHtskDvz7dSg7tHnIO_He1iprTaapwU2XdXyuHBdAwm_cb4Jk5l5ZTSuuDju76FBFpVMzurorCEQSGJUxU7LmYcoKHNDIVe0XFGgZ9A/s1600-h/IMG_3218.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhai3zj0DyXxOqriWSxQWK2ClIh8HWANItrE0hMPGHtskDvz7dSg7tHnIO_He1iprTaapwU2XdXyuHBdAwm_cb4Jk5l5ZTSuuDju76FBFpVMzurorCEQSGJUxU7LmYcoKHNDIVe0XFGgZ9A/s400/IMG_3218.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429575368352655346" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;">Photo by <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: normal; "><em style="font-weight: bold; font-style: normal; ">Kunstlerin</em> </span> N.V 09</span></div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">Who knows really? We have to start with basic words, take it easy on the matter, let’s use more like a diagram of words:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>bitter, sinful, sweet, naïve, a package or ourselves, Love exists. Love is.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">It’s easy to blame others for not loving us; how do you recognize the symptoms of a broken heart? We feel defeated, alone, and weak. Nothing is good enough, we can smile and get up and face it but it hurts, we change thoughts, and we defend ourselves for that punch. We start looking for alerts to bail. All right. Sometimes it hurts so much is becomes frustration, anxiety, tears or arts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Let me take a break here. Let’s not dip into the mud. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">Most people are not educated at school or at home how to love themselves or what love really is. Love is a new Atlantis. Do we even know what that’s supposed to mean?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Isn’t it lame how it’s just easier to hate life, distrust others or give it all away for someone not worth it? Your heart gives you signs about getting the pain, it craves for it. It’s a human/animal instinct of reproduction, or shelter. It’s present in all of us. Whether we use it or not. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">At certain moments, we fall in love. At least we believe we are? Maybe? Yes? Not tonight? Not ever? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">But making notes and calculations, maybe we might have not fallen in love with someone but we have experienced love. All of us know love in one way or another. Don’t blame it on others if they don’t love you; Who could blame them? Do you know how to love?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">Why do we have to relay on others for love, can we get it right having a healthy love for ourselves? The key in the whole history is this: How can somebody love us if we don’t love ourselves? No matter our size or our characteristics, nationality or backgrounds, our educations, tastes, social stratus. Whatever your name is, who ever your parents are, whatever your job or state of mind, we all have experienced love, from others and to others. You may think nobody has loved you ever, but that’s a lie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>All of us have been loved. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">We humans now days just wait or look for different kinds of love. Maybe a “T.V one”, a “unique” one, a "happy ending" one. You name it,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">We get married and we never think we will get divorced. It’s Ok if you don’t believe in God, but do you believe in love? Do you have faith in this abstract, unrealistic, prostituted concept of society and postcards? Can you feel it; do you have it in your brain?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">When a person loves, and knows how to love others they usually develop a newer state of reason, and piece within themselves. We have love and we grew it up within us, the love thing, it just happens. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">Love is that pain that makes us feel alive. We can be completely alone and experience joy, power, bravery, and faith and yes, just for a moment, we have a perfect mix of love. We get touched with the concept. Heats beat, sun happens, food tastes better, we feel full, satisfied. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-18014715937937494882010-01-20T23:55:00.000+01:002010-01-23T00:36:27.835+01:00The “THAT” Factor<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyRv4jN4mtXYhl3DrrcuCrBg9yeapwsIkIaRjs-_dqLaVJLY7QMn8T-LcfpPSMVPgI2X1eHiP_i8GGx2WV5U9HP_PGqrKu_sKGXR2zK-i7gtZdl1bug67mwPDtu_H58HRpLZ7jMv0kVVAI/s1600-h/IMG_1930-pola.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyRv4jN4mtXYhl3DrrcuCrBg9yeapwsIkIaRjs-_dqLaVJLY7QMn8T-LcfpPSMVPgI2X1eHiP_i8GGx2WV5U9HP_PGqrKu_sKGXR2zK-i7gtZdl1bug67mwPDtu_H58HRpLZ7jMv0kVVAI/s400/IMG_1930-pola.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428960448858123954" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;">Photo by <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: normal; "><em style="font-weight: bold; font-style: normal; ">Kunstlerin</em> </span> N.V </span><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">In the super simple attempt of living, we get simply lost. We make so many plans and then things happen and excuses pop up like spam into a badly designed world structure. Of course, things will always go wrong, good things are enemies of perfection. Certainly we wonder, we just wonder, but why do we never really do something to change it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"><span lang="EN-AU">I bet a million dollars that as you are reading this you are thinking<i>. “Well, I have to do this first, before doing “THAT”</i></span><span lang="EN-AU">. Whatever your “THAT” is, now think for how long have you been waiting to do “IT”. Give me 3 reasons why you haven not done it yet. 1,2,3. Alright, that was easy…</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">I used to go to work everyday, I had a routine. I made a lot of money, big fat money. I got up, had breakfast. Feed the dog and the cat. Clean the house. Stop by the mini market and grab chips, chocolate and coke and then drive one hour to work. I Sat in that piece of crab cubicle, cried to then start working like a machine for 10 hours. I would talk to people trying to show empathy, trying to understand them, trying to relate to them until one day, something interesting happened to me:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Times, serif;">I got on an interesting chat with yet another unsatisfied customer. Said the usual protocol but then something twisted happened. He wrote in the tiny little screen “I bet you hate your job, you wish you where doing something else”. I stop right there and don’t know how to reply. The robot in me replied with another “Copy/Paste” line. “Please note that I cannot talk about personal matters”. Then he said, “You are not answering to my question, are you a machine?” I thought. No, I’ve have become one. Put a piece of chocolate in my mouth and then replied. “No, I’m just a someone doing a job”. Then my boss came around and saw the pain on my face. The man grabs over the chat and wrote. “Hello, this is Joy’s boss she will have time for a life later, for now she will help you with your matter”. When my boss left I came back to the chat and continued. I said, “Hey you mind reader, is there anything else I can do for you”. He wrote, “Think about what I said” and logged out. That night I thought about my “IT” and why I was not doing “THAT”. The man was like any other crazy person in the day but what really scared me was the reply of my boss “She will have time for a life later”. What the hell is later? </span></span></p>Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-12076094267737300982010-01-20T21:29:00.000+01:002010-01-23T00:37:11.250+01:00"Struggling and complaining a bit for the sake of it"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUoVwy2lV72IO1BDAblfqY6p8ZN20DmUky85gxoHsd_nHUibMv30gefD_TyvZOfBQQdIcfiLRKZF3qrCMQMuEfJY-j-yAZ_Y9GXRoiMZ-6nZHqO9Hs9_MgJXjLlZdFnOaKfht1bBV3vnPZ/s1600-h/Surreal+Adventure+NV.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUoVwy2lV72IO1BDAblfqY6p8ZN20DmUky85gxoHsd_nHUibMv30gefD_TyvZOfBQQdIcfiLRKZF3qrCMQMuEfJY-j-yAZ_Y9GXRoiMZ-6nZHqO9Hs9_MgJXjLlZdFnOaKfht1bBV3vnPZ/s400/Surreal+Adventure+NV.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428922324580941858" /></a>Photo by <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; "><em style="font-weight: bold; font-style: normal; ">Kunstlerin</em> </span> N.V 09<br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-AU">It would be proper to start by introducing to you my circumstances. I am in the best and most romantic country in the world, in the soul-less and cold city. You will see people, mostly old people, lonely people walking their dogs at all times in the day, but you don’t hear kids sounds anywhere. The lack of love, the lack of ambition for happiness beyond material devours the bankers face and joy of the youth in just a few years, the person who sales cigarettes in the corner does not say thank you, you’ welcome. I have just found. It’s not that much into secret and loving corners or amusing and loving in the restaurants, or walking the streets of this city. This is my mess, alright, please tell me you haven’t thought of getting the hell out of there where you are at least once. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">This country was my dream country, full of amazing food and beautiful people that as it turns out, they don’t like foreigners and I am as a foreigner as I could be. If you are not rich or willing to shop, please don’t come here. I have come to realize I didn’t know anything about it before coming. Bad bad! Bum bum! Shoot head now!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">This is a city where nothing is free, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>"free" fun is not allowed, everything must have a profit. Moving, breathing is expensive. I’ve been to London; I’ve been to New York and Paris. Very expensive cities all of them, but you can just start walking through the Thames and find playgrounds, bridges, sightseeing, you can have 5 pounds and you will find something to eat and drink somewhere, fish and chips, in a street fair. In Paris you can go with the same money and you get a delicious French hot dog and melted fromagge for 3.5 euros and with a drink it will be 5 euros. Here in the “Ghost city” you get nothing. Two Gelatos or maybe an espresso with a croissant but then if you want to not eat it in the street in 2 more euros, if you would like your espresso with milk it would be 1 more euro and all of this while the lady is yelling to another customer, or correcting you if you try to speak the language. I hate it here. But I love it as well.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">Trying not to get sucked into the void. </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-88670453639869126612010-01-20T20:59:00.000+01:002010-01-23T00:43:02.313+01:00"It all starts in Verona"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrjm6-AKn9h_qgegUiigqEa1hdUZONTq08nP9pMp6PVJTYeHwdnFEiRLLmjF_VTJbKkVH_SAiTNT0TWfY6GLdsTN091139wDwEh3FCrQCOa669qTbpCTN1C3f13o9Uc1LULmT9mTWGLN2D/s1600-h/IMG_3669.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrjm6-AKn9h_qgegUiigqEa1hdUZONTq08nP9pMp6PVJTYeHwdnFEiRLLmjF_VTJbKkVH_SAiTNT0TWfY6GLdsTN091139wDwEh3FCrQCOa669qTbpCTN1C3f13o9Uc1LULmT9mTWGLN2D/s400/IMG_3669.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428944037841063906" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj57bvgDU5XPXGdPhJ3RljOJ4XfSkSaf5n2IjmRLvtzEA2nRNdna5NC1a656qBJEwWlrt3GNYwen20S3s8Gg1c5d7esbWdMlgc5S2WpiW_qoDAjz7M2pe8IyIqMIdhJB6uXNvxXc4Oe3ltu/s1600-h/IMG_3665.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj57bvgDU5XPXGdPhJ3RljOJ4XfSkSaf5n2IjmRLvtzEA2nRNdna5NC1a656qBJEwWlrt3GNYwen20S3s8Gg1c5d7esbWdMlgc5S2WpiW_qoDAjz7M2pe8IyIqMIdhJB6uXNvxXc4Oe3ltu/s320/IMG_3665.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428915559653522114" /></a><!--StartFragment--><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-AU;font-family:Times;font-size:12.0pt;">Photo by <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; "><em style="font-weight: bold; font-style: normal; ">Kunstlerin</em> </span> N.V.</span><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">Here I am and I noticed that I haven’t said anything about truly yours. My name is Joy, I’m 25 and I come from some sort of natural paradise heaven. When you are born in your ideal holiday land, you have only two choices, one, you live quietly and happily under the sunshine and the trees, with no other care in the world than surfing and drinks with the friends, but poor, or you are ambitious and you decide to go out to the world and have the pains and the cracks of the human race. My homeland is amazing and so small that we are actually among the 20 happiest countries in the world. Common! Try to guess it. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">Just Google it. http://www.hongkiat.com/blog/20-most-happy-countries-in-the-world/<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"> So yet again, I have come to the conclusion that I needed some relief. I worked for 3 years in a call center, that destroyed my spirit, but it’s so comfortable to have a salary and be home where everything is safe, right? “<i>Oh, the magic of a cubicle”.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">Instead I left everything and jump on this crazy boat. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">I have a college degree but I didn’t want to work. There was a part of me that wanted to wait, to explore a bit more of the world and here I am. I sold out everything I had and I left to Italy. Why Italy? Because I wanted to go to Australia and I couldn’t make it. USA? So predictable. South America? Save it for later? Germany? There is no way I’m learning german in 4 months. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-AU">Italy is a surreal world to me, it’s not the same to come as a turist during the summer. Try to fit in the coldest city during the coldest time of the year. Winter in Milan. Damn! And during the year of an economical crisis. Yeah, let’s live in the jungle for a while. I must admit the first months were hard, hard for the language, hard for a culture that I expected a little for opened and loneliness. I loneliness I can’t explain. Nothing here is even remotely the same, the food, the temper of the city, and the temperature as back home. This is hostile for those outsiders trying to make it, trying to fit in.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Times, serif;">I have gone already though all the worst you can imagine, from fighting the Italian system to having fights with Italians over schoolwork, on the Tabachi, on the building where I live. This is a land of contradictions, but also of a lot of beauty. My Friend sent me this picture form Verona. But the Verona from Shakespeare is far from the real deal. Still amazing. It all starts in Verona. And wait mate, this is not a chicks sort of thing, it's all about changing out minds, get out of the "safety net".</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, serif;"><br /></span></p>Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-83723549369160904012010-01-15T16:26:00.000+01:002010-01-23T00:37:38.567+01:00"The Grey Day and the North Pole"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWWTCiAg8oQIgP_MrEJtUGzO96YMj2ui0-dzGaeA-zK3Plbb5mzzFXQ7Dk1PLWk9YQKCNLk2pr0HXRkqbFNWFkQ4DdF2VRf5ZHvHoJ56o6654xnS1ss9JIKQv74_colC9nuFcNRnSqlGD8/s1600-h/IMG_1953.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWWTCiAg8oQIgP_MrEJtUGzO96YMj2ui0-dzGaeA-zK3Plbb5mzzFXQ7Dk1PLWk9YQKCNLk2pr0HXRkqbFNWFkQ4DdF2VRf5ZHvHoJ56o6654xnS1ss9JIKQv74_colC9nuFcNRnSqlGD8/s400/IMG_1953.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428943299649822706" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;">Photo by <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: normal; "><em style="font-weight: bold; font-style: normal; ">Kunstlerin</em> </span> N.V </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Today I open my eyes and all I see is a grey light on my window. It’s winter. I have a lot of school work to do, the house is a mess and I my plants died because I was so busy I forgot to water them. It’s so cold outside that I rather stay in bed watching television but guess what? I don’t have a television because I life in a single dorm with another 200 students with no television and always to busy to talk. All my friends work during the day, and all I can say it’s that I should go out but there is nothing to see and probably if there was something cool to do I would find a reason not to do it. But if your life is different and you do have television and went to a party last night, why do you feel like I do now many times, maybe everyday. Tired and that you never have enough time to do everything there is to do. You are working for happiness right, but when does it come around, can we text happiness and call it for lunch?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Going beyond the normal and boring daily philosophies we are pushed through everyday in television, Internet and the media, the reality is that life is hard and complicated and more flavourless that we would like to admit. It’s easy to rationally think that for a normal average brain, stability is part of collective sanity that makes us feel comfortable, relieving and that it allows us to focus to pursuit goals and achievements during our lives. It’s also important to be able to be part of a working society.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Well, that’s a reality, you know: house, kids, school or a career, finding a partner, cooking, sleeping, and dreaming, wanting things.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">But what happens when reality is not what we expected, and then a sane dose of reality becomes a routine and our days repeat day after day. We become copies of copies of some bad copy of somebody’s life. Yeah, in the end we all want the same things because it’s part of it. Only 2% of the world’s population is rich, less than that is a rock star or a movie star. The rest of us have to work, pay the bills and feel mortal to make the world work and we start wondering, thinking many things. <i>“Hey wait there boy, thinking too much never helped anybody”.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">I know we all have thoughts, we all think about death; we are all concerned about getting through everyday. Well. Let’s stop and revise. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">If life is not perfect as perfection does not exist, let’s get ordered and settled. Let’s look to routine in the eye and see what’s up with it. I am pretty sure we can find much more joy. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"> Oh yes, by the way. Life is about being happy. If Happiness is the North Pole then pain is the South melting one. We know they are there…we have certainly seen them on television, right?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"> We all have both in our lives and the world goes around and more days come after every night no matter the time zone. But don’t be so blind to think that if you don’t have pain in your life you are in fact, happy.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"> If you have to work, well, work but don’t let it drown you into. I sanely believe that people who make wars, more than money and power use the ignorance and fears of “normals” to feed their reasons. So let’s not be bored. Let’s get awake. Everyday. Minute to minute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Let’s see what we can do. It’s a process of healing lover. Let’s me go to get some bandaids. I will go water my plants and grab a bottle of wine. </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3665434174355114833.post-34921634793772300752010-01-13T18:39:00.000+01:002010-01-23T00:41:45.192+01:00"I Hope You Have a Good Life"<div style="text-align: justify;">This is how life starts, a second of light in our eyes. For must of us, that flash will remain in a blinding glimpse until the day we die; by the time we become one with the universe again. Yes, this world is so fu^^^d up. We are born to get confused, to get lost and to share our personal loneliness with others just as lost and lonely. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Not trying to be negative here, but just “realistic” and as I am fond of writing, let’s add some sugar and cherries to make it more interesting to swallow. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It reaches a moment at when we must STOP COMPLAINING. We must go on and finish everything we have started but somehow, television and routine never gives enough inspiration to finish. This is the “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; "><em style="font-weight: bold; font-style: normal; ">Kunstlerin</em> </span>Life”. I new vision in finding happiness in everyday life, wherever we are, under any circumstances, political beliefs, religion, money or no money in the bank. Male of female.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We must just realized that the fact of breathing is already a chance to change our circumstances, to be better, to feel it all. We are in a tireless quest to discover beauty and amazing moments to remember. Yes! We can find meaning, you can surprise yourselves smiling in front of the most mundane and ordinary fact of your everyday life, but we learned how to miss it. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yes, I believe we can find good in the shit we step on every day. It’s just easy to give the responsibility of own happiness to others, to our job, to our partner. We are grown-ups in a new generation facing a possible war, teenagers trying to define the rest of our lives, young adults trying to find a job after college, travellers, cooks, patriots and factory workers. We think we are powerless to make the world better, but guess what? Nobody can change the world alone. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We are certainly so many. How do we manage to be special if all of us are special? Who is listening to us? Who cares about us?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We have so many question and just a few answers. There are pieces of wisdom that we can find everything, in little events in our life’s that will guide us, but we usually ignore. My blog is about finding all these pieces and make it a whole. We are all connected; I love you whoever you are. If you pushed me today in the street probably you had a bad day, if you were rude in the super market, who knows? It’s just easy to hate living in a city, and I’m in the worst city to be free, a city where nobody is. Stay tuned lovers. Join me in my quest of finding some sense to this shit.</div>Joy Holden Southhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04460722367121747573noreply@blogger.com0