Uncaged

 

Free your mind, and let it soar above the common beliefs
Free your mind, and let it soar above the common belief

Sometimes, you  may say to yourself, “I think I over do, now,” by using the same terms over and over,  people get tired of the blah, at the end _ yadayada, I know, but trying to grab some audiences, it’s hard for a blogger, everyone knows that, and everyone looks for it. Not that I need it. There are some causes, ideals, Aristotelianism, are lost in advance, I knew it the moment I started blogging. It’s not a self-flagellation either, but it was an awareness of the moment; the disappearance  of a species, but  the welfare of a bird, it’s the least concern today.

That is, when you feel like you have exhausted, when all the possible and imaginary means, using the Prompts of the day, quotes, poetry from poets, and writers… You’re about to throw the towel. Then, sometimes, by  just listening to a song, like  the one ” Drift Away” from Rod Stewart. Then, you have the declic, it puts you back on tracks

Day after day, I’m more confused
Yet I look for the light through the pourin’ rain
You know that’s a game that I hate to loose
And I’m feelin’ the strain, ain’t it a shame
Oh, give me the beat boys and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock ‘n’ roll and drift away
Oh, give me the beat boys and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock ‘n’ roll and drift away
Beginnin’ to think that I’m wastin’ time
I don’t understand the things I do
The world outside looks so unkind
Now I’m countin’ on you to carry me through*

Yet,  this is it, You get then, a feeling, that you want to fling to the world, your plea,
_”Give me the beats boys, and free my soul,I wanna get lost in your conversation, and lost in translation, and drift away.”
_”Give me the courage to persevere writing, blogging, and posting, for a noble cause to save an endangered bird from disappearing.”
Because it has been five years in the making of Mackneen, The Algerian Goldfinch blog, that I’m blogging and posting, posts after posts, through the Internet, and WordPress, to make my call inviting people to join my conversation, to get the bird, tha Goldfinch, namely, free from the cage, from all the cages around the world.
Because, when you write, it’s your voice that you hear, your silent monologue settles inside your mind, you want to shout it out load what you have in your gusts, and you want to get out the hell of it those itching words that are elbowing against each other’s, who to come first to the open, to  put it down to paper, at the view of the common reader, and accepting be critiqued, for you audacity, and daring to compose and post such non-sense. Like this one, such as.

It’s insane, I know, but I am not the only one, there is a lot of celebrities out there, they went, like Don Quixote De La Pampa, battling against the windmills, but more than a daydream, they make it their cause, like the French Actress Brigitte Bardot, defending the seals against their abusive massacre, and many more others, Ushuaia, We discover each day that million of species are  almost disappearing from the surface of the earth.

So, I learned more, thence in my quest of sources to support my cause than, I expected, in my own beliefs, that the cause has the merits to be consistent, and true, that is not being a utopia, a euphoric chimera of the mind. When you know that the name Goldfinch is deeply anchored in the sub-conscience of the people through the ages, be it religious beliefs, like in Christian  literatures or propane rites and customs and not merely folks traditions, by only checking into Wikipedia.

when you know that John Kavanagh, Keats, Dona and the list is long , to cite just few, had  the privilege to be the predecessors in evoking the goldfinch in their poems, and proses, in their essays and masterpiece, than I believe that it worth borne identity of El Mackneen, the Algerian Goldfinch, even it was futile and elusive matter of blogging about.

When you get to know that a writer has a Noble Price, like  Dona Tart, a novel that has a name of the goldfinch, it’s no shame to kvel well up. So, although it was just a dream at it début , yet  it has been already five years that I  blog under the name of Macknee, The Algerian Goldfinch, may be one day, it comes to light.

It’s time to free my mind, and uncage my imagination.

image

_knowledge is limited, imagination encircles the world, Einstein

It’s not the cage that encircles the idea. It’s the mind, free your mind, and let is soar above the common beliefs.

Thank you for reading

 

*Read more: Dobie Gray – Drift Away Lyrics | MetroLyrics

 

Wanderer

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/the-wanderer/

I had become a souvenir,
I was an edelweiss, once_
a weathered bud, for the nonce
Flattered whim between the fold
Of a yellowed diary pages_ I was told
Now I have a place where I rest.
I wished  It were near to your heart
Yesterday, I was standing stress-free
Cleansed by the hilltop winds,
Reached only by, at eagle’s wings
None of a poet, did it  for his killing spree
That the snows, it was my nest.
Downhill the Mount Everest,
I picked it for you, my soul-mate
What can I do now to please you_
My dear, the summit that I climbed it.
That Life is already consumed,
Strewn by miracles, on our way.
We saw the day of wonders we met,
the birds at our knees, we knelt
I put a flower in your hair
That Spring was it, in the air
Our souls were we had melt.
Still do you remember, do you?

_Kalimelo

The Brown Bag Reader: (extra)ordinary object

 

Reading by the candle

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/extraordinary/

Carrying Your Ideas With You

image

What a small brown bag can carry? Apart from your regular coffee and bagel, be it, you’re a monk, a scholar, or an artist, simply don’t throw it, who knows, a humble brown bag, it may carry your thought of the moment, an idea,  a draft of a future project. It’s like throwing the baby in the basin, with the waters of the bath: you’ll regret it, then it’s too late _kalimelo

 

Gone get the milk,

“Memory on the Menu.”

@nytimesarts: Harper Lee’s ‘Go Set a Watchman’ http://t.co/yzdI1ofKlj

image

“It’s always exciting when a long-forgotten manuscript is unearthed, dusted off, and at the eve of being published. But when that book is related to To Kill a Mockingbird — one of the most beloved modern classics, the BPL treasures which I return to for my readings often, and I crave to see old movies,  and rare books, also that I had borrowed from, lately — anticipation goes through the roof.”

calendar/kill-mockingbird-special

“Memory on the Menu.” Coincidence is mother of opportunities, as the saying goes.
“Speaks, memories.”_Vladimir Nabokov
So, what is the relationship between the two modern classics?One may say.
As it comes in recall, with  a prompt  at your rescue, like if it was  a Saint-Bernard doggie; then you have no choice rather than to muse on: Which memories are better  fit? – the recent and vivid ones, or those that time has covered in a sweet haze?_No doubt, both, and how whimsical it is; it triggered you to the core of the marrow, and in a split of an eye-blink, it sands you some decades back to same places of childhood, always. Isn’t it? The Early Years

Rereading again How Kill The Mocking bird, and Go set a watchman, some fifty years later, as memories mingle together with the present, and the past, standing at the edge of two abysses it’s like seeing oneself absent from the cradle in the photo, as the parents standing aside smiling at you, then where are you at that moment?like in “speak, Memories of Nabocov narrative.

“One must live his life, and only once, seize the opportunity as it comes to you, and make it happens, to see his dream comes true one day, and  make history. Your own history.”_ Kalimelo
For, having the chance to live actually in the same era as when was set up the How to kill the mocking bird story in the book, it’s a great deal now, to recall all those olden times.
Some go fishing, some go hunting, others birds watching, and seashore rattling, I belong to the tribe of old movies goers, rare books reading, and sentences watching.

In the early 60s, at the time  of the events in America, I was twelve years old then , and I was fascinated by Color movies the cinema with panoramic view, Marvel comics, and also was a Sc-fix movies-goer, how to say, it was in the brink of the ” L’Air-Du-Temps,” as it may appears to some readers a banality nowadays, but it was about to witness at a turning point of time, History on the making, you’re witnessing with eyes wide-open, that marvelous era, at things under your reach. Fifty years later, hystory is made, again and a recommencement of a fairy tale, almost a déjà-vu, the other, in the morning I was gone to get the milk, and the New York Times newspaper  because I have been used to  it, since that time of yore.

And For the anecdotal, because one day,( gone get the milk, )  I went to attend the event of the publication  “Go Set a Watchman”and I end up seeing the movie“calendar/kill-mockingbird-special” at Central  Library-Dweck

_That’s all fictional, and once more  for sure, but reality is, it’s sad today  to lean in the NYTimes, that the author died few days ago, it is like a panel of memories just want of, and my heart went on with the author.  Rest in peace Mocking bird

Daydream: El Capitan, Yosemite|It’s Refreshing

Fascination with the quest, Vis – Re-steeping, a daydream, Yosemite

Virtually, I was riveted to my couch with my laptop on my lap like everyone, surfing the web, back and forth, between editing old posts, drafts and WP daily prompts assignments and open interactive graphics, and following http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2015/01/14/sports/the-dawn-wall-up-close.html

Then, I got  e-mails from both

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/re-springing-your-step/

and #Daydream: El Capitan, Yosemite,

Almost, the event, as it moved slowly to its end; two-quite guys Pursuing the Impossible, and Coming Out on Top, although it may be unclear  for some people,  a particular memory, a feeling, and mood  is stirred in you, and you begin to think about it; to that old dream still dear to your heart and that we procrastinated so often, at some personal quest or achievement you did, anonymously, far of the limelight,  and spotlights, thoughtfully I got it,

“The modern mode of traveling…” Apart from such an assertion or such a result, I, myself, am a little  aware of the pace. But seated on the old mail-couch, we needed no evidence out of ourselves, to indicate the velocity. On this system, the word was not Magna Loquimur,  as upon railways, but “Vivimus”. Yes, “Vivimus”; we do not make verbal ostentatious of our grandeurs, we realize our grandeur  in act, and in the very experience of life.”

~ The English Mail-Couch, and Joan Of Arc_Thomas De Quincy, page 42.

I sprung from my couch after a long weekend fascinated with the quest, still  we that thoughts astir in my mind, took a cup of coffee, after that I wrote this post.

Going your way dots by the dots

I was thinking about  how to  write a post in response to the prompt ; I got already the first sentence in the pull up quote below: then, it’s when inspiration stroke”…like the way points on a dot- to-dot drawing.” Been afflated by those words, after that everything fallen in its slot,  I  went back to an old post–First Sight|From Atop,  “Cleansed by the hilltop winds, I stand in meditation, alone and stress-free.” To puffing it, it was unnecessary…

“I feel that there is one cliché that sums up my position so admirably that it would be pure egotism to attempt a more interesting periphrasis.”
— Deborah Meyler, The Bookstore , 2013

_From the New York Times

"I think everyone has their own Dawn Wall secret to complete one day, and may be they can put this project on their context."

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/01/15/sports/el-capitans-dawn-wall-climbers-reach-top.html?src=me

The climb was divided into 31 pitches, or sections, like the way points on a dot to dot drawing.

El Capitan is the height of three Empire States Buildings staked atop of one another, but with many fewer, and smaller things to hold on to on the way up.

“From the outside it was starting to look like a Hemingway novel, or an unresolvable quest.” Said Gadd, who had known Caldwell for many years.”

When I read the article in  NYTimes in the train< Going your way> fascinated by their quest, Its only then I realized  that I have to join the dots! this is it! Voila!

First sight|From atop

From atop of my three-apples tall
Quote; Courtesy to: Mr. Alec Nevala-Lee

 _”From atop of my three-apples tall”_Kalimelo.

I was not taller than three-apples, staked one atop of another, oh! _ I just turned seven or nine years old, then_ from the hilltop, I could see the world brand new; my first sight of it from there, standing on the hilltop, and stress-free. Thither or hither, on the other side of the hill; It was like putting a stool to glance from a window into the outside, at the peer of things.

_Kalimelo

I stood tip-toe upon a little hill
The air was cooling, and so very still
_John Keats
http://www.bartleby.com/126/2.html

If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.

— J. D. Salinger

But wait,  unless you don’t want to know further more and nor continue reading,

“All this happened, more or less

_Kurt Vonnegut, The Slautherhouse-five

Continue reading First sight|From atop

re:To the Time Traveler Passing By

To the Time Traveler Passing By. To Night

Mon enfant, you see
My route is the Milky Way.
I'm the Time Traveler passing By,
I stopped here, par hazard I'm going there, anyway
People milking time, elsewhere I swear_ thinking I'm a cow,
tell my how.
Oh, my Child, don't cry 
like that, it's make angels cry
Hiding your eyes in your  hands
tel me why.
I saw your lament
From atop the firmament
Shed your tears, don't let them fall
I'll take them  all, your tears,
Where there, as it' appears
In the sky like diamonds they are gem, 
on the stars I put them. 
Orion is my chariot.
Oh!It's Time I have to go, 
keep your dream, 
And make a wish, when you see a beam in your sight
As you might See me passing by, one night

On the Souls of My Shoes|re: Inspiration Call

Writer Highlight Featuring Anjell Mars-Roberts MzHotness: Shoes|re:
Response to:

Inspiration Call
· Creative Talents Unleashed’s Photos ·

Take you shoesThank you for those precious gems:

To them

I bow my hat
with respect
I know they’re old,
A Million, ye can’t sold
but, you see,
No apology,
I can’t put my feet in your shoes

neither you, your head in my hat.
If we have to choose__
before I depart,
my sandals are Sparts.
My muse Clio, Erato are bare feet
You see, walking barefoot,
I’m use to it.
Never  to complain,
nor  it   blew  my toot.

On hot sand,
and rocky roads,
With a stick on my hand
the World, I roam
All where I go is home.

I care of my feet

sometimes, they bleed,

they take me where I need,

God bless the broken roads,

keep your shoes,
and  I, my hat,
In the summer,
It keeps me at shade, my head
and In the rain, it stays dry, no matter what
We are both at,
you to take your hat,
and me, my  shoes
At a mosque or a temple
Leave your shoes at the door
Of The Lord

It’s that simple,

And not had to choose

Nice talk,
Kiss good-bye the old shoes
I take a walk,

“I carry them,  On The souls of my shoes,

With me, thither and yon, the places  I go”

say it low.
this is it
I quit
I have to leave,
We are to Live
Sometimes and die.

__Kalimelo®

“You pass through places, and places pass through you, but you carry them with you on the souls of your shoes”

_Molly  Layde

“We carry always with us a little of the small town we lived in on the soles of your shoes,
When we have to leave all things behind, for a tranquil life”_ Enrico Marcias

Sleepy Time|The nap, a lost art|The value of rest

http://writing201july2014.wordpress.com/2014/08/15/not-writing/

Taking a nap afternoon, has been a tradition in most of the countries riverine to, or living around on the other banks of the Mediterranean Sea, and in Latin Americas, as well. But, it remained peculiar  to Spain were it was established as a “holy” costume  among people since dusting  centuries, it was raised to the same level of holiness as Toro corrida, Flamenco dance, the toreador El Cordobes, bullfighting in arena, torero Ole,  the collective joy  in  shared  moments of farnientes.  Dramas, passionate   crimes and feuds were committed at this singular hour; the napping time, the moment of predilection: when inspiration strikes. Painters, Picasso, Miro, Salvador Dali, Living Art, Poets and writers like Frederico Garcia Lorca, Ernest Hemingway, who wrote masterpieces  narrating the particular hour when the drama occurred: Death In The Afternoon_ https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1455.Ernest_Hemingway

Sleepy Time Napping time, it was introduced to Spain by the Moorish Moslems as part of their daily religious rituals; like ablutions before each prayer, the respect of one’s privacy, and  by the fact that their work day starts from dusk to noon: The south of Spain is known; by being arid and hot, it tends to less activities, and more to farnientes . In a given time of today’s work, it’s already equal to six, seven hours, thus the break after lunch imposes itself  de facto. In modern time, taking a nap, it is still in use, and with the same respect for the tradition, preserved intact same as times ago, that businesses close by law, between noon and two-thirty, to resume work until 5:30 PM. _The photography of the daily prompt  emphasizes well a  phenomenon that I had seen a longtime ago. Back then, as usually it was years  ago, as I used to stop somewhere, Paris, Geneva, Bamako or elsewhere. That night it was at Alicante, Spain to spend the night, a stand-by, of  the time I was a flight attendant, like bird of same feather stops for the night. I  used to go to one of the café terraces to relax, as it remains a couple of hours of day-saving at its début of establishment–before dusk to enjoy the lovely late afternoon; the hotel in which we stay for the night was a few steps away from the plaza and cafeteria terrace, there, they were hundred of townsmen, owners of businesses, and families they came gathering there, to relax and chat after work for happy hours, sipping coffee, and indulgent sorbet. The  phenomenon was queer enough by itself, at moments, as the  shout of the crowd rose so loudly, then went crescendo riffed in to the air,  to become  indistinct from the clamored  chirping of the birds that gathered also on the limbs of the trees like on predisposed design. Then, it ceased instantly, in to a sustainable silence like,  for a split of a second, to resume to its brilliant cacophony. People and Birds that seemed comfortable with it, in common accord  were both alike were indifferent to each other’s, they  had come there for the sole  purpose of this: to chat; the ones just perched on the limbs above the heads of  the lasts, the people sitting there on the chairs, under the trees. For  a person foreign to the uses and costumes of the country, who chance to come sitting there stress-free, —-not writing– and just contemplate the scene, it was naturally for him to  find it strange, that with all that tumult  clouding above and without annoyance and disturb,  that anyone  of being aghast of it, where it seemed like nobody was listening to nobody, while everybody is talking, just for the sake of it.

http://cbwentworth.wordpress.com/2014/08/20/interim/ Courtesy to C B Wentwoth

Another day, another night, this time it was ten stories atop of the bank of Niger River, sitting there in a balcony of the Hotel De L’Amitiée at Bamako, the capital of Mali, cleansed by a faint of freshness of the  air at building heights, coming for the river, a mile away.  I was watching thousands of bats, and flock of birds of the same feathers  invading the sky at dusk in a chase of insects for the last meal,  over the crests of Flamboyant trees baobabs, bananas and mango-trees, while twenty feet under, people  were  heading home after an exhausting  day of torrid  Heath, in swarm of bikes, cars and taxi-brouses–a shared car or truck for a ride by ten to twenty people– as the streetlights turned-on in the city and on the bridge, they were crossing the river in long beam of toots hanks, lights and vaporous dust . Somewhere in a distance, I silhouetted an angler on a pirogue who was  throwing his fishing net in the river. People there, mostly Moslem, they stop working at noon for lunch, pray and taking a nap, to resume work at around four o’clock, the call of the muezzin for Asser prayer time Modernism, and automation focusing on generating profit, extending out-put, had taken over traditions, rituals, and the artisanal arts and craft to becoming obsolete, they are fashioning a new way of life, and style, in a fast-paced environments, at the expenses of taking time to live, and appreciate the gift of the present moment: such as, the benefit  of taking a break. Recently some corporates  traduced  a séance of relaxation in a hub in to their office,  for their employees, besides the lunch break, to increase their attentions, during their work. Ps: just for a zest of humor: if you yawn in reading this, just take a …drink and think of it, sometimes inspiration strikes, never knows, when and where.