a letter and a letter on a string
will hold forever humanity spellbound 


possession of the beggar and the king

everybody, everyday

you and I, we all can say 


regarded as a complicated tool

created by man, implicated by mankind 


obsession of the genius and the fool

everybody, everyday,

everywhere and everyway 

Find them, you can use them
Say them, you can hear them
Write them, you can read them
Love them, fear them 

transmitted as we're fitted from the start
received by all and we're sentenced to a life with 

impression of the stupid and the smart
everybody, everyday
you and I, we all can say 

inside your head can come alive as they're said
softly, loudly, modestly or proudly 

expression by the living and the dead
everybody, everyday
everywhere and everyway 


Find them, you can use them
Say them, you can hear them
Write them, you can read them
Love them, fear them


Like a monk, chanting, my voice filling the library chambers, humming your incantations. My soul, rocked by the fireplace embers… Your eyes, my illuminations.

Tirelessly measuring the science of your beauties.

(Passionate observation, note-taking, calculations… sweetly obsessed devotion… unfatigable dreaming…).

The long-concealed secrets, revealed:

The final equations of your walking, the variables of your balance, your ankles' diminute rotation angles, your head’s exact tilt.

This monk’s proud. In the library towers, over his workspace, he drifts into slumber.

Then, the twilight, and the lovers' souls will criss-cross by the first shades of the morning.

CANTALOUPE (Micro-relato I - Say it with less than 100 words)

I went to the market, with Manuel. He wanted pizza, so did I. We sampled a Cantaloupe melon, as well. Yummy! We bought, just half, enough for two men!

In our way back home, a beggar begged for help-money-food. We passed by.

(Yes, we went on).

After half a minute, Manuel said “He asked for help: many people passed by and we all pretended we did not hear”.

“Shall we give him our half melon?” So right.

Ground zero. The man took the melon, tiredly thanked us. We could see a smile was drawn in his noble face, too.


THE REAL GROUP- En vanlig grönskas rika dräkt (Sommarpsalm)

A summer hymn fills my heart with emotion. Where does the emotion come from? Why the stream of grateful tears? 

(Is it worthy to try to figure out? ... At the beginning, one hardly knows how the adventure is gonna end, does he?) 

First thing: It is NOT a Christmas song, eventhough it may sound like one to some ears. I usually hate Christmas songs. Privately. This is different. 

This one is a swedish hymn in praise of summer. Can we southern people conceive a long and harsh winter, mostly deprived of warm days? Can we imagine the joy of sunlight, when it finally arrives? (Here comes the sun... British can, but we don't, really).

But there is more... The singing... The performance, The Real Group, I hope they have the privilege of many happy summers singing together...! Underbar!

Now listen, if you will, and feel the perfect balance, the pendulum, the gravity in the music. How perfect is the simultaneous breath that gives energy to the music... And how that energy dies like the seasons themselves, giving way to a new breath in a complete cycle of death and rebirth. Fully commited music expression, from within... what a beautiful human enterprise... These guys are more than talented. They hold the key.

Now listen to the wonderful swedish words. Even if you don't get a clue, listen. They are still beautiful, and paint with delightful sounds the green meadows, the forests, the wafting breeze, the trees and flowers, the unaffected stillness and reverent awe of the eyes that catch all that beauty. 

Listen finally the way how the singing reverberates in everything, how the harmony goes as close to perfection as it is humanly possible... how words and pitches and breath find their delightful balance and blend to convey the quiet and awed celebration of summer.

Rejoycing in the simplicity of the smallest things.

(Thank you for today, thank you for a wonderful, ordinary day)

En vänlig grönskas rika dräkt
har smyckat dal och ängar.
Nu smeker vindens ljumma fläkt
de fagra örtesängar.
Och solens ljus och lundens sus
och vågens sorl bland viden
förkunna sommatiden.
Sin lycka och sin sommarro
de yra fåglar prisa.
Ur skogens snår, ur stilla bo
framklingar deras visa.
En hymn går opp med fröjd och opp
från deras glada kväden,
från blommorna och träden.

Men Du, o gud, som gör vår jord
så skön i sommarns stunder.
Giv, att jag aktar främst ditt ord
och dina nådesunder.
Allt kött är hö, och blomstren dö
och tiden allt fördriver,
blott Herrens ord förbliver.

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