soft punishment for gods.

would you punish through the symbols of guilt.

Oρφεύς)

The colours of character of one as strong and mournful as Orpheus are laden with potent and inherent sentimentality. It is the reason for music to cry. He played the lyre, he charmed the world, the underworld, Hades and Persephone, brought back Eurydice from where people had lond ceased returning . But , it was lost. All was a flashpoint in the ripples of the communion of Dionysus. A glance was the counter price for his music.

"Dancing maenads , dancing maenads, please don't dance too low. No song nor line, no light nor hue, can ever sing that song you love."

The symbolism of orpheuses head on the lyre after being killed by the meanads of Dionysus, floating through the rivers filled the senses of a person I never knew with the colour of sorrow.

In the memory of symbolic gestures we never forget, but seldom see, I salute not Orpheus, but the "hue" in his mythology. The tint in the complexity of being.

Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks

All those men were there inside,
when she came in totally naked.
They had been drinking: they began to spit.
Newly come from the river,
she knew nothing.
She was a mermaid who had lost her way.
The insults flowed down her gleaming flesh.
Obscenities drowned her golden breasts.
Not knowing tears,
she did not weep tears.
Not knowing clothes,
she did not have clothes.
They blackened her with burnt corks and cigarette stubs,
and rolled around laughing on the tavern floor.
She did not speak because she had no speech.
Her eyes were the colour of distant love
,her twin arms were made of white topaz.
Her lips moved, silent, in a coral light,
and suddenly she went out by that door.
Entering the river she was cleaned,
shining like a white stone in the rain,
and without looking back she swam again swam towards emptiness,
swam towards death. _Pablo Neruda

"Would you reach out your hand to save a drowning man if you though he might pull you in.?"

A very humble question asked by Dylan in this movie.
Got me thinking, for a few moments atleast. After a lot of deep thought, and i mean real deep, I finally got my answer:
I in most probability would'nt, but surely I'd throw him a rope.

The summer we seldom had.

Its a very tried and tested fact that humans love writing, about themselves, their h and a's, lovers, haters, mothers - fathers, any one or anything that simply envokes. Envokes anything!
But, the henious but,
all of those who quite dont , how do i phrase this, 'cut it'..?? Where do they go? The simple summer of wisdom that we never had. Its all worked up over the course of a life time never lived.
Its rather sweet really, some what like the bees that love flowers but cant stand perfumes.
All summers we never had.