| PASSION OF ART |
| The House of Thousand Mirrors by Ada Cartianu Now I find myself 3 years later in the heart of the city who opened the freedom for my soul - Chicago. I am more and more inlove with this city, and I start to understand the american culture a little better than before. To really understand this country dreams, ego and failures you have to begin to love her and hate her in the same time. Afterwards, you have to find the strength of your inner power and believe in this country as a huge soul born from so many cultures, hopes and dreams. America is like a house of thousands mirrors. Every part of this country from social, cultural, political, architectural, traditional, arts perspective it’s a reflection of the world. Thousands mirrors of thousands cultures arrived on this land from all over the world building from it an amazing house. “America, my home”. Or, just “The Tower of Babel.” It is a big challenge for an immigrant, a challenge of strength because, in my opinion, the people who can’ t understand this country are the one who will never understand the hard way, the one who expect the “rivers of milk and honey”, and the “mountains full of gold” to be right at the airport. Life isn’t that easy without fight! For the great result of your efforts you can’t say to anything on your way that it is hard, that you can’t do it. If you ever say “I can’t do that” you fall instead of going up the stairs of victory. Try everything life has to offer, the hard way, the easy way. Try the impossible maybe you can find a way to change it. Never quite, never say no, always look forward - be open minded. We can’t win any game without putting all our effort into it. As hard you work for your success you are closer to it because it’s an old saying “Mohamed has to go to the mountain, not the mountain to Mohamed.” You want something, go for it. The power to change your life, to make your dreams come true is inside you; nobody else can do it for you. Everyone of us has at least a dream about what he want’s to do in his life, with his life, from his life. Nobody knows exactly were is the right place to begin the endeavor, if it is at the end of the earth, cross the ocean or in your own house. But it is a moment in time when in a twinkle of mind your experience shows you the way to continue the fight, the challenge. By nature of things, and also by the strong desire of human nature to realize a dream, you’ll go wherever the possibility to see your dream alive has a chance. The desire it is stronger than any law, government, fear of death. The desire is the main spring for most of human actions allowing an entire force to our imaginative capacity to change everything in our life in a second. Humans die for what they want -good or bad-, they fight and die for ideas, faith, dreams, love, illusions. Human nature it is an unforeseeable mechanism because you’ll never know exactly for what it can create passion over time. And from passion, desire and aspiration a human begin can begin a fight with an entire world to find his own salvation, his own way, his own dream. Dosen’t matter if what he thinks is good or bad in the eyes of the world, he is still going to fallow his desire no matter what. Because it’s in human nature the love and cruelty, the compassion and ignorance, the sweetness and roughness, the wisdom and idiocy alike. Umberto Eco wrote a while ago “I love the polyphony of ideas. As long as you don’t believe in them, the collision of two ideas -both false- can create a pleasing interval, a kind of diabolism in music. I had no respect for some ideas people were willing to stake their lives on, but two or three ideas that I did not respect might make a nice melody.” In other words, some mental events cause some physical events and some physical events cause mental events, closely related to the commonsense idea that thoughts and desires cause various physical events. After historical interpretation every human action has behind itself thought and desire. Going along this understanding of mind, we can see an essential point of our life depending on an action. And this action can represent sometimes a change of location - country, continent - definite by the law as “immigration”. *** You, Whoever You Are You, whoever you are!... All you continentals of Asia, Africa, Europe, Australia, indifferent of place! All you on the numberless islands of the archipelagos of the sea! All you of centuries hence when you listen to me! All you each and everywhere whom I specify not, but include just the same! Health to you! good will to you all, from me and America sent! Each of us is inevitable, Each of us is limitless—each of us with his or her right upon the earth, Each of us allowed the eternal purports of the earth, Each of us here as divinely as any is here. Walt Whitman Immigration refers to the movement of people between countries. While the movement of people has existed throughout human history at various levels, modern immigration implies long-term, legal, permanent residence. Short-term visitors and tourists are considered non-immigrants. Immigration across national borders in a way that violates the immigration laws of the destination country is termed illegal immigration. Under this definition, an illegal immigrant is a foreigner who either illegally crossed an international political border, be it by land, water, or air, or a foreigner who legally entered a country but nevertheless overstays his/her visa in order to live and/or work therein. Seasonal labor migration, while generally non-permanent in nature (typically for periods of less than a year), is often treated as a form of immigration. The modern concept of immigration is related to the development of nation-states and nationality law. Citizenship in a nation-state confers an inalienable right of residence in that state, but residency of non- citizens is subject to conditions set by immigration law. The emergence of nation-states made immigration a political issue: by definition it is the homeland of a nation defined by shared ethnicity and/or culture. The global volume of immigration is high in absolute terms, but low in relative terms. The International Integration and Refugee Association estimated 190 million international migrants in 2005, about 3 percent of global population. The other 97 percent still live in the country in which they were born. The Middle East, some parts of Europe, small areas of South East Asia, and a few spots in the West Indies have the highest numbers of immigration population recorded by the UN Census 2005. The U.S. has often been called the "melting pot". The name is delivered from United States' rich tradition of immigrants coming to the US looking for something better and having their cultures melded and incorporated into the fabric of the country. Most of them did not possess wealth or power in their home countries. Most were not highly educated. Other than these few commonalities of what they didn't possess, their backgrounds were vastly different. The thread, however, that bound these immigrants together was their vision of improving their current situation. Emma Lazarus, in a poem entitled "The New Colossus," which is inscribed on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty tells of the invitation extended to those wanting to make the US their home. "… Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…" (Encyclopedia Americana, 1998, Vol. 25, 637) |
| Myself in all and all in myself poetry by Drugas Iulia-Alexandra 2007-07-29 the growing of golden grass in my head curving behind my ears moving in eternal birth feeling others' approaches as tunnels, darkness dug inside I fall in their touches and looks people breathing in my lungs feeding in my stomach and embraces smoke and ordinariness empty sounds in my steps holes left in my departs kids laughing in me with innocence and fear platonic sunsets like waterfalls down on my walls posters and lies me - undressing under the sky - soul naked beneath your hand sleep and depth in warm shells chemistry in my colours magic simplicity in things i can't hold and bear pollution and revolt injustice I suck the planet through this umbilical cord and still never become something beauty and heavenly reliance parents and blanket's safety love, insecurity and shifting oneness above all my sunk relativity in feelings and time different sides, death in all trouble and insanity seeds sown in bins and animal cells evolving in earth and outer space hazard, nothingness, unknown but faith in me but God in us skin - air, green eyes - ocean standing here, cursing my words spitting on my emotions I'm all that I'll never be and still I'll strive to survive genetics is my escape does it worth doing does it worth questioning ends and reincarnations all wear one name: happiness in absurdity rain and sun science, stupid ties, prizes and fake smiles heart beats, an ill third eye, diseases, hunger and prayers don't ask I'm old and tired I take too much space and I think I'm alive I see springs in my asphalt my life smells like ivy and I drink only stars I'm a little too blind for this speed, these cars these forever green trees I'll take my lipstick, my pillow and start to pretend in reality and dreams. |
| My first confession prose by Roxana Leotescu 2007-03-30 I do not want to tell a word about my crime. It is really late tonight to confess. My fault does not exist. Look at the crossword puzzle. Do you understand this meaningful size of the pieces? Keep them together in your mind. They will certainly turn the tables, some day. I am so tired, I can not sleep, can not say a word. I am screaming inside. I am guilty, perhaps. They did not worth a fig. They gave me everything they had, they gave me light. One of them was my host last night. He acted gently. I stood in line for about an hour to get a ticket. The show was pretty good; it covered my discreet mood with a soft blanket of fog. He looked blooming. I can now remember clearly. I thought he was a black beetle – keen look, lurking around… Because of the lights or maybe because of his ill-fame, he looked like trying to reach the sky by having all those people in his spell. Nearly he opened the door with his thoughts. He could not blow off the twinge of conscience. I was looking deep into his eyes, they were glowing and, as he whispered softly, the spell broke… We all were waiting to happen… Had he stepped forward, our trembling hands wouldn’t have touched the ceiling. And that would have been carried out by the butcher. Because HE was there, too. Even if I was concerned by calling out his name, he would have given me no reason to forbid my hidden desire to keep him in this confinement. He was terrified people could stop him to behave like a illusionist. Even though he was not one of them. He was leaning his head against the curtain, all of us were barely breathing. We were waiting, with our trembling hands, a sign of his look. But he stood still. I thought he asked in a low voice our names, but later I realised I was wrong. He was already whispering our names. In a little coffin, among other traces of ash, there it was: a rare piece – a small but heavy crystal cube. As his hands lifted it from the coffin, our eyes still charmed by the holy glitter, turned to the opened door of the assembly room. A young, fair- haired maid walked in. We all started to mutter and to swish our black, long, old- fashioned coats. It seemed we were already charmed by the beauty we had in front of our mean eyes. She gazed at us; her look was dreamy and tired in the meantime. to be continued... somehow, someday... |
Like a dream... prose by Anghel Ana Maria 2007-09-26 It`s just like a dream. You`ve tried It , so will you ever be able to wake-up , before the dream becomes a nightmare? This is the questions you keep asking yourself. Heroin is what i`m talking about. It`s like falling in love, It`s like the first love which you`ll never forget. So it begins, like a dream , and you see a new vision of the world, and you fell different, special, and you are. Some will See you and will call you a junkie, but others will share your ideas. Now you know that you are different, like from a new breed, and you are intelligent because you find pleasure in such a simple way. You don`t know yet how complicated is, IT. Why did you try IT? Because you`ve seen some posters at school against It and you`ve said "Why the hell not?". Or was it because It`s against the law and you`ve said rules are made to be broken? But you know that it was for love, your love for Him. You wanted to be like Him, to share feelings , to have more in common, to be together as one, and you are deep in your soul. He doesn`t want to harm you , He`s just sharing with you his first love, because he can`t deal without It, and wants you to feel good, to have some moments of pleasure together. Time passes hard, so one minute seems like forever, and forever seems nice when you`re young and healthy , and you are , yet. Time has no value to you, loving It is so good , because It makes you love yourself, and that`s when He comes second. You still enjoy making love with Him. He`s so tender , and sweet , and He treats you good, but He can`t compare with the Heroine. You feel so young , alive and beautiful , and now you love IT! You really love IT! And It loves you back, you think so , because it makes you feel good. The others, your pit-full friends ( because that`s what you call them now ) , don`t know what`s happening to you, because , you are special , you feel good, you`ve got it! You don`t know yet, that you already are It`s slave. Heroine have seduced you, and made you love Him, because It was your first true love, not Him! He was a dream , It is real. Reality bites! Now you have to get It, to be normal , to act normal , to be able to smile, to talk otherwise you`re in big pain. What will you do? You`ll cry at the begining , and you`ll blame Him, but you were the one that really wanted It, and He have warn you. Now you need It. You`re in big trouble, girl. Deal with it! Dream is over , the nightmare begins. You`ll need money to get It, and It`s not cheap. You are a girl , what can you do? Don`t be shy! When you`ve pricked your vein i didn`t see you blushing. Now you can see that Heroine have cheated you. Now you are ashamed of what you are, of what you have done for It. Now, you don`t either look for pleasure , you look to stop the pain. What have you done? I`m not the storyteller , i`m probably the conscience. Now you are probably asking yourself if the story is true or not, but i`ll leave you with this uncertainty. |
| WRITERS PUBLISHED ON THIS SITE * Drugas Iulia Alexandra * Florin Hulubei * Anghel Ana Maria * Roxana Leotescu * Anca Anghel Novac * Ada Cartianu * Sydney Krivenko * Oscar Calixto |
| Magnetism poetry by Anca Anghel Novac 2007-09-06 I now must be very careful because I love and cherish so dearly d.h.lawrence did have something after all a transfer of adaptable circumstances that overlap my world an assert of independence subtle feminine escapes free of virile rigor weighing danger weighing body to lean on I now must reach that human flesh crisis that will make me see and wish from a pragmatic money making point of love from the centre of me toward beginnings with no implications but death because only in such appalling rhythm everything becomes profitable every ambition is selfish your caressing hands can finally be my blue corrosive emotions |
| Movement blur poetry by Florin Hulubei 2007-06-06 children grow up slowly here nobody hears them play women have the candor of willows when walking down on Cinematograph's street dreaming of rich sad divas’ parts and men have legs of sand in this city bearing the name of a river nothing disturbs the silent stroll of passengers among chestnut trees denuded in the middle of summer here a silence with steel eyes rules every piece of the dwellers’ grey hearts forgotten by shadows that once used to cover them up |
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