The sea as the symbol of serenity, depth, change, freshness. The girl / the woman, each facing her own direction. Wet hair + mask Vs. hair in a bun. Expeditions Vs. safety Photo: MM / Isola del Giglio
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Symbol.”
Every Thursday I post a few for Norm Frampton’s Thursday Doors challenge (here are all my entries and the featured photo is from one of them) but I liked posting doors (and windows) even before I’d learnt of it.
And before having this blog, I assembled so many Pinterest doors that I had to put them onto a dedicated board, together with arches, windows and stairs (none of these are my photos).
I embrace this opportunity to post all my recently taken doors photos for this week’s WPC so that I’ll take new ones even more gladly.
And since it’s today that Jim Morrison died in Paris 44 years ago, I will sprinkle my favourite Morrison lyrics abundantly around like you wouldn’t believe. You did ask for it. 🙂
Words dissemble
Words be quick
Words resemble walking sticksPlant them
They will grow
Watch them waver soI’ll always be
a word-man
Better than a birdman
Roma
I see you live on Love Street
There’s this store where the creatures meet
I wonder what they do in there
Summer Sunday and a year
I guess I like it fine, so far
Bomarzo, Monster Park, the Leaning House
We’re perched headlong on the edge of boredom
We’re reaching for death on the end of a candle
We’re trying for something
That’s already found us
—
Give us a creed
To believe
A night of Lust
Give us trust in
The Night
Montalto di Castro
The music and voices are all around us
Choose they croon the Ancient Ones
The time has come again
Choose now, they croon beneath the moon
Beside an ancient lake
Enter again the sweet forest
Enter the hot dream come with us
Everything is broken up and dances
Montalto di Castro
Wow, I’m sick of doubt
Live in the light of certain
South
I’m sick of dour faces
Staring at me from the T.V.
Tower. I want roses in
my garden bower; dig?
Royal babies, rubies
must now replace aborted
Strangers in the mud
Montalto di Castro
Morning found us calmly unaware
Noon burn gold into our hair
At night, we swim the laughing sea
When summer’s gone
Where will we be
Isola del Giglio
I love the friends I have gathered together on this thin raft
—
I will not go
Prefer a Feast of Friends
To the Giant family
Photo: MM
Lyrics: Jim Morrison / The Doors
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Door.”
Photo: MM
Never mind mind, essence is not essential, and matter does not matter.
—Nelson Goodman
Backs of Isola del Giglio. Photo: MM
First let’s take four from Isola del Giglio.
And here there are four in one. And these two are heading towards each other. We should tell them.
Then let’s take three from Roma.
Add a few single ones.
And after that we can return home.
Photo: MM
For Norm Frampton’s Thursday Doors challenge.
No vivid filters were harmed in the making of these images.
Prague
Montalto di Castro
Ferry to Isola del Giglio
I dived in! Isola del Giglio
Roma garden
Trilateral tarok tournament in Tournament Street in Ljubljana, flags, from left: of Slovenia, Ljubljana city, Italia.
Capalbio sunset
Winter at home
Photo: MM
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Vivid.”
Translated by Manja Maksimovič
where do we go from here
compatriot
crowned heads stick out from the sand
what are they doing?
farting into dust
kamo dalje
rođače
iz pijeska vire krunisane glave
što to rade
prde u prašinu
i have a feeling
compatriot
that standard has turned the people sour
they eat shit and daydream
čini mi se
rođače
da je standard pokvario ljude
jedu govna i sanjare
it will improve
compatriot
take off the medals and fill up the halls
the trophy street has run out of steam
bit će bolje
rođače
skini medalje i napuni sale
ulici trofeja ponestaje snage
abandoned girls
junkies and harlots
count on you
ostavljene djevojke
narkomani i bludnice
uzdaju se u tebe
Not my Balkan.
armoured boats
were taking you to all four sides
you were truly consistent
blindirani brodovi
vozili te na četiri strane
zbilja si bio dosljedan
and so generous
compatriot:
managing other people’s pain
is no small fucking feat
i velikodušan
rođače
raspolagati tuđom mukom
nije mala zajebancija
it will improve
compatriot
take off the medals and fill up the halls
the trophy street has run out of steam
bit će bolje
rođače
skini medalje i napuni sale
ulici trofeja ponestaje snage
abandoned girls
junkies and harlots
count on you
ostavljene djevojke
narkomani i bludnice
uzdaju se u tebe
Not my monkeys. Isola del Giglio. Photo: MM
It was not the moment when I said Yes to your invitation to visit.
It was not the moment when I first saw you, or the first hug, the first kiss.
It was not the first night we spent together or the first morning we woke up next to each other.
Neither the first breakfast, coffee, gelato.
We spent 13 days together. I brought 13 presents for you, one for each day. They included four books, the pot to make my style coffee and the coffee itself, pumpkin seed oil, my playing cards. Something tells me it was either premonition or predetermination. 😀
We didn’t discuss things, about what will happen later. We were too busy having fun, holding hands, kissing. You took me to have dinner at your father’s on day 3. And let me drive your car in Roma on day 5. Practically all I needed to know.
We bought my first glasses – no more striving to read things from afar.
And then those days were over, and I had to return home.
When I boarded the train, you went with me to help me settle. And it was then, when I saw you on the platform, that I knew. My life will never be the same again.
You were crying. And I was crying, all the way to Bologna. And later you told me that the Termini railway station chose to play this song at that moment. And there was nothing we could do.
Taking my protein pills ever since.
Photo: MM
I’d love to live here, part I…
…because it comes with its own beach (Isola del Giglio)
I’d love to live here, part II…
…because it comes with its own lagoon (Orbetello)
Photo: MM
The Mexi Movie I. (closed) 