So great is my love for you!

You became my drug. I was my I and now I am your I. I wear your colours, listen to your video, eat your dishes, drink your beverages--this chocolate I taste, that you tasted.

I became your recipient. When I think about it, it's almost fearful.

So great is my love for you!

Everything, everything, came from you to me, even your passion! Your soul slid into mine. I cannot fly from you.

Did I want it? Did I?

I lay with feet bound together under you and I am happy. Happy!

The harder I struggle the happier I am. I sink to a bottom which is not a bottom, where you lay like a giant crab ready to catch hold of me with your claws--and I just lay there. Happy!

Isn't this frightful?

So great is my love for you!

Sometimes, when I try to explain my reasons you react like a wounded animal, and spiteful you are because you are wounded. And it seems to me that you are always right. And never wrong.

Possibly, all in all, at this moment I am really the weaker and you are the stronger. You get nothing from me, but you gave me much.

And why do you keep silent when you are angry with me? I feel you are stronger, but, perhaps, it's because you have nothing to say and because I disappointed you. And you feel it. You feel that you are stronger than me.

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Poetry dwells near the divine light's breath

The comparison between poetry and divine light that we have proposed HERE finds its perfect explanation in Saint Paul, Epistle to the Romans 1:19: τ ὸ γνωστὸν τοῦ θεοῦ φανερόν ἐστιν ἐν αὐτοῖς, ὁ θεὸς γὰρ αὐτοῖς ἐφανέρωσεν — “that which may be known of God has been made manifest in them (in men), for God has manifested it unto them”. Poetry unveils within the human being the need to be human, that is, the need for Beauty, the need to feel Beauty within oneself and alongside oneself; and this feeling is sustained by divine light. Since we are influenced by the Augustinian idea of saeculum , we hold that poetry belongs to the saeculum and therefore comes to a halt upon the threshold of divine light [I] without crossing it, though perceiving the light that lies beyond that threshold. We are led to that threshold by the human feeling of Beauty that dwells within us and guides us to that point: to that door which cannot be crossed in our human condition. And yet, the mere act of stan...

Similarities between Lithuanian, Sanskrit and Ancient Greek: the sigmatic future

by Fabrizio Ulivieri Lithuanian is the most archaic among all the Indo-European languages spoken today, and as a result it is very useful, indeed, indispensable in the study of Indo-European linguistics. The most important fact is that Lithuanian is not only very archaic, but still very much alive, i. e., it is spoken by about three and a half million people. It has a rich tradition in folklore, in literature, and it is used very successfully in all walks of modern life, including the most advanced scientific research. Forced by our interest for this piece of living archaism, we go deeper in our linguistic survey. One of the most noticeable similarities is the future (- sigmatic future -). Lithuanian has preserved a future tense from prehistoric times: it has one single form, e.g. kalbė-siu 'I will speak', etc. kalbė-si kalbė-s kalbė-sime kalbė-site kalbė-s This form kalbėsiu is made from the stem kalbė-(ti) 'to speak', plus the ancient stem-end...

L'ombra del dharma

Può qualcuno nascondere la verità per tutta la sua vita e ingannare sé e tutti gli altri? Vi sono demoni nell'uomo, che vengono di lontano - per linee di sangue e generazioni che, se li ascolti, si fanno tuo dharma Se cerco di spiegare quello che eri Devo l' oltre e il prima guardare Dove cause ignote e foschi criteri Erano il karma del tuo andare. Di lí andavi larvato di nulla E mai il volto sincero mostravi. Di silenzio vivevi in una bolla Eppure libero a me sembravi. In pubblico e privato ti scindevi E disprezzavi me a te non pari Ma santo mi apparivi e tu sapevi. Del tuo dharma che adesso appari Eri schiavo - di quel lontano demone Tara remota e senza memoria Che nel sangue ti seguiva epigone E segnava immemore tua la storia.

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