“ The rest of your life is a long time and whether, you know it or not it's being shaped right now. You can choose to blame your circumstances on fate or bad luck or bad choices, or you can fight back. Things aren't always going to be fair in the real world, that's just the way it is, but for the most part you get what you give. Let me ask you all a question. What's worse: not getting everything you wished for or getting it but finding out it's not enough? The rest of your life is being shaped right now with the dreams you chase, the choices you make and the person you decide to be. The rest of your life is a long time and the rest of your life starts right now ”

Jacques Briel - Ne Me Quitte Pas

I am

I am
by John Clare

I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
And e'en the dearest--that I loved the best--
Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil'd or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below--above the vaulted sky.

Joanna Newsom - This side of the Blue

~~sometimes things need to switch off, for people to switch on~~

Μούσα 22

Σαν να πέθαναν τα πέταλα τ’ αγέρωχα
Σαν να με ξεθάβουν δέκα παγωμένα τέρατα

Μολυσμένο αέρα με τάισαν τα λόγια τα απίστευτα
Μέσα στις άθλιες τις σιωπές κόπηκαν τα φιλικά.

Μες τις αισχρές πεολειχίες σου στα σκοτάδια του ανδρισμού του τα μάτια μου να βλέπεις
Το χαμόγελο και τη φωνή μου στις σαρκικές σου εξαλώτητες στο μυαλό σου να τις έχεις

Μες τα ζοφερά γαμήσια σου την ανάσα μου να νιώθεις
Τη μαχαιρωμένη μου καρδιά μες τις Ερινύες σου να χώσεις.

Αφέντρα δολιότητας με μάσκα από μαύρο μετάξι σε σκεπάζει
Βαβυλώνια πουτάνα που το θείο συναίσθημα χλευάζει

Καρφιά χορεύουν στον τραχύ λαιμό μου
Τα δίκαια παλεύουν για εξέγερση προς το φιδίσιο πρόσωπο σου

Πέτρες καταράστηκα τον γλυκό ύπνο να σου δώσουν
Με εμφάνιση Μέδουσας στον Άδη να σε εκδώσουν

Άσπρη τυραννία τα φονικά φιλιά σου
Τη προσευχή θανάτου τους κυνηγώ να σαπίσει τα σωθικά τους.

Μάγισσα σε γνώρισα και φίδι προφητείας σε αφήνω
Μπάσταρδη ψυχή με γύμνωσες με το αίμα μου να χύνω.

Τσούλα της σιωπής στην αρχαιότητα δώρο ερημικό σε στέλνω
Άλλες άσπρες ψυχές από τα σύννεφα στον Μαύρο Αρχάγγελο να προσκυνήσουν.

Η μοναξιά σε καρτερεί πεισματικά στο τέλος του δρόμου
Σαλώμη στιγμιαίας ηδονής την απληστία σου θα πουλάς στα χαντάκια του Νόμου.

Σταφύλια της Ντροπής τη σάρκα σου χαϊδεύουν
Φόνισσα πίστης τα πλοκάμια σου όλο και θα συνεχίσουν να μικραίνουν.



dEdIcAtIoN:
~to all the snake-friends who are out there, for without their existence there would be no room for me to progress, improve and grow up to be a better person....so thank you BITCHES!~

Three Lovers

They stand in the corner
their eyes raped by fear and lust
forgetting whom they chose to left behind
And a vast ocean for them is now open

The gay death flirts with their life-lines
The disgust smells in their fingers
And the impossible ecstasy now is theirs
Phasing out the passion from their lives

Look upon me, when his mouth you kiss
Smell me on his chest like a cheap drink
Cry for me the moment you blow him
And confess it to the Universe, that you once loved me!

Bacchus Erupted

Bacchus Erupted

Now on this day the seal was forged
For broken windows and lips unknown
The distant lands explored in awe
The galloping hordes the ecstasies hold

My father escaped the day of Love
To march with his pride and throw petals of Heart
The wanton desires to unleash in his path
They prey swim like ants to a trough

The wife, her eyes with golden ornaments filled
The Dionysian pleads in her body to drink
The wine of Vermouth to suckle like a child
The inflaming acts to spread in the Red sky

Bacchus, oh my Luscious God!
The lustre madness in my human brain grows
Dancing the paganism of the Aphrodisia Night
The ground eluding the Carnal Carnival in Flare.

Nightmare of a Butterfly

Claustrophobic lips escape
My darkness of madness
Feathers of a phony betrayal
Colouring the cloak named ‘life’

What knowledge brings in a lonely river
Truth has frozen into an alternative reality
I seek a light of a warm embrace
I end up feeling venomous tonight

Dark shades of blue my best friend again
The serpent has spread its poison again
Leaving a vacancy of touch in me
Shaping the reality with my ordinality

Transgressions penetrate the mind again
The touch of the friendly hand was shattered again
No human fire to burden the misty suspicions
Only desire of cut the cord of this vein

Black veil wears me in the evenings
A widow moulded for an empty life party
The letter of love words was thrown in the gutter of pain
Let this child breath the joy of, again!

Μονάκριβε μου…

Μονάκριβε μου ταξιδιώτη
Γλυκύτατε μου που μες τη μοναξιά σου ζεις
Παρθένα μάτια πεθυμάς στη κόλαση σου
Μονάκριβε μου αετέ…

Ταφόπλακα μικρή σου χτίσαν οι λαοί
Μα η καρδιά μου εκτάσεις σου χαρίζει
Πάρ’ τα φιλιά με φλόγα και θυμό
Κοιμήσου το Αυγέρη το χλωμό

Μονάκριβε μου καβαλάρη
Γλυκύτατο μου φως μες το σκοτάδι
Τη θρυμματισμένη καρδιά μου μάζεψε
Και με τα κομμάτια πάστα για την όρεξη σου φτιάξε!

~Για τον καθηγητή~

J.K.Rowling : The Fringe Benefits of Failure, and the Importance of Imagination

President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of Overseers, members of the faculty, proud parents, and, above all, graduates.

The first thing I would like to say is ‘thank you.’ Not only has Harvard given me an extraordinary honour, but the weeks of fear and nausea I have endured at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, squint at the red banners and convince myself that I am at the world’s largest Gryffindor reunion.

Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me enormously in writing this one, because it turns out that I can’t remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon promising careers in business, the law or politics for the giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard.
You see? If all you remember in years to come is the ‘gay wizard’ joke, I’ve come out ahead of Baroness Mary Warnock. Achievable goals: the first step to self improvement.

Actually, I have wracked my mind and heart for what I ought to say to you today. I have asked myself what I wish I had known at my own graduation, and what important lessons I have learned in the 21 years that have expired between that day and this.

I have come up with two answers. On this wonderful day when we are gathered together to celebrate your academic success, I have decided to talk to you about the benefits of failure. And as you stand on the threshold of what is sometimes called ‘real life’, I want to extol the crucial importance of imagination.

These may seem quixotic or paradoxical choices, but please bear with me.
Looking back at the 21-year-old that I was at graduation, is a slightly uncomfortable experience for the 42-year-old that she has become. Half my lifetime ago, I was striking an uneasy balance between the ambition I had for myself, and what those closest to me expected of me.
I was convinced that the only thing I wanted to do, ever, was to write novels. However, my parents, both of whom came from impoverished backgrounds and neither of whom had been to college, took the view that my overactive imagination was an amusing personal quirk that would never pay a mortgage, or secure a pension. I know that the irony strikes with the force of a cartoon anvil, now.

So they hoped that I would take a vocational degree; I wanted to study English Literature. A compromise was reached that in retrospect satisfied nobody, and I went up to study Modern Languages. Hardly had my parents’ car rounded the corner at the end of the road than I ditched German and scuttled off down the Classics corridor.

I cannot remember telling my parents that I was studying Classics; they might well have found out for the first time on graduation day. Of all the subjects on this planet, I think they would have been hard put to name one less useful than Greek mythology when it came to securing the keys to an executive bathroom.

I would like to make it clear, in parenthesis, that I do not blame my parents for their point of view. There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you. What is more, I cannot criticise my parents for hoping that I would never experience poverty. They had been poor themselves, and I have since been poor, and I quite agree with them that it is not an ennobling experience. Poverty entails fear, and stress, and sometimes depression; it means a thousand petty humiliations and hardships. Climbing out of poverty by your own efforts, that is indeed something on which to pride yourself, but poverty itself is romanticised only by fools.
What I feared most for myself at your age was not poverty, but failure.

At your age, in spite of a distinct lack of motivation at university, where I had spent far too long in the coffee bar writing stories, and far too little time at lectures, I had a knack for passing examinations, and that, for years, had been the measure of success in my life and that of my peers.
I am not dull enough to suppose that because you are young, gifted and well-educated, you have never known hardship or heartbreak. Talent and intelligence never yet inoculated anyone against the caprice of the Fates, and I do not for a moment suppose that everyone here has enjoyed an existence of unruffled privilege and contentment.

However, the fact that you are graduating from Harvard suggests that you are not very well-acquainted with failure. You might be driven by a fear of failure quite as much as a desire for success. Indeed, your conception of failure might not be too far from the average person’s idea of success, so high have you already flown.

Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears that my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.

Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea then how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.

So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all – in which case, you fail by default.

Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above the price of rubies.

The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more than any qualification I ever earned.

So given a Time Turner, I would tell my 21-year-old self that personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a check-list of acquisition or achievement. Your qualifications, your CV, are not your life, though you will meet many people of my age and older who confuse the two. Life is difficult, and complicated, and beyond anyone’s total control, and the humility to know that will enable you to survive its vicissitudes.

Now you might think that I chose my second theme, the importance of imagination, because of the part it played in rebuilding my life, but that is not wholly so. Though I personally will defend the value of bedtime stories to my last gasp, I have learned to value imagination in a much broader sense. Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathise with humans whose experiences we have never shared.

One of the greatest formative experiences of my life preceded Harry Potter, though it informed much of what I subsequently wrote in those books. This revelation came in the form of one of my earliest day jobs. Though I was sloping off to write stories during my lunch hours, I paid the rent in my early 20s by working at the African research department at Amnesty International’s headquarters in London.

There in my little office I read hastily scribbled letters smuggled out of totalitarian regimes by men and women who were risking imprisonment to inform the outside world of what was happening to them. I saw photographs of those who had disappeared without trace, sent to Amnesty by their desperate families and friends. I read the testimony of torture victims and saw pictures of their injuries. I opened handwritten, eye-witness accounts of summary trials and executions, of kidnappings and rapes.

Many of my co-workers were ex-political prisoners, people who had been displaced from their homes, or fled into exile, because they had the temerity to speak against their governments. Visitors to our offices included those who had come to give information, or to try and find out what had happened to those they had left behind.

I shall never forget the African torture victim, a young man no older than I was at the time, who had become mentally ill after all he had endured in his homeland. He trembled uncontrollably as he spoke into a video camera about the brutality inflicted upon him. He was a foot taller than I was, and seemed as fragile as a child. I was given the job of escorting him back to the Underground Station afterwards, and this man whose life had been shattered by cruelty took my hand with exquisite courtesy, and wished me future happiness.

And as long as I live I shall remember walking along an empty corridor and suddenly hearing, from behind a closed door, a scream of pain and horror such as I have never heard since. The door opened, and the researcher poked out her head and told me to run and make a hot drink for the young man sitting with her. She had just had to give him the news that in retaliation for his own outspokenness against his country’s regime, his mother had been seized and executed.

Every day of my working week in my early 20s I was reminded how incredibly fortunate I was, to live in a country with a democratically elected government, where legal representation and a public trial were the rights of everyone.

Every day, I saw more evidence about the evils humankind will inflict on their fellow humans, to gain or maintain power. I began to have nightmares, literal nightmares, about some of the things I saw, heard, and read.

And yet I also learned more about human goodness at Amnesty International than I had ever known before.

Amnesty mobilises thousands of people who have never been tortured or imprisoned for their beliefs to act on behalf of those who have. The power of human empathy, leading to collective action, saves lives, and frees prisoners. Ordinary people, whose personal well-being and security are assured, join together in huge numbers to save people they do not know, and will never meet. My small participation in that process was one of the most humbling and inspiring experiences of my life.
Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people’s places.

Of course, this is a power, like my brand of fictional magic, that is morally neutral. One might use such an ability to manipulate, or control, just as much as to understand or sympathise.

And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.

I might be tempted to envy people who can live that way, except that I do not think they have any fewer nightmares than I do. Choosing to live in narrow spaces leads to a form of mental agoraphobia, and that brings its own terrors. I think the wilfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid.

What is more, those who choose not to empathise enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.

One of the many things I learned at the end of that Classics corridor down which I ventured at the age of 18, in search of something I could not then define, was this, written by the Greek author Plutarch: What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.

That is an astonishing statement and yet proven a thousand times every day of our lives. It expresses, in part, our inescapable connection with the outside world, the fact that we touch other people’s lives simply by existing.

But how much more are you, Harvard graduates of 2008, likely to touch other people’s lives? Your intelligence, your capacity for hard work, the education you have earned and received, give you unique status, and unique responsibilities. Even your nationality sets you apart. The great majority of you belong to the world’s only remaining superpower. The way you vote, the way you live, the way you protest, the pressure you bring to bear on your government, has an impact way beyond your borders. That is your privilege, and your burden.

If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped change. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.

I am nearly finished. I have one last hope for you, which is something that I already had at 21. The friends with whom I sat on graduation day have been my friends for life. They are my children’s godparents, the people to whom I’ve been able to turn in times of trouble, people who have been kind enough not to sue me when I took their names for Death Eaters. At our graduation we were bound by enormous affection, by our shared experience of a time that could never come again, and, of course, by the knowledge that we held certain photographic evidence that would be exceptionally valuable if any of us ran for Prime Minister.

So today, I wish you nothing better than similar friendships. And tomorrow, I hope that even if you remember not a single word of mine, you remember those of Seneca, another of those old Romans I met when I fled down the Classics corridor, in retreat from career ladders, in search of ancient wisdom:

As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.

I wish you all very good lives.

Thank you very much.

(VIDEO OF THE SPEECH AT THE LINK BELOW)

http://harvardmagazine.com/commencement/the-fringe-benefits-failure-the-importance-imagination

Ένας μικρός δήλος...

Μικρό άστεγο εκούρνιασε
Τα μάτια να σφαλίσει μες τη θύελλα
Τη ζεστασιά να νιώσει μες τη μοναξιά
Πουλί μικρής διάστασης να ξεχάσει πως ήταν

Οι μεγάλοι κι οι τύραννοι τον καταδίκασαν
Για γνώμες φιλελεύθερες που εξέφραζε στη σιωπή
Μόνο, ματωμένο και ατίθασο δεν του επέτρεψαν να μείνει
Γιατί μες το μικρό κλοιό τα όνειρα του δεν εχώρεσαν

Να φονεύσει το πνεύμα του δοκίμασε
Να γευτεί σαρκικές χαρές προσπάθησε
Μα ακόμα δε μπορεί να αποβάλλει τους φασιστικούς εφιάλτες
Και όλο του παρελθόν Ερινύες τον εξουσιάζουν

Όλα τα σκοτάδια του αγάπησε
Και τα τέρατα έχουν γίνει καλύτεροι του φίλοι
Μαδημένες μαργαρίτες με το αίμα του επότισε
Και με χυδαίο τρόπο γδέρνει τα άσπρα του τα χείλη

Σαν πηγάδι οι κόρες του εστέρεψαν
Και τα μαντάτα της κηδείας του τον χαροποίησαν
Αφού μες το γλυκό θάνατο τα αργύρια του τον έδωσαν
Για τα κόκκινα καζάνια που ήξερε πως θα τον έκλαιγαν

Ποιος λυπήθηκε για τους μικρούς ντροπαλούς του Κάτω Κόσμου
Με τις μεγάλες ιδέες τους και τα λίγα λόγια τους
Για τις πρόσκαιρες πράξεις τους και τα φοβισμένα φτερά τους
Που τους τα κλέψανε τα ψέματα της αθλιότητας, του ανθρώπινου Κόσμου;

~Για τον φοιτητή...~

Life on a Wheel

Life to the end of the world
Moments of gasp ahead
Notes dancing in the clouds
Poetry marking its print

Anything becomes a vicissitude
Purple people clapping without clues
Growing in fear and stepping into the lava
Melodic unison acolytes the fun-trust

Like the river swimming in the stars
Like the dancing of keys of thy instrument
Like the genteel patience in my petals
This ethereal promise will illuminate this engagement

Pacify all our imitations and smile
Inflate the heart pump with modesty as shy
Ephemeral pleasures are circumcised affairs
Bound-ground circumstances of youth’s ideals

Life is at the end of this world
Moments that are caving in
Cork forced melodies on the green wall
Old language that strives to breathe.

JK Rowling: The fringe benefits of failure | Video on TED.com

JK Rowling: The fringe benefits of failure | Video on TED.com

A Midnight Affair

Hopeless speech lies in bed this evening
Feathers softly covering the slumber with their breathing
Brothers fowlling the suicide midnight schemes
Carrying on thinking how Truth will grieve

A dream to have so gently in
In precious time our blury myths
The compass shall follow the monsters' fear
The mily pathway which came so near

A struggle and a voice embedded on our map
Like gospel for the weak to blindly start
The treasure hunt the clouds promised once
In search of the embrace and the broken touch

Engrave your honey lies on this body this evening
Colour up your fantasies with butterflies of science
Perform the sacriligeous red act, and forgive me
Make the incision dense with no care for this anguish!

Catherine Zeta-Jones & Queen Latifah - No Class

"Whatever happened to, "Please, may I?"
And, "Yes, thank you?"
And, "How charming?"
Now, every son of a bitch is a snake in the grass
Whatever happened to class?"

Dirty Pretty Things

Our body is our temple

...or so they say.

If it was so, then how do you explain plastic surgeons? How do you explain the materialistic plastic beauty we are sold on a daily basis by the media and how do you explain thongs, push-up bras and tuxedos in the middle of the desert?

All these might sound surrealistic and a bit too over the top, but it's quite true that people living in one of the developed or the developing countries in the world are victimized by fashion and by the media of what their image should be built on. In order to make an impression (for example) either in a new job environment or on a date there's a certain way you should present yourself...The in-style of the season is to look-natural-but-also-parade-your-many-skills-and-uncountable-talents-on-love-and-business-without-being-too-cocky-though.

We treat our "temple" like is a piece of material to be sold off to the highest bidder. Either for profession or for sex. What happened to the good old 'a healthy body is a healthy mind'? Why have we all become Angelina Jolie's lips, Megan Fox's thighs and Pam Anderson's boobs? Why even in sex do we like to have a bite of that plastic piece of body rather than appreciate what is simple and normal? Is looking good such a big deal...will it be such a bid deal at the end as well?


No, I'm not having a meltdown and I'm certainly not whinning for not having Monica Belluci's curves (although, okay they are amazing but still). Why can't everyone love their body just as it is, without beating it up daily ie.(by beating I mostly mean critisizing themselves from the moment they wake up till the moment they're passed out unconscious at night time).

Oooh and yes I know....women should be beautiful.It's in their nature to look gloss and near-perfect for men to enjoy their beauty. Newsflash. All women are ordinary. Wait till you see one of your favorite glam model without make-up or her anti-wrinkle cream on and you'll understand what I'm talking about. Also, (and guys brace yourselves)..WOMEN HAVE BODY HAIR TOO! It's our nature to have them, we were all made that way, besides the fact that since the dawn of time we live in a patriarchal society and we are being taught since our birth that, 'yes, women are ALMOST (watch that almost) perfect creatures in their image and should be as beautiful and as hairless as men desire them to be.

Beauty is ordinary. And to create an image of yourself just to create it for the sake of others, that's hardly a natural beauty.

All I know is this....be as you are. No gimmicks, no false eye lashes, no lipstic that can hardly be kissed by someone...No masks. Drop off that mask and see yourself in the sun. Glorify your natural you without any guilt. There is no shame on your normality...normal is mediocre, normal is simple, simple is the best!

Less is more!!!

Two shots of Happy, One shot of Sad

It's true that when weighing things out at one point in your life the things that seem to be standing out the most are moments of grief, pain and extreme anguish. Why?
Probably because of the insatiable need of human nature to withhold the fleeting sense of any joyous feeling. The unbearable reality of our existence lies in our need to survive, our yearn to go on, our ambition to persevere, the relinquishment of our vanity...

At this point I would like to reference a film which I have recently sat down and watched called the Invention of Lying (Ricky Gervais - 2009). The movie talked about a world where everyone was telling the truth. And I mean everyone; even your mom, your dad, your siblings, your friends, your blind dates, everyone from the bus boy to the mayor of the town. Imagine living in a world where fiction could not exist, where art was simply done in a way of documentation or a presentation of facts rather the structure of the fictional line. In a world like that there would be no human imagination, no human greed, no human depravity. Well, that's what you would think, wouldn't you? And yet in a world where no one could lie, people are bitchier with each other, taking what they want, when they want, disregarding any pain or hurt or embarrassment they might cause along the way. What really did left me surprised with this film is that even though humans lived in a world of 'lies-free', they were still the same ambitious as they are now. They may not lie to your face, but they were still "hungry" for power, for suitable procreation, pleasurable sexual encounters with partners that are "genetically right" for you etc.

And people, been the weakest link of all earth's sources not only cannot be pleased by the insatiable need to dominate and rule one another, they need someone in the sky to council them and advise them, sort of like try to keep them in line. Hence, we have 'The-Man-In-The-Sky'. The-Man-In-The-Sky is there to absolve us from all our sins right? He's there to tell us that even though we've stolen, hurt, raped or killed; if we repent we are forgiven yes? Well, no! There's a certain amount of "bad things" which you can do in order to be forgiven at the end. In the film that number equals to three "bad things". In life to how many does it equal to? I will not point to any possible answers but rather hope that everyone inside of them know their own limitations on how many "bad things" they can do to get the absolution they need, or they think they need, from The-Man-In-The-Sky.

Why all this blabbing again, you'll think? Well, let's just say that I've had enough of tasting my "two shots of happy and my one shot of sad" all the time, always feeling like I have to overcompensate my life with happy moments to disguise all the sadness hidden within. Let's just say that vanity is my worst enemy at the moment but in order for me to persevere I have to make amends and make it my best friend. The human nature was thus, and thus it shall always be...right? Let's just say that, I know that I cannot live in a world of lies-free, and I most certainly know that I will never live in a world ambition-free. But I can live in a world where happy moments surpass the sad ones...It's a matter of a person's choice the above statement. It's a matter of free-will. Well, The-Man-In-The-Sky, gave us free-will and we are accountable for our actions, and we are accountable for every shot of happiness or sadness that we receive in our lifetime.

Life's all about mixing the bitter and the sweet in the same cup of tea...don't you think?