a mystic deepweb of olives’ sip

 
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We go and we go and almost there and suddenly it’s all just past, paste tense, je je… life’s fast but olives will forever remain stuffed sexy ladies. This is not really the way I wanted to say, but’s already happening.

You know when you go to the supermarket and buy something, say olive oil; can you imagine where does that greenish thick liquid come from and I don’t mean which country, but how did it happen? How was the trip ( ’cause it’s totally a trip), where and how did it transform? What was involved, what was needed and whom and how did that people learn and got mixed up in the process? You know, all that

In this disposable era, I feel the world’s rapidly forgetting where do dings ( the word originally meant “assembly”) come from… we have access to so many stuff, too much if you ask me, and yet that new short-lived stuff doesn’t bring happiness, peace. Well, I’m all forward the development and (good) use of technology, nevertheless there’s some ancient, very refined and supercool technology that “needs” to be kept alive. Everybody and their dog knows romans’ secret souce to success in their conquering was the olive oil… the amphoras, the amphoras!! Coincidentally the healthy process of learning, practicing and ameliorating that same technology carries on a lot of fun, challenges and humbleness ( the looking up kind); so we could say it’s very practical, ja ja ja

Last december I went to the olives’ pick in the property of some friends of mine – they want to remain anonymous and we’d respect that. This was their first ( from beginning to end) time too, so a lot of learning during the process. Despite the photos below don’t show it, a huge amount of sharing and exchanging was involved; as a deep sense of belonging ( nothing to do with ownership) with its disctint sticky residue. Most compussively I wrote a lot of stuff, an orujo/bagaço ( olive’s marc) of portuguese, spanish and english extatic poopoozas, yiiihhaa!!

Anyhow, today I got delivered the olive oil and my oh my dear gunter grasss, that I have received the whisky from atop of the trees and already drunk, I see the light, I embrace the saviour and most of all I scream virgin virgin!!!! Yes I’m happy, proud, grateful… the process, the loop is complete, closed and so we can start all over again =)

I clumsily rescued some P&S’ quick snaps ( people no, sorry no pebbles) from back then/there. Hope you like it, but I wish you could also taste this… this nectar divine

 

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Do por os pés na cabeça da árvore, da magia em cada ramo, haja vento ou deixe de haver do equilibrio e da dança-balanço, da escorregadia pele ao abraço, da cabeleira verde, do suave cheiro a folha rija, azeitona espachurrada e musgo fofinho mas traiçoeiro.
No fruto do movimento o som da rede amparando os cocozinhos pretos e compactos, na conversa filtrada pela penugem fotosintética, a paissagem triádica, aparentemente sossegada, enganadoramente simples é sempre pano de fundo, cenografía ilimitada e, claro, orgánica.

Da variedade dos tons, texturas, densidades e formas de cada azeitona. Do preto sem esperança, tão saturado que absorve o ar, ao preto satinado, o azulado batiscafo, ao purpúreo que se funde em burdeos… já para não falar do infinito verde tão tosco na sua pureza que o pantone não consegue catalogar. Os cinzentos que fazem da pequena galega uma deusa persa, os castanho manchado, indecisso que salpica umas tantas e outras deixa.

Das oliveiras destemidas, acostumadas, ambientadas, lutadoras do seu spot que não tem frío, que mexem os braços ao ritmo dos ventos com a ponta dos dedos molhadas durante muitos muitos tempos, sem frutos, se encolhem, mirram, viram-se p’ra dentro ate chegar a hora do salto ao vazio…

Um gesto, um simbólico gesto que têm muito de práctico. e a natureza é só praxis, e o amor é só praxis, é saltar ao vazio, é lançar-se ao desconhecido sem comprobar primeiro se há rede, se existe alguma coisa que ampare a queda… Mas a queda também é amor, não como contrario mas como fé, palavra tão manchada, tão cheia de burbotos por uma praxis enganosa, falsa.
No amor tudo é verdadeiro, é a luz que faz as sombras, e se calhar aprender a reconhecer as fontes de luz, descubrir uma passagem por entre a escuridão, por entre o nevoeiro… na mente, perdidos…….. e de repente o salto, o salto ao vazio… como fazem as azeitonas desde bem antes do homen conseguir se equilibrar nos seus pes.

 

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gashô

 

 click, click - ramdom order gallery

 

About m)◘(x

ni! for now
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One Response to a mystic deepweb of olives’ sip

  1. Pingback: Life’s loops, misc text, free LUT & dinner guest | ✁ ......... spit straight and love the target

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