tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1102532245288233212024-03-12T20:18:16.690+00:00Galeria Beggars' Body ArtKarinna Alves Gulias | A arte do corpoUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger281125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-42115441180118219692024-03-01T11:30:00.000+00:002024-03-01T11:30:19.645+00:00Amor a todas elas<p>Dos jardins que poderia fazer crescer, se esquece às vezes.</p><p>Ressuscitada do avesso. Avariada. Não se podia consumir sempre.</p><p>E pausa para fazer nada. A mulher.</p><p><br /></p><p>A dieta dos deuses é sustentá-las e desvirtuando o espaço.</p><p>Medidas de uma erosão.</p><p>O espírito de um fóton sem tempo -- volva tempo. Volta, amor.</p><p>Seus dedos esticam junto com a luz</p><p>depois que já passou.</p><p><br /></p><p>A dedicatória de todo um mito esquecido</p><p>a elas. Fica, por favor. Em uma foto.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><i>de K. Alves G.</i></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-9094197806070991002024-02-28T09:09:00.002+00:002024-02-28T09:10:05.700+00:00O valor da voz<div align="center"><p dir="ltr">Cuida do</p>
</div><div align="center"><p dir="ltr">T Tempo</p>
</div><p dir="ltr"><br />
A velha abre a boca --<br />
</p>
<div align="center"><p dir="ltr">Calem-se todos: É<br />
</p>
</div><p dir="ltr">Um sopro sem ouro. Dura pesada<br />
</p>
<div align="center"><p dir="ltr">Para o sempre.</p>
</div><p dir="ltr"><br />
</p>
<div align="center"><p dir="ltr"><br />
Um entre-mundos.</p><p dir="ltr"><br /></p><p dir="ltr"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: right;"><i>de Karinna Alves Gulias</i></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-51235996956730410232024-02-27T11:19:00.016+00:002024-02-27T11:56:17.475+00:00On the judgement of loopholes<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT-BR;">There has been a time when we spent our free time in our bedrooms
together with our journals, writing and thinking about the meaning of life in
quiet, comfortable boredom. When we experienced our subjectivity to great
extent, explored in its highest form either from reading poetry and its
ambiguities or from not understanding something.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT-BR;"><br /></span><span>Loopholes. Let’s read this word without its pejorative meaning. Rethink
it. What does it mean? A hole though which we may see light coming in and
permit eyes to observe. An ambiguity or omission that allows for escaping
something. Could it be the unquestionable objectivity? Our rational thoughts?
Reality as we know?</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><br /></span><span>Loopholes. What can someone NOT say and consequently make us feel it is
about us, always? The silence of subjectivity. Always present. Loopholes.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><br /></span><span>Before the advent of internet, when we met ourselves alone, quietly,
with a book, we found those moments of subjectivity in the silence of poetic
metaphors. Who has ever read a poem and found not themselves there? Always in
the silence of the loopholes. I will find I there, in the cracks of the text.
From that moment onwards, even though with sane skepticism, I will believe the
author knows me better than my mother. Or do I know myself better than my
mother?</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB">In the age of online social network, however, the
loopholes are in everyday written social interactions. It is very hard,
although a superficial window of interaction. What an acquaintance says indirectly
on his or her wall, may they know or not, will affect absolutely everyone that
reads it. Every single day, when we log in to the written reality of social
life and see a judgemental message
thrown onto their wall to no one and, at the same time, to everyone, how many
will suffer by finding in it their superficial I being judged? How can I not
find myself in it? It is a loophole! It is like asking humans to go against
their nature, by avoiding finding their subjectivity while dealing with the
unknown.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span><span>But what kind of silence do you think we humans should be focusing our
selves to reading or listening to? Superficial judgements sent out into the
air by acquaintances or deeply thought metaphors from a poem or poetic prose?</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><br /></span><span>We hardly talk to each other anymore, as in debating and exchanging
ideas. We now throw superficial ideas, (judgements, stereotypes or citations)
and react. Still, our generation and the ones before and after are not equipped
to deal with a written reality. And if we can't deal with the ambiguities of
written text, without suffering with our subjectivity, how can we deal even
further with the ambiguity of reality itself? Now that we can have AI generated
videos that easily pass for recordings of facts and phenomena. </span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><br /></span><span>I think this is
time for us to rethink our educational system and the way we interact with
each other and reality. Interpretation has been and will always be key to human
development and personal happiness. And so our understanding of how the silence of words affects our subjectivity and the way it helps us construct our identities.<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT-BR;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: PT-BR;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span>by
Karinna Alves Gulias<br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div>
<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-1103266070946990812024-01-29T10:53:00.008+00:002024-02-27T10:31:11.557+00:00The colonizer mindset - The Eurocentric (and North-American centric) view of everything.I am a woman who was born in Brazil, an extremely social and friendly country, I possess a white skin complexion, even though I'm incredibly mixed, (to my personal pride,) as all of us Brazilians are, which is something that anyone can see just by walking in the streets of Rio de Janeiro, for example. However, only in the decades I have been living as an emigrant/immigrant have I really come to grasp the reality that I lived and live as part of a somewhat privileged group. I say somewhat because I am not living in my motherland anymore, and even though I have skin on the lighter range, I too experience the oppressing airs of the active xenophobia and colonial mentality in Europe. <div><br /></div><div> I believe that the biggest mistake of a person, be that a common or clearly erudite one, who comes from a privileged group or powerful "first world" country is to think that racism or xenophobia are ideals that come from an individual perspective. I will give examples of this way of thinking: </div><div><br /></div><div> - I don't think I'm racist. (Therefore, racism is not a thing). </div><div><br /></div><div> - I have black friends. (Therefore, I don't practice racism). </div><div><br /></div><div> Or even more individualist ways of portraying racism: </div><div><br /></div><div> - Racists are evil. (And because I'm not evil, I cannot be racist). </div><div><br /></div><div>The biggest problem about conceiving "racism" in the third way mentioned above is that it makes people believe that being racist is an act that does not come from society in general, but from individuals who actively choose to do bad things towards others. When, in reality, racism, sexism, or xenophobia are culturally, socially, and historically built in the foundations and structures of society, especially the oppressor's society.</div><div><br /></div><div>Everybody practices racism, both the ones who do not belong to the lesser group and the ones who do. Simply because it is a cultural reality, not an individual choice. I am sure most people nowadays do not want to belong to either group: the oppressor or the oppressed. Both groups dehumanize us, but they are a thing and it is here in our daily rituals, without us realizing.</div><div><br /></div><div>It is hard to hear this, but any interest a person who belongs to the privileged group may have in treating the minority, which means the historically oppressed, groups with kindness or equality, without opening themselves up to accept our play in this non-equal, non-meritocratic reality, will be but superficial generosity. A vertical charity either to fulfill a personal emptiness or an individual conflictive self-image. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you want to be seen as good but do not want to venture into losing your romantic ideals of <i>Patria</i> or your properties to include others, who have been dehumanized and violated for centuries, if not millennia, then it means you chose to live a false reality: a capitalist, individualist fairy tale of a supposedly meritocratic reality, built by the oppressors to pretend they live fairly in a fair world.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Karinna A. Gulias</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-20478486883512974492023-12-18T16:23:00.000+00:002023-12-18T16:23:02.359+00:00Poetry<p> <span face="sl-Apres, helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #281b21; font-size: 14px;">I, too, dislike it.</span></p><span face="sl-Apres, helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: white; font-size: 14px;">***</span><span face="sl-Apres, helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #281b21; font-size: 14px;">Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers in</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #281b21; font-family: sl-Apres, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span face="sl-Apres, helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: white; font-size: 14px;">***</span><span face="sl-Apres, helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #281b21; font-size: 14px;">it, after all, a place for the genuine.</span><div><span face="sl-Apres, helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #281b21; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span face="sl-Apres, helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #281b21; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span face="sl-Apres, helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #281b21; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span face="sl-Apres, helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #281b21; font-size: 14px;"><i>By Marianne Moore </i></span></div><div><span face="sl-Apres, helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #281b21; font-size: 14px;"><i>From the 1967's "The Complete Poems of Marianne Moore</i>"</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-62471650438889800822023-11-27T14:23:00.003+00:002023-11-27T14:32:31.715+00:00O acordo do ser menos entre Israel e Palestina<p>Dentro do pensamento Freireano da vocação do ser humano para o <i>ser mais</i> e a busca da liberdade, Israel e Palestina se deixam pecar. </p><p>Que existe lá uma relação doentia de opressor-oprimido é inquestionável. Seja de que ideologia um seja, negá-la é negar a realidade por uma falsa sensação de segurança e defesa de uma verdade política manca. </p><p>A política de desumanização é castradora, pois só cultiva o <i>ser menos</i> do ser humano. O agente opressor desumaniza o oprimido, para que seus atos não sejam criticados ou julgados de maneira justa, mas ao fazê-lo, o opressor também desumaniza a si mesmo, mesmo que de maneira distinta. É uma relação sórdida e inconsequente para com qualquer das partes envolvidas, que vem da falta de auto-questionamento e um medo ignorante da liberdade.</p><p>Qualquer ser humano ou grupo ou facção que se usa da retórica da desumanização para afirmar uma verdade ou uma ação se faz automaticamente um <i>ser menos </i>e<i>,</i> portanto, merece e deve ser questionado.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI73Ihu4xTRdsZ8IUf93tQ40BCT2QBBHzhYozP6QNMRFGwvaHKIwAf7p2ikBrZ3SsGAHCZhbs8jeg6qp4XNzYQDG8KsCNolrdqP_7GSP-yjRAwqyeh8VGEiN8DgNK1rpXH-OsBIovknCPWXMv3vBRWI9xSqcphTDAS78J-cO9qo5prmUa4DMWACMlflLs/s4624/20231127_110526.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3468" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI73Ihu4xTRdsZ8IUf93tQ40BCT2QBBHzhYozP6QNMRFGwvaHKIwAf7p2ikBrZ3SsGAHCZhbs8jeg6qp4XNzYQDG8KsCNolrdqP_7GSP-yjRAwqyeh8VGEiN8DgNK1rpXH-OsBIovknCPWXMv3vBRWI9xSqcphTDAS78J-cO9qo5prmUa4DMWACMlflLs/w300-h400/20231127_110526.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6RPnuHC_xoysIQSagfBwSZtK8HftQsdeK9i-F4strwYc-7nx61-qtugkP3eEeJ3w92U7cgi7ixGsA_cF6gSg0oUeMMN87L4v8jWrwcgfVFrQydju64DvvBZlvyOVqX4p5PexY4BYaP841TXYciNaJ2vf8Vvyk_pum4kEL6tdp2tRqI6bG5MFrxMU2Xcg/s3468/20231127_110538.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2572" data-original-width="3468" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6RPnuHC_xoysIQSagfBwSZtK8HftQsdeK9i-F4strwYc-7nx61-qtugkP3eEeJ3w92U7cgi7ixGsA_cF6gSg0oUeMMN87L4v8jWrwcgfVFrQydju64DvvBZlvyOVqX4p5PexY4BYaP841TXYciNaJ2vf8Vvyk_pum4kEL6tdp2tRqI6bG5MFrxMU2Xcg/s320/20231127_110538.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Citação de "Pedagogia do Oprimido" de Paulo Freire, 2022: 40-41.</div><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-54992900710077225032023-11-13T15:12:00.001+00:002023-11-13T15:12:18.005+00:00Vídeo do meu lançamento <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/u-x7CKKQGUU" width="320" youtube-src-id="u-x7CKKQGUU"></iframe></div><br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-39561518960445118192023-10-31T10:50:00.000+00:002023-10-31T10:50:32.658+00:00Os fracos são ricos no mundo<p> (...)</p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto;">Os fracos são ricos no mundo. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto;">E os fortes, ao prestar a atenção,
mudam.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto;">Apegados ao toque. As coisas escorregam
das mãos.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto;">Vidros se quebram. Líquidos derramam. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 35.4pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 35.4pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 35.4pt;">[Sem fracassos.</p>(...)
<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Excerto do novo poema <i>[Espera]</i> de Karinna Alves Gulias</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-17322734551787745512023-10-30T14:57:00.008+00:002023-11-03T08:59:55.997+00:00Estarei no Zoom no dia 3 de novembro<p>Estarei no Zoom no dia 3 de novembro para o lançamento do meu livro "Estória: Significados da Continuação". Eu lerei 3 poemas e a sinopse.</p><p><br /></p><p dir="ltr">Join Zoom Meeting
<br />
<a href="https://us05web.zoom.us/j/83298880402?pwd=Pb7eBknXKKT38YcfoJtspfkIe77OeS.1">https://us05web.zoom.us/j/</a><a href="tel-action-no-chooser:83298880402;83298880402"></a><a href="https://us05web.zoom.us/j/83298880402?pwd=Pb7eBknXKKT38YcfoJtspfkIe77OeS.1">83298880402</a><a href="https://us05web.zoom.us/j/83298880402?pwd=Pb7eBknXKKT38YcfoJtspfkIe77OeS.1">?pwd=Pb7eBknXKKT38YcfoJtspfkIe77OeS.1</a>
<br />
<br />
Meeting ID: <a href="tel-action-no-chooser:83298880402;83298880402">832 9888 0402</a>
<br />
Passcode: r5J7US</p><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTEY-8nuN2foLcvaMdF5fb42KGNLb1Yl6V263zbX_AqasnmqKc5EHrqw8udh5SrEQPYfd5mIxRfWcYhvWI2ILsZi10ZVaWVvYPBXiTQ810yLPGn3TbLuL2o-rDP0H7dBVP3545IyxXjvi3tn0mRA7GXkD3ZLYA3UcJ4Jb5mc_IG69n3LJOXujplSikV_U/s1105/SmartSelect_20231030_160236_Instagram.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1105" data-original-width="1059" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTEY-8nuN2foLcvaMdF5fb42KGNLb1Yl6V263zbX_AqasnmqKc5EHrqw8udh5SrEQPYfd5mIxRfWcYhvWI2ILsZi10ZVaWVvYPBXiTQ810yLPGn3TbLuL2o-rDP0H7dBVP3545IyxXjvi3tn0mRA7GXkD3ZLYA3UcJ4Jb5mc_IG69n3LJOXujplSikV_U/s320/SmartSelect_20231030_160236_Instagram.jpg" width="307" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-7357660593678166972023-10-20T15:28:00.002+01:002023-10-20T15:28:55.511+01:00Estória<div style="text-align: justify;">O uso do arcaísmo “Estória” no título do meu livro "Estória: Significados da Continuação" é intencional. É uma maneira de descobrir a palavra “história” em sua complexidade ambígua e simbólica no que diz respeito à linguagem, sem o peso fragmentário dos conceitos epistemológicos e políticos herdados da sua irmã com a letra maiúscula. Poderíamos dizer que a estória para mim é, assim, <i>poiesis</i>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS6OaO2HuFpIGAyhsPWokxw7pt-ISQ3o2qwAJTVyqf0r4sgC_y22CSYSf9zzDdiWVtVmSYL6SqecQ8g6ELLman-qsky1ctrybBeUx_WbpLc7WmsReL9HOphSwJBSNSRN5Lp5jx2pKQSswSWILXBstCU2cwScV3MICFPdxRKtUoNhl-t_7hnx-3T7EKjS0/s847/Est%C3%B3ria_capa1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="847" data-original-width="591" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS6OaO2HuFpIGAyhsPWokxw7pt-ISQ3o2qwAJTVyqf0r4sgC_y22CSYSf9zzDdiWVtVmSYL6SqecQ8g6ELLman-qsky1ctrybBeUx_WbpLc7WmsReL9HOphSwJBSNSRN5Lp5jx2pKQSswSWILXBstCU2cwScV3MICFPdxRKtUoNhl-t_7hnx-3T7EKjS0/s320/Est%C3%B3ria_capa1.png" width="223" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-45605199159591784762023-10-19T18:44:00.000+01:002023-10-19T18:44:10.165+01:00Livro novo já disponível<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='385' height='320' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwtiqlTU_58kjkwkVdE0Qypiod_5H6CZiakCACFgYMx3YmibkzVljUje0Uou-QLqx1Ne4JGYlcPYESg4_br-g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Meu biolink com os endereços do meu livro disponível nas páginas da livraria Atlântico: <a href="http://bit.ly/m/KAlvesG">bit.ly/m/KAlvesG</a></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-44709280107814436172023-10-17T11:14:00.000+01:002023-10-17T11:14:33.154+01:00Gentileza gera gentileza. Por outro lado, violência só gera violência e devastação<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1R1qMykpYu-sKH7e9niZaIBLbIov-QfAU5QmauVlT7xA3DUuV0jJKJp_MS9OOpOY9ahSRGO1ZA2uPKPR1USpSJhQVbn9fDgAPI82k4Rnf-lPKtGGsxD95z6FwEIfdrUCulfLHeXtb5F-zQu-mNjBteP0J8RbAJ-ax-bxDjMJaWtNy9FxRCf0UIukyna8/s332/profeta_gentileza5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="332" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1R1qMykpYu-sKH7e9niZaIBLbIov-QfAU5QmauVlT7xA3DUuV0jJKJp_MS9OOpOY9ahSRGO1ZA2uPKPR1USpSJhQVbn9fDgAPI82k4Rnf-lPKtGGsxD95z6FwEIfdrUCulfLHeXtb5F-zQu-mNjBteP0J8RbAJ-ax-bxDjMJaWtNy9FxRCf0UIukyna8/s320/profeta_gentileza5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-29080724441487756902023-09-28T23:30:00.001+01:002023-09-28T23:30:12.143+01:00Os meus livros estão prontos!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexTmu4LrakvJkcnIJKzQdh9uWYbWwD87lKx9BrAz5Xz4kNFAg2WjAcjZEMFmT_4ywVep9RnfvVnRuwD8ClALsQyfkG-eG7ay83ZIbC0s_CcN0lD6N0kJY_5COcUy4pWAuxaBMzekn_ra4YyHAojlzSAdwlUCwI6Xcr7VYuhXHVc4C-F2-2ZHVOQTzfqA/s4624/20230926_174116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3468" data-original-width="4624" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexTmu4LrakvJkcnIJKzQdh9uWYbWwD87lKx9BrAz5Xz4kNFAg2WjAcjZEMFmT_4ywVep9RnfvVnRuwD8ClALsQyfkG-eG7ay83ZIbC0s_CcN0lD6N0kJY_5COcUy4pWAuxaBMzekn_ra4YyHAojlzSAdwlUCwI6Xcr7VYuhXHVc4C-F2-2ZHVOQTzfqA/s320/20230926_174116.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-71977345880227788352023-09-13T18:56:00.003+01:002023-09-13T18:56:57.236+01:00On the objects of gravity - And the dog"A monk asked Joshu, a Chinese Zen master: <div><br /></div><div>`Has a dog Buddha-nature or not?'<div><div><br /></div><div>Joshu answered: `Mu.'" [<a class="extiw" href="https://es.wiktionary.org/wiki/%E7%84%A1" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #3366cc; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-decoration-line: none;" title="wikt:無">無</a> = emptiness, nothingness, 'not']</div><div><br /></div><div>(excerpt from <a href="https://www.ibiblio.org/zen/gateless-gate/1.html">https://www.ibiblio.org/zen/gateless-gate/1.html</a>)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Taking into consideration the text above, and If we discard any prejudices that may come with the understanding of what religion is and its purpose, we will realise that reading Buddhist literature is one good way to open our minds to a different pathway: the "no concept" stream of consciousness.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's true that to read the excerpt above from a conceptual and prejudiced perspective will only add to our prejudices, either in regards to the uselessness of religion or the inferiority of dogs or some other stereotypes that may be roaming about our minds. The first impression, however, will always be that of outrage, from a Western point of view.</div><div><br /></div><div>But what if the way we are reading it is wrong?</div><div><br /></div><div>If you follow the Buddhist thought process, you will know that we must disregard the emotions that come as a reaction, and try to understand the text we are reading without underestimating what it is trying to provoke on us. In addition, in Buddhism, the path to right understanding will never be that of conceptualization, even though many scholars may try. And, in some way, I am trying here.</div><div><br /></div><div>Therefore, by first ignoring our prejudices and emotions, we can then open our minds to discard them and consequently try to understand the aforementioned excerpt -- without conceptual thought. And by not conceptualizing the meaning of the words, we will arrive at a different understanding of the text, which is much more all-inclusive than fragmentary.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I defend here is that the same thought process should be applied to objects and tools. There is a great probability that the way we approach and use tools may be wrong from the start because of our biases, dogmas, and prejudices. When we use them, we are deciding their results, in a way. And they will never truly show themselves to us beyond what we are inclined to see, which is, in most cases, fragmentation.</div><div><br /></div><div>In a possible field of new physics, this change in approach may be what is missing for us to start translating things in a more all-inclusive way.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Karinna Alves Gulias</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-54871829802735421552023-09-11T11:49:00.001+01:002023-09-11T19:42:50.213+01:00On the objects of gravity - And new physicsNo evidence. No paradigmatic truth is ever found or stable. That is what resonates on the clouds of information.<div><br /></div><div>Translating languages or gestures is like translating universe(s). Every misreading, misunderstanding, and that strange feeling of nostalgia in every transliteration are ever present, past, or future in communication. Growing or ingrowing.</div><div><br /></div><div>To understand the outworld without even acknowledging the universe within every tongue or person. Should we already know that trying to move forward is the same as moving backward? </div><div><br /></div><div>How can we transcend our cubic limitations if we still attach ourselves vehemently to ideas? Any idea, but especially those that, even though at the present civilization's paradigmatic circumstances should have perished, still persist and are the most obtuse and arbitrary ones: the ones based on value, rank, or merit, like race, gender, or nationality, for example.</div><div><br /></div><div>"No concept" is where lies the beginning of our true understanding of "travel" and our interplanetary experience, even though it may sound like a fetish. Therefore, transcending our prejudices and barriers is necessary, so that we can enter the age of new science and thus overcome science as a dogma. But first, we need to acknowledge that "tools" are not at our service—something we should have known by now. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tools, like us, are objects of gravity.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Karinna A. Gulias</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-39160896145574301482023-08-31T11:27:00.004+01:002023-08-31T11:31:34.119+01:00Objetos da Gravidade - o conto está disponível em ISSUU agora<p><span style="font-size: large;"> <a href="https://issuu.com/karinnaalvesgulias/docs/objetos_da_gravidade_2023">"Objetos da Gravidade" aqui</a></span></p><p><br /></p><p>Clique no link acima para ler o meu conto, já que a Resvista Mallarmargens parece já estar fora do ar faz um bom, bom tempo, infelizmente.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-77572694174768528552023-08-25T18:05:00.002+01:002023-08-25T18:05:25.070+01:00Espero que este sea el fin de Rubiales y compañía <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKz1NoSp7-48HR2y7_v-x9f29DB5UvqUn-0CatSCzl9mP3NxGDmEDeGCHsS4j8FSj4vzYustKUHyQaEuBcIjj05Pby72jXND6X6ashFA2dgKqZ7jBNu0CwDx7Xh4wA5sKpOVPIi3wLdKVBFRdX_wMVhxTSelEgzgqWVkWm3Xi4RwzCE0XEPSu0LZxIQd4/s1074/SmartSelect_20230825_185125_WhatsApp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1003" data-original-width="1074" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKz1NoSp7-48HR2y7_v-x9f29DB5UvqUn-0CatSCzl9mP3NxGDmEDeGCHsS4j8FSj4vzYustKUHyQaEuBcIjj05Pby72jXND6X6ashFA2dgKqZ7jBNu0CwDx7Xh4wA5sKpOVPIi3wLdKVBFRdX_wMVhxTSelEgzgqWVkWm3Xi4RwzCE0XEPSu0LZxIQd4/s320/SmartSelect_20230825_185125_WhatsApp.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-12613280749887072322023-07-05T11:36:00.002+01:002023-07-05T11:44:56.662+01:00Meu terceiro livro está no forno!É com grande alegria que anuncio que o meu terceiro livro está em processo de produção. Uma parceria com a editora Atlantic Books de Portugal. <div><br /></div><div> I'm very happy to announce that my third book (in Portuguese) is in production, in partnership with Atlantic Books from Portugal.<div><br /></div><div>Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/uT5X9aDYcPw" width="320" youtube-src-id="uT5X9aDYcPw"></iframe></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Tick Tock - Hans Zimmer</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-54548047220125908602023-05-09T11:29:00.000+01:002023-05-11T10:56:35.162+01:00The Rhythm Thief<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe class="BLOG_video_class" allowfullscreen="" youtube-src-id="AgGMU3puNJE" width="320" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/AgGMU3puNJE"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-62998962291395979392023-05-09T10:54:00.005+01:002023-05-09T11:51:49.770+01:00Uma menção sem importânciaUma menção sem importância.
<p><p/>
Que ao fundo do buraco da terra,<br>
Volteie todas as sombras do céu,<br>
Perfumadas de luz e acrescentadas de <br>
Ego.
<br><br>
Menciona-te na tua morte.<br>
Uma vida quase perfeita, numa identidade alheia.<br>
E Vergonhas que organizar.<br>
<p ></p>
Porque nem eu e nem tu somos mais que um passo.<br>
Mesmerizado por um segundo.<br>
<br /><p ><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><i>De Karinna Alves Gulias</i></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-49830684154183442572023-05-09T10:47:00.003+01:002023-05-09T11:47:08.071+01:00Such Is the Story Made of Stubbornness and a Little Air - by Ilya KaminskySuch is the story made of stubbornness and a little air—<br />a story signed by those who danced wordless before God.<br />Who whirled and leapt. Giving voice to consonants that rise<br />with no protection but each other’s ears.<br />We are on our bellies in this quiet, Lord.<p>Let us wash our faces in the wind and forget the strict shapes of <br /><span> </span>affection.<br />Let the pregnant woman hold something of clay in her hand.<br />She believes in God, yes, but also in the mothers<br />of her country who take off their shoes<br />and walk. Their footsteps erase our syntax.<br />Let her man kneel on the roof, clearing his throat<br />(for the secret of patience is his wife’s patience).<br />He who loves roofs, tonight and tonight, making love to her and to <br /><span> </span>her forgetting,<br />let them borrow the light from the blind.<br />There will be evidence, there will be evidence.<br />While helicopters bomb the streets, whatever they will open, will <br /><span> </span>open.<br />What is silence? Something of the sky in us.</p><br /><p>From <i>Deaf Republic</i>. Copyright © 2019 by Ilya Kaminsky. Poem taken from: <a href="https://poets.org/poem/such-story-made-stubbornness-and-little-air">https://poets.org/poem/such-story-made-stubbornness-and-little-air</a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-4231531679445774452023-01-17T11:59:00.004+00:002023-01-17T12:57:11.822+00:00Relationship in a male circle<p> A
relationship between a woman and a man is a relationship between a woman and
the world. Every step into that bond means that a social group will overpower
her individuality, because she will never be seen as an equal, in spite of the actual
progressive trend in the world politics.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A male
partner with more power, being that social, financial, professional or even emotional, will
always try to control the power of his female partner, and this will mostly be
accomplished with the help of his surroundings and acquaintances. Professional
referrals, favours, buddy groups, networking. All of these supposedly meritocratic
or friendly acts are but means of control or a tool for power struggle.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There are
women in these groups too. They also can be the buddy in a group without
realising the harm she is causing to herself. Many women live sleepwalking in
life and projecting her dreams onto a path of delusions. There is no worst enemy to a woman than naivety.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The reality is that a woman
will never be able to truly detach herself from a man, unless he wants it to. Because the world helps him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-22023701117163163692023-01-13T11:22:00.003+00:002023-01-13T11:31:36.880+00:00Pinky promise<p> </p>
To any finger pointing at me in this world </br>
I promise to relive the ghost of dust. It’s piling up. Unnoticed.</p>
I promise to label myself. Movables. </br>
Furniture scratching the floor. </br>
The memories of a language I used to like, </br>
But I never experienced it. I drank alone </br>
With eyes watching me. </br>
Unmoving. Uninterested. Destabilizing quietness of mind.</p>
I rejected competitive invitations every day. Without a friend.</br>
I turned my inside out. But it’s not seen. Thankfully or not.</p>
The joy of being one and only in one world or many.</br>
Silent. </p>
Maybe I’ll invite a child. As darkness is coming near.</p>
</br></br>
<i>By Karinna Alves Gulias</i>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-6254512626140512562022-12-12T10:43:00.002+00:002022-12-12T10:43:18.492+00:00O Canto do Pajé<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Nmhu9IbP_50" width="320" youtube-src-id="Nmhu9IbP_50"></iframe></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Direct link: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nmhu9IbP_50">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nmhu9IbP_50</a></i></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110253224528823321.post-23343763253462838462022-10-24T11:15:00.000+01:002022-10-24T11:15:04.056+01:00Struggle for Pleasure<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/lO2LDx8Iagc" width="320" youtube-src-id="lO2LDx8Iagc"></iframe></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Direct link: https://youtu.be/lO2LDx8Iagc</span></i></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>"<span style="font-family: Calibri, "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Muitos creem que ser feliz é gostar de viver no
fausto. Ser feliz é simplesmente sanidade e paz mental. Só; nada mais. É uma
busca primordial, mais do que criar prosperidade ou propriedade. A realidade é
ambivalente e as pessoas não fazem sentido. São demasiado turvas,
especialmente depois que passam dos 30. Redigi-la-ia, a realidade. Verifico o
me ser, só. Vazia. Na vastidão de uma baleia eu me perco outra vez, mas me sinto
mais feliz." Citação do meu conto inédito <i>Areal</i>.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">De Karinna Alves Gulias</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0