tremendum

Foto de @aracellyflima no Instagram Ontem à noite (14/04/2015), antes de ir dormir, eu estava assistindo ao programa “Testemunhas dos Tornados” no #NatGeo. Eu #AMO programas assim. Sou fascinada por #tornados e furacões. E esse fascínio me lembrou um trecho do #livro #OTeoremaKatherine, mas precisamente na página 50, onde fala do amor de Colin pela vista panorâmica de Chicago, que provocava nele o que em latim se chama de “mysterium tremendum et fascinans” - que é uma mistura de medo aterrorizante com fascínio arrebatador, do tipo que dá aquele frio na barriga. E é exatamente assim que me sinto em relação a tornados e furacões. E apesar de tudo isso, eu nunca mais quero passar por um. #NationalGeographic #Bookaholic #EuAmoLivros #ILoveBooks #princesaempalavras #umcapuccinoporfavor #umamorchamadolivro 📖 #AmoLer 📚 #Ler #LivroéVida 💜 http://bit.ly/1ysPKEJ

“It is confounding, that’s the main thing about psychedelics. That’s why it seems to me, it divides people. It’s for people who like the bizarre, the weird, the unthinkable, the unspeakable, the peculiar, the edge of meaning, beauty at its most Baroque, and the world of Hieronymus Bosch and Peter Brueghel the Elder, and some people don’t like that.

They like to be reassured. They like closure. They love being ensconced in concentric circles of expectation and tradition and solidity - that sort of thing. This just gives them the heebeegeebees, this kind of stuff. Because we’re saying, the intellectual world has an edge and if you go over that edge, you will find the unanticipated tremendum.”
- Terence McKenna

Mysterium tremendum et fascinans: İnsanın midesini kasan, huşuyla karışık bir korku ile mest edici bir büyülenmişlik hissi.

Make A Star Music Video contest May 2011

Semi Finals

Tremendum (Tripolis Pleme) “Ogledalo putnika”

Valjevo, Yugoslavia

Belgrade, Serbia

ref: UndergroundSun - Ja sam ulica bez broja, tamno, crna boja, neprespavana noc, srebrni oblak, covek koji nestaje, prekrasne predstave, Tkac - zaboravi sve, UndergroundSun - u sivom brzo nestaneš. Tkac - Ja živim svoju paletu grešaka, kiša ne jenjava, znam vama smešan sam, ne nisam trezan sad, nervozan drhtim, dok šetam gledam u zemlju, secam se smrti.


strofa 1: UndergroundSun - Ja sam ranjeni zmaj i smeh vaš, suze koje padaju svaki dan, pesnik, s poezijom noci, slomljeno nebo, srce koje voli. Tvoj poslednji poljubac još uvek me boli, od tad u vatri gorim, i više ne sanjam, prijatelji nestvarni kao ružna predstava, gube humanost, hvata ih ludilo. A Sad Life je idalje opera ulice, idalje isto trudim se, idalje isto gubim sve. Na vratima ponora, duša je olovna, ako hoceš srecu, beži iz okova!




strofa 2: Tkac - Ja sam samo jedna kap sna, na obodu šuma, kamenih vetrova. Tihi vihor reci ovih oko tebe plovi, Nova Škola Snova zna - tu fintu bita voliš. Udi sam u šumu, ceka te put, a mama nije tu, vece guta boje, baka mrsi konce, evo ga strah, vidi ima oci tvoje! U kolo te zovu vile gole, botovi ti nude smole, samo da zastaneš, sa borbom prestaneš, slomljen posustaneš, smeju se utvare, svirale lukave, mame me obmane, kušaju Pozvane. Kao da ce mama Zemlja sve da nas proguta! Ne peva ti duša, kolo vodi crna rupa, u lavi se kupaš, zadnja nit puca, ruši se kuca, guše se srca. Cuj huk vuka, cutanje što secka: Ulicama sveta šeta neizmerna seta, marljivo tu setu skupljam u ocima svojim, do poslednjeg zraka Sunca ko se sada bori? U narodnoj nošnji, sa vrha planine, harmonijom sfera note rotiram ko iskre. Glup je iskren, šuplji tako misle, razblistam sistem - mir da ti stigne. Sve se vraca, sve se placa, cuj šta ti to govori duh Tkaca! Vetar otvara vrata, ispred šapucu zlotvori, ali vera je jaka kao gromovi, i ma šta da se dogodi, ja cu da koracam ka Tebi, koji me vracaš tajnim odajama Carstva, a svet je uspavanka, pa izgubljen sanjam da sam zapamtio put. Svi ti štekovi, ketovi, geto slengovi, fejkovi, su ko oblaci na zemlji, na putu ka Tebi, najcistijoj Reci, najvrednijoj Želji.


ref: UndergroundSun - Ja sam ulica bez broja, tamno, crna boja, neprespavana noc, srebrni oblak, covek koji nestaje, prekrasne predstave, Tkac - zaboravi sve, UndergroundSun - u sivom brzo nestaneš. Tkac - Ja živim svoju paletu grešaka, kiša ne jenjava, znam vama smešan sam, ne nisam trezan sad, nervozan drhtim, šetam gledam u zemlju, secam se smrti.

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“It is confounding, that’s the main thing about psychedelics. That’s why it seems to me, it divides people. It’s for people who like the bizarre, the weird, the unthinkable, the unspeakable, the peculiar, the edge of meaning, beauty at its most Baroque, and the world of Hieronymus Bosch and Peter Brueghel the Elder, and some people don’t like that.

They like to be reassured. They like closure. They love being ensconced in concentric circles of expectation and tradition and solidity - that sort of thing. This just gives them the heebeegeebees, this kind of stuff. Because we’re saying, the intellectual world has an edge and if you go over that edge, you will find the unanticipated tremendum.”
- Terence McKenna

“It is confounding, that’s the main thing about psychedelics. That’s why it seems to me, it divides people. It’s for people who like the bizarre, the weird, the unthinkable, the unspeakable, the peculiar, the edge of meaning, beauty at its most Baroque, and the world of Hieronymus Bosch and Peter Brueghel the Elder, and some people don’t like that.

They like to be reassured. They like closure. They love being ensconced in concentric circles of expectation and tradition and solidity - that sort of thing. This just gives them the heebeegeebees, this kind of stuff. Because we’re saying, the intellectual world has an edge and if you go over that edge, you will find the unanticipated tremendum.”
- Terence McKenna

The Aeon, as Heraclitus presciently observed, is a child at play with colored balls. Many diminutive beings are present there—the tykes, the self-transforming machine elves of hyperspace. Are they the children destined to be father to the man? One has the impression of entering into an ecology of souls that lies beyond the portals of what we naively call death. I do not know. Are they the synesthetic embodiment of ourselves as the Other, or of the Other as ourselves? Are they the elves lost to us since the fading of the magic light of childhood? Here is a tremendum barely to be told, an epiphany beyond our wildest dreams. Here is the realm of that which is stranger than we can suppose. Here is the mystery, alive, unscathed, still as new for us as when our ancestors lived it fifteen thousand summers ago. The tryptamine entities offer the gift of new language; they sing in pearly voices that rain down as colored petals and flow through the air like hot metal to become toys and such gifts as gods would give their children. The sense of emotional connection is terrifying and intense. The Mysteries revealed are real and if ever fully told will leave no stone upon another in the small world we have gone so ill in.
This is not the mercurial world of the UFO, to be invoked from lonely hilltops; this is not the siren song of lost Atlantis wailing through the trailer courts of crack-crazed America. DMT is not one of our irrational illusions. I believe that what we experience in the presence of DMT is real news. It is a nearby dimension—frightening, transformative, and beyond our powers to imagine, and yet to be explored in the usual way.
—  Terence McKenna, Food of the Gods