My friend John Sokoloff

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Thismanhas a heartfull ofdivine sounds

I sharea songfor youbutyou are lookingonyoutubeout more

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A ritual on the planet Squerox – fantastic story / Un rituale sul pianeta Squerox – storia fantastica / Un ritual pe planeta Squerox – poveste fantastică

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… In ancient times, on a blue sphere, were living people.
When they reached the pinnacle of their science, on their sphere there more was nothing without being moved out from its place.
The topography, the depths, all, passed through modeling with pain and waste.
Nature (as it was called the environment from which they sprang these beings, humans) it was crouched under the burden of ideals of knowledge, of conquest, of power and greed.
How much more has became smarter, with so… were less little wise
Because cleverness, my daughter, is baggage of knowledge collected and its use for a give loading of moment, in order not leave empty future. The wisdom, but, is inspired; it is intuition of eternity and care for increase in all that is lasting and… renunciation of
all that is hostile to the beauty of the universe.
My ancestors, my dear, once…

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syrup from earth / sciroppo della terra / siropul pământului

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here is the syrup – the anthroposphere means seven billion tears,
moans crystalline

we love the children as the bearers of water jugs
to old age – how much water will use us?

the rustle, and their aspirations to grow large, it gives us vertigo –
we give them an education, our same mistakes made

for a time, we are too young to understand
then, we are experiencing the failures that end up too late to understand

core of age hides a major accident, never the calendars
just a moment you will be credible, glorious and beloved – the rest are the echoes…

children do not have any obligation to become what we were not able us
the inalienable rights of their failing, are sacred

anthroposphere means seven billion tears
view from up there, the planet is a tear of the Lord – we, the old the bearers…

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endless poem / poesia senza fine / poem interminabil

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Image.

I know that I have many flaws, I know it’s late to change
even I try to be as more myself, without halo …
of not to invade you with my dreams bizarre
I would only you to make my coffee as you know, necessary bitter …
and do not say another word, for complacency
I would you my lips seem for you… to much younger …
and do not get angry when I get my hands to the eyes, for too much light
that comes from your heart
I would to live in us to us, and not in someone else
by not to make me any criticism
that I give on the floor the ashes
that no longer is that I was
you not… you do not have any blemish, look, I want you to be just as you are,

and

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lo so di…

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you’re born grandfather / te sei nato nonno / tu te-ai născut bunic

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the ballad of a tomorrow sings a complicated machine
technology of smiles is obsolete – next stop is the sadness station, as large as the era,
accomodates in her, generations inox

where it starts the well, and where evil the ends?
– Grandpa, you’re born precisely grandfather, I can not see you child
yes, you should know…

how I take my hopes of your alive stories?
the contrasts I grinds my day and soul
Grandpa, you hear? The prayers … they return back prayers of your parents, you see?
why they dreamed peace, what is it peace?

their forgotten ballad, sung to thee now, only whispered
former stone porch the altar, is strange, otherwise he touch the quadrant,
otherwise the smile
where it ends the good.. and evil begin? You know it… you should know
only you’re born grandfather …

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la ballata di un domani la canta una…

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the woman with haired of chalk / la donna con i capelli di gesso / femeia cu părul de cretă

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the woman with haired of chalk, she wearing for me a concretely love
the her worries him confer prestige, her sadness is out in vacation
they all it seems handy, because in love there is no guilt
always with smile passes through days, with your luggage by sterile happenings
she knows one discrete gate towards her concrete love
it does not matter any the time, any place, that in her soul he lives the luck
not in events she decreases or increases, but, in the way to looking at these…

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la donna con i capelli di gesso, mi sta portando un amore concreto
le sue preoccupa gli conferisce prestigio, la sua tristezza parte in ferie
tutto le sembra a portata di mano, perché in amore non c’è senso di colpa
sempre con il sorriso attraversa i giorni, con i bagagli da avvenimenti sterili
lei sa…

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infusions of confusions / infusioni di confusioni / infuzii de confuzii

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.pamphlet
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.
the harlequin enters the scene, a solemn moment
he immediately noticed that in the room, full however, was not even a baby
stood motionless an eternity of a second, then
simultaneously tried to mimic and the flight and the humiliation
a sharp silence he had taken control of the universe
swallow the presumptive applause, swallow the alleged poetic gesture
unfinished …
the harlequin, frustrated, so decided to become a politician … and then
the people always confuse them both either the genuine harlequin
either politician … with clowns
.
or if not, voters are somehow … really clowns…

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l’Arlecchino entra in scena, un momento solenne
ha subito notato che nella stanza, piena però, non era nemmeno un bambino
rimase immobile un’eternità di un secondo, poi
contemporaneamente cercato di imitare sia il volo che l’umiliazione
un silenzio tagliente aveva preso il controllo dell’universo
ingoiava gli applausi…

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too big stake? / un rogo troppo grande? / o miză prea mare?

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Motto:perhaps, in the forest, trees do not quarrel
for the sap of the Earth
and the blade of grass is praying for light, more assiduously
than me
.
a door with two thresholds and between them… my life

I’m keeping with the nails by hopes, oscillating between failures and powerlessness
– This door, oh, to reach its handle
I have to climb on my own shoulders and to bet it all on only
what can be only… beyond
to defeat me into myself… every passion here, with humility,
juice of the earth… must seem to me bitter just because… only beyond
will it be transformed into honey…
and all this waste of sublime, from my surrounding, I have to ignore?

maybe, it is not the hope that is at stake, but, only the burning of, the smoke by facts
this gets us there, and not the intentions…

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