Quotes about kao, page 2

Where I have ceased/Tamo gdje sam stala

Where I have ceased the morning will move on
I'll recognise the down by the drops of rain
I want to watch the sun as if it were the first time
I want to watch the sky as if it were the last

Where I have ceased the waters will move away
The thought of a dropp will be burnt in endlessness
There will remain a misty memery dewed
Of drinking to the bottom

Where I ceased the life will move on
The roads will be remembered from the fountain prime
I'll write the paths in hundeds of ways
At the bottom of my own eyes

Tamo gdje sam stala nastavice jutro
Po kišnim kapima prepoznacu svitanje
Hocu da gledam sunce kao da je prvi put
Hocu da gledam nebo kao da je posljednji

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The child removes the sky and earth

The child pushes the borders of the possible
The child sees the sky
The child sees the earth
The child is thinking I am made of the sky
The child removes the sky
The way the mother peels the apple
The child sees the earth below
The child is thinking I am made of earth
The child removes the earth
The way the father digs the foundations
The child sees the fire below
The child is thinking I am made of fire
The child removes the fire
The child is thinking I am made of nothing
Lit by fire
Dressed in earth
Covered by the sky

Dijete sklanja nebo i zemlju

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Colonoscopy.....My Second One.....[LONG; Medical; Personal; Humor? ] Humor

Despite all that could've gone 'wrong', the procedure did go well,
And next week Dr. Kao, to me, the lab results will tell.
I left the office wide awake, and, without sedation, feeling fine.
As I walked some blocks to meet my wife, on a banana and muffin I did dine.

I'd suggest pre-op and post-op post cards to keep patients on right track,
Especially for us 'older' patients who, sometimes, perfect memories lack.
The pre-op handout I received could be clearer; ask me if you dare.
The post-op handout was clearer, but I almost forgot I had it, I swear!
The pre-op telephone call to me (ask me about it) Dr. Kao might abhor.
The post-op call was a nice touch, but might not have helped if I'd passed out at home on the floor.

It's been ten days at least and daily aspirin dose (I'd stopped taking) is overdue.......but
My bowel's remembered, pretty well, how to handle the food I under-chew.

Roger reacted well to my idea of hiding fake poop; it was a 'joke'.
I'm glad he didn't laugh convulsively and through my bowel wall poke.

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poem by Bri Edwards
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A thought from the threshold of pain

Making way through the fire alarms
With a broken rear mirror in hand
The debris of fingers moved over
Heart shattered pictures of an escape
Through the solitary halls of blind light
There circled a thought from the threshold of pain
Whispered through the homeless birds’ cages
At the bottom of the staircase with a mad vision
On her palm Pythia the Stunt stood
Reading her own shadow off
Like a badly picked up trailer of a movie
That never saw its cinema projection
As the screens had been greedily swallowed
Like a fee cast to a poor director
Through the tyranny of madness fed on bravery charisma
There circled a thought from the threshold of pain
Like the last hero throwing away
The dice pictured in all Picaro faces
Straight into the arms of the hungry world
Craving a golden mean

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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That Had Them/Sto Imalo Ih Je

...that they had
the nightmares that had them
and the time they had that had them
with a little practical first aid kit
in case the world ends the way it's been
at least yearly anounced
sometime from March to December
and almost imperceptibly that they had
the goals the dreams that had them
as well as the time that had them
they had? like a never made of always
most of all they knew
that they were known by things they never knew
with a will of a throne it red carpet like walked them
from dire to straights only blood
they had in the dropp recorded they were
in a biometrical test that had them
tested on the meaning of the cells immemorial
they had blood? like a clock an hour hidden by their brother
for being an eternal possession of naming

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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How to interpret games/Kako protumaciti igre

For the beginning it would be helpful to remember your childhood. The game is one of the hardest concepts and it requires the classification through the use of a chronological criterion. The games of childhood are a path towards theorizing the world. They sometimes imitate life without an authentic understanding of it, even without the need or wish to understand.
Playing tag for instance is a way to reach the other person using the advantages of the touch therapy.
Ring a ring a roses belongs to the same category except for the fact that this is the game in which you need to turn around a lot. Some people turn so a lot that they get into a trance which only the hide and seek can wafe them from. Speaking of hide and seek you can play it only if you have no problem with your eyesight and if you know how to count at least to…ten. You also need an elementary knowledge of your environment so that the others don't have to look for you in various corners where you can be detained with or without kneeling on corn. (Kneeling on corn is the game of the transition period)
The game of growing up is red gloves. Sometimes the gloves are so red that you may end up being blood transfused. The most interesting thing is that even if you know who hit you the pain does not decrease. Time, the most important factor in the development of games, can be helpful in increasing the pain tolerance degree. A comforting fact is that the only constant thing in the whole game is the colour of the gloves.
The game of the mature period is mother and father. Genetics plays the crucial role here. A continual jigsaw between dna and rna counting of chromosomes like marbles will distract your attention from the essence of this game.
The game of getting old is silent swinging alongside brain cells dying out. In this period you have already managed to cope with all the aforementioned games and now you can finally take your time.
The game of dying is a fairy tale being red before a good night's sleep and a dream in which you're swayed by someone's warm and calm voice. For in the end all you are craving is silence.

Za pocetak bi bilo dobro da se sjetite djetinjstva. To uvijek pomaze. Ovo je inace jedan od najtezih pojmova i zahtjeva klasifikovanje istog koristeci hronoloski kriterijum. Igre djetinjstva put su ka sagledavanju svijeta. One imitiraju zivot bez istinskog razumijevanja istog, a i bez potrebe i zelje za razumijevanjem. Suga je nacin da stignete do drugog koristeci prednosti touch terapije.

U istu kategoriju spada i ringe ringe raja s tim sto vam odzvoni jos prije nego sto ostarite jer je to igra u kojoj puno morate da se vrtite. Neki od nje prosto padaju u trans iz koga ih moze probuditi samo igra zmurke. Zmurke mozete da se igrate samo ukoliko nemate poteskoca sa vidom i ukoliko znate da brojite... makar do deset. Potrebno je i elementarno poznavanje okoline da ne bi na kraju morali i vas da traze po raznim coskovima u koje vas za kaznu stavljaju sa ili bez klecanja na kukuruzu.
(Klecanje na kukuruzu je igra prelaznog perioda) Potrebno je takodje da se unaprijed pomirite sa cinjenicom da nemate pojma koga u stvari trazite. Nije vazno. Cilj uvijek mozete da izmislite. Jer uvijek ce do kraja ostati nerazjasnjeno da li je krajnja svrha igranja postizanje uspjeha ili je igra samoj sebi cilj.
Igra odrastanja je igra crvenih rukavica. Nekad toliko crvenih da zavrsite na transfuziji krvi. Najzanimljivije je to sto i ako pogodite ko vas je zviznuo to ne umanjuje bol. Vrijeme koje je najvazniji faktor u razvoju igara moze vam biti od pomoci da povisite stepen tolerancije na bol. Utjesno je sto u svakom trenutku znate kada i gdje su vas udarili kao i to da je jedina postojana stvar u cijeloj igri boja rukavica.
Igra zrelog doba je igra mame i tate. Genetika je ovdje od presudnog znacaja. Kontinuirano klackanje izmedju RNK i DNK, prebrojavanje hromozoma kao klikera odvratice vam paznju sa sustine igre.
Igra starenja je tiho ljuljanje od kojeg odumiru mozdane vijuge. U ovom periodu vec ste savladili sve prethodno navedene igre i sada mozete da se mirno prepustite uzivanju.
Igra umiranja je citanje bajke pred spavanje i san u koji vas uljuljkuje neciji topao i smiren glas. Jer na kraju svega vapite samo za tisinom.

A Little School of Interpretation, …in x lessons,2007.
©Miroslava Odalovic

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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