The Golden Apples of the Sun

sábado, 22 de agosto de 2009


The Song of Wandering Aengus
by W. B. Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lads and hilly lands.
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

Metal - Teatro - Danza

jueves, 20 de agosto de 2009

Están cordialmente invitados a nuestro experimento.


Essence

martes, 18 de agosto de 2009

  1. The basic, real, and invariable nature of a thing or its significant individual feature or features.
  2. A substance obtained from a plant, drug, or the like, by distillation, infusion, etc., and containing its characteristic properties in concentrated form.
  3. A perfume; scent.
  4. The inward nature, true substance, or constitution of anything, as opposed to what is accidental, phenomenal, illusory, etc.
  5. A song by Enslaved, a black/viking metal band with progressive rock influences.

Innovando y rompiendo estigmas

martes, 4 de agosto de 2009