UNIVERSES

ALL-MOTHER

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"The Self, the Spirit, creates illusion.
The delusion of Beings is that All is not an illusion.
One creates illusion, enjoying, renewing, destroying.
Creation and Joy of Being are The Way of All-Mother.
Beings pretend to be forms to play a game. 
Beings may endows forms with sensation and feels pleasure therein.  
Pain is a game of suffering forms.
Without a form, can one suffer? 
One may forget One's Self and become a form.
One becomes form: One loses The Way of All-Mother.
Benevolent Creation is Pleasure. 
All-Mother is The Way of Eternal Pleasure"

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...and other stuff, ART, BULLSHIT, MOVING PICTURES, PICTURE POEMS, POETIC NONSENSE, SOUNDS

“O FORTUNA”: MISUNDERSTOOD LYRICS ANIMATED

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A brilliant demonstration of how a misunderstood word can have crazy consequences:

“O Fortuna” is a medieval Latin Goliardic poem written early in the thirteenth century, part of the collection known as the Carmina Burana. It is a complaint about fate and Fortuna, a goddess in Roman mythology and personification of luck.  In 1935-36, O Fortuna was set to music by the German composer Carl Orff as a part of his cantata Carmina Burana where it is used as the opening and closing number.  “O Fortuna” topped a list of the most-played classical music of the past 75 years in the United Kingdom.

THE ACTUAL LYRICS:

O Fortuna
velut luna
statu variabilis,
semper crescis
aut decrescis;
vita detestabilis
nunc obdurat
et tunc curat
ludo mentis aciem,
egestatem,
potestatem
dissolvit ut glaciem.

Sors immanis
et inanis,
rota tu volubilis,
status malus,
vana salus
semper dissolubilis,
obumbrata
et velata
michi quoque niteris;
nunc per ludum
dorsum nudum
fero tui sceleris.

Sors salutis
et virtutis
michi nunc contraria,
est affectus
et defectus
semper in angaria.
Hac in hora
sine mora
corde pulsum tangite;
quod per sortem
sternit fortem,
mecum omnes plangite!

O Fortune,
just like the moon
thou art variable,
always dost thou
wax and wane.
Detestable life,
first dost thou mistreat us,
and then, whimsically,
thou heedest our desires.
As the sun melts the ice,
so dost thou dissolve
both poverty and power.

Monstrous
and empty fate,
thou, turning wheel,
art mean,
voiding
good health at thy will.
Veiled
in obscurity,
thou dost attack
me also.
To thy cruel pleasure
I bare my back.

Thou dost withdraw
my health and virtue;
thou dost threaten
my emotion
and weakness
with torture.
At this hour,
therefore, let us
pluck the strings without
delay.
Let us mourn together,
for fate crushes the brave.