liars and saints

2010-07-23T13:25:00.000-07:00

O meu coração pára quando olho para cima e és tu. Quando já não te vejo há dias e a tua altura, o teu sorriso, o teu abraço me assaltam e lembro-me porque vale a pena a ausência. Quando passaram 5 minutos desde que te vi a última vez, porque foste à cozinha ou eu à casa-de-banho, e o impacto é o mesmo que após uma semana de distância. Não o trocava por nada. Podia ficar a olhar para ti horas. Às vezes fico, quando adormeces, quando vês televisão, quando conduzes..
Fico a pensar em como és TÃO tudo.

E tão meu.

#1

2010-06-21T14:00:00.000-07:00

I love how you glance over at me when you’re driving and you always take a little longer than you should because you should be looking at the road and then you rest your head on my shoulder and it’s a miracle we haven’t had an accident yet (well technically we have, but not a real one) and when you reach over to kiss me at the traffic light and we get honked at by the car behind us but you just laugh because it’s worth it..

2010-06-14T13:52:00.000-07:00

A tua boca. Podia escrever uma tese sobre a tua boca. Começava por descrever o sabor, um sabor quente, longíquo, doce, picante.. Os teus lábios.. hmm.. os teus lábios.. macios, delicados, como seda. E a tua língua, veludo. A tua boca na minha, a minha língua a percorrer a forma dos teus lábios até encontrar a tua, a fome que tenho de beijar-te. Beijas-me e esqueço.. esqueço o mundo inteiro para além dos nossos dois corpos, esqueço-me de respirar, esqueço a força nas pernas, esqueço-me inteiramente em ti. Quero-te tanto. Mordo a boca a pensar. Não conhecia este querer, esta vontade, este desejo.. que me surpreendem ainda a cada encontro. Sempre que te encontro, encontro-te.

E quando me tocas..

2010-06-09T10:16:00.000-07:00

Se o Mundo (Universo, Cosmos, Planeta) conseguisse entender o quanto Amo, Quero, Desejo, Anseio, Preciso.. ter-te ao meu lado, virar-se-ia do avesso como uma camisola para que pudesses estar sempre junto a mim.

2010-06-09T09:26:00.000-07:00

O que gosto mesmo é de manhãs contigo.
Manhãs a ver o céu mudar de cor, reflectido nos teus olhos ensonados. Sentados num parapeito de janela à distância de um copinho de café. Conversar sobre tudo e nada, em voz alta e nos silêncios. Esperar que o tempo se demore.
Manhãs com o mar à janela, o seu sabor na tua pele. Corpos encaixados entre o branco dos lençoís. O teu coração a bater no meu peito. A tua respiração a acabar no meu sorriso.
Manhãs que chegam antes do sono, prolongamento da noite que não chegou a acabar. A minha cabeça no teu colo, o despertar da madrugada e os teus braços que me aquecem os ossos.
Manhãs distantes em que a ausência do teu corpo é preenchida pelo som da tua voz, palavras de ternura, tom de paixão, espreguiça, boceja..
Seja como for, acordo sempre contigo. Começo o dia contigo e começo de manhã. Por isso gosto de manhãs.

Quero acordar sempre contigo.. é contigo que começo.

2010-06-08T02:47:00.000-07:00

Gosto de manhãs. Apetece-me dizer que sempre gostei mas volto a chocar com o peso dos conceitos absolutos, e a verdade é que durante muito tempo o termo "gostar" era relativo. Tenho esta dificuldade ainda, em conhecer o meu presente sem conotar o que já passou. Anseio por um tempo em que frases tão banais quanto "i really hope my past hasn't screwed up my future", transmitidas em salas escuras de cinema, não tenham uma ressonância tão aguda. É mais que a preocupação com o que ainda não aconteceu, é o medo do que não chegou a acontecer, quando tinha a certeza de que já tinha acontecido. É confuso. And not the point. Não sei dizer quando começou o Agora, mas agora gosto de manhãs. This is the point.

Adormeço em ti para contigo acordar.

2010-06-04T00:35:00.000-07:00

O telefone toca.
Sei quem é.
O meu corpo inteiro permanece a dormir, o meu coração acorda.
Estendo um braço para fora do sono e alcanço a mesinha de cabeceira.
O meu dia começa ao pressionar de uma pequenina tecla - verde.
Oiço a tua respiração no limite da minha e o meu coração bate.
A tua voz atinge-me o peito como trovoada e o meu coração voa.. de entre os lençóis até junto de ti.

2010-05-26T05:49:00.000-07:00

Queria escrever-te um poema.

Um poema que tornasse concebível o amor que tenho por ti.
Um poema que substituisse todos os medos por promessas.
Um poema que diminuisse distâncias ao alcance de um beijo teu.

Mas quando te tenho perto prometo-te o meu amor no beijo,
E não tenho medo.. porque és tu o meu poema.

2010-05-26T05:18:00.000-07:00

I never knew what to do with people. I'd dive under to try to avoid each dissapointment but it seemed everytime I came up for air the angry sea caught up with me. Every breath became harder, every blow made me weaker, I was drowning.
Maybe it was my fault, venturing into the water when I didn't know how to swim. Everyone else made it look so easy. No matter how hard I tried to learn, I just couldn't get it right. I convinced myself I didn't like the sea because I couldn't enjoy it, and the notion that I was only - barely - surviving made it a frightening monster in my mind.
I stopped trying eventually. I let myself sink, tired and bruised, into the deep dark emptiness. I lay there, my limp body against the cold sand, for a long time. I was sure I was dead. I waited for the sharks to come tear away what was left of me - skin and bones - my insides were empty. I was hollow. They never came.
It was when I stopped fighting that the current had enough strength to carry me. I had given up, it was stronger than I was. My fate lay in its path. We travelled togehter, in silence, until I started feeling warmth again. I was floating. The sun shone through my skin, slowly replacing the freezing numbness with a tingling heat.
I took a risk, scared though I was, I opened my eyes. I could see, clearly. Like I had discovered glasses after a lifetime of blurred vision. I had thought the bluriness was clarity. That it was never brighter than shadows.
In the distance, somewhere along the horizon, there was an island. It was still far away and my body was still sore but I could feel myself floating in its direction. So I waited a while longer.
I was close now. I felt something. Something inside. Fear. Hope. Excitement. I knew then I was alive. And full.
Cautiously, I stretched out my arms, I pushed against the water with my feet, I tried. I was swimming. I could swim. Somehow along the way, I had finally figured it out. I knew in my heart, my beating heart, that I would be safe if only I reached that island. My strokes were still clumsy, and I too frail to gain speed, but I knew I'd get there. And I did.
I walked up to the beach, leaving the sea behind as I felt the sand between my toes. I was home.
I had work ahead of me yet. A life to build on my island. With bathtubs and bicycles and cherry trees. But there was time. As long as I had my island I would never drown again.

2010-05-23T14:15:00.000-07:00

Quero-te perto.

Preciso.
Preciso de te sentir.
A tua pele morena.
A tua pele salgada.
A tua pele macia.

A tua pele na minha.

2010-05-14T10:36:00.000-07:00

"Pedro lembrando Inês

Em quem pensar, agora, senão em ti? Tu, que
me esvaziaste de coisas incertas, e trouxeste a
manhã da minha noite. É verdade que te podia
dizer: "Como é mais fácil deixar que as coisas
não mudem, sermos o que sempre fomos, mudarmos
apenas dentro de nós próprios?" Mas ensinaste-me
a sermos dois; e a ser contigo aquilo que sou,
até sermos um apenas no amor que nos une,
contra a solidão que nos divide. Mas é isto o amor:
ver-te mesmo quando te não vejo, ouvir a tua
voz que abre as fontes de todos os rios, mesmo
esse que mal corria quando por ele passamos,
subindo a margem em que descobri o sentido
de irmos contra o tempo, para ganhar o tempo
que o tempo nos rouba. Como gosto, meu amor,
de chegar antes de ti para te ver chegar: com
a surpresa dos teus cabelos, e o teu rosto de água
fresca que eu bebo, com esta sede que não passa. Tu:
a primavera luminosa da minha expectativa,
a mais certa certeza de que gosto de ti, como
gostas de mim, até ao fim do mundo que me deste."

- Nuno Júdice

2010-05-13T01:32:00.001-07:00

Every day that passes is a day closer to you.

2010-05-12T12:43:00.000-07:00

A casa está em obras e todas as superfícies estão cobertas de pó. O único lugar vago para sentar é o baloiçinho de madeira pendurado no alpendre. Balanço-me lentamente, para trás e para a frente, virada para o sol, e perco-me em cenários imaginados, de olhos fechados, que um dia sei que vou partilhar.
Penso na simplicidade de um baloiço; duas cordas e uma tábua de madeira. Em torno, penso na nossa simplicidade, a que permeia quando estamos só os dois, e em como ela sustenta a complexidade do que nos rodeia. Essa complexidade dissolverá com o tempo, o peso do tempo provamos continuamente conseguir suportar, e a simplicidade, esta que é só nossa, permanece a única realidade.

No campo sinto mais ainda a tua falta.

I've been waiting for years. I never knew what I was waiting for. Now I do. I know it in my veins.

Tenho o mar à minha frente! O mar da Comporta. Aninhada num puff cor-de-laranja, coberta por uma manta às riscas cor-de-rosa, com um chá de frutos vermelhos a aquecer-me as mãos. O vento luta por virar as folhas do meu caderno mas eu não deixo. Apetece-me um doce. O mar está três tons de azul, pintalgado de rebentações em branco. Gosto do mar. A ilusão do infinito. O leito do sol. Uma tarte de limão talvez. Não. Tiramisú. É pelo nome. Há palavras a que não resisto. Garfo ou colher? Colher. Mmmm... desfaz-se na língua. E o pó de chocolate cola ao céu da boca. Comer pode ser um prazer. Há descobertas que demoram. Invariavelmente, escrevo alguma coisa que me faz pensar em ti. É mais forte que eu, és o meu tema preferido. Inexhaustible. Há descobertas que demoram. Descobri-te. E quero continuar a fazê-lo. E quero que demore. E quero descobrir contigo. E quero que me descubras. E mais, muito mais... «Discover me discovering you.»

2010-05-11T09:53:00.000-07:00

«You will only expect a few words. What will those be? When the heart is full it may run over; but the real fullness stays within...Words can never tell you...how perfectly dear you are to me - perfectly dear to my heart and soul. I look back and in every one point, every word and gesture, every letter, every silence - you have been entirely perfect to me - I would not change one word, one look.»

- Robert Browning

2010-05-10T13:29:00.000-07:00

You are my postcard. You didn't even have to ask.

(But I'm glad you did.)

stolen secrets.

2010-05-09T15:08:00.000-07:00

2010-05-09T14:18:00.000-07:00

2010-05-09T12:51:00.000-07:00

Sentada na sala de leitura da fnac. Sentar-me-ia no chão, não fosse o estar de saia. Num canto, dois adolescente partilham apaixonadamente um livro. Sinto um traço de inveja. Uma inveja saudável. Um dia vou.. sentar-me no canto de uma livraria a ler um livro contigo - apaixonadamente.
Tenho no colo um livro de PostSecrets, que folheio freneticamente. Ocorre-me que, agora sim, tenho verdadeiramente um segredo que poderia enviar. Tiro descaradamente umas quantas fotografias a algumas páginas predilectas com o meu telefone e não tenho medo se devia ou não. Ha! Pequena vitória nº164.

Hoje sinto-me gira. Em contrapartida ao fracasso de ontem. Vestida como uma maluca, as usual, mas é mesmo assim que me sinto "eu". E "eu" sou gira.

Adoro andar de escadas rolantes. É mágico. E as do metro do Chiado são geniais.

2010-05-08T07:32:00.000-07:00

Dear Jack,

It was lovely to see you today. I've missed you. And don't worry, I'm not upset you got my clothes all dirty. I would have been sad if you hadn't come give me a hug. Remember our agreement? You could sit on me all you wanted as long as I could cuddle you whenever I needed the closeness I wasn't allowed. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you I quite like the paw print on my jumper, it makes me smile.

A big slobbery kiss,

M.

P.s. Thank you for keeping my secrets so safe, you're better at it than me, I think they're written all over my face.

(it has to be enough)

2010-05-08T06:40:00.000-07:00

Que tempo deprimente. Não tenho vontade de fazer nada mas aborreço-me com a inutilidade. Não me apetece estar acompanhada e odeio estar sozinha. A manhã que ansiei já vai longe e agora sabe a pouco. Estou a refilar. Sinto-me insegura, é só isso. É este medo persistente de que as minhas cores verdadeiras não sejam coloridas o suficiente. Hoje era um daqueles dias perfeitos para me enroscar no sofá com uma manta e um chá a ver um filme. Mas a manta não tapa o frio desta ausência que me permeia e o calor que procuro é outro. Talvez se fechar os olhos e imaginar..

Melhor. Mas não chega.

2010-05-07T10:57:00.000-07:00

«7: What happens next?
9: I'm not sure. But this world is ours now. It's what we make of it.»

in 9

2010-05-07T10:39:00.000-07:00

De manhã, enquanto tomo o pequeno-almoço, penso nas coisas que tenho para fazer durante o dia e escrevo num post-it (amarelo, claro). Gosto das coisas, assim insignificantes, de uma determinada maneira. Gosto é um eufemismo. Dada a minha reacção ao imprevisto, diria que é mais uma necessidade. Uma daquelas coisas que me parecem tão óbvias que quase fico surpreendida que não o seja para os outros. Como escrever num post-it sempre com a mesma cor, ou conter apenas a caligrafia do dono do mesmo. Posto assim, é óbvio que não é óbvio para os outros como é óbvio para mim. Conclusão da história; recomeçei num post-it novo. Tenho noção do surrealismo com que estes momentos são encarados. Para mim, são aventuras. Catástrofes à espera de soluções. Não posso senão rir-me de mim mesma. Preciso, contudo, de ser mais eficiente no meu (self) damage control quanto a estes maneirismos, saí de casa atrasada e isso despoleta toda uma nova série de agressões ao sistema.

Hmm. Tudo isto me traz uma memória. Recente. Feliz. Uma certa manhã em que uma certa máquina de café insistia obstinadamente em atrapalhar. Como eu me ri. Como eu me sentia feliz a ver o sol nascer entre cafés e cigarros no degrau da janela. Cada encontro uma tentativa de dar nome à cor dos teus olhos, e ainda agora não me consigo decidir. Nos outros dias tornou-se tão mais difícil acordar. Não era a mesma coisa. Não é. Às vezes, flutua um instante no meu peito uma pequena tristeza, de todos os "não possos" em relação a ti, mas logo a seguir sorrio, um sorriso que é só teu, porque por trás do "não posso" está o "quero" e se quero é porque te encontrei, e só isso..

É tanto.

2010-05-06T14:15:00.001-07:00

Estou sentada no meu jardim. Sim, o meu jardim. Porque para me sentir tão profundamente em casa não poderia ser senão meu. Que saudades. Sei que também ele sentiu a minha falta. Sei porque o sol brilha. Sei porque sinto a relva sob os meus pés descalços a acolher-me de volta. Um pardal, pequenino pequenino, aproximou-se, tão perto que parecia querer dizer-me alguma coisa.

É, sem sombra de dúvida, o meu lugar preferido em toda a cidade. Não me canso de absorver o seu encanto. Sempre soube estar aqui sozinha, e gosto. Mas pode sempre ser melhor e hoje sei como. Sei o que falta. Companhia. Com "C" grande. A tua. Gostaria tanto de partilhar contigo o meu jardim. Só é meu quando aqui estou e queria mostrar-to como eu o vejo. Ias gostar. Tenho a certeza.

Aqui sentada, deitada, sentada outra vez, penso em ti. E sei que é assim aqui, como em outro lugar qualquer. Porque é assim. Penso-te com a cabeça e sinto-te com o coração e vá para onde for e faça o que fizer, tenho-te sempre comigo. Espero que não te importes. Não que tenha escolha. Não que te possa perguntar.

Amanhã volto.

2010-05-05T13:53:00.000-07:00

Há tanto que quero dizer. Contar. Coisas pequeninas. Que comprei a TimeOut e me sentei num café com o toffee aos meus pés a respirar cultura urbana. Que fui cortar o cabelo e os piquinhos me fizeram rir. Que comprei espargos e cogumelos frescos. Coisas grandes também. Como me senti. Como me sinto.

- I miss you when you're gone, Cranberries

2010-05-05T10:06:00.000-07:00

Tenho um treçolho. Não metafórico. Que chatice.

Mais um bocadinho..

2010-05-04T14:43:00.000-07:00

I'm scared. More so at the thought of being wrong. But i think you get me. Maybe better than i understand myself most days. I'm not used to being "got". It's wonderful. Therefore i'm scared.

22.04.10

E se eu dissesse que a ideia de perder-te me corta o ar?

I'll take whichever format you're offering.

24.04.10

You have a fish bone stuck in your throat. Metaphorically. The words that can't be dislodged. I'd like to be a piece of bread. Metaphorically. To ease away the discomfort.

26.04.10

Estou no quarto, e depois na sala. Estou no duche, na cozinha, depois tomo o pequeno-almoço. Falo, leio, escrevo. Estou sentada na rua ao sol, a olhar para os pés. Hoje o dia acontece-me. Como que por acaso. Estou aqui e ali e as horas vão passando, e não estou. Nem aqui nem ali. Estou sentada no chão de uma noite que passou a olhar a lua entre brechas das mãos. Troco as horas dos dias que passam por mais 10 minutos e um último cigarro.

27.04.10

I'm in the mood for asking
I beg my will not be denied
For what i want is nothing more
Than the wrinkles around your eyes.

27.04.10

Tento expressar, por meio das minhas palavras gastas, o que sinto ao te ver passar. Não sei dar outra denominação senão desarmante, e não chega. O choque, de conotação neutra, tem, por regra, um catalisador. É a esse despoletar que não chego a atribuir definição. Gosto de definições. Demasiado, talvez. E no espaço de tempo que perco, ou ganho, nesta tentativa infrutífera, passas novamente. E volto a senti-lo. O quê? Não sei. E o que sinto quando a frequente passagem se torna rara paragem, é o desenrolar de um novo conjunto de perguntas, cujas respostas gostaria de encontrar em ti.

29.04.10

É doloroso, estar junto a ti, não te podendo dizer que me apaixono pelas rugas dos teus olhos. O que fazer com o sorriso que escondo do amarelo mostarda? Com as mãos que fogem dos bolsos para um espaço infinito em que no toque é devolvida a sensação da tua pele? O que fazer com as lágrimas que me sobem no peito de te ouvir cantar as palavras que quero que sejam tuas? Doi-me a tua presença, não menos que a tua ausência, por não saber parar, por não querer fingir, por ser novidade o que sinto. Nunca antes, e nunca neste silêncio. O grito não se quer deixar domar e não sei por quanto mais tempo as correntes o prendem.

A sigh is your soul breathing.

It feels windy - inside. Which makes no sense but nonetheless. My own fault for leaving the window open. But i won't close it. The freshness doesn't cease to surprise me and i pine for a new beginning. I like beginnings. The hopeful chance for getting it right. We could get it right. So i don't mind the wind really. I keep having to fight my hair off my face to be able to see, but every time i get a clear visual is as worth the trouble as the last. I don't see any better way of spending my time than looking up and finding crow's feet.

And speaking of feet.. my heart stopped for no better reason than a bump in the toe. Enough. I fear if i don't pull myself back to reality i risk being stuck in my all too wishful mind.

Sometimes there's nothing but a wall between us. And you speak in music. And i hope its me you are speaking too. I know you know i can hear. I wonder if you know my hopes. Is it them you speak to?

Sometimes, its just as good when you don't say anything. As long as you're in front of me.

Quando as vozes se tornam insuportáveis. E o silêncio não chega para as afastar. Busco explosões no céu, que me dêem não as respostas, mas o descanso de tanto as procurar. A espera é mais difícil quando sabemos o que esperamos. Nada é tão difícil quanto a dificuldade presente, as memórias diluem-se e o futuro é mera suposição. O presente vive. Quero o que espero e espero de tanto querer e na ânsia de encontrar-te, temo em te perder. Porque eu posso continuar sem ti, e fazer desta espera nova procura, mas sinto-me descontinuada somente ao pensá-lo e a esperança é a última a morrer. A espera dá, ao menos, um descanso à procura. Não quero procurar mais.

E se eu dissesse que contigo o mundo é uma fotografia, e quando te foco tudo o resto se dilui?

Gostava de entrar na tua tristeza e, com ternura, fazê-la sorrir.
Gostava de te saber, como sei o lápis e o papel.
Gostava de aprender os teus suspiros e retirar-lhes toda a dor.
Gostava de despir os teus segredos e dar-te novos a aquecer.
Gostava que tu gostasses.

«You're always trying to keep it real
I'm in love with how you feel
I don't see what anyone can see
In anyone else.. but you.»

02.05.10

E mais.

2010-05-04T10:43:00.000-07:00

Clumsy is fitting. Endearingly so. I find myself staring. For which i apologise, but not really. So much kindness. Once i wanted to be the greatest. I don't anymore. I want to live the greatness in others. We could go dancing. We should go, anywhere, anything. You were in the sunshine today. My light, my warmth, my joy. We could go dreaming. You canvas, i paintbrush. There's a faint echo of you in the music, i can almost hear you sing. We could go swimming. In the moonlight. Just you and i in the freckled darkness. And the sound of unsettled waters. You unsettle me - to the point where i never want to stand still again. We could go running. You'd lose me in the high grass and i'd whisper you back to me. I wake up and the sky isn't falling anymore. I'm not so afraid to be scared. Every day can be halloween, every ghost can be make believe. You're real, amost too real, almost painful. Just enough. We could stay. Together. For as long as we made eachother smile. For as long as it takes to end the world.

05.04.10

Estou longe, tão longe, que nem de perto me alcançavas.
Acelera o passo, corre se for preciso,
Estou longe, muito longe, mas quero-te comigo.

13.04.10

Your smile fills my heart.

20.04.10

Purple rain has a whole new meaning. Because you look so good it really does hurt sometimes. Make it happen.

20.04.10

Não sei defini-lo, o que me fazes sentir. Ou talvez saiba mas não queira. Porque é melhor senti-lo que pensá-lo. Sei, contudo, que é delicioso. Como tu. Se pudesse escolher, não sentiria de nenhuma outra forma. Sou uma bola de sabão, tu também. Tecido frágil, quase tangível. Podemos rebentar sim. Ou podemos flutuar, sem rumo concreto, enquanto durármos. Gostava de me perder contigo, à deriva. Podíamos falar até gastar todas as palavras e depois gozar juntos o silêncio até que voltassem. Bastava o "se" se tornar num "quando". Quando quiseres. Eu espero.

20.04.10

Hoje queria. Um qualquer indício. Qualquer coisa que contrariasse a incerteza. Não quero estar sozinha nisto. É simples. Estou farta de imaginários. Sonho sim, mas com a possibilidade do real. Dá-me um bocadinho, pequeno que seja, de verdade. Uma verdade nossa. Minha e tua. Se soubesse ser mais que ilusão fantasiosa, talvez fosse mais fácil esperar. Talvez. Quero saber, mais que desejar, que esse teu sorriso seja para mim. Quero a tua ternura. Dizer-te como me enches. Surpreende-me. Mais. Por favor. Não sei se peço o certo, se quero o que digo e digo o que quero. Mas sei quem. Sei bem demais. Tu sabes?

20.04.10

Se tentasse, não conseguiria escrever sobre outra coisa. MAs não tento. Faz-me sentir mais perto. São as palavras que não podem chegar a ti. Ao menos não se perdem. Guardo-as eu, não te preocupes, eu nunca perco nada.

20.04.10

Quero dar-te a mão (acho que dissolveria) Valeria tanto a pena.

20.04.10

E se eu fosse um copo de iogurte?

20.04.10

A sala está cheia. Fecho os olhos e não existe ninguém. A não ser uma sombra. Persistente. Inquietante. Tenho medo de abrir os olhos e descobrir que partiu. Enquanto permaneço assim sinto. Não quero que parta. Egoísmo? Não. Dar-lhe-ia luz, se mo permitisse.

20.04.10

You're adorable in the morning. (BUt then you always are.)
6 a.m. and my heart is racing like i just won a marathon. You ask me if i'm anxious. Don't be, you say. Do you know you're to blame? I dreamt of you. MY dreams keep me from sleeping. Psst. You're adorable in my sleep. But even better in the morning.

21.04.10

Foram tantas as voltas que dei que os lençois ganharam vida.
Amarras soltas de força desperta, cuspiram-me da cama.
Procurei no escuro um cigarro, e lume, dei-me por derrotada.
Do frio que fazia na rua, protegia-me o manto do sono.
O fumo dispersava e eu pensava na posição do teu corpo - quase-morto, quase-vivo.
Voltei para dentro. Psst. Chamavas-me. A música também.
Não pude senão sentar-me, olhar-te, esperar que não me mandasses embora.
O meu coração cansado continuou a lutar por atenção que, sem saberes, eras tu que ias dando. Que todas as manhãs fossem assim.

21.04.10

Delírios, alguns.

2010-05-04T10:06:00.000-07:00

Twice a week, my heart beats twice a week.
Every other week it beats times three.
And then i wake the day after from the day before,
And my heart stops..

And then it beats some more.

18.03.10

Leva-me contigo
Leva-me p'ra longe
Mas leva-me perto..
Há no espaço entre as palavras
Um silêncio que (me) comove.

21.03.10

O que tu não sabes
E eu finjo que não sei
É que sabes melhor
O que eu saber não ousei.

22.03.10

És o dia que começa lentamente,

O sol tímido que se envergonha
De tomar o seu lugar no alto,
De destronar a lua
E dar descanso às estrelas

Pedes por favor às nuvens,
Nessa tua força prudente,
Que te saiam do caminho -
Nem sempre obedecem.

Demoras-te no meu peito
O teu calor na minha pele
E quando te despedes
Guardo nos olhos fechados
Nódoas negras da tua ausência

É por ti que durmo de olhos fechados.

22.03.10

A ressacar a tua ausência. Também eu me sinto presa às circunstâncias, quero o relógio sem tempo, o que quisermos, fazer-te sorrir, sorrir eu também.

28.03.10

Temo o que a liberdade me trará. Estás tão longe assim perto, o que fará a distância palpável? Quero a pura inversão. Mais que a imaginação. A confiança parece-me alcançável nessas últimas horas do dia em que a minha própria serenidade me comove e tu estás ao meu lado. A música é melhor assim, contigo.

28.03.10

O dia em que a hora mudou.

Combinaram encontrar-se nesse dia, à hora em que a hora mudava. Combinam cada um para si, na esperança da combinação do outro.
O dia tem tantas horas.
Antes do encontro viria ainda a dança silenciosa dos meios encontros. E ainda algures no meio desse malabarismo incompreensível, os três-quartos-de-encontro, cuja subtileza faz duvidar a realidade. Pela manhã, são os cigarros que se acompanham, as mãos que os seguram - e estendem em braços e corpos inteiros - não são mais que sombra de fumo. Entardece, e são as vozes que ecoam, não há ainda espaço para significados. O ritual ganha densidade, massa, volume. E cai a noite. Como companhia, só o vibrar da circunstância. Encontram-se afinal. Finalmente. Ainda assim, finge cada um a coincidência, receio do fingimento alheio. Os sentidos ganham sentido, em cada palavra, gesto, tom, pausa.. despedem-se desajeitados ao soar da meia-noite, e sem perturbar o silêncio, entre o pensamento e o sonho, a hora muda.

28.03.10

2010-05-04T08:57:00.000-07:00

Serendipity

1. The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident.
2. The fact or occurrence of such discoveries.
3. An instance of making such a discovery.

Less is More

2010-04-18T23:37:00.000-07:00

beauty in the breakdown

2010-04-18T14:50:00.000-07:00

«Oh lover hold on 'til I come back again
For these arms are growing tired
and my tales are wearing thin

If you're patient I will surprise
When you wake up I'll have come
All the anger will settle down
And we'll go do all the things we should have done..»

- Duet, Rachael Yamagata feat. Ray LaMontagne

2010-04-17T17:17:00.000-07:00

«The chance factor in life is mind-boggling. (...) And through an astronomical concatenation of circumstances, our paths cross. Two runaways in the vast, black, unspeakably violent and indifferent universe.»

in Whatever Works

Because you bring out the best in me.

2010-04-17T09:01:00.000-07:00

Pensei que talvez não fosse real. Que o afastamento o comprovaria talvez. E queria-o assim (mas na verdade não) porque a desilusão seria menor, talvez. Mas agora sei que é verdade em mim. Porque, com uma outra sobriedade, o sinto. Porque encontrei a tua voz à distância e desaprendi em segundos todas as palavras na ânsia de te continuar a ouvir. Porque deixei de te ouvir e continuei a contar 20.000 segundos. Porque o meu coração se acelera em medo de teres já encontrado a característica única que dizes ser suficiente para descartares uma qualquer pessoa. Porque sei que agora não, mas gostava tanto que depois sim. Porque me desconcertas, e é em simultâneo delicioso e tortura. Porque não discuto assim com mais ninguém. Porque mesmo que nunca me encontres, eu encontrei-te. Porque és a música no silêncio e o silêncio na música. Porque é a ti que quero escrever histórias. Porque hoje é um dia diferente, o que é em si especial, e é a ti que quero contar cada instante, é contigo que o quero partilhar.

- Say it to me now, Glen Hansard.

2009-11-09T02:50:00.000-08:00

As vozes em redor estão mudas
Bocas cheias de movimento vazio
Penso de ti em abraços passados,
Vontades secretas qu'inundam a pele.

Permeias meu tempo; meu escuro, meu claro
Guardas tu segredo em gestos falados
Espero sem desespero revelações circunscritas
A sons graves, jogos meigos d'àngústia finita.

- Holdin' on, Citizen Cope

2009-11-08T11:59:00.000-08:00

«What do I do when I want to...
Be as close as I can get to you?
I feel like a cruel girl
Saying both yes and no
I want you to want me
I need to trust you though...

What do I do when I fall through...
Fears so long and dark that I lose you?
I feel like a lost girl
Letting my torn heart show
If you're so far away, boy
How will you ever know...?

What do I do?

I feel like a small girl
Falling beneath your form
If I set you on fire...
Will you keep me warm?

What do I do when I want to...?
What do I do when I want you?
What do I do, what do I do..»

- What do I do, Sam Phillips

i live to let down.

2009-10-21T06:56:00.000-07:00

Not today. Today i am disenchanted with the world's mysteries. Today i want the simple life of the hermit, hiding in his cave, detached from human contact. We are never content with satisfaction. Never satisfied with contentment. All i can feel today is discomfort; heat, hunger, exhaustion. I care not in the slightest for imperatives and truths. Lead me to the rock that is higher than i, for i am so low there are blisters on my feet. It is never enough to try harder, feel deeper, profess louder. All i have lost and al i have gained become nothing more than rough drafts of what is still to come. I care not for this waiting, silent agony of hoping predictions of tragedy are less likely - though understandable. Don't give to receive. Concerns for my worth grow heavy yet weary. I am weary. It is just so. Pen to paper brings nothing but sadness, for which i haven't the energy. Find me that off-button, put me to sleep, it makes no difference.
It makes no difference.

(14.10.09)

Unspoken is not unknown. Unspoken is not untold.

2009-05-25T09:39:00.000-07:00

Let it be me.

2009-05-21T06:31:00.000-07:00

« je lui dis que je me détestais. Je lui dis en souriant, car je le pensais, mais sans douleur, avec une sorte de résignation agréable. Il ne me prit pas au sérieux.
- Peu importe. Je t'aime assez pour t'obliger à être de mon avis. Je t'aime, je t'aime tant. »

- Bonjour tristesse, Françoise Sagan

2009-04-29T15:43:00.000-07:00

And if it weren't enough that i feel guilty for every mouthful, of even air or thought, i have the added remorse for making my mother worry about the continued absence of my smile. I wrap myself in metaphors and cryptic analogies because its so simple its too close for comfort. I wish i could just spell it out. Scream. SCREAM!
What i don't want to talk about is what makes the best prose and what i do is the best substitute for sleeping pills. Might as well keep my mouth shut. Everything hits at once. I'm hurting. Where's the emergency stop button?

- Turpentine, Brandi Carlisle

gone baby gone

2009-04-29T14:57:00.000-07:00

I should never think
What's in your heart
What's in our home
But it's all i want

You'll learn to hate me
But still call me baby
Oh, love
So call me by my name

And save your soul
Save your soul
Before you're too far gone
Before nothing can be done

I've tried deciding when
She'll lie in the end
I ain't got no fight in me
In this whole damn world
Tell you to hold off
You choose to hold on
It's the one thing that I've known

Once I put my coat on
I'm coming out in this all wrong
She's standing outside holding me
Saying, 'Oh, please
I'm in love
I'm in love'

Girl save your soul
Oh save your soul
Before you're too far gone
Before nothing can be done

'Cause without me
You got it all
So hold on
Without me you got it all
So hold on
Without me you got it all
Without me you got it all
So hold on
Without me you got it all
So hold on
Without me you got it all
So hold on

- Never think, Robert Pattinson

lighter out of fuel.

2009-04-27T16:06:00.000-07:00

What is this i'm doing? If i could only put a word to it. Stupid. Reckless. Pointless. Nothing seems to fit exactly. The consequences, of course, are miserable. And misery itself. Although the latter was already (t)here to begin with. I haven't the strentgh to convince myself i can alter the balance. I feel no control. Distinctly aware, however, that something must be done. Soon. The pain i bring on myself is worse than the one brought upon me. It may just be my weary fight against the numbness. To feel bad is better than nothing at all. I can't truly believe that. Maybe the familiarity of guilt is easier to deal with than that other breaking. Nothing about this is easy.
I don't know what i'm saying. I don't know what i'm doing. All i know, with aching certainty, is that it is doing me no good. It is destroying me. Physically yes. But it is my heart and mind that stretch thin. I can't keep picking up my own pieces. I can't keep making the same mess. Especially to escape a new one. I am not strong. I write in circles. I think in circles. I need this to get easier. I need to be more than this.

I need to not sound so profoundly unoriginal.

- Never think, Robert Pattinson

self-destruction in 5..4..3..2..

2009-04-27T14:54:00.000-07:00

I don't know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can't react
And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You'll make it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You've made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing along

- Falling slowly, Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova (Once OST)

I forget to breathe and in turn forget how.

2009-04-24T16:55:00.000-07:00

I feel (so) foolish. I should know better. Everyone does. Its not my place. I will reduce myself to silence. It may seem quiet here (but) its never been so loud. Even if i dared speak all the words that would accomplish nothing, i wouldn't have enough oxygen to let them out. I'm trapped. My cage fits only one.

2009-01-30T20:16:00.000-08:00

I'm sad today. Tonight. A subtle gloom lingered all afternoon and out of nowhere thunder struck. I must have missed the lightening. Shy tears roll down my cheek, streaking my make up, draining my soul. Drowning my heart. I am sad for my own loneliness. I don't think I can pretend anymore. It is all intentional after all. Self-preservation. I wouldn't know how to recognise a risk, let alone take it. With all my efforts to stray from the herd I may just be the most flagrant stereotype. The game is over and I can't find my way out of where I'm hidden. The stillness is torture.

Attempts at a replacement are painfully disappointing. Poor unsuspecting souls. Race lost before the gun shot. What they're lacking is, rather unfairly, that none of them are.. you.

i WANT them..

2009-01-09T13:51:00.000-08:00

Too fucking sensible. I can't bring myself to let go of that much money for shoes. Even if they're on sale. Even if they're perfect. Bah Humbug.

2009-01-04T17:31:00.000-08:00

There's a lot on my mind but it's late and I'm sleepy.

My heart aches for the people in suffering. Those who've been under my nose the whole time i was too broken to notice and those i never even got to meet. I'm sorry i couldn't ease their pain but now I'm willing to try - whatever i can. I still don't know how to go about it.. but I'm thinking and I'm aware and i won't be that person anymore. I will not be a shitty friend and a flaky stranger. I will not be self-destructive nor pretend i don't know I'm being mistreated. Not anymore. All i ever needed was to be acknowledged and understood, with a small amount of patience and kindness. I knew if i could just find it the load would lessen. It did. It may seem small but it saved me and now its my turn. If anything, I'm understanding. And a sucker for damaged goods.

Enough now. All is forgiven, if not forgotten. We do mend.

flightless bird

2008-12-30T06:52:00.000-08:00

Two out of three of my New Year's Resolutions resolved before the end of the previous year. This might be my year. Finally. Happy, hopeful and strong. I am strong, all on my own. I may not wake up to birds singing and sweet words but i can create both for myself. I am a little sad that I might be the cause of these impossible romances and not merely an innocent bystander. There is always a part that can't, that arrives too late or too soon, but there is always another part that is.. me. I am not regretful or angry, I don't hold anyone to blame. Not even myself. I only hope there is no such thing as a limit to how many chances you get. I have a knack for letting them slip away. I find comfort in knowing there is something i keep, and maybe you too, that stops us from ever breaking, falling away from each other. I don't know how to feel. New emotions for a renewed life, a new year. Maybe, just maybe, i do have some kind of beauty of my own. Maybe, just maybe, I will be worth, someday, to be chosen over complicated situations and situated complications. I'm o.k. with waiting. In the mean time, enough missing opportunities to miss an opportunity.

I hate Christmas. I've said it a million times.

2008-12-24T18:08:00.000-08:00

I've only worn it twice and both times I've gotten myself into a horrible mess. A dress that resulted from my father's escape to Beirut. A beautiful silky dark blue dress. It is trouble. The first time i wore it - it was borrowed - i met someone who would shift me out of my comfortable non-existence and leave me hungry for more. The second time - after it was offered to me as a Christmas gift - it became the subject of a full blow-out of my unashamed pettiness (for which, due to stubbornness, i was unable to apologise). I wonder what memory will cling to it more adamantly. That of the first time offender or the misunderstood serial assailant? Perhaps unfairly, it will probably be the former. If only because should i want to forget, i would surely find it a failed mission. Either way, both break my heart, a little every day, and win it back without ever uttering a word. I suppose its rather fragile, my little heart. The dress, however, is truly beautiful, and worth its already heavy history, in all likelihood, due entirely to it. It seems my anger has dissipated and i may be able to rest tonight. I might be inclined to give Christmas another chance tomorrow.

Bang Bang. My baby shot me down.

2008-12-17T05:23:00.000-08:00

I took a certain amount of pleasure out of packing this time around. Having had the unfortunate, albeit short, experience of alternating homes every weekend - some ten years ago - packing is not an activity I look upon with any sort of excitement. However, today, I enjoyed it. I chose a specific playlist and went about tidying the apartment meticulously. My goal was to leave no trace of myself. Of course, I love tidying, on my own time and terms. I left two piles of clothes for my remaining days with little notes on top; ‘Thursday – Last night out’ and ‘Friday – Flight home’. All beauty and hygiene products organised by order of use in the bathroom and on my dresser. All items not belonging to me that found there away up here over the past few months neatly stacked in a paper bag to return to their rightful owners. Not entirely sure what will happen to my pop-art Audrey Hepburn painting, would very much like it to find its way home shortly after I do.
I like chapter endings. In life, I mean. So many “lasts”, so many “firsts”. I like that. Goodbyes are never really permanent in this day and age anyway.

2008-12-16T03:20:00.000-08:00

«As I'm sittin' in the taxi for the sky
He's off to slay some demon dragonfly
And he looks at me, that long last time
Turns away again and I waved goodbye
In an envelope, inside his coat
Is a chain I wore, around my throat
Along with, a note I wrote
Said "I love you but, I don't even know why"

But darling, I wish you well
On your way to the wishing well
Swinging off of those gates of hell
But I can tell how hard you're trying
Just have this secret hope
sometimes all we do is cope
Somewhere on the steepest slope
There's an endless rope
And nobody's crying

Well a long night turns into a couple long years
Of me walkin' around, around this trail of tears
Where the very loud voices of my own fears
Is ringin' and ringin' in my ears
It says that love is long gone
Every move I make is all wrong
Says you never gave a damn for me
For anything, for anyone

But darling, I wish you well
On your way to the wishing well
Swinging off of those gates of hell
But I can tell how hard you're trying,
Just have this secret hope
Sometimes all we do is cope
Somewhere on the steepest slope
There's an endless rope
And nobody's crying

May you dream you are dreaming, in a warm soft bed
And may the voices inside you that fill you with dread
Make the sound of thousands of angels instead
Tonight where you might be laying your head.»

- Nobody's crying, Patty Griffin

2008-12-15T15:37:00.000-08:00

I guess it's all a question of perception. I will miss this city like it were my own. And for a time, for a few select moments, maybe it was. Red ink immortalises every dying hope, every living dream. I am partial to any amount of kindness and every amount of sweetness.

I've lost your voice.

2008-12-15T15:12:00.000-08:00

I hate feeling like I'm being made fun of. It has to be one of the worst feelings known to man. Humiliating. Demeaning. And all happening in the (dis)comforting silence of your own head. Never sure whether its just another petty insecurity or the fact that two people share a private laugh whilst you have the floor is proof of mockery. I suddenly shrink to the size of a mouse, squeaky, unwanted. It wakens the dormant thought in the back of my mind that I've so (im)maturely been avoiding. I'm trying too hard. I try too hard. Will everything fail in comparison from now on? It was so easy. For just a few days i didn't need to try, i didn't play a part, i could just be.. and that was enough. Maybe its only me i am not enough for. I don't want to go back to my old ways. Incessant worry about intake and outtake. If only willing my brain to stop would make it so. Stop. Just stop.

Is it so wrong to want to be liked? Someone has to. You first.

my hands are cold.

2008-12-12T16:58:00.000-08:00

«And I'd give up forever to touch you
Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
Cause sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight»

- Iris, Goo Goo Dolls

I’m tired. And a little drunk. Perhaps the reason for admitting to liking such a cliché of a song. My throat is burning. With more than broken promises. A week until my return.
Christmas is maybe my hardest time of year. This year will either be the same for entirely different reasons or entirely different for the same reasons. Then comes New Year. Rebirth. The pledge of change. So much has changed already.
I can barely keep my eyes open but my chest is bursting. It’s 3 a.m, I must be lonely. I’m sure that’s the lyrics to a song. Yes. Matchbox20. Aren’t I in a teenage mood. Breathing suddenly comes easy. A quiet relief. I think I may be asleep already.
I haven’t the energy to wipe off my make-up. I haven’t the strength to push forward. I do. I just don’t want to. Not yet. I’d rather listen to acoustic versions of every love song ever written and compose my own reminiscence. The city night-lights are like spots on your eyes when you stare into the sun. You pull your eyelids down but for a few seconds those colourful bruises remind you of it’s brightness. A few more minutes of madness and then I’ll close the chapter on this long long day. Wait for me. I’m on my way.

Post Hoc Ergo Procter Hoc

2008-12-11T16:53:00.000-08:00

And suddenly there is silence. A different kind of silence. Not the pause where you guess what the other is thinking or take comfort in hearing them breathe. An emptiness. All is quiet. All is still. The mind strays to those places it doesn’t recover from, a tendency that must be fought in the name of self-preservation. I can feel my heartbeat, an acute awareness. My feet cold on the stone floor. I should go to bed but I dread the waking from my dreams. Any minute now I’ll wake from this one. I wish I could save every word, and every absence of one. Maybe if I try hard enough, I can expel these emotions that mar the grace. But I embrace them; every last one of them is a faithful reminder. Even unfairness, even jealousy. Not that I need to be reminded. I couldn’t even sit through an extremely compelling play without going off, in the back of my mind, to mental reruns time and time again. I would hate to sound desperate. I hope my penmanship too falls into that singular understanding. It is what I think about and it is what comes out. It is what it is. Above everything, I am grateful. The seeming melancholy is inevitable. I am almost proud. Tomorrow everything will be different. For once, the past will be the healthier option. I will close my eyes and find myself lying on the grass, in the wintry sun, aware of the closeness, body and soul. I’ll know it was real, no photographs, no drawings, just a consciousness under my skin.
I miss you already.

black tears

2008-12-11T06:30:00.000-08:00

«Just hear this and then I'll go:
You gave me more to live for,
More than you'll ever know.«

- Last Goodbye, Jeff Buckley
(because music is so conveniently misinterpretable)

You wanted something sweet. And I gave you nothing. Not because there was nothing to say but because nothing was good enough. Nothing at all seemed better than some common place overused quote from a soap. So, in the end, you didn’t get what you wanted but you got me. Hopefully, that was enough. It’d be a great screenplay, the whole thing. Maybe I’ll give it a try.
The line between sweet and awkward wears pretty thin. I’m so terribly afraid of awkwardness; I always think it’ll taint perfect moments. Usually it makes them more memorable, more real, more personal. Now there’s something I like, personal. There are so many things that I could say, but to what avail? Speak your mind and it becomes truth, sound in time, free to judge. I will not be judged. Not for this. It is mine. My little treasure. My Jerusalem.
I cannot remain unmoved. I do not. My cold cold heart has melted. I know the unknown. Life and time continue, two of 6.7 billion share a story all their own. A sole human being counts. When time has done its bidding and loss becomes forget, I will hold on to my little details. Irrelevant recollections. How I never felt as beautiful as when seen through your eyes and spoken from your voice. That in itself, a thought to exile my sins.
I tread carefully still, yet the transition from present to past has begun; idyllic memory, utopian reflection, the tools to fill the void.
A proud romantic feels intensely, perhaps disproportionately. Excess emotion is my geographic birthright. My home a fragile web, spun of instant, time and place. A single fragment left behind, the fact beyond the fiction.
Fate is too unfair a concept to believe in, my decisions are my own. With that, each one is life-altering, consequential, corollary unpredictable. I try so hard to hide my sense I risk losing it to confusion. I am inarticulate before you. Unusual but refreshing. A welcome peace of mind. I think I may have found my truest self. It certainly feels easier. What I mean to say I am not sure. That words are few but sentiment is not. That I am afraid to spoil reality by embracing my desire to think of nothing else and in writing spoil yours. That assume what you will goes on in my mind, it won’t be presumption. Yes. Here is what I have to say: it is whatever you wish it to be. You have my words and my permission to fill in the blank at goodbye with anything. Your choice becomes what happened. That shall be the truth.
Enough.

«Sadness is easier because its surrender.»

2008-12-10T09:04:00.000-08:00

I am happy. It’s hard to admit. It feels like tempting fate. It holds no place to hide. It is, however, the truth. Life is not perfect, not even close. Colours aren't brighter, tastes aren't stronger. I didn't wake up one day with all my problems solved and all my troubles soothed. Nonetheless, I will repeat myself. I am happy. I feel younger everyday, regressing from the age of 60. I see beyond the bad. I acknowledge, appreciate, and am grateful for the good. The good that was always there, trapped underneath the full weight of my guilt. I ignore the unpleasant, enjoy the unexpected. I am patient. I listen. I learn.
But happy endings don't sell as well as tragedy (of Elizabethan proportions). So I thought about it a while. My words felt shallow, even empty. My mind, my heart, are not. Tragedy, it turns out, need not be a Greek masterpiece. I have never aspired to such greatness. I have my own tragedy, tragedies, in varying degrees. I can, I must, profess them without falling to that pit of sorrow. Pain is immortal yet it reminds me that I am alive. I shall call them, instead, misfortunes. Remove the element of disaster. One becomes fond of one's misfortunes - like holding a grudge. We nurture them, analyse, obsess, provoke. Amidst all the frustration I sometimes forget how it first came to be. Some could, perhaps, have been prevented. Others, I wouldn't dare. It is the Shakespearian way. That the end comes with tears is not to say it wasn’t worth the beginning. It may even add a certain charm. The romanticism I crave. Excess sentimentality keeps my innate stoicism at bay. Poetry and prose fill the lack of beauty I feel. My lips don’t say enough. My voice speaks only silence. The need to confess is stronger. Becomes a gesture of hand, an equivocal look, shaking knees – oblivious to the unsuspecting, blatant to the searching. Music has always been the most eloquent communicator. I don’t have to explain how you make me feel, I can show you. Here:

The Nutcracker (Tchaikovsky) - Pas de Deux, Intrada.

2008-12-09T16:18:00.000-08:00

Dangerous thoughts carefully encased in manipulated truth.
Even when the door was locked, from you I learnt my youth.

Here lies no reason, merely rhyme. Torn illusion, be still - be mine.

The dimming light, it blinds my eyes, the sand, it heaves my heart.
Wandering mind finds wandering soul, the end before the start.

In short supply, this time so cruel. You’re the clown but I’m the fool.

My nonsense for your sanity, your present for my past.
There is no room for tragedy, I know the verve at last.

Find a secret, keep it safe. I drink the poison, blissful fate.

Fill my lungs with air and drop me in the deepest sea.
I will find my way ashore, to you the faintest memory.

Hand in hand, don’t say a word, what keeps you warm will leave me cold.

Close your eyes. Lose your step. And I, in turn, shall too.
I can but heal, with sad surprise, this love I barely knew.

Time's up.

2008-12-09T16:15:00.000-08:00

Time. So much is said to describe it. Time is slow. Time is fast. Time is not enough. Too much. Time is forgiving. Time is cruel. Time heals. Softens. Erases. Time is priceless. Time is money. Time is an illusion. Time is inflexible. Impenetrable.

Time is what you choose to do with it. I chose to ignore it, for a long time. I woke up one day, not long ago, and time - my time - was irretrievable. I wanted it back instead of wanting to go back. I wanted to give it purpose, meaning, opportunity. I couldn’t. I can’t. Every minute I spent grieving for my lost time I was losing more time. So I stopped. I took the time to take my time and use it. Think it. Feel it. Hear it. Breathe it.
I would give you all my time. We have so little time. We had so little time. All the time I gave away was worth the waste. Without it there would never have been our time. A long time in exchange for a short time. I wouldn’t have it any other way. So I forgive my absence, my excuse, my failure, my flee. These hours are timeless. You set me free.

going.. going.. gone.

2008-12-07T13:56:00.000-08:00

«Haven't laughed this hard in a long time
I better stop now before I start crying
Go off to sleep in the sunshine
I don't want to see the day when it's dying
She's a sight to see (sight to see)
She's good to me (good to me)
But I'm already somebody's baby
She's a pretty thing
And she knows everything
But I'm already somebody's baby
You don't deserve to be lonely
But those drugs you've got won't make you feel better
Pretty soon you'll find it's the only
Little part of your life you're keeping together
I'm nice to you
I could make it through
But you're already somebody's baby
I could make you smile
If you stayed a while
But how long will you stay with me, baby?
Because your candle burns too bright
Well I almost forgot it was twilight
Even if I think that you are right
Well I'm tired of being down, I got no fight
You're wonderful
And it's beautiful
But I'm already somebody's baby
And if I went with you
I'd disappoint you too
Well I'm already somebody's baby
Already somebody's baby»

- Twilight, Elliott Smith

New Year's Resolution

2008-11-28T15:37:00.000-08:00

«I was broke
I was tired now I'm [bound]
My head is off the ground
For a long time I was so weary
Time will decide, but before
No one loves the nighttime at the door
[Hope she] finds things I've [deemed]
Something between the burning light and the dusty shade

Said I used to think the past was dead and gone
But I was wrong, so wrong
Whatever makes a [---] makes you strong, makes you strong
And by time I'm melting into many forms
From the day that I was born
And I know that there is no place to hide
Something between the burning shade and the faded light

And I was broken for a long time
But it's over now
Said I was broken for a long time
But it's over now
Said I was broken for a long time
But it's over now

Yes you, yeah you walk these lonely streets and people stare
People stare
Now some fool just got [near]
And I do pretend
Now I'm free from all the things that saved my friends
And I was [debted] to the end
Now I know I can change the mood
Something between the burning shade and the faded light

And I was broken for a long time
But it's over now, it's over now
Mm it's over now, now, now
It's over now, it's over now.
It's over now, now, now.»

- I was broken, Robert Pattinson

old habits die hard. fuck, i hate clichés.

2008-11-27T11:53:00.000-08:00

Jumping from one addiction to another. Food is a given. Cigarettes. Alcohol. Television. Drugs. Oddly enough, human contact never stuck. Why is that? Obssessive. Systematic. Anything compulsive that gives the illusion of continuity. Sure, i can scrutinize over whether "x" or "y" likes me as well as the next person but there is nothing i tire so easily of as potential long-term company. A rather unfair exception to my inherent life-code. I'd trade my talent for bingeing any day to feel passionate about another human being. If only it were that simple. Here; take my cigarettes, give me romance. It could be argued that i sabotage any situation that could be considered healthy, if only to maintain a plausible excuse for not getting on with my life. I feel old. Surely, i shouldn't feel this old. I postponed emotional maturity in detriment of the intellectual variety. Post-mental breakdown i am perplexed by the former and incapable of the latter. I missed the window. Stopping to enjoy life's necessary futility was too high a price to pay. I didn't need beauty or popularity or crushes, i was on my way to academic superiority. If it turns out i wasn't meant for that either, i'm not quite sure what i'm left with. The only relevant concern is, of course, personal defeat. Who will have me when i won't even have myself? I refuse to believe i just haven't met anyone i could fall head over heels for in the last 5 years, you were there, i was simply too busy striving for world domination. Honourable motives perhaps, but such a sad story to witness. I wonder if i could've been stopped. If anyone realised i was headed for uncontrollable caos. Ah. There's the irony. I was looking for you. For someone so intent on controlling everything, i certainly let my every move control me. I can see it happening all over again. Taking a step back, running away and putting everything on hold to fix something i can't quite decipher, getting caught up in the satisfactory progress, allowing myself the belief that i am in fact on the right path, not knowing when to quit and watching the finish line grow distant behind me and oh so suddenly, like i hadn't been ignoring my conscious ever so swiftly the whole time, i am breaking again and i'm right back where i started. They say third time's the charm.. i know what i'm doing, transparently, painfully so. Yet i can't bring myself to admit it, should someone try to stop me. So i let out these tiny cryptic cries, i hint at my desperation in the hopes of finding the one soul that has figured out how to deal. Like the phoenix, my ascent from the ashes is the beginning of my downfall. Another addiction, i suppose. Intent on crushing every last piece of my wanning soul until i bring about its stubborn death. Finally defying my childish conviction of immortality. Maybe then i will get my peace. Pity it'll be too late.

No one is more exhausted and bored of my persisting self-deprecation than myself, i promise. I find hope in provoking any kind of reaction, one of these days it'll be my turn to wake up and realise what i have to do. My endurance is my worst enemy. I hold my breath every morning for the provocative "I can't take it anymore". Trouble is.. I can. Relentlessly. I no longer remember the relief when suffering takes a break - it doesn't - so i am immune. Stuck in limbo between life and death and too familiar with it to be pushed one way or the other. The only choice i have is to be entertained by my own bleak outlook. The girl whose glass can never be half-full. Better to just knock it over and use the shards as weapons.

2008-11-25T12:25:00.000-08:00

I lose myself to illusion. I only hear my version of anything said. One small gesture of kindness is a gigantic love affair. Don't touch me, i might evaporate. I have trouble separating fantasy from reality. Or maybe i just don't want to. Its better in my head.
There is no dissapointment in my world. Everyone is beautiful, even me. Its always raining, satin drops. Escalators take you anywhere you want to go. Dancing is better than sex. Your dream is your truth. You can go back and do it again, as many times as you want, in any way you want. There is no word for 'mistake' or 'regret' or 'guilt'. Memories never fade. You won't forget a voice or taste or song. You are nothing and everything simultaneously. An olympic gymnast, a nobel laureate, a musician, a child. You can invite anyone. There is no awkwardness, no insecurity. The perfect soundtrack plays in the background. You feel only what you want, with whom you want. Its never boring. Its not hard. Its enough.
Strangers make for the best lovers. Platonic love is all i know.

2008-11-25T11:35:00.000-08:00

I was sitting quietly. Thinking. Breathing. Keeping to myself. You had no business coming in. I have always been alone, i understand solitude and it understands me. I chose safety. Now my heart is breaking and i never knew love. Take your hand off my chest. Please. Its heavy. You weigh on me. 877,752 minutes since you didn't stop to think. I was so sure you were real. I could touch you and feel you and taste your smooth skin. I blinked in the sunlight and you were gone. Come back. If only to collect the mess you made of my sanity. I can't remember the last time you kissed me. I hate that. The bitterness endures long after the fondness has died. I want revenge. No i don't. I want to forget. There wasn't enough time. You didn't give me time. I needed time. I built the wall. I can't rememeber the details anymore. Did you try to pull it down? It was my fault. It was your fault. I can't decide. Someone has to be to blame. It has to make sense. It feels like it will never go away. Stop me. Deliver me from my punishment. You are the weakness in me. I sleep to escape your absence. The least you could do is stay out of my dreams. If you're gone, be gone. But i am still here. You know where to find me and you won't. As long as you don't care i will. I was never wanted that way. Before you. I never wanted that way. Before you. I am naked. I am trapped. The cracks keep opening no matter how hard i glue. I've lost my voice, my passion, my talent and still you rip me up. My words are empty. My best is still my worst. I talk to the ghost of a dead man i almost loved. I am tired of carrying your rejection in my throat. Exhausted.

Repeat after me: "I could probably survive without you but i don't want to. I want you. No one else will do."

Anyone.

2008-11-25T11:06:00.000-08:00

I hate everything i have to say. I have nothing to say. Profoundly uninspired. I am broken. I am fake. You are nothing more than the perception i have of you. Which i bend to my satisfaction. I am unsatisfied. Dissatisfied. Shoot to aim. I will forgive you.I always do. Look into the mirror and find that its glass. I am not on the other side. If you wait too long you dissapear. No more love stories. Hope is for romantics. Faith is for the weak. Invincible is not impermeable. Melt my cold cold heart with words of truth. You don't miss me. You mourn the loss of a salvageable soul. There is only winter here. Hungry for illusion. Pick a fight. Pick me. I only wanted you to see me. You looked away. You couldn't bare the ugliness. It makes too much sense. You were ordinary after all.

2008-11-23T01:55:00.000-08:00

«Come on skinny love just last the year
Pour a little salt we were never here
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer

I tell my love to wreck it all
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Right in the moment this order's tall

I told you to be patient
I told you to be fine
I told you to be balanced
I told you to be kind

In the morning I'll be with you
But it will be a different "kind"
I'll be holding all the tickets
And you'll be owning all the fines

Come on skinny love what happened here
Suckle on the hope in lite brassiere
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
Sullen load is full; so slow on the split

I told you to be patient
I told you to be fine
I told you to be balanced
I told you to be kind

Now all your love is wasted?
Then who the hell was I?
Now I'm breaking at the britches
And at the end of all your lines

Who will love you?
Who will fight?
Who will fall far behind?»

- Skinny love, Bon Iver

yes, i just spent the last two hours reading about virginity/sexrelated topics online.

2008-11-19T13:15:00.001-08:00

I don't know if its human beings in general or women or just plain me but i have a very accute tendency to self-analyse and feel the need to pin-point the exact reason(s) why i am or am not able to do something or other. It seems obvious to me that understanding your barriers or lack-of can help solve the problem. In all honesty, in my years of obssessive self-scrutiny and introspection, even when accompanied by a professional, i've never really felt like i could deal with a particular issue more easily after i dissected and understood it but it is a general consensus that "bottling up" and ignoring your way through life is unhealthy so i keep at it.
I started this search, not for scientific explanations, but to find out what kind of questions people have and how or why they are inclined to talk about them or seek advice. I, of course, have questions of my own but am not the type to disclose my insecurities/doubts in that department. This is in no way because i feel i am somehow superior or having nothing to learn, merely that i find the subject of sex on the whole to be awkward and embarassing and the kind of thing i'd just rather not talk about at all. Which i guess says alot about me. So while browsing the internet and amidst some horrifying stories/confessions ranging from insanely young people having sex to some (and i apologise if i sound pretentious) incredibly stupid questions - seriously, its the 21st century, it is an affront on humanity to be that disinformed - i found something else. A woman posted her concerns on a website, searching for advice and no doubt needing someone to talk to. I found it heartbreaking and touching and (maybe a little selfishly) a relief that a random stranger shared some of my thoughts and experiences.
So here it is:

« I recently turned 24 and I have never been in a real relationship. I am in love with my best friend, with whom I have had a very interesting and painful 4 year friendship. He took my virginity at the age of 21, and he is one of 2.5 guys I have slept with; he is the only one I have hooked up with more than a couple times. He has cheated on two different girl friends with me, and he tells me he loves me but he has always been very clear that he will never be in a relationship with me. I have asked him a couple of times why. After a lot of beginning, he finally gave me list of everything that is physically and mentally wrong with me.

He likes petite girls, as do most guys. I am tall (for a woman) and big. I weigh over 200 pounds, though I carry it well. I do not have a pretty face, though I would not call it ugly. It is also not particularly interesting. He told me that even though I have a good personality, I am not physically attractive enough for him to ever be with me. Mainly, I am too fat, my hips are too big and my face is just not attractive. I have felt the same way about my appearance for a long time; and while I am doing everything I can to lose weight, it just doesn't seem to work. I have been starving myself this week, and I have gotten to the point where I just don't feel hungry anymore at all. That and if I do eat, no matter what it is, I feel incredibly guilty and start to cry. I feel ashamed that I am so overweight, even though I am proportionate, and I feel like I am just insufficient when compared to other women in my age group.

I also started scheduling consultations with plastic surgeons. While I am not wealthy, I am willing to go in debt over my looks. Specifically, I want to get face, chin and neck liposuction so that I no longer have a fat/ugly face. I feel like I am obsessed over my appearance, but it is because I am sick of seeing the man I love hooking up with all of these beautiful women while I just sit and wait and cry. I have no respect for myself, and my self-hatred has caused me to be hateful towards other fat or ugly people.

It is consuming me, and I feel myself spiraling downwards. I feel that as a woman I should look a certain way, but that no matter what I do I will be big. I am convinced that if my appearance does not change, no man will ever want to be with me. Even the good guys don't want to date an ugly girl. I don't feel feminine at all. I suppose what I want more than anything is advice. I like who I am as a person, but I no longer feel like I am separate from my body. What I look like is more important to others than who I am or what I have done. I have even thought of suicide because I feel trapped in this horrible body with this horrible face. I just don't know what to do, and I don't know what is right. The only thing I do know is that I do not want to lose my friend, and that I wish he could see past my severely flawed physical shell. Please help me. »

I was going to add my own commentary but those who know me well enough know what went through my head reading this and those who don't are quite frankly lucky. My point is i think this testimony clarifies ruthlessly that the reasons for not having sex can be a lot more than «What are you, some sort of religious fanatic?» or «Are you one of those freaks who doesn't feel sexual attraction?».

(I apologise if what i have written is in any way offensive but inappropriate comments will not be tolerated.)

what you feel only matters to you.

2008-11-11T09:31:00.000-08:00

«Oh doubt in the girl by your side
She’s feeding your pride
As you go for a ride down the star mile

Worlds arise as she lets you come in
A duo begins
To the Hollywood din of lonely

And all the gold dust in her eyes won’t reform into rain
You had and lost the one thing
You kept in a safe place
Remember the face
Of the girl who made you her own
And how you left her alone

All’s well at the base of the hill
You might need to fill
a prescription to kill off the silence.

Look down from your tower on high and take in the night
Look her right in the eye
She’ll listen

Life comes to those that are true
The regular news
Over playing the blues with the light on

And if you burn the road that’ll lead you back to her in time
I'll watch you turn to stone
Can’t find the sublime

She’s moving on without you
The tide breaks
You watch the stars fade
They gather you back to their home
I guess it’s better than being alone»

- Star mile, Joshua radin

Everyone makes mistakes. If you keep telling yourself that maybe it'll make things better. It won't. It's your mistakes you can't forgive. It's your loss. It's your fault. You weren't good enough. If you'd somehow done it differently. But no. You didn't. And you can't go back. And now it's just you alone and the music. Using other peoples' words to mirror your sorrow. Everyone has secrets. Not you. You have no mystery left. Only faithless projections of a utopic future. And the music. No sleep will rid you of how tired you feel. You're gone. When the memories go so do you. You lie and you deceive and it works on everyone but you. You don't know what to say anymore. You have no words left. The music too is fading.

I hate that i'm thinking about you

2008-10-17T13:55:00.000-07:00

Fool you made the girl fall in love
you said those beautiful things
she thought you spoke things you mean

Caress her skin like it's glass
she hears your voice making plans
and she just breaks in your hands

You don't wanna see somebody beg
as you feel her heart surrender
you begin to fall
How do you say that something's through
when it never even started
at least not for you

You breathe her air and you leave
you keep your mind on yourself
and lie the glass on the shelf
After the heavenly speech
your body throws holy heat
the angels sing when our eyes meet

It wasn't a lie but it wasn't true
I just wanted to make you feel good
just wanted you near
I wasn't prepared I wasn't thinking of you
that you could actually love me
it never should have started

She's dreaming back on the past
every opinion agreed
doesn't know what to believe

It must have been for a cause
our lives have so many doors
don't think about him anymore

But it was the kiss, it took me away
it's like he knew that I am fragile
she said he handled me like glass
and it hurts but it's what I deserve
because I should have been more careful
with the others that I handled
she said I should have been more
I should have been more
and knowing this I know
that he'll get his
but I don't want the man to suffer
oh, not the way I am
cause deep down I know that he's glass too
but it really doesn't matter
until it's happening to you
everybody breaks
everybody breaks
sometimes

- Gavin DeGraw, Glass

I still love you.. sometimes. Only sometimes.

2008-10-15T08:35:00.000-07:00

«20,000 seconds since you've left and I'm still counting
And 20,000 reasons to get up, get something done
But I'm still waiting
Is someone kind enough to
Pick me up and give me food, assure me that the world is good
But you should be here, you should be here

How colors can change and even the texture of the rain
And what's that ugly little stain on the bathroom floor
I'd rather not deal with that right now
I'd rather be floating in space somewhere or
Worry about the ozone layer

And it's almost like a corny movie scene
But I'm out of frame and the lighting's bad
And the music has no theme
And we're all so strong when nothing's wrong
And the world is at our feet
But how small we are when our love is far away
And all you need is you»

-k's choice, 20 000 seconds

Act as if ye have faith and faith will come to you.

2008-10-01T14:39:00.000-07:00

FATHER CAVANAUGH
Did you pray?

BARTLET
I did, Tom. I know it’s hard to believe, but I prayed for wisdom.

FATHER CAVANAUGH
And none came?

BARTLET
It never has. And I’m a little pissed off about that.
I’m not kidding.

FATHER CAVANAUGH
You know, you remind me of the man that lived by the river. He heard a radio report
that the river was going to rush up and flood the town. And that all the residents
should evacuate their homes. But the man said, “I’m religious. I pray. God loves me.
God will save me.” The waters rose up. A guy in a row boat came along and he shouted,
“Hey, hey you! You in there. The town is flooding. Let me take you to safety.” But the
man shouted back, “I’m religious. I pray. God loves me. God will save me.” A helicopter
was hovering overhead. And a guy with a megaphone shouted, “Hey you, you down there.
The town is flooding. Let me drop this ladder and I’ll take you to safety.” But the
man shouted back that he was religious, that he prayed, that God loved him and that
God will take him to safety. Well... the man drowned. And standing at the gates of
St. Peter, he demanded an audience with God. “Lord,” he said, “I’m a religious man,
I pray. I thought you loved me. Why did this happen?” God said, “I sent you a radio
report, a helicopter, and a guy in a rowboat. What the hell are you doing here?”

- The West Wing, S1E14

I haven't been to mass in a year. I decided that for me to be suffering like this i was either being punished or God couldn't possibly exist. I couldn't find a rational reason for punishment but of course i couldn't turn of my Faith. I decided that if God ignored me it was because he didn't love me so i would ignore him with the naive logic of a narcisist projecting a human-like God that would be upset that insignificant little me was turning her back on him. Now i do feel like i deserve to be punished but i don't believe He would do so. I wonder why it is easier to lose faith in humanity, living and breathing truth in everyday life, than to shake off the influence of an idea passed along by our religious community and the entities in charge of our education. I am not inviting a theological debate, i don't need convincing of whether or not God exists, i believe it without needing anyone else to agree with me, i just wish (again for my own self-centered sake) that i didn't, only because i think it would make my life easier, but i am probabaly wrong. I find myself feeling guilty for trying not to believe in Him and shouting in my heart « I hate You! I hate You so much i don't believe in You anymore!» but the irony and paradox of such a statement is painfully obvious. It occurs to me that while i concentrate all my energy on proving my suffering, punishing myself for my mistakes and harboring grudges nad regrets, i fail to acknowledge the good that permeates my journey on this earth, however trifle it may seem to me, and furthermore, if i weren't so afraid that giving in to a moment of satisfaction would make me lose my place as the victim of all which has befallen me, i might notice more than what goes on inside my wounded heart and find in the world that i share with others, some form of divine intervention, not a miracle but a spiritual nudge in the right direction. I am stubborn and i am proud and i don't want to lose this fight against Him, but it seems trivial to battle on when i have more to lose in doing so than in continuing to hope, as so many do, that someone is up there and He can help, if only we are willing to let him. Maybe the world is only a petri dish for random caos and if that is the case i wouldn't feel guilt and sorrow at having abandoned or dissapointed or merely failed to recognise the importance of so many people who have come to me and tried to save me or simply ease my pain but i do and to me that means that those people had a purpose, a covert mission as guardian angels. So if there is in fact purpose to this life we lead Faith is - No, my Faith is accepting and believing that God is responsible for what would otherwise be called coincidence. I don't believe in coincidence, i believe in cause and effect, action-reaction, and i choose to believe that God sends us radio reports, helicopters and guys in rowing boats. In retrospect, i am sure i have missed many an opportunity but i have not yet drowned. Tonight i will pray, i will try, which is more than i have done in a long time, and i may feel frustrated and lonely and still ignored and i may even shout «I hate You! I hate You!» but i won't pretend not to believe when i can't even fool myself.

2008-09-25T06:34:00.000-07:00

«Suppose I said
I am on my best behavior
And there are times
I lose my worried mind

Would you want me when Im not myself?
Wait it out while I am someone else?»

- John Mayer, Not myself

I don't even know what to say. If there were some sort of equivalent to a CAT scan able to measure suffering in the brain, i'm sure death would be prescribable. I find it hard to believe that anyone on this planet feels the same way i do because why are you still here?
but then i am so it's just another fun paradox.

Once I wanted to be the greatest.

2008-09-20T13:16:00.000-07:00

To miss someone.. the empty hole in your heart that aches for someone you love, you need, you want. I guess that’s why it’s so easy to pack up my things and leave, time after painless time. I don’t miss anyone. Maybe my heart is the tainted blue of hypothermia, frozen and numb. I do need and I do want but love is a two-way street, you have to feel needed back, and wanted. Who’s to blame is not the question but people always leave. At least people always leave me. There is an empty hole in my heart that yearns, that aches, but there is nothing but pain in that dead vessel but for its blood pumping. I have long forgotten where the pain came from and long gave up the hope that it would leave, that I would mend. There is only sadness and anger and regret pumping through my veins, keeping me alive, barely. It’s my fault I won’t even give myself the opportunity, the glorified benefit of the doubt. My broken heart is my only companion, the lasting memory of the soul that perished, the one I miss. The little girl who thought she could be the greatest until she discovered that her life would sum up to nothing but mistakes, and as suddenly as she had discovered the world she was gone, crushed beneath the weight of her innocent sins. No one noticed her leave, not until there was no way back. So I nurse my faulty heart with the only shadow that stayed behind, her unblemished hope, but even that grows dark and indistinct and soon too will freeze over. Until perhaps I allow the heat to come close enough to warm me up and melt away all my foolish mistakes and return me to my clarity. And as I cry myself to sleep I pray for the morning I wake up and that little girl looks back at me in the mirror and tells me she’s found her way home.

I am only human and that’s my saving grace.

week and a half itch

2008-09-20T13:14:00.000-07:00

When you were here before
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
And I wish I was special
You're so fuckin' special

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.

I don't care if it hurts
I want to have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice
When I'm not around
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.

She's running out again,
She's running out
She's run run run running out...

Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special...

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo,
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.
I don't belong here.

- creep, radiohead (brandi carlile cover)

maybe this next path will be the right one..

2008-09-08T21:00:00.000-07:00

You know it ain't easy
For these thoughts here to leave me
There's no words to describe it
In French or in English
Well, diamonds they fade
And flowers they bloom
And I'm telling you
These feelings won't go away
They've been knockin' me sideways
They've been knockin' me out lately
Whenever you come around me
These feelings won't go away
They've been knockin' me sideways
I keep thinking in a moment that
Time will take them away
But these feelings won't go away

- sideways, citizen cope

..maybe it'll make these feelings go away

For the record: I could love an apeman. So why can't you see me?

2008-07-24T17:22:00.000-07:00

There's more to me than the reflection in a fucking mirror. So fucking love me already.

alcohol, pills and cigarettes

2008-07-24T16:44:00.000-07:00

- Wow, that's so lovely..

Biting lemons like soft tender skin. Feast away my fastidious friend. Horny little bugger. You may have me now. I don't wanna lose myself. Whisper icey words agaisnt my hot skin. Close your eyes chocolate princess. It'll be over soon. Beads of sweat and tears. Hush now. I'm only as good as you're worth. You taste like rain. I want you to want me. Tell me what to do. Ssh. Keep your voice down. Claws and fists. Don't you dare stop. Breathe. I love this song. I never meant to make you cry. Satin sorrow. When i'm not.. you are.

2008-07-17T07:08:00.000-07:00

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don't mean anything
When you've got no one to tell them to
It's true...I was made for you
I climbed across the mountain tops
Swam all across the ocean blue
I crossed all the lines and I broke all the rules
But baby I broke them all for you
Because even when I was flat broke
You made me feel like a million bucks
You do
I was made for you
You see the smile that's on my mouth
It's hiding the words that don't come out
And all of my friends who think that I'm blessed
They don't know my head is a mess
No, they don't know who I really am
And they don't know what
I've been through like you do
And I was made for you...
All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don't mean anything
When you've got no one to tell them to
It's true...I was made for you

-The Story, Brandi Carlile

one year anniversary of the dark times - chapter II: when everything turned to fuck all.

2008-06-25T13:15:00.000-07:00

«A long time ago, we used to be friends
But I haven't thought of you lately at all
If ever again a greeting I send to you,
Short and sweet to the soul I intend.»

- Dandy Warhols

Não sei onde estás. Onde vais. Onde ficas. Do que gostas, tão pouco. Mas quem sou eu para perguntar? Deixaste-me tão depressa como derrete um gelado na praia em Agosto, sem intenções de algum dia me (re)procurares. Não é de ti que sinto falta mas da maneira como me via reflectida nos teus olhos. Não foste a única coisa que perdi nessa guerra, só talvez a que partiu mais abruptamente. Não te preocupes, se passar por ti na rua, fingirei que não te vi, tal como tu farias. Mas um dia vou acordar do lado certo da cama e tu não vais ser a cara na almofada.

Bleeding hearts.. falling slowly

2008-04-04T04:34:00.000-07:00

«Looking up the hill tonight
When you have closed your eyes
I wish I didn't have to make all those mistakes and be wise
Please try to be patient and know that I'm still learning
I'm sorry that you have to see the strength inside me burning
Where are you now, angel now
Don't you see me crying
And I know that you can't do it all
But you can't say I'm not trying
I'm on my knees in front of him
But he doesn't seem to see me
But all his troubles on his mind he's looking right through me
And I'm letting myself down deciding is falling you
And I wished that you could see I have my troubles too.»
- The hill, Once OST

O que é que eu sei? Convencida de que a beleza da tristeza é um preço justo a pagar.
Sem viver não há hipótese da acusação de o fazer sem jeito. Nunca soube nada. Cada dia é uma nova ferida. O que tenho é cansaço. Bater no ceguinho não lhe devolverá a visão. Dava tudo mas não tenho para dar senão a repetição imaculada dos mesmos erros. O espelho racha a cada confronto e estar perdido não é mais que a ânsia por ser descoberto. O medo é incontornável. Depois de tanta guerra é tempo de ganhar. Leva-me daqui. Canto-te uma canção de embalar em troca de um gesto de ternura puro e verdadeiro. Dá-me a vantagem. Cada decisão impensável, e a falta dela o tempo parado, sem cura, sem paz. Qual é a escolha? Um passo, mesmo que errado, seria ao menos sair do sítio. Que venha um terramoto para me derrubar.

2008-02-05T07:25:00.000-08:00

Às vezes sabe bem ouvir música da Disney. (Sempre em inglês, à excepção da Mulan.)

Tale as old as time.

Um dia quando fores crescida explico-te. Não temos sempre as respostas, percebes? Eu não sei como descrevê-lo. É melhor esperar. O Futuro só o é enquanto fantasia do dia anterior. O Passado é o mais complicado. Nós somos humanos e como tal não gostamos de deixar nada para trás. É por isso que guardamos lembranças, que tiramos fotografias, que contamos histórias. O difícil é saber o que guardar que nos seja útil e o que se torna um peso. Eu própria não sei. Aliás, estou convencida de que estou virada do avesso e faço tudo ao contrário. É esquisito, eu sei. Como é que uma pessoa pode estar virada do avesso como se fosse uma camisola? É um bocadinho como acordar do lado errado da cama. Estou a confundir-te, não estou? É o que te digo, é melhor esperar. O tempo ajuda a assentar as ideias. Pode ser que dentro de dias, ou quem sabe anos, alguma coisa faça sentido.. e nessa altura podemos trocar impressões. Que tal? Está combinado.

Strange new world

2008-01-12T15:08:00.000-08:00

Será que o problema é mesmo querer as coisas erradas? A mim parece-me que quero o mesmo que todos os outros; beleza, sucesso, sanidade.. Talvez o fracasso esteja em ser a altura errada. Mas como deixar de querer temporariamente o que se quis eternamente? Qualquer compromisso traz injustiça. Se aceito que não correspondo à raça humana e de facto estou a pedir demais em ansiar por paixões e sensações e descanso de alma e maturação devo aceitar que a minha juventude não joga a meu favor e serão longos os anos até que o fim leve de mim a recorrente tentativa de um princípio. Se sou vítima de uma simples fase - adolescente ou não - de insatisfação constante e desespero então sou obrigada a esperar o incerto por tempo indefinido, simultaneamente e consequentmente alimentando as minhs neuroses.
Não posso mais fantasiar! Tudo o que sou não é mais que uma criança precoce que leva na sua pela um vago delinear de um corpo outrora menor. Antes fosse criança, inocência um orgulho e não carimbo estampado na testa. Os filmes são mesmo a minha droga, tão poderosa e viciante que largo qualquer tentativa de ser activa. Sou a menina com que todos os pais se deliciam, tanto que no fim do jantar sou requisitada para conversa enquanto os filhos seguem a sua vida. Seguir a vida. Não, desculpe, não compreendo, isso é uma abstracção? Não lido muito bem com elas, sabe? Deus e Amor e Emoção e outras tantas com letra maiúscula. De olhos fechados o cenário desenrola numa vida de perfeição em que eu sou protagonista mas ao abrir os olhos não passo de figurante e o filme nem sei de quem é. Vou esperando, fingindo que oiço os que se consideram sábios, que não se apercebem de que acreditar em conselhos quando não se acredita na existência é incompatível e a tentativa vã não é mais que paz de espírito do orador. Eu não sei quem te perdeu.

Bye bye baby.

2008-01-11T07:31:00.001-08:00

Once upon what seems like along time ago but was in fact only 8 months there was a young girl who was coming close to knowing who she was and furthermore was feeling rather giddy. I would say happy but this girl doesn't beleive in that word. Better yet, she's afraid of how powerful it is and simply doesn't trust it. Well, 8 months later that same girl is feeling pretty damn miserable and now that is a word she understands, always has. Anyway, this girl has been trying - for months - to get back to that time where, even though she wouldn't ever admit to it, she was genuinly happy, and its becoming increasingly clear that the way she is going about it isn't helping. Crystal clear. So she decided to do something different. Truth be told, she only realised she had done it after the fact. One remarkable thing about this magical period in her life was her hair. Yes, her hair. She had a funny quirky haircut. And today, in the spirit of a new year beginning and hope for new changes arriving she decided to go get her hair cut for the first time since her birthday, almost a year ago. It looks just the same as it did then. So even if its strength is merely symbolic.. its "good for a change". One can only hope. Happy New Year.

Me

2007-11-26T07:36:00.001-08:00

2007-11-24T04:39:00.000-08:00

Uma semana. 7 dias até voltar para casa. Home sweet home. Até passou depressa. Até parece que foi ontem. Vai ser tão bom voltar para casa. As saudades são tantas. E o descanso é necessário! Os mimos da mãe, as confidências da mana, os telfonemas, os encontros, os desabafos, os reencontros.. uff! Tenho uma lista que cresce diariamente de coisas que quero fazer em casa. casa. Não me canso de repetir estas duas sílabas. Gosto muito da minha nova casa mas há coisas que não se substituem. E dois meses não competem com os que me conhecem há anos. Até já.

Ma chambre

2007-10-16T04:01:00.000-07:00

three years on blogger!

2007-10-14T13:50:00.001-07:00

You saw me then as i am now.. thank you.

2007-10-14T03:31:00.000-07:00

«Menina de lacinho, a minha idealização de feminilidade. Um olhar bem alto da altivez necessária que se desmancha em sorrisos em grandes tardes passadas em conjunto. Um bolo de noz, uma melância, torres de chocolate, quartos, escritas, o recheio de uma companhia de horas infindáveis onde as palavras às vezes demoram a saír. Quantos momentos ao sol passados, quantos momentos em sofás, em muros, em bidões que fervem, em óculos de sol pintalgados de pequenos traços de fumo. És um porto seguro, de quem também eu espero ser. És a intensidade necessária a uma melhor aceitação da ambição, és a segurança coberta de uma insegurança que não consegues evitar, és desiludida mas não queres deixar de te iludir pela vida, e não o faças, apenas vive quem em ilusões se mexe, em fantasias, em desejos, em carinhos significantes em momentos perturbantes. Mais uma vez, num momento difícil, sabes que estou aqui para ti. Ah, e vai montar golfinhos.»

- V.R., 14 Julho 2006

"W" is for weekend. "W" is for work.

2007-10-14T03:14:00.000-07:00

A vida não é um mar de rosas. Qualquer coisa está a faltar. Tem de estar. Que sentido faria não ter porque lutar, razões para chorar, barafustar, parar..? A facilidade que descubro em partilhar o meu tempo com os outros tem uma particularidade menos positiva. É divertido sentar-me a jantar ‘fajitas’ no chão do corredor com mais cinco “colegas”, ver o Rugby no Bar no meio de dezenas de fãs ferrenhos e ficar a conversar sobre «n’importe quoi» com um vizinho até adormecer mas é evidente que há consequências por passar os dias numa atitude assumidamente diletante.. o trabalho amontoa-se. E quando nos é dado a conhecer o “bem bom”, qual de nós não deixa a preguiça instalar? Até resmungar pelo excesso de trabalho substitui fazer o trabalho em si. Preciso de motivação. O problema de um curso progressivo está na continuidade (redundante?), sem perceber a lição anterior não se vai perceber a seguinte e sem aumentar a velocidade não se vai sair do mesmo sítio. Blargh, águas paradas. Mas a urgência não é uma justificação que me convença. A pressão do deadline não pode ser uma causa legítima para estudar. Quero paixão. Quero a sede de conhecimento que garanto existir por já ter sentido. Ah. Mais um dilema da vida. Como recuperar uma sensação perdida? Vou já fazer uma lista e pedi-las ao Pai Natal. Já nem falta assim tanto tempo. O tempo suficiente para me portar bem e mostrar que mereço um mimo ou dois. Também não é fácil estar sozinha – mas eu aguento-me bem. Ha! Eis a motivação prescrita! Vou provar que me sei comportar, que faço o que me é pedido e o que não é preciso pedir. (Just like being home.. Oh I do miss my mummy, I do..I do!) Ui! Tantos presentes que vou receber este ano! Cobiçosa?! Eu não! Cada por si. Cada um à sua maneira. Vou tentar, porque cada um mais que isso não pode a si mesmo pedir. Realmente não estou acostumada a este esforço especifico.. mas quem sabe melhor que eu sobreviver a uma cabeça constantemente inundada de inutilidades (e utilidades!)? Hoje, Domingo, vou-me esfolar a trabalhar e se amanhã esta afirmação se provar falsa, espero vivamente um ataque de forças armadas.

askun fii jamiil medina

2007-10-09T05:18:00.000-07:00

O meu primeiro verdadeiro “rainy day”. E que chuva! Confesso que andar de bicicleta à chuva não é tão Jonathan Rhys-Meyer e Scarlett Johanssen a beijarem-se urgentemente no meio do campo como eu gostaria. Chegar a casa, vestir roupa quentinha e beber um chá é, consequentemente, incrivelmente gratificante. Depois de duas horas de ‘História do Médio Oriente’ e ‘A Língua Árabe’ tenho algumas cinco horas de estudo intensivo pela frente e depois treino de futebol e/ou rugby (seria de esperar que num país tão organizado conseguiriam comunicar o suficiente entre si para não marcar duas actividades ao mesmo tempo).. e provavelmente mais umas horas de leitura antes do jantar. Os NatScis (Ciências Naturais – pronunciados Nazis comicamente) estão todos nas suas grandes salas de palestras a desvendar o misterioso mundo da química, física ou biologia pelo que no corredor só se ouve o aspirador distante da SOMETHING nos quartos do fundo.
Tenho saudades de casa, uma sensação de “falta” saudável que me provoca um sorriso enternecido ao evocar episódios – estranhamente – recentes. O impedimento da correspondência imediata é simultaneamente frustrante, por transmitir uma impressão de ignorância equivalente à espera de notícias de um bloco operatório, e basilar, na medida em que o tempo permite acumular mais informação essencial para recontar e menos pormenores sobejos pouco amigos do tarifário de chamadas internacionais.
Que bem que se está no campo! O conforto é inimigo da concentração, já do sono…

Second floor - short corridor

2007-10-06T10:13:00.000-07:00

Estranho como tão rapidamente me acostumei a esta mudança. Estranho bom. Não costumo ser boa com mudança. Que palavra tão feia, “mudança”, nunca tinha reparado. Agora sou estrangeira por isso suponho que poderia simplesmente dizer change. A verdade é que eu já faço isso e também já sou estrangeira há muito tempo. Agora sou imigrante. É isso. A minha reacção standard às leves oscilações na harmonia do meu mundo é normalmente muito parecido com o que Freud inicialmente intitulou de «sintomas mórbidos», ou seja, histeria. Ter de REanalisar ao mais microscópico pormenor uma qualquer conjuntura que já havia sido sujeita a um complexo processo de auto introspecção é exactamente o tipo de situação que eu evito. Mesmo. E no entanto, aqui estou, tão longe (física e conceptualmente) do meu habitat natural.
Os dias aqui passam depressa e assim descubro como a rotina diária me assenta que nem uma luva. Matinal como sempre, aproveito o sossego das horas calmas para estar comigo neste quarto que agora é “o meu quarto”, gosto de o ter arrumado e organizado mas não de uma maneira esterilizada, só confortável, personalizado ao verdadeiro estilo estudantil: um ou outro objecto simbólico de recordação, uma manta e muitos posters.
A partir da alvorada geral, as portas deixam-se abertas e as entradas e saídas são bem-vindas. Os corredores também são uma paragem obrigatória quando o dia no exterior acaba. A noite vem mais tarde. Na cozinha todos partilhamos mas ouve-se dizer que na vizinha não é bem assim. O Mark, génio da matemática, dorme uma hora por noite e não parece ter muita necessidade de ingerir alimentos. É naïf e inocente e a minha primeira fonte (inesgotável!) de conversas intelectualmente estimulantes. O Fred (Freddy só eu lhe chamo, ajuda com as saudades de casa) é o meu teddy bear – grande é a palavra de ordem – todo ele é ternura, sem qualquer ameaça à sua masculinidade. Estuda no meu quarto e ajuda-me a decorar palavras árabes através de cartões que eu desenhei meticulosamente. Eu faço o jantar e ele lava as panelas. O James proclamou-se o meu “peer supporter” e quando entro em stress mode é o primeiro a socorrer – mas já todos ajudam, e ajuda mesmo! Ouve The Fray constantemente enquanto estuda a diferença entre células carótidas e umas outras com um nome semelhante que eu não senti qualquer necessidade de decorar. Sem aquele insuportável positivismo inabalável pelo qual certos indivíduos neste mundo se regem, é do tipo look on the bright side. A Sandra, que vem de Liverpool e é Serva, tem um sotaque reconhecível a quilómetros de distância. Linguista como eu está a tirar Espanhol e Português e já prometi dar uma mãozinha. Ofereceu-me um poster do James Dean porque sim. Girl talk, therapy and cigarettes. Mantém-se para a Nicole também com quem sou extraordinariamente compatível. Esta doida viajou pela América Latina sozinha e foi ao «Burning Man Festival» (Lembras-te, Freddy, do “Malcolm in the middle”?!). Prevejo um trio inseparável. Ontem, com a ajuda de alguns copos, já professamos o nosso amor umas pelas outras. Há três Jo’s – que eu conheço pelo menos – uma calminha, duas loucas. A Josephine que é (fortunately!) o género da minha mana e a Joanne. Party girls ao máximo. Which stays true para a Yoon, Coreana mas bifa, grita por mim do fundo do corredor só para me cumprimentar. No 80’s disco de ontem (devidamente caracterizada) conheci mais uns quantos. O meu grupinho de Orientalistas é composto da Harriet, outro James (há bastantes) e o Frankie. A Harriet é very posh-blonde-hyphenated surname-fun-sociable-British. O James é uma versão mais relaxada de mim e talvez por isso sempre preocupado se estou good. O Frankie é o niponic-wannabe do grupo, muito Indie e alternativo, renunciou ser Francis and all that follows. Os quatro montados em bicicletas, cortamos caminho por entre campos, vacas, pontes e riachos para chegar à FAMES (Faculty of Asian & Middle Eastern Studies). Eu sou Marrrta, Mata, Mutter, Martha… enfim. O próprio campus é alucinante, muito verde, muitos esquilos. E sim, há muito trabalho. Bem, se calhar já chega, só para dar um gostinho. Sinto-me em casa mas não me esqueço de casa.

Full of bits

2007-10-03T00:28:00.000-07:00

«So for those of you falling in love keep it kind, keep it good, keep it right..
Throw yourself in the midst of danger, but keep one eye open at night..
Somehow i'll get through the winter, somehow my lying will decay..
I'm a drug you don't want to give up..
Smoke your cigarette and wake your love..
Oh lover hold on till i come back again for these arms are growing tired and my tales are wearing thin, if your patient i will surprise.»

(Album teazer video - rachaelyamagata.com)

2007-10-01T03:07:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentleman,

Escrevo abordo do avião easyjet U22366 com destino a Luton. Estes últimos dias foram um caos inacreditável mas sem eles nunca teria percebido a magnitude do que é deixar-vos a todos e partir à aventura. Tenho mil coisas para agradecer:
Ao António primo, ao Tiago, à Rita, à Maria, à Cristina, à Catarina, ao Vasco, à Matilde, à Sofia, ao Duarte, ao Zaok, ao Jair e ao Freddy por terem alinhado no meu festim árabe. Ao João, ao Rocha, à Carlota prima, à Madalena, ao Ricardo e ao Baíco pela paragem simbólica. À Joana Queiró pela vontade. Ao Luís pelo telefonema.
À Maria pela sua festa, à Joana pelos brindes, à Matilde Amaral pela ternura e hiper-sociabilidade, à Luísa pelo entusiasmo, ao António Cid pelo consultório psicanalítico no jipe, à Cristina pelo kizomba, à Joana pelos cigarros, ao João Maria pelo perdão, ao Francisco pela condução, ao Gonçalo pela boleia e pela música, ao ZeGui pela camisa cor-de-rosa, ao Gustavo pela dança, ao António S.L. pelo “já que estamos numa de partilha..” e pelo abraço de despedida, pelo movimento dos pés descalços.
Ao Vasco, à Catarina e à Mafalda pela Fuzeta. Ao João Maria pelas horas e horas e horas de telefonemas. À Carlota pelo beijo queijo.
Ao Miguel pelos e-mails, o passeio no chiado, a última noite, a insistência.
Ao Zé pela espera, o café com gelado, a volta à Lapa por uma última despedida.
À Maria Pimenta pela excitação. Ao António primo pelo “ciao-ciao”.
Ao Tiago pela prudência. Pelo pequeno-almoço. À Carlota prima e à Madalena pela visita matinal no dia da partida. À Mana pela resmunguice que se traduz em ansiedade de separação. À Maria e à Joana pela surpresa no aeroporto, os presentes, o choro, o histerismo, as pastilhas, os beijinhos e abraços, as últimas caras que vi antes do check-in e o choro compulsivo que as demais surpresas me provocaram.
Pelo João Maria, a Luísa, o António primo, a Cristina e o Vasco pela intenção.
Por todos os que quiseram e não puderam despedir-se, pelos que não sabem que parti, pelos que merecem que lhes agradeça coisas que não posso escrever aqui.

Sei que me esqueci de coisas mesmo importantes.. é inevitável. Vou ter saudades e isso é bom, agora sei que quero voltar e que todos vocês gostam de mim (neuroses, complexos e silêncio incluídos!) Graças a esta lista de acontecimentos e tantos outros pormenores sinto-me um bocadinho mais segura de que vou dar-me bem.
Daqui a dois meses estou de volta, é mesmo pouco! Mesmo assim.. escrevam, falem, espirrem na minha direcção porque eu não quero, de maneira nenhuma, que deixem de fazer parte da minha vida.
Quem diria que este ano acabaria assim?
Com tempo seguir-se-ão e-mails individuais, pessoais e intransmissíveis (muito lamechas e sentimentais!).

Eu estou aqui:
209 West House
Homerton College
Cambridge
CB2 8PH
England

Muitos milhares de beijinhos babados e abraços asfixiantes e frases feitas.
Parto feliz.. não consigo imaginar melhor começo. See you soon!

2007-09-19T05:13:00.000-07:00

“This fall I think you're riding for - it's a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn't permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement's designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn't supply them with.” - J.D. Salinger

Enough falling. I'm changing environment. One week left and its driving me crazy. Must everything i do be "special"? Are you in or are you out?

Everybody's free - Baz Luhrmann

2007-09-16T11:16:00.001-07:00

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of ’99
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be
it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by
scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable
than my own meandering
experience…I will dispense this advice now. Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not
understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded.
But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and
recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before
you and how fabulous you really looked….You’re not as fat as you
imagine. Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as
effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing
bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that
never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm
on some idle Tuesday. Do one thing everyday that scares you Sing Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with
people who are reckless with yours. Floss Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes
you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with
yourself. Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you
succeed in doing this, tell me how. Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements. Stretch Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your
life…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they
wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year
olds I know still don’t. Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone. Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children,maybe
you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky
chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…what ever you do, don’t
congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your
choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s. Enjoy your body,
use it every way you can…don’t be afraid of it, or what other people
think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever
own.. Dance…even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room. Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them. Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly. Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for
good. Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the
people most likely to stick with you in the future. Understand that friends come and go,but for the precious few you
should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and
lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you
knew when you were young. Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live
in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel. Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will
philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize
that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were
noble and children respected their elders. Respect your elders. Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund,
maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one
might run out. Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will
look 85. Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who
supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of
fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the
ugly parts and recycling it for more than
it’s worth. But trust me on the sunscreen…

Orientalismos

2007-09-05T18:49:00.000-07:00

Quiet is the dead of night
All is silent
All seems right.

Grace

2007-09-05T07:26:00.000-07:00

Se eu pudesse ter um super poder?
Ignorar. Não, não ignorância. Saber ignorar. Criar um mecanismo de defesa automático para eliminar os pensamentos insistentes. Os que chateiam. A não-sei-quantas chamou-me não-sei-o-quê e eu não concordo mas não me consigo esquecer. Não-sei-quem sabe bem como me provocar mas eu não quero pensar nisso. Um botãozinho ou uma palavra mágica, uma capacidade inerente e puff..
O mais difícil de ignorar é a auto-crítica, a insegurança que se alimenta da mais pequena dúvida e cresce incessantemente. Eu não sou, eu não consigo, eu devia, blablabla. A sua presença é - às vezes - tão esmagadora que é impossível procurar «o lado bom» (Utopia?!). Devo manter-me ocupada, principalmente, para não ficar sozinha comigo mesma. É perigoso.
É preferível viver de memórias. Ainda há mais por fabricar. E por uma vez na vida quero mesmo acreditar que «vai correr tudo bem».

i wish you would come pick me up..

2007-09-02T19:14:00.000-07:00

Tenho medo. Tanto medo. Já fiz centenas de coisas mal. E mais farei. Dizem que para todos os problemas à solução e que quando nos enganamos é só preciso recomeçar. Recomeço outra vez. Já fiz uma, posso repetir. E o que não fiz faço agora e se for preciso faço também depois. A esperança não se separa da desilusão mas poder sonhar é em si o sonho mais alto. Ainda não me fui embora. E ainda tenho um bocadinho de esperança. Tenho o direito de querer e o dever de descansar. Quero descansar da auto-flagelação que impede a aceitação e descanso de me convencer que não posso ter o que quero. Afinal existe o tempo, e a impaciência só provoca a frustração. Delinear metas. Fácil. Cumprir metas. Possível. Relativizar. O mau não apaga o bom e o bom tem de compensar o mau. Wish me luck.

RESPICE FINEM (look to the end)

2007-08-18T17:31:00.000-07:00

I actually did it. I got this far. I'm still alive. I can't wait for a new life to start.

2007-08-13T11:29:00.000-07:00

everyone has secrets

2007-08-05T04:06:00.000-07:00

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12:08 AM