My hand to God
I didn’t mean to
After all what we been through
Men come in different shapes
Its how were made

Little harsh on in all strife
The way I felt most of life
The oak tree covers that old Ford
I miss it Lord
I miss it Lord
These blood red eyes
Don’t see so good
But whats worse is if they could
Would I change my ways?
Wasted times and broken dreams
Violent colors, so obscene
Is all I see these days
These days

Watch what you say
The devil is listening
Hes got ears
That you wouldn’t believe
And brother
Once you go to him
Its your soul
You can never
Never, never retrieve

These blood red eyes
Don’t see so good
But whats worse is if they could
Would I change my ways?
Wasted times and broken dreams
Violent colors, so obscene
Is all I see these days
These days

These days
All I see
These days
See these days
All I see


I Can’t Stop

May 27, 2010

I am not in the mood for poetry… I am just gonna spit it out…

Everything seems out of place.
I feel like I am not living the life I want to, but I am not really sure what life is that.
I feel like I can’t accomplish anything.
I have no patience for social interaction
At the same time, I feel lonely

I miss you, yeah blondie, I miss every single fucking day

But I only miss parts, the whole, your actions, are pretty fucking destructive…

But I guess I never did handle anything, so I am not sure how to heal, I am not even sure what am I writing right now…

OOOOHH SHIIIITT… my head.. my heart… my soul… all to hell… fuck fuck.

what is the fucking point…

I am done.

You make me sick…

April 11, 2010

The drifting, the far gone feeling of letting go. I could simply give it away open handed, but my soul won’t respond to my rationality, not any longer.

Once I deceived perception by prohibiting myself from saying what I really felt, felt sooner than expected, even if I didn’t know what I felt, or even, if I could really feel a thing. But I can’t scape from reminding you, I’m trapped in a chapter, that became a book, became a biography. Not saying, not reminding, it is like denying my own past, I can’t deceive anything, I can’t vanish with your existence, because it is like I don’t exist without the memories of you.

But that is just the paradox of the us, I couldn’t either exist with you, the us was real, but I wasn’t present as a single part, and our everlasting, overall coexistence was shadowing, sucking the singularities that made me real.

When I thought about it, it felt impossible that I could build everything again, no one would stand in front of the cards’ castle of my experiences, trust felt like an issue if I was saying the truth, I was awfully insane and destructive, and only you could sometimes control the beast.

But no, I was just miserable, nowadays I can control my act, I can re-interpret my experiences and share it, I know I could love again, and maybe love fully like I did with you, but the question is, would you still be there? Because you have never left my heart.

Now I am really…

April 7, 2010

After reading the previous words about staying and leaving, I felt immensely guilty about having shared what I felt, and urged to erase everything related to me, but than I took sometime to consider a few things, that I wanna share…

In the past few years I became a mad person, not a crazy libertine, but a demented man, lost in a myriad of feelings and irrational actions, that I couldn’t see the cause or seek any solution, specially because what was directing my searching was the very cause of my madness, US, and by that I mean, me loving you and not wanting to hurt you, but in a mad way.

So once I decided that if I scratched you from my life, part of my madness would go numb, and I would be able to understand what greater set of things made so demented. Than I realized that I created my demented condition, as an justification for the actions of hurting you, and those very actions, were a result of what became even clearer, my struggle not to change.

I realized what infinitum feels like, and what made me so afraid of it, and how YOU represented it. I used to live my life like everything was already determined to end at some point, so at the first of sight of a crack in the walls of my life, was interpreted as the final warning for the unavoidable end.

This mechanism, this great mechanism of defense, that my mind fabricated so all the things I went through in my life, wouldn’t affect me, this was against the very core of life, it was against living by FAITH. Yes, faith, that blind feeling that things will become great in time, living by faith, is like believing that what you live for doesn’t end or start, it goes on, and you go on with it, so you don’t quit, you can’t quit the infinity of life.

Once I realized that, I learned what is compromise. With you, it was a leash, that I never had worn in my life. I was as free as possible, free of conscience as well, since it was ok to finish anything at any point, it was only natural. Than you came and was ok too, because there was no reason to interfere with my uncompromising, until you saw what it really was, the first time we broke up. I never felt so strange, it used to be so simple, like when there was nothing to look back, but then, I would look back, and I felt, FELT SOMETHING, that was too much, I needed to come back.

But now you were in pieces, my mechanism of defense had destroyed you. So we started to dismantle it. Oh, we should never have done it without adults, that scissor was sharp. Every bit I opened up, every mask I threw away, every armor that I put out, came with feelings, feelings much bigger than me, I never had handled such things…

I needed to stay firm, you had a list of exigences, a schedule, I never had followed one, but I needed to, otherwise I would hurt you. That, that became a vice, I decided that if I followed the schedule I wouldn’t hurt you, and everything else was ok, I incorporated the routine as part of my mechanism of defense, and you noticed, and you kept pushing me, and I kept fighting back, not understanding why I was hurting you! I had compromised! We had the schedule!

Then I couldn’t take any longer, I was constantly hurting you, you were constantly asking me to give you a bit of my self, and I felt like I was doing what I could, and that was driving me insane. When I decided to give my self away completely, I was so reckless, I than became a demented person, really, I simply destroyed the core of all my defenses and felt everything at the same time, EVERYTHING, for the first time I felt the weight of my family, my childhood, my friends, the decisions I made and there was you, my first and only love, you kinda got lost among the Tsunami, sorry.

So when I abruptly ended things, I rushed to find comfort in the life I lived before we met, and there was none, I couldn’t no longer disassociate my self from my commitments, my college, my projects, I realized that those things didn’t have a programmed end, nothing had, I started to see what I liked in life, I liked those things that were endless! The infinite things. I learned how to compromise!

By than I had gastritis and couldn’t sleep, because, you were infinite too. But I decided that you were past, so, the experienced could be infinite, but the US part, had an end. Everything was fine, controlled, your very decision of disappearing, helped me. Until I discovered something that dropped the coin, and there it was, I steel love you, the losing you became real, and how! And now i realize, my love is infinite, but you must go.

You never wanted to go without an answer, here is the best I can give you. Please, be happy! And sorry for insisting to show up, and for saying what I feel, but feeling guilty in advance, for whatever I thought about doing, made me so confuse and made me do so much worse, that sharing what I think and letting you decide what to do with it, sounds much wiser.

I think that I might be able to let go now, and you, little blonde, jump out of the swing! Don’t be afraid, life will be great =)

bob once said

April 7, 2010

Don’t deny the form of existence, it would only be the resistance, from what urges, it’s not controllable, it’s almost a consequence of having memories and a conscience.

If you must have to control, you might as well have the power to fabricate a memorie, in which the almost significance of a prolonged experience is the grand outcome of wisdom, and all the scratches and pain are vanished by it.

Never assume that insomnia only drives you from the reality, don’t assume that only you feel trapped by the idea of unfulfilled feelings, that what never could work, is the only thing that should, that can drive you a part from any reality.

Once I was so high on the illusion that the end was there, and the grand outcome of wisdom was there, and everything was set, life could go on, that was already only part of my stage, until a stranger become part of that, that had already ended and shouldn’t interfere, it had a life of its own, but no, that meant else, much else, that felt like the sand was finally been swapped by the wind and slipping through my fingers.

Found great comfort on the misery of others, but now I am shaking, can’t even type, I’m hiding behind these foreign words, my far most desire, is to be in some other reality, one that never become complicated, one that feel like a sunny afternoon, forever.

Afundei a cabeça. Consigo respirar melhor agora. Meu corpo todo é leve, envolto pela sua ausência, e flutua. Tudo o que é matéria ficou nítido. Talvez ainda mais nítido do que o nítido de antes de ficar não-nítido. O fio, cuja uma das pontas estava ligada ao meu peito, arrebentou. Eu fiz arrebentar. Tive que tomar uma decisão radical de sumir com você. Foi talvez o momento mais dolorido da minha vida, em que eu dei uns 20 passos para trás. Chorei, coloquei a culpa de tudo em mim mesma, pensei um milhão de vezes que eu não queria fazer aquilo, senti o fio no meu peito repuxar até o insuportável. Até que arrebentou. E ficou doendo um tempo, acho que um dia. E depois os 20 passos que eu dei para trás viraram 40 para frente. A conclusão é que foi a coisa saudável mais triste que eu já fiz por mim mesma. Não quero ter que repetir isso nunca. Não quero também que seja definitivo. Eu só preciso de um tempo pra poder ir embora sem olhar para trás. Ainda tive que enfrentar o som do meu celular vibrando em cima da minha mesa, piscando a sua foto, enquanto eu andava pela casa, de um lado para o outro, com uma mão na cabeça e a outra no estômago, de tanto que eu passava mal, mal e mal, naqueles trinta segundos que aquilo deve ter durado. Nem sei, pareciam três horas. Foi também uma das coisas mais difíceis que eu já fiz. Eu estou indo embora. Contemplo o último dia em que me resta aqui. Céu branco tempo nublado quente.

E é assim que estou deixando esse blog hoje. Pois ele faz parte do pacote de coisas que vão ficar para trás, bem para trás, pelo menos por algum (muito) tempo. Espero que ninguém o apague para sempre (existe essa possibilidade, esse blog nunca foi só meu).

Estou  indo para:

Meu novo blog. Que agora é só meu. Porque precisa ser assim.

Semana que vem

February 11, 2010

Um judeu anda apressado, nervoso, com passos duros e decididos. Olha para o chão, cenho franzido, uma espécie de bico. Não é possível ver com certeza se é um bico, pois que tem uma barba cheia, que, saindo do queixo, tem uma ponta comprida. Como eu sei que ele é um judeu? Ele tem um daqueles chapeuzinhos redondinhos no topo da cabeça. Parecia que andava olhando para o chão para não deixar cair o chapeuzinho. Enfim. Pára em frente a um carro com tanta veemência, que eu paro também de andar. Puxa, a movimentos rápidos e precisos, um papel que alguém deve ter deixado no vidro do carro. Alguma propaganda. Vira-se de costas para o carro, olhando o papel com raiva. Estático por alguns segundos. Mantendo o cenho acarrancado. Tem um óculos também. Pequeno. Com um movimento dançante do braço que segura o papel, ele guarda o papel no bolso ao mesmo tempo em que abre a porta do carro em uma fração de segundo. Rápido mesmo. Quase um rápido de raiva. Volto a andar. Ele nem me percebe.

-Alô? (só pra garantir que eu estou lá)

-Alô. (É, eu tô aqui…)

Acho que, nesse momento, dá-se um alívio.

-E aí? (E aí o que?)

– E aí o que?!

– E aí a sua faxineira? (Eu já sei)

Hoje é terça? Já? De novo? Não, não é!

– Semana que vem, eu acho (Já sabe!!)

– Acha?

– Semana que vem (¬¬)

E aí a explicação da semana que vem, que já é informação demais.

Nesse momento alguma coisa de fora quebra a minha janela, um buraco enorme, cheio de pontas de vidro, espaço suficiente para passar alguma coisa que deve estar no meu quarto neste momento, mas não se vê em meio aos estilhaços. Fico procurando um chinelo, pra não me cortar, quando vejo: uma espécie de bola feita de durex com moedas de cinquenta centavos dentro. Foi isso que quebrou minha janela? Até que achei bonito. Sinto frio. O cata-vento do meu quarto gira sem parar, por conta do fluxo de vento que passa pelo buraco. E faz um barulho estranho, que parece uma música. Minha porta bate. O susto faz com que eu perca a atenção nos cacos de vidro. Acabo de pisar em um. Estou presa aqui, penso. Mas está sangrando um pouco. Só na semana que vem minha faxineira vem. Fico deitada na cama. Passa um dia. Alguma coisa, que vem pelo buraco feito na janela, cai no chão do meu quarto. Uma mini-piñata? Uma ovelhinha feita de papel com uns doces dentro. Mais ou menos do tamanho dos meus dois punhos fechados juntos. Olhei para fora através do buraco e só vi alguém que corria. Desapareceu muito rápido. Não acho justo quebrarem a minha janela e ficarem jogando coisas aqui dentro. Não acho justo ficarem ansiosos pela chegada da faxineira.

Minha mãe me chama do outro lado da porta que bateu com o vento. Não ouço direito o que ela diz, por causa do som do vento que passa pelo buraco.

Não tendo muito o que fazer no espaço do meu quarto, penso no judeu. Porque ele é nervoso? Ninguém nem quebrou a janela do carro dele, só colocaram um papelzinho. Acordei no outro dia e vi uma sombra que balançava, projetada no armário do meu quarto. Olhei para o buraco na janela e ele estava menor. Tinha um papelzinho publicitário fincado em uma das pontas de vidro estilhaçado, balançando com o vento. Tento agir como o judeu. Finjo que estou super nervosa, faço tudo rápido. Abro a janela. Rápido. Quase rápido de raiva. O vento vem ainda com mais força, fazendo com que eu caia para trás, em cima dos cacos de vidro. Não adianta gritarem mais, o barulho é ainda mais alto. Abro a porta e a corrente de ar me leva até a sala. Esqueci que meu passarinho estava fora da gaiola, entro em pânico. Mas a porta do meu quarto bate de novo antes que ele possa chegar até lá. Que bom. Que bom ter vento. Mas está sangrando um pouco. Será que já estou na semana que vem? Não tem ninguém em casa. Espero alguns dias para abrir o meu quarto de novo. Quando abro, vejo alguns presentinhos que vieram pela minha janela, agora aberta, jogados no chão. Um teclado de computador, uma blusa de frio com capuz, uma capa-de-chuva-também-com-capuz e um pedaço de capa de caderno. Sem falar no alagamento que se deu, por conta das chuvas. Na capa do caderno, meio úmida, lê-se uma mensagem quase borrada: “Desculpa ter quebrado a sua janela. Na verdade, eu não queria”. Sinto frio de novo, minhas mãos estão frias. Meus pés estão molhados. Penso no judeu, nos arranhões que eu fiz quando caí nos cacos de vidro. Estão cicatrizando. Já até tem uma casquinha que coça de vez em quando. Agacho e c0loco a mão na água. Levanto a mão. Os pingos que caem na água formam pequenas ondas circulares, que se sucedem. Não consigo pensar com tanto vento. Coloco a blusa de frio com capuz e como se a vida voltasse a ser morna e confortável …

Eu não desculpo.