as for right now

"the wind drops, but the petals keep on falling
a bird calls, and the mountain becomes more mysterious"

I'm confused

This is not my type of music at all, but these lyrics are awesome.

Twist in my Sobriety

technology

I was having a discussion the other day about youtube and mass media. It's difficult to make people understand how mass media alienates someone - it's even difficult to make them understand what "alienation" really means in this context.

This is a simple example, in a wierd video. If you're not north-american or a rapper, i guess getting this girl must be difficult to you too - i thought she was a stand up comedian for the first minute, for example, it took me a while to realize her art was some kind of street poetry - very close to music, but also very bound to text. But it's not really important how the information is presented. This is an easy example of the Information Era alienation. Of course it's only a mild example. But it's simple, so it's important for starters.

If your reflections about this matter grow deeper, the problem also grows deeper - unfortunately, i assure you.

i´ve got a reputation of being gentle but bold

not much to be said in here
this is just so fucking awesome,
and that's it

the dream as it's fresh

I dreamt that i died, today. It was one of this dreams so real it takes you a few minutes awake to realize it was a dream – simply because it HAD to be a dream, or your mind would still wonder…

It wasn’t any terrifying death. There was nothing unhappy, painful or oppressive about it. I was calm the whole time. I knew already in great advance (in my dream) that i would die, and i was at that point completely ready to welcome it.

It went like this: "The buildings tumbled in on themselves; mothers clutching babies picked through the rubble and pulled out their hair. The skyline was beautiful on fire - all twisted metal stretching upwards; everything washed in a thin orange haze" This is the best dreamlike description i could find in literature. And a dark wind blew. I was barely standing over a shaking concrete bridge, and the water was so wild, and the wind so imperative you just knew it was no regular storm. You didn’t need to talk about it, or think about it. Suddenly you’re just there, and your friend/neighbor (a guy who actually i’ve never seem in my real life, and can’t even trace him to any celebrity or anything) was in the driver’s seat of his car, beneath the bridge, inside the water. The wild ferocious water was almost covering the bridge already, and the times it rose higher i’d try to help my friend getting out of the car.

After a struggle useless to be described – intense and gigantic to be experienced – the car finally had a bad turn and slipped beneath the bridge. My friend was still inside it. I remember the sad, sad desolation of losing a friend – mixed with the urgency of accepting and moving on for all hell’s hounds were loose and shit was happening – as i instinctively turned myself towards the other end of the bridge, where in a few seconds the car would reappear, and my friend i had never seem in real life, but towards who i had this great affection, would emerge and hold himself in the bridge. I ran to him and helped him up. We acknowledge and ran to opposite directions, to move on with our goals.

And there were these things i simply knew about – i didn’t get surprised when they arrived. They were little monsters with big teeth, and they would attack and eat people. I won’t try to describe them, as a dream creature is meant for drawing artists to describe. Enough to say they were about the size of a normal men, with huge mouths and pointy teeth – their alien body all colorful and tight, so flexible and agile, so fast and massively strong. You can let them take the form your own mind gives them, and them they’re real.

And as i ran sometimes i’d see one of them attacking a house, or a car – and i couldn’t stop, as there was this family i had to go, for they sure were in the same problems. As i ran i noticed they were too many and too strong to be beaten. And there was the storm and everything else and, as i saw the monsters go throw walls and solid steel and break, one after the other, any and every idea i could form to beaten them as i ran, i knew already it was the end and that there was absolutely no point in fighting.

It was the end.

But i kept running and as i accepted defeat i was getting growingly more disposed to fight. May this death be beautiful, i felt.

And suddenly we’re blocked in this room, and they come from all sides – but i’m like some movie action hero, and somehow i’m beating all of them always and the tension grows the way it grows in those movies and it grows and it grows and there are more and more monsters and i beat them faster and faster and at the break of tension they stop and move back.

And i have no illusions at any point that i won – i know it’s just an interruption. And a vampirela-like girl enters the room and we talk. I can only remember fragments. There was something about a book. And she moves behind me and i know that i will die. And she carve her needle teeth in my neck and i feel my blood being pumped in short strong pulls. And i remember telling myself to remain calm, and managing it. After a few sucks i feel like suffocated – but not from air. I feel the lack of something, as if i was underwater, and them more intense – and at that point it would be easy to feel desperate, if that was what i was searching for. But instead i was calm, and observing how it was to die, and it was so very, very interesting to me to have felt that.

I was compressed – suffocated – and more, and more, and more compressed, and nothing. I vanished for a second – almost all of me. And there was silence for a while, but something was still there, and them silence – as dark hit by a candle – was hit by a wave of things quickly expanding into consciousness again. Shit, it was such an easy feeling in my mind, up to now. I really thought it would be easy to describe, but as i turn my thought into words for describing it in this text, it turns out i couldn’t define it at all. Will stop trying. Don’t feel like writing anymore. Just wanted to write this dream before facts disappear and only substance remains.

no need for a title is a title already

I was reading a great short story yesterday, from some Vernon Lee - who's probably this great writer, very famous and celebrated from whom i had never heard before. I got it in a collection of short stories from the 18th century about the fantastic. And today i had a dream - you know about it, right? You know about The Dream that happens sometimes... Something you'd know like you know love - something that's out there, even if it didn't happen to you. A dream so powerful and real and meaningful that people wake up from it with some kind of momentary enlightenment. Like the guys who become prophets, or saints, or superstars, or missionaries, or business men, or doctors after they had a Dream.

I woke up and was staring at the ceiling, and i was deeply thinking for a long while. Then i woke up and i'm listening to some great music and my head is full of wonder and i just wanted to share.

You see, so what if i bleed?

It's easy to post a song, because then i don't have to say much.

I recently told a girl i had gone back in time, lived again and again as all the members in a band to write her a song. This is true many times, and again.

I'm leaving this place and this blog soon, and this language for that matter, and though i make efforts to stay away from what does me no good, i must think and wonder and finish things in my head, so new ones will start always clean. I'm not scared of anything and i won't be spared. When it used to hurt i kept my way and did what i had to do. It doesn't even hurt anymore, for so long, and i shouldn't stop now just because there's no immediate reason to finish it.

The cycle is almost completely finished and abandoned in my head already - in my practical life, it's over for months. But in my head i can still take one or two steps to finish it, instead of covering it with dust, and i will do it. My winter's almost gone, but before i leave something must be said. There's no practical point to make, neither any desire to speak, but somethings must be said and i'm already used to do what must be done, opposed to what i want to do or am inclined to do.

I could have lied, but i'm such a fool. And i'll never become smart like you. Part of me would die, and that's the part which gives me more joy.

About leaving covered hate

What is any book about? It’s usually very hard for me to think of answers. If people ask me what a book i wrote is about, i never know what to say.

Books (good books, that is) are machines of generating meaning. It’s supposed to be complex. Even a simple good book is supposed to be complex in what it talks about.

Let’s take Mario Puzo’s The Godfather, for example – a book most people will think they know, without having read it. One could write, possibly, in two pages everything they think this book is about. But the book doesn’t have two pages, and it’s a good book. A good book that could be fully described in two pages would have exactly two pages.

You can take from within The Godfather, quite surprisingly and only as an isolated example, this amazingly reasonable and clear description of some loving-relationship enlightenment towards women that – obviously – most people lack. There’s a lot to learn in the Godfather that has nothing to do with crime.

Johnny Fontane is a character partly based on Frank Sinatra. This part is about him. I’ve taken the same oath not to hate women. I’ve just written below something about girls who deeply hurt me and still, when i think of them, i can’t help but thinking of how adorable they were, or could be. I know by experience how much this decision involves, and how deep of a matter it is – yet, here it occupies but a little space in a good book about gangsters.

Yeah, the book is about gangsters, but it’s also about learning to live fully, and many other things.

A good man with a big moustache wrote once that if your eyes were more cunning, you’d see everything moving.

That’s how things happened

Like Camila, girls who deeply hurt me have three syllables on their names. Makes me think of only talking to Maja’s, and Ana’s and Sarah’s and Vicky’s.

Wondering if i should start a numerology work about this – it’s just too much coincidence (Camila, Ivana, Olívia, Elisa, Martina)

Camila broke my heart because she didn’t know.

Ivana broke my heart because i was a sucker.

Olívia broke my heart because she had to choose.

Elisa broke my heart because she was afraid.

Martina broke my heart because she had to lie.

You see, after the second one, it wasn’t my fault anymore. I can’t even care, after i know i’m doing alright. And as i build a new heart i’m expecting it to be broken already. So i need things to keep me from becoming a skeptic. This song, for example, still makes my blood run.

Nenhum de Nós - Camila

Depois da última noite de festa Chorando e esperando amanhecer, amanhecer As coisas aconteciam com alguma explicação Com alguma explicação Depois da última noite de chuva Chorando e esperando amanhecer, Amanhecer Às vezes peço a ele que vá embora Que vá embora...oh... Camila, Camila, Camila Eu que tenho medo até de suas mãos Mas o ódio cega e você não percebe Mas o ódio cega E eu que tenho medo até do seu olhar Mas o ódio cega e você não percebe Mas o ódio cega A lembrança do silêncio daquelas tardes Daquelas tardes A vergonha do espelho naquelas marcas Naquelas marcas Havia algo de insano naqueles olhos, Olhos insanos Os olhos que passavam o dia a me vigiar, a me vigiar...oh... Camila, Camila, Camila E eu que tinha apenas 17 anos Baixava a minha cabeça pra tudo Era assim que as coisas aconteciam Era assim que eu via tudo acontecer E eu que tinha apenas 17 anos Baixava minha cabeça pra tudo Era assim que as coisas aconteciam Era assim que eu via tudo acontecer Camila

After the last night of partying Crying and waiting for the morning to come For the morning to come Things happened with some explanation With some explanation After the last night of raining Crying and waiting for the morning to come For the morning to come Sometimes i ask it to go away To go away, oh… Camila… Me who am afraid even of your hands But hate blinds and you don’t realize But hate blinds… And me who am afraid even of your look But hate blinds and you don’t realize But hate blinds… The remembrance of the silence from those afternoons Those afternoons… The shame of the mirror in those marcs In those marcs… There was something insane in those eyes Insane eyes The eyes that spent the days watching over me Watching over me, oh… Camila… And me who was only 17 Would lower my head to everything That’s how things happened That’s how i saw everything happening And me who was only 17 Would lower my head to everything That’s how things happened That’s how i saw everything happening Camila…

I'm bored. So here's what i've stuffed into my new ipod:

Clinic - Harmony

these last days i’ve been close to such a mysig butterfly
but i live like a zombie and, besides, she’s always high

and though my hand will slide in seek of heat among her thighs
i feel we’re somewhere else - beyond the flesh - inside our minds

but i would never worry
it’s all ok
and she’s so fine

i crawl outside my cave
to kiss her face
and say good night

i will not disgrace myself

shit, i've been listening to this for years...
it never ceases to amaze me
or to make me feel...
i don't know
genuinely rock'n roll

Guided by Voices - Sheet Kickers

when i burn it will be brightly

to stand more falls against this stupid world that lingers
i'll stop my flight for now and shut myself as fingers

maybe it's the dope for it's not sane or light or nice or clever
but some must hope and face the pain to rise and fall again forever

a hurtful crown to fit in all of those who now are men of worth
to spill their blood till something Good at last is born upon the Earth

Nice things you find randomly when online

(You have to click it)

old men

(Dirty old man)

For the second day in a row i woke up and went straight to Arthur’s home to talk and play videogame. I’m leaving this city in a short while and i feel like there’s never time enough to sense goodbye to good friends. I’m still too young to be wise, but i do have already an advanced notion of briefness. I’ll depart from existence any day now – if it happens tomorrow or in fifty years, it makes no difference; it’s too fucking short. So i woke up and didn’t have breakfast. I just put on some clothes and brushed my teeth and for the second day in a row i went straight to Arthur’s home.

For the second day in a row i bought a cold cola, a can of Pringles and a bag of spicy (REALLY spicy) Indian snacks to eat with my friends at their place. Arthur was sleeping, but his cousin Vitão (also a great friend) was playing GTA IV and we shared the controller – playing a death or a mission each. I opened my bags and took out the cold cola. They’re fixing their fridge this week, so a cold cola is always appreciated. I took out the onion Pringles and Vitão celebrated with a “Woooohhhh”. As soon as he saw the Indian spicy (REALLY spicy) samosa, though, he moved his head backwards and started negatively waving his hand.

"I ain't eating this shit today, man. Not again… I got a... You know… A bad stomach from this stuff, yesterday"

Bad stomach… - Yeah, for sure... I know what that hesitation meant – all of those suspension points in his speech. “A bad stomach” was his polite way of saying: “My ass was on fire when i took a dump later…”

My ass burned as well, naturally. But i don't give a fuck. Arthur woke up in time for some Pringles and cold cola. He didn’t touch the samosa. I ate that bag alone (and let the chips fall where they may).

Both Arthur and Vitão had to work early the next day. Around twenty past midnight, when i was about to leave, my boss called me and asked if i could work that night, though it was my free day.

They hired this Italian motherfucker who, at his first day at work, fifteen minutes before the time he was supposed to be there, smsed a "I can’t go. Sorry, so long, bye-bye"

I was planning a boring night at home with my computer, and boring nights with computers look better to me if someone is paying for them. Not twenty minutes after that call i was at the hostel, staring at its green walls and at this big pile of nothingtodo drawn right in front of my face. It was cozy, and calm. I wasn’t planning to work that night, so i didn’t sleep much. I was lazy and comfortable.

I started the night watching two movies and drinking some beer i had left in the fridge. I was just about to get drunk when she arrived – pretty drunk herself – followed by a guest i had met earlier – a creepy short guy who i had to change rooms out of some registering mistake. The stared at me and walked towards the opposite direction to their room - meaning they came back from the streets with something to talk, or to do.

I kept staring at the computer, minding my own business, as i usually do. There was nothing particularly interesting in that scene until the girl came back a few minutes later.

She was alone now, and after staring at me for a heartbeat she stopped in front of the reception. Her calm body posture and contemplative eyes told me she didn't need help, but only company. People just need to talk, sometimes, and i'm quite sure they think a receptionist is fully prepared and willing to be a part-time therapist. She was a cute blond, quite attractive to me, so i got closer.

"Do you have a cigarette?" – she asked.

"Yeah, i do…"

"Can i have one?"

"Sure…"

She sat in the sofa as i came back for the cigarettes, but we’re not allowed to smoke in that room. We moved to the tv room – where it’s more private, with ashtrays - and started smoking while sharing a few firststep words.

"I've worked in a hostel too" - she said.

"Nice" - i answered. "Did you like it?"

"Yeah, pretty much nothing to do..."

"Tell me about it..."

"I used to play my guitar all night"

"Shit, i wish i could play guitar in here"

"You play instruments?"

"Only acoustic guitar. You?"

"I'm a musician. I’m studying it in university. My main instrument is the cello"

"Awesome. It must feel great..."

"It does... What i also like about working in a hostel is that we always had beer…"

“Things are not different around here” – I said. “Would you like some”

“Sure…”

As i came back from the kitchen she said:

"You know that guy who came in with me?"

"Yep"

"Shit, he was supposed to be gay... He entered the room earlier and i was quite sure he was gay. My best friend, traveling with me, he was sure this guy was gay too..."

"Is your friend gay?"

"Yeah. And we were both sure that guy was gay. Now we went out together and he was all over me. Saying things like ‘Since i put my eyes on you i wanted to kiss you’, and stuff like that... And then he tried to kiss me, but, you know? He is fucking gay! I didn't want to kiss him"

"So what did you do?"

"I told him: 'What are you doing? You're fucking gay!"

"Heauheauhea..."

"He said: 'No, i'm not'. And i said: 'Yes, you are! Look at you! You are fucking gay and you should fucking accept it!"

I laughed harder and got us two beers from the fridge. By the time we finished them we were both quite drunk. She asked me:

"Who are you?"

"What the fuck do you mean?"

"I mean: who... are... you...?"

"I don’t know”

“You don’t know who are you?”

“No. This question makes no sense to me. If you insist on asking, i must answer 'i don't know', 'cause i can't think of any other reasonable answer"

"How do you mean you don't know?"

"Are you saying you can tell me who YOU are?"

"A little bit, at least... I guess…"

"Then tell me..."

"I'm Irish... I'm a musician... I'm straight... Are you gay?"

"No. Don’t worry:) Keep going"

"I'm... strange. And i don't have homosexual fantasies... I mean, i've had them, but i'm through with that... Now, who are you?"

"I don't know. I can't even say i'm Brazilian, as you say you’re Irish, because what goes for most Brazilians won't go for me. I don't like football, for example. And this answer of yours... Do you realize it would fit many, many people?"

"Yes..."

"How can you believe this will define YOU? I don't think this is a subject to be taken lightly..."

"Are you looking at my legs?"

"Yes, i am. They’re awesome:)"

"You men are all the same..."

"Come on, don't say that... This is pretty unfair. I know you have no reason to believe me, but you just happen to be talking to someone who won't agree with that"

"Examples..."

"Myself"

"So you're different?"

"Yes. I'm quite sure of that. Can't say if it's for the best, but that i'm different, i'm quite sure"

"All you guys want is a fucking hole..."

"Sometimes... You're right. But you say it as if women were different. Won't you admit sometimes all you want is a dick?"

"..."

"I can't say there's anything wrong with regular vulgarity, if it runs by mutual accord" - i continued. "Just to fuck is perfectly ok. But i think there's also more than that. Being good, i believe, is not behaving like this or like that, but to be able to behave differently in different occasions. One night stand is fine with me, but i recon there's more you can have in sex. I prefer a relationship to a one night fuck..."

"But you WOULD fuck just for one night, just for fun?"

"Of course i would. Wouldn't you?"

“Yes… I would. How long lasted your longest relationship?”

“One year and a half”

“That’s not much…”

“Maybe… One year and a half together is not much. But one year and a half in mutual love was quite difficult to achieve and maintain – at least for me… What about you?”

“Three months… I’m only twenty two…”

Little did i know, as we talked drunk endofthenight business, that spicy samosa i ate in the afternoon was fermenting inside my bowels. I felt like taking a dump, as we talked, but it wasn't absolutely necessary. And when you're talking alone to a girl in the middle of the night and the bathroom is a few feet from where you both stand, one won’t take a dump unless it’s absolutely necessary. We just kept on talking and i forgot about it. I did start smoking fewer cigarettes per hour, though.

"I think you're right" - she said.

"What do you mean?"

"About knowing yourself, or anyone. I wish we could know at least a few things..."

"I believe we can get to know a few, if we try hard and long enough…"

"Like what? What can one really know?"

"I don't know yet. I'm still trying"

"Trying how?"

"Look, it's fairly easy to make questions:) But it's late, i don't sleep for a while. I'm drunk and tired. I don't take these things lightly. I’m serious about that, and i can’t talk very seriously now. I'm getting distracted all the time... I know exactly what i want to say, but can't find words to it..."

"So let's drop it. What do you expect from life?"

"Shit, you're a difficult talk, aren't you? What happened to girls talking about celebrities?"

"I hate celebrities... What do you expect from life? I mean, besides looking at my legs"

"If you insist, hehehe, a good book"

"What?"

"A good book. I hope i can write a good book. I live for that. After i feel like i've done this, i'll think of someone else"

"What are your favorite writers?"

She liked Aldous Huxley. She didn't know anyone else i mentioned, but she did like Aldous Huxley a lot, and that was surprising enough. I lost track of time and our talk got gradually more interrupted by lateatnight comfortable silences. I said:

"Night is almost over, so is my awareness. I get distracted by anything. Your hand, for example... Fingers... I look at them and nothing exist in the universe but fingers"

I touched her hand and she spread her fingers apart, so i could reach wherever i wanted, i guess. Then she caressed my hand. I moved myself in the sofa so i could get closer to her.

"Shit, a gay guy kissed you tonite. I mean, i hope he was gay, because if he isn't, after what you told him, he's probably still awake now, staring at the darkness, wondering what the fuck is wrong with him..."

She laughed and i kissed her. She moved herself towards me and we started making out. Her skin was soft and our drunk kiss was golden bliss.

She had big breasts and i put them out of her dress. Sneaked my hand beneath her panties and in a few minutes i first made her come with my fingers. She was more like the receptive kind of girl and i had to put her hand on my cock. She didn’t know any advanced techniques of jerking a dick off, though.

"Do you want to fuck me?" – she whispered.

"What do you think?" - i closed my hand over her hand, over my erection. "Will you say i'm gay too?"

"I would love you to fuck me…"

I pulled her panties down and started moving on the sofa.

"But we must have protection... Do you have a condom?"

"Yep. But it’s in the reception. Just wait for me... Just a second"

I ran to the reception and reached for my backpack. I glanced at the alarm clock over the shelf and realized i had about ten minutes before the other receptionist arrived to replace me. I prefer when i don’t have to fuck in a hurry.

Back at the tv room, i told the girl we had only a few minutes, as i set my dick once again free from my pants.

"Do you think it's worth it?"

I stopped for a heartbeat, looking at her. I considered... She had a short dress, no panties and her legs were spread across the sofa. Blood was pumping so hard inside my dick there was just enough oxygen in my brain to do easy decisions like that one.

"Yeah. It's worth it..."

"I don't know..." - she replied.

So i gave up and sat by her side. I’m not greedy. It's fucked up to call you cock back, but i can do it. It's like being stabbed in the heart, but i can do it.

She hugged me and started kissing me. She reached for my dick again, clumsily.

"Fuck me... I need you to fuck me..."

"Shit, girl. You just said..."

"Fuck me..."

To call your cock back from a fierce erection is like being stabbed in the heart. But calling it back and forth is fucked up. I calculated i had about seven minutes now. My erection was over already. It's fucked up to summon an erection in a hurry. I bent over her and caressed her legs. That worked.

"The condom... You need to put the condom on..."

My dick was hard, my mind was fuzzy and my hands were hasty.

I hate condoms. I could say i hate my dick, if i was more objective, but i hate condoms. My dick is just about too thick for them to slide down smoothly, and just about not too thick enough to search for special condoms. I was fighting with the fucking thing, and i torn it apart.

"Look at this shit..." - i said. "This one is a goner..."

"I… NEED you… to FUCK me!"

The buzzer buzzed. The other receptionist had arrived. There was a pile of unfilled papers over the desk in the reception. The kitchen was all dirty and everything was a mess. No toilet papers in the bathrooms… I hadn't finished any of my work duties and the next receptionist was there already to replace me.

I left the girl in the tv room and went to meet the other girl who would replace me at the hostel. I was all sweaty and lost. Drunk as fuck. Not a reason to pretend anything.

"Look, i'm with this girl in the tv room and i lost track of time. The hostel is a mess, i'm sorry... Just a second, i’ll fixing things now..."

“You don’t have to…”

I ran back to the Irish girl in the tv room:

"Look, i live nearby. Wanna go to my home for a while?"

"Hum..."

As she wondered I ran back to the next receptionist:

"This is my job, guapa. Let me at least help you with these..."

"No, you just go home:) Don't worry. I can do this as i fix my tea..."

"Shit, you are too kind. Fuck, i feel like shit for abusing you, but i'll have to take it:) Thank you, thank you, thank you. Sorry, sorry, sorry... Thank you…"

Back at the tv room, the girl had a brown purse beneath her arm.

“You make me look like a whore…”

I laughed.

We left holding hands and after walking in a drunk dream for a few minutes we were in my bedroom. As soon as i closed the door she jumped over me and i ripped her dress off.

I found another condom and worked this one more calmly. Now i had time. She was already so wet i wasted no time showing off my preliminary skills. I put her legs around my neck bent myself over her. It took me around thirty seconds before i was banging her like a mad man. She would scream and do strong noises that worried me about the girl living in the next room. She was very friendly and i barely knew her. Now i was probably waking her up in the morning with some girl moaning unprintable noises and screaming "YEAH! YEAH! RIGHT THERE! FUCKE ME! OH, YOU'RE SOOOOOO GOOOOOOOD TO MY PUSSY! RIGHT THERE! OOOHHHHH! RIGHT THERE!"

I pulled her hair towards me and gave her all i got. Out of the sudden she pushed me away, very fiercely. I though she had a violent orgasm and was dealing with an over sensitive pussy for a minute, so after that minute i tried to enter her again, but she pushed me away once more.

"What's up?" - i asked?

I was trying to reach for her pussy with my hand now, and she was avoiding me.

"I... I don't know... It hurts... It never happened to me before... My pussy hurts..."

"But it hasn’t been twenty minutes yet. What do you mean it hurts?"

"I don't know"

She was crying, now.

"It never happened before, not like this, i don't know... It just hurts... But i WANT you to fuck me... Do you think i should see a doctor? I NEED you to fuck me... I don't... Do you think it’s serious?"

"I don’t know… It takes many years of studying gynecology for a man to have a medical understanding of a pussy…”

“I want to fuck more…”

“Look at you" - i said, laughing. "You're whining like a spoiled kid"

She laughed and cried at the same time. It was funny.

"I feel embarrassed... I want you to fuck me so badly, and it hurts... I feel bad. Did you come?"

"You shouldn't mind... I told you, i'm different. I like fucking, you know. Not only coming. Coming is not that important. Fucking you was nice enough. I'd like more, of course, but if you can't, it's ok..."

"Wait a minute... Try now"

I masturbated her for a few seconds. Her pussy was back at work. She got on her fours and i started it again.

But something was wrong. I was sweating too much. I do sweat a lot, but that was over the edge. I was also loosing power too quickly. I’ve been taking long walks for months now – that shouldn’t be happening. The blood was running out of my dick, making it floppy. I do have that if i'm fucking like a wild horse for some time and after i’ve held my orgasm for a few times, but it was happening too quickly.

I summoned every strength in my body and fucked her hardly till she came violently, then i slipped out because something urgent was happening and was quite impossible to deny at that time- i felt as if Mike Tyson was punching the insides of my ass.

"I need to go to the bathroom"

When i got up - or tried to get up - my legs were shaking. I felt weak as i didn't in a long while, and i actually almost fell on the floor. I felt as if i was fucking hard for at least two days in a row, and it wasn't much more than half an hour. I ran to the bathroom, closed the door and barely had time to take my pants off and sit down.

Man, that was one of the worst dumps ever. It was burning and i feel like i dumped two kilos of shit and razor blades in that toilet. Hard and slow and burning and tiresome and stinky and painful.

If there's anything useful i have to say with all of this is: "Never fuck like a wild animal with a fucking brick of spicy food boiling inside of you" I was sweating like a waterfall. I cleaned my face in the sink and went back to the room

As i slipped beside her on the bed she put one of her legs over me - rubbing her ass to my leg and making sexy noises.

"Look, girl, i'm sorry. But it's been a long night and i'm beaten. I really, really wanna fuck you more, but i can't right now. I'm beaten…. Sorry"

"It's ok... I'm quite tired myself..."

Then she hugged me and slept soundly.

I kept staring at everything, in the dark, unable to sleep myself. And suddenly i got myself thinking of the old man - the dirty old man - and i pitied him because he was talented and his life was sad. I thought of Socrates and Neruda and of many other old men i think about a lot. A song came to my mind:

"Old man, look at my life...
I'm a lot like you were"

I looked at the girl again and her beautiful lips snorting. I closed my eyes and looked inside myself, listening to that song on and on....

"I need someone to love me the whole day through.
Oh, one look at my eyes and you can tell that's true"

I looked back at the girl and felt lonely.

I couldn’t sleep, and i didn't know her name.

Neil Young - Old Man

Manduca, iam coctum est (no matter what YOU do, some people still don't give a fuck about you, and that's beautiful)

"If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks everyone and afterwards many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry" - Ernest Hemingway - A Farewell to Arms, pg 239

"One goes to knowledge as one goes to war" - Carlos Castaneda - A Separate Reality, Further Conversations with Don Juan, pg 88

"You're laughed at, your merits are not appreciated. So what? Do you think you're the first man to be in that position?" - Baudelaire, in a letter to Monet

"He climbed out of the valley, wondering if he were mad. But if so, he preferred his own madness, to the regular sanity. He rejoiced in his own madness, he was free" - D.H. Lawrence - Woman in Love, pg 120

"Populus me sibilat, at mihi plaudo Ipse domi simul ac nummos contemplar in arca" - Horace - Book 1, Satire

You made me age one year a day

Finis Africae - Armadilha

Andando entre cacos me sinto em pedaços e até hoje não sei dizer se está tudo acabado Mas não troquei minha boca fechada pelas suas palavras vazias Você me fez envelhecer um ano a cada dia, Você me fez cair outra vez... na minha armadilha... na minha armadilha... Chego em casa tarde e ninguém me vê Não há nada errado em não saber o que fazer Mas não troquei minha boca fechada pelas suas palavras vazias Você me fez envelhecer um ano a cada dia, Você me fez cair outra vez... na minha armadilha... na minha armadilha...

Walking among debris i feel myself in pieces and even today i can't tell if it's all over But i didn't exchange my shut mouth for your empty words You made me age one year a day You made me fall once again in my own trap in my own trap I arrive home late and nobody sees me There's nothing wrong in not knowing what to do But i didn't exchange my shut mouth for your empty words You made me age one year a day You made me fall once again in my own trap in my own trap

two discreet ice cubes

half a glass and i can feel already the dry gin kicking in
a soft relaxation i mean to keep on building up tonite

it’s been a few years since i’ve realized i’m quite found of noises
i’d like a twenty minutes song only with the sea rumbling
and the wind blowing
and ice cubes moving inside a half filled glass

two
discreet
ice cubes

i’d like some alcohol in that glass
i’m not certain it changes the noise
but one must be sure

i’d like (of course) mermaids in that sea
i don’t think they’re there
but one must wonder

i’d also like that wind to carry me
i’m far too heavy
but one must dream

i could stop it right there and it would work
i guess
but that’s not my plan

if you don’t know my plan by now i’m sorry to inform you
you cannot read

i ran out of fuel and must fill my glass once more
please
wait for me as i reach for the kitchen
it won’t last more than a line falling

i’m writing, therefore i am again

though i never had anything to say tonite
i came back with this feeling i forgot it
this is must disturbing
my fingers
they are alive

among this huge universe of things
you don’t understand
or would care to explore
how do you divide
what you despise
and what you praise?

it amazes me

if i was Picasso, would you say that i’m divine?

if i was Da Vinci, you would read me with care?
would you wonder, if my name now was Van Gogh?

if Van Gogh was your neighbor
chances are you’d mock him
or hate him
and so forth...

yet
it still won’t make you wonder

i think of this a lot
any of them
think of Socrates
everybody around him
against him
and he wouldn’t defend himself
that’s fucking noble
still
people around him
all against him
and they said:
“take this poison, motherfucker”
and he did
he wouldn’t play the game
i imagine him thinking
“bunch of morons
better to drink this shit
than to play their game”

i look at people around me
it’s funny
you say Socrates and they clap hands
you say Britney Spears
or any other name that will soon be forgotten
and they make urgh faces
they make eek faces
and so forth

they’re actors, you see?

a Britney Spears shadow crosses the street
they follow it

a Socrates shadow crosses the street
if they see it
oh, boy, you know what they do

you know what they say
and you know what they do

try to be kind yourself
or intelligent
it’s the easiest way to outcastness
and hate

if jesus was real
you’d be all smiling
at the cross

“that’s what you get
carpenter motherfucker”

or wouldn’t you?
would you really go against the grain?

“anti-fashion seems to be fashion too by now”

maybe you think you would

it’s very easy to solve
ask yourself
“do people hate me”

if they do
i’d believe you

if they do
maybe you’re right

i’m tired of writing
actually

i don’t even know what i’m saying anymore
makes me feel good
all according to plan

i feel happy
actually

i feel happy
and a couple
of glasses
of gin

About reading

cigarettes tasting like negligence

Spooky Youth - all your base are now belong to us

invejo os caras que não fazem nada apenas fumam, sentados nas calçadas seus cigarros misteriosamente adquiridos quero crescer como eles ir pra bem longe ser mendigo e ser mendigo em paris simples como meu tio que virou ancião uma flor nasceu no pavimento mas eu não quis meu tio corre maratonas na varanda tipo os caras que não fazem nada por pura indolência eu quero ser mendigo, bem longe fumar cigarros com gosto de negligência bêbado descuidado buscar o que não serve no mundo só serve em paris me ofereceram uniforme, bíblia & pirâmide alimentar mas eu não quis me ofereceram canivete, sabonete & um livro grande de frases feitas mas eu não quis quero experimentar alfa centauro em paris ela me dava beijos & banheiras quentes eu não quis ela me dava abraços & papel de bala eu não quis quero ser cem trilhões de células em paris...

i envy the guys who won’t do anything they just smoke, sat on the sidewalks their mysteriously acquired cigarettes i wanna grow up like them go very far away to be a beggar and to be a beggar in paris simple like my uncle who became an elder a flower was born on the pavement but i didn’t want it my uncle runs marathons on the verandah like the guys who won’t do anything out of pure indolence i wanna be a beggar, very far away smoke cigarettes tasting like negligence drunk reckless search what doesn’t fit in the world it only fits in paris they offered me uniform, bible & food guide pyramid but i didn’t want it they offered me penknife, soap & a big book of set phrases but i didn’t want it i want to experiment alpha centauri in paris she gave me kisses & warm bathtubs i didn’t want it she gave me hugs & candy paper i didn’t want it i want to be a hundred trillion cells in paris

i told you when i came i was a stranger

Leonard Cohen - The Stranger Song

About regret

I had this friend when i was a kid. His father was the richest guy in the building and he had a million dollar smile. His hair was straight and he would charm all the girls. At the fighting gym we had a tournament once, and i kicked his ass but my teacher gave him the victory because my friend was kinda like his pet or something. Maybe if i had broken some of his bones it would be different, but i found a better solution. I left the gym, but i kept my friend. He had all the cars and charisma and all the money and all the girls and – you would say, as everybody would – he had an easy happy life in front of him.

He was driving a girl home from a party, and he hit another car and he died. I’m serious.

People do all kinds of shit sometimes. I have seen it so many times, it could get boring if it wasn’t so important. People fuck shit up and they pretend it never happened. They think, and they say (if you ask): “It will pass”.

They’re right. Things pass.

My dentist was one of the friendliest guys i’ve ever met. He could understand everything i said while his both hands were in my mouth, too. I thought it was guessing talk, you see? I experimented with it. I tested him. I would change subjects and talk about the most unexpected shit – he’d get it. And since i was a child i liked him. We lived in the same building for a few years – the very same building of that friend i was talking about. My dentist was a friend to my father and he was like an uncle to me. He got sick and he died.

Things pass, mostpeople are right. They pass, and they ain’t coming back. People throw days away as if it was candy – as if they could buy more days at the fucking mall.

Not right now – you’re probably not really in the mood for this right now – but when the time is right for you to feel it deeply, try imagining you’ll die tonite. Try imagining you’ll die in a week. You ARE dying, man. Don’t try to push this under the carpet. Not as i stand in front of you. Don’t be a fool. You’re dying, as anyone else. Try imagining it’s next week, for real. If you can get the feeling, you’ll see how special and unique and important each one of the next days will look.

When you can feel this, it’s not an illusion. Illusion is when you can live and breathe and talk and fuck shit up and not realize this. Each day is fucking important.

I see you walking around with wounds on your faces, hiding and waiting for things to pass. It will pass, man. It will pass so fast... It hasn’t passed to me yet, but i can see. I know it. I feel it. It will pass and it will be gone too quick. And it ain’t coming back.

We walk over ancient ruins, built by ancient people who – like you – thought they would live forever. They didn’t. We walk over the dust of their bones and the houses they thought would remain.

It’s all so brief to be wasted in regret, waiting for things to pass.

I truly believe if i die tonite nothing will be lost. I’m dead already. It’s unavoidable. But mostpeople were given live – out of an enormous chain of improbability – and they think it’s so precious; they wouldn’t risk their lives for anything. Still they waste it. Not really caring if they fuck things up – they can always cry and wait for things to pass. They need death right in front of their faces – they need an imminent car crash, or an armed thug, or a positive disease exam on a piece of paper for them to think about this.

If i try to make them think about it while they still have time – or if anybody does that – they’ll say you’re preaching. A guy told me very recently i was preaching to him. Man, he certainly needed some preaching. He was thinking glitter is gold, and now his covered in it. When he’s about to die, i guess, he’ll know. Mostpeople are so very afraid to die, because deep down they know already how it will be. They have all tasted regret already.

People should think more about their own deaths. It makes taking good decisions easier.

I truly believe if i die now nothing will be lost. I’m dead already. But as i’m also breathing, i want to keep on trying for something to be achieved. I won’t be gathering bad things and wait for them to pass. I want to watch a few good things last, while they can last.

And you can look at me and say i’m just a loser and a preacher. And you’ll be right, i guess. But you can also look in my eyes anytime and see for yourself that’s true – i regret nothing.

cut off your fingers or go back

a guy arrived at the hostel
man, i'll talk about movies
and a girl
and my life
and enlightenment

and i'm starting all of that
with a guy arriving at the hostel

if you're impatient, don't read
just click somewhere else
really
people can entertain you out there
a few clicks away
i want to say something so real it can't really be amusing
and it's so real i need to take my time
i can't hurry
or try to impress you
or i'll stop being able to feel it
to have it in my mouth to say

i know it's difficult to understand
but this guy arrived at the hostel
and he gave me some weed
he said this guy who planted the weed
would play Mozart to the plants
the best taken care weed on Earth
and he was short
and fat
and blond
and funny

and his girlfriend was way too beautiful for a short fat guy
but he was fine, man
he was really fine
and friendly
and we talked about movies
and things
as we smoked some of that weed
and he said "do you know Jodorowsky"
and who the fuck knows Jodorowsky?
i didn't
he said
"you must watch Holy Mountain, man"
and the day he left he wrote me a note
"4 u
Jodorowsky
Holy Mountain"

and today i watched it
and this text may be kinda hard to follow
or understand
but the movie is way deeper
and i searched a big pile of files
to find this guy's e-mail
to thank him

a bunch of hookers and a monkey praying to Jesus
the movie is so perfect

and i won't explain it
but it's deep
and an alchemist gathers this group
to seek enlightenment
the Holy Mountain
one perfect allegory after the other
not just because it's a smart catch
but because the guy knows what he's talking about
he walked the way

and a girl can't climb anymore, towards the top of the Holy Mountain
enlightenment
they tell her:
"you're afraid of climbing.
you're afraid of success.
give yourself to the world"

and this guy says, later
(and that's the point of the whole text)
he says:
"i can't pretend anymore.
my fingers are frozen"

and they tell him:
"after everything, you still can't forget your body.
you're still attached.
kill this love that holds you back.
you must sacrifice your own body if you want to continue.
cut off your fingers,
or go back"

and he cuts his fingers

shit, man
i'm as about to cry as i have been in a few years
that's as far as i can get without out-of-the-ordinary events
and this about to cry is ordinary to me already
so much unnecessary sadness all around me
my blood is getting cold as a reptile
i cut my fingers
so easily
i cut them as if they were hair
or nails

very recently, i just cut part of me
i tried to pretend they were alright
long after i knew they were frozen
but there comes this time you can’t lie to yourself anymore
your fingers are frozen
and you must cut them or go back

i crossed the Pantheon Bar
(you should watch the movie)
the path i walk is perfectly shown in there, to me
i saw the bar, man
it was right there
i know many, many people who live in that bar
i lost many good friends to that Pantheon Bar
those characters, i know them
i can give them names of people in my facebook
in my phone list

but i was lucky to realize the Holy Mountain is not in my words
words are only my arms, and legs
so i left that bar
to keep climbing
words must be humble servants
not something to be put on an altar
i’m not even a good writer anymore
can’t treat a text as an statue anymore
texts are just ladders
i step over them and move forward
can’t care if they’re beautiful
they’re just supposed to spring me higher
and higher
and i got scared of climbing
that bar DID look cozy
i got scared of climbing
it seemed too high for me
and even dangerous
i couldn’t climb forward
i was scared
because i wasn’t even a good writer anymore
and then i gave myself to the world
not caring for me as the son of my father anymore
i've thrown crippled dwarves in the water
and just recently i cut some frozen fingers out of me

it was fingers
and it was a girl
and it was beauty
and it was hope
and it was a heart

i’ve cut a handful of hearts out of my chest already

they were frozen
they had to go
and it's all healed
there's no physical pain anymore

i don't even feel then - like some who feel their lost limbs

people feel lost limbs precisely because
they're not able
to cut off these fingers
i'm talking about

i cut a heart out
recently

and i can grow another
cold as a reptile
it's not even the first one
it wasn't even a big one
it doesn't matter
i can see the cut ends
the empty
i don't feel it
but i can see them
the idea of cutting fingers out
scares me

forever
as i live
i'll miss them
i'll be sad about them
even if it can't hurt me anymore

something in me worries about them

but they're fingers
frozen
how could they ever care for themselves
or remember me
when they have no eyes to see
no ears to listen
no heart to beat?

they THINK they feel
i guess
just because they EXIST

but they can't really feel
it's just impossible

they’re frozen

and what am i, then?
cold as a reptile
i question myself, what's the difference?

is there really an end to suffering,
like Buddha was searching for?
do people really get there?
the Holy Mountain?

i guess i'm too far ahead
to be asking basic questions
i'm cutting fingers off

but
right now
i can't see any difference anymore

i keep doing things alone
things nobody else does
reflected in movies nobody else understands
and it was supposed to be better
and sometimes it is
i guess
but is it?

people feel good too
and it's so easy
and i'm suffering too
like them
and i’m pretty aware of that
can’t hide it under a carpet, like they do

and if they're frozen,
i'm cutting fingers off

and it's so difficult
if it's all the same, why should i struggle?

i think mostpeople can't feel
but how can fingers walk
and talk
and laugh
and do anything at all
right in front of me
and still mean nothing at all?

things that were part of me
and now are just dead flesh
lying somewhere
as i keep going

i get all confused thinking about this
and it looks like simple selective insensitivity
sometimes

you just choose
how you’ll get fucked
and my way is so much
more difficult
feels like i’m losing it
sometimes

but then i think
no

fingers got frozen, in the first place
the world is harsh
one can't have beauty all the time
one can't have ANYTHING all of the time
part of our suffering comes just from being alive
it's part of the deal

my confusion with this means only i still have a long way to go

time is not always right
for feasts

when you live with the apes, man
it’s hard to be clean
as mary manson would say

if there are no feasts around
we’ll all look the same
i know

i’ll even look worst
as i’m not collecting any of the gold coins mostpeople are after

but when there’s a feast around
and they always come
though you never see
like suffering
they’re always around
and my skin will be clean
and nothing in me will be frozen
and i’ll have eyes to see
and ears to listen
and a mouth to eat
and they’ll let me in
and i’ll feast

and if it feels selfish now
to abandon fingers so i can feast by myself
i’m always inviting people
to get ready to the feast
with me

it’s not my fault if they prefer to keep their frozen fingers
and gold coins
and candy
and cigarettes
and fancy clothes
and fancy cars
and a long long list
of those things
you can’t really feast
upon

these are weak men
feasts

There’s no feast
book
pussy
joint
beer
party
word
big enough to satisfy my hunger

i need holy mountain

i think i lost myself up there

last word:

"The jungle creed says the strongest feed,
on any prey that it can.
And I was branded beast at every feast
before I ever became a man"


----

The Pantheon Bar:

birds are skyfish

birds are skyfish
clouds are foam

i breath in
and let it out
(bet it's not the cleanest air on Earth
or in History

but i'm quite used already
to a certain level of filth

and a star out there
my father
shines brightly
through the foam
and it makes everything colorful
and it's still beautiful)
and then nothing exists
for a second

absolutely nothing
in a single one
that's not there to be found

like some ears of corn
tied up
together
if you cut the rope
and they just fall

just like that

things simply ARE
for a second

Sex symbols die first

some of my hair is falling already
the remaining ones are getting white
and my dreams won’t die
won’t grow old
won’t be sold
or spent
or lost

my dreams won’t be divorced from me

and it feels nice to grow old
i guess
if you didn’t want to be
Brigitte Bardot

do you really need to get old yourself
before you think about things?
you could learn by watching, if you’re aware

go find yourself a dream
because even if you’re Brigitte Bardot
even if you can make it – this stupid television fake plastic dream
it always happens as follows:

Tom Zé - Brigitte Bardot

A Brigitte Bardot está ficando velha, envelheceu antes dos nossos sonhos. Coitada da Brigitte Bardot, que era uma moça bonita, mas ela mesma não podia ser um sonho para nunca envelhecer. A Brigitte Bardot está se desmanchando e os nossos sonhos querem pedir divórcio. Pelo mundo inteiro milhões e milhões de sonhos querem também pedir divórcio e a Brigitte Bardot agora está ficando triste e sozinha. Será que algum rapaz de vinte anos vai telefonar na hora exata em que ela estiver com vontade de se suicidar? Será que algum rapaz de vinte anos vai telefonar na hora exata em que ela estiver com vontade de se suicidar? Quando a gente era pequeno, pensava que quando crescesse ia ser namorado da Brigitte Bardot, mas a Brigitte Bardot está ficando triste e sozinha. A Brigitte Bardot agora está ficando velha, triste e sozinha. Velha e sozinha. Sozinha

Brigitte Bardot is getting old she got old before our dreams What a pity about Brigitte Bardot who was a beautiful lady but she couldn’t be a dream herself so she would never get old Brigitte Bardot is falling apart and our dreams want to ask for divorce All over the world millions and millions of dreams also want to ask for divorce and Brigitte Bardot now is getting sad and lonely Will some twenty years old lad phone her at the exact moment she feels like committing suicide? Will some twenty years old lad phone her at the exact moment she feels like committing suicide? When we were kids we thought when we grew up we’d be Brigitte Bardot’s boyfriend but Brigitte Bardot is getting sad and lonely Brigitte Bardot now is getting old, sad and lonely old and lonely lonely

drunk mail to a girl #5132

disappeared and lost:)
waiting in the shadows
not just to you, mermaid woman

time to reap, time to sow – and so on...
i haven’t been writing people emails anymore
not like then
i go to the beach now
it will end
when i’m back at the mountains i’ll have no beaches to go to
i go to the beach with a guy who likes climbing
and another guy told me this story about the rise and fall of a karate gym
he was there and he trained and he won
and his master was serious
and his master got famous
and his master got greedy
and the days of sweat were transformed
into participation medals to the many beginners
and he moved to kung fu
and he trained and he won
and he moved to thai boxing
and he’s worried about training his capoeira better
and i go to the beach with him too
and a guy who played professional volley and likes jiu-jitsu
and can cook things he learned with his mother
and they’re as good friends as i could ever hope to have
and it feels good
and there’s this argentinean guy who plays the guitar like a tangobossanova devil
and this french girl who smiles like girls can smile and make guys write things about their smiles throughout History
when she’s just happy and distracted and she smiles
and all these people
all the time
while i feel so alone
there’s all these people
i could say many, many more
and i like them all
and they’re here, as i blink
and we go to the beach and we
drink claras
around
and
i’m just one
i can’t manage to be all the places i’d like to be
now
right now
and it’s definitely not
in a computer
writing mails
but you
call for me
and how could i just say nothing?
you’re write
i haven’t been saying anything to you for so long
and you say
come
and i’m here
to tell you such a stupid thing
it’s my conclusion, after spending long minutes staring this screen
thinking of what to say
what i got to
at the end
i must tell you
is this:

you’re a door, in my life
you’re just there
and i’m far, far away
a long time ago, but somehow in the future
i’m there
but i haven’t forgotten
i saw you there
a door
to my life

when i’m around i’ll ring it
i won’t forget
don’t you worry about my disappearance
i saw what you can do
i saw you through the fire, i guess
and you laughed of it
and all the beauty i saw in you
then
took form
from smoke
to stone
and i know
i’ll ring it
and i’ll bring a flower
and i can only hope if you disappear too
it doesn’t mean
that you forgot

a kiss

kiss

About sex and football and girls and, mostly, the sky

Mostpeople have these complex theories about sex. The Good Sex is done like this and like that. And you need three persons. And peanut butter. Chantilly. Dwarves. In some cases, two Dobermans and a stapler. I don’t know. I got a little funnyguy up there, but I’m not in the mood for that. I hope you got what I mean, though.

Mostpeople have complex theories about sex, but I don’t hear any complex theory about relationships and dating and love. Love is simple, you see... You need sharing, and caring, and loyalty, and... Love is like Santa Claus. Santa Claus is an old guy who gives presents away at Christmas. These cute inexistent things you keep talking about so you have that cute little block of thinking inside your brains, or your heart, or any other part of your body you’re not using at its best.

No need of complex theories for that.

Relationships, though, have been dignified with some consideration... But it’s a basic, stupid theory. It’s no state of the art, or anything. If relationships were football, the basic theory of those who have a theory would say: “Commit many faults and you’ll win”. It works generally because most people are not talented, and they are rarely exposed to any extraordinary – or even simply out of the ordinary events. So their plans can’t really be developed. Mostpeople can’t commit faults that well, so they just live along with a bad game.

But if you can take care of your business, in relationships, well, if you hurt all the other team, I hope you realize, there’s no more game to be played. If the other team can fight back, shit, I have to go rhetorical questioning now: Do you kiss when searching for love, or for a wrestling match?

Shit. No fighting is ok with me. I’m pretty good with that.

Mostguys have a complex theory about football, but they don’t really seem to have been watching the sky.

The sky is bigger than any girl, you see? I mean, not to me. I’m so small. I’m so small I can’t stare directly into the sun. I say this to people and they appear to take it as some kind of smart catch. I was through with smart catches shortly after I started taking words seriously. You can’t stare directly into the sun. Our sun isn’t even a big one. Some suns out there could fit four of our solar systems inside their circumference. You are 149 million kilometers from our sun – its light takes eight and a half minutes to reach you – and you can’t look directly into it.

There’s the whole universe out there, you understand? It’s not Santa Claus. It’s not this silly love you have wrapped in plastic. It’s out there. Everyday. Every night. It’s there. You can’t see it. It’s marvelous, and you can’t have it cause you’re so small.

When I see a girl in a certain way, I feel complete as a man. I feel like every part of me is working, every sense is awake – I feel I’m functioning completely.

When I look into the sky a certain way, I know all my senses are not enough. I’m weak, and dying. You are too. We all are – small and weak and dying. This is no smart catch. You never felt it? I feel it, when I look into the sky a certain way. And then I see a girl again, or a three, a dog, a blue, a green, or even that very sky – and things around me, at my smallness, get more beautiful than ever.

And more concrete. They’re here, and I can see them. And some of them I can get to really know. Some things like a girl, or even myself. Maybe I can get to really know then, sometimes, for an instant. And that moves me. I am dying – I will certainly end – but for now, somehow, I’m still breathing. And - though I have no idea how this happens, it really makes absolutely no sense at all - somehow it still hurts.

water walk

Sometimes mostpeople will make me think that I’m crazy – because sometimes they’ll think I’m crazy. And if you’re walking alone in the dark with no flashlights and everybody is screaming you are crazy, you start doubting things.

Mostpeople are amazed by my observations and conclusions, till it invades their personal world. Till it gets personal. Till they realize I’m serious.

They think I’m crazy. About girls, for example, they always have this cute smile when I’m talking, as if I was a child trying to impress them (the smart and enlightened grown ups). Then they realize I’m serious and they’ll get angry at me.

This friendly old guy down here is John Cage:

John Cage

John Cage is a pioneer of electronic music, for example. This means he was doing electronic music when everybody thought electronic music was for crazy people. There’s no way to describe John Cage’s compositions in a blog post. He is probably the most controversial composer from all times.

Mostpeople would have fun with John Cage. He will make them laugh. But that’s only till they can understand him. Till they realize that in a deeper sense he’s telling their music and their music taste sucks. He’s saying you’re ignorant and intolerant and feeble minded.

Mostpeople are always angry with me because I say they’re ignorant. I never say that. They discover it themselves, through me, and get angry with me. Man, if you spent your life watching television and going to parties and nothing else, you ARE ignorant. There’s much to know. What can I do? It’s not my fault if you’re not learning any. If you only watch comedies and action movies you are ignorant. If you’ve never read at least a hundred books you are ignorant. If you know nothing of psychology, or anthropology, or sociology, or philosophy, or history, or art and so on, you are ignorant. Getting angry with me is just a confirmation of that. Getting angry with me will just help you numb the problem – it won’t make it disappear.

John Cage is one of the most talented and enlightened musicians ever, and he’s probably also one of the most offended and insulted musicians from our time. Mostpeople will say he is crazy – at the least. If opportunity comes, they’ll hate him.

Mostpeople makes me think I’m going crazy, but usually people I respect, like John Cage, make me think I’m on my way.

Someone I also respect told me once: “Lay your pearls before swine, throw the saint to the dogs. Giving is all that matters”. So despite mostpeople’s incapacity to appreciate this, here’s a little bit of John Cage for you. And as you watch him and laugh you should keep this in mind: He’s a genius. If you think he’s a fool, the joke is actually on you.

She dissolves your words in acid

to smoke a joint 7:45am
and to leave work at 8:02am
in Barcelona
with headphones
with this
song
in my throat
in Barcelona
Bar-celona
Barcelonia
this city is
strange

there was this block from a certain street,
in my hometown
deep, deep into this huge world you ignore
there’s this street
with bars
on both sides
and people would gather there, at the weekends
and the place had its own style, you see
its very personal fauna
a little Neverland
inside the city
in the weekends

Barcelona is that block into a city
with a beach
and shopping centers
and tourists
and the same drugs
and the same mood
with different clothes
and languages
and me
and a magic sleeping joint
at 7:45am
to go home
with a girl
from very, very
deep
into this world
vaster than night
i ignore
with a song
in my throat





Pearls Before Swine - Look Into Her Eyes

that's a razor make a million billion threats

that's a pill and you've got to take it
that's a pill that you've got to take
that's a pill and you've got to take it
i won't rest until you take it

that's a heart that you made
that's a heart and the both of you made it
that's a heart that you made
and i won't rest until i break it

it’s l‘histroic de la famile
it’s l’histroic de la FAM
it’s l‘histroic de la famile
and i won't rest until i forget about it
i won't rest until i don't care
i won't rest until i forget about it
la la la la la la la la

that's a razor and you will make a threat
that's a razor make a million billion threats
that's a razor and you will make a threat
and i won't rest cuz i heard it all before

my behind is a beehive
there's a buzz in my backside
my behind is a beehive
and i won't rest while you break my will

je t’aime the valley
je t’aime the valley OH!!!
je t’aime the valley
i am an orphan de la valley

and i won’t rest until i forget about it
i won’t rest until i don’t care
i won’t rest until i forget about it
la la la la la la la la

Xiu Xiu - I Luv the Valley Oh!

more than words to say

when i sit to write a line is when i feel at home
instead of staring future ruins
awaiting death to come

if i sit with you in mind the line will draw a rose
and try to turn you into a beauty
time cannot decompose

if i sit with you in mind
i've got a keyboard shinning

i have the swirl from all the pearls
that come out when you're smiling

and if you look at all this inc
maybe you will think
that it's ok

but all the words
what they create
it doesn't matter
just a game

i could take it to the sky
i could be silly
hey, hey, hey

i could write:
"my name is billy"
i could spread it every way

all these puzzles are so simple
i can do this everyday

but if i wasn't oh-so-stupid
if i had more than words to say
guess only then i could be screaming
your true
deepest
name

it was no dream; just like the ocean, your eyelashes

i'll keep on dying
every hour
sitting home

you keep on smiling
lotus flower
singing
om

my mind's a slum
but you should hear
just for today

if you will come
or disappear
it's all ok

it makes me happy
just to know
that i was there

the world is flappy
about to blow
my life is air

it was no dream
just like the ocean
your eyelashes

if i depart
from here as quick
as the light flashes

i felt your heat
before my heart
returned to ashes

thank you

The world flashes with beauty and I'll write a poem

e o que observo entre o piscar dos cílios
é um lugar desconhecido povoado
por carruagens de entidades improváveis
que correm ágeis sobre um chão de estrelas
e vêm do céu para brincar nos átomos

buscando êxtase encarando o infinito
eu me encantei com um sorriso verde
entre cabelos de amazona marciana
de chamas claras no infravermelho

fotografias que dispensam negativos
olhos que brilham como blocos de esmeralda
uma surpresa ainda fresca na lembrança
que traz delírios e perguntas no espelho

um rosto meigo pra arrancar o véu das musas
que nome doce sopra o mel de vossos lábios?

funciona assim:
"peque o que quer
e depois
pague por isso"
é o que me diz um tal ditado árabe

quero me lambuzar de tudo que fascina
e o azul-anil do que é a minha sina
propõe barganhas mil
pra debitar na pena

o mundo traz beleza
e eu escrevo
um poema

--------


i don't like translating a poem - it's like painting a music
this can't translate the poem, but at least now you'll know what it says:

what i observe between eyelashes blinking
is an unknown place populated
by carriages of improbable entities
who run with agility over a ground of stars
and come from heaven to play in the atoms

searching ecstasy facing infinity
i fell in love with a green smile
among the hair of a Martian amazona
of bright flames in the infrared

photographs which demands no negative
eyes that shine like emerald blocks
a surprise still fresh at the memory
which brings delirium and questions to the mirror

a tender face to tear apart the muse’s veil
which sweet name blows the honey in your lips?

it works like this:
“take what you want
and then
pay for it”
that’s what will tell me a certain Arabic saying

i want to be smeared in all that fascinates
and the sky-blue of what is now my fate
proposes a thousand bargains
to be charged at my feather

the world brings me beauty
and i’ll write
a poem

A love puzzle

I realize this will be a little bit too long for mostpeople’s Internet reading habits. But I’m not talking pointlessly about a movie I watched or about my daily life or gossiping about neighbors, girls I fucked, politics or celebrities. I spend great part of my short years thinking seriously about love and experimenting with it. Few people do that. I believe I have something to say about the subject, and if you can’t read a couple of pages to improve your insights about love, you actually deserve no love at all. You’re just mostpeople, and my words are not for mostpeople.

When I speak of love, so we can make this clear, I’m probably not speaking of what you understand by love – unless you have thought a lot about it and experimented with it as well. This word is overused and underexperienced. It’s not a dream, but an experience. A state of mind. Something attainable.

People say they’re looking for love, but it ain’t love they seek. People say they don’t believe in love – or that they don’t want it just right now – but it’s not love they’re running from.

A quick example I was discussing with some friends earlier: conquest techniques. You treat a woman wrong, and she’ll come crawling to you. It’s true – mostpeople are that stupid. They can’t help their legs from kicking when you beat their knees with a hammer. It’s only natural and this is only a single example. You throw a piece of mango to a dog, for example, and most dogs won’t want it. But you hold that mango in front of his nose for an instant and hide it away for you to see its reaction. The dog will get curious. Interested. He’ll reach for your hand. You show the mango again and hide it away again. You do it times enough, with certain ability, and most dogs will eat that mango.

I’m quite interested in dog training, but I want a girl better than a dog. I want women. You can call me proud, or something, but if you all choose t-shirts so carefully, I’m quite sure the girl I’m with defines me much more than my t-shirt. I want a woman who’s better than a sex-slave dog.

You treat a girl wrong – I’ve seem this many, many times and I’m sure you have too – and she comes to you. And you feel like victory, and you’re happy. But you probably don’t plan things. Mostpeople don’t plan things. They can only create fantasies. If you say: “I’ll go with red” and you look at the sky and say: “I’ll go with blue” and it gets dark and you say: “I’ll go with black” and you paint the house as black as night and when the sun comes up the house is white and you say: “I’ll go with white” you’re actually planning nothing. You’re just drifting, and your plans – the words you summon and call plans – are nothing but verbal reflexes – they are not decisions.

Mostpeople don’t plan things, and I hear my friends saying: “I’m fucking this girl, she’s a bitch. She gave me no attention than I ignored her and treated her wrong and she came to me and it’s just a fuck”. And a week later they’re saying: “That girl is really sweet. She’s lots of fun” and a month later they’re saying: “Can’t go, man. I’m watching movies tonite with my girlfriend” and at a convenient time they’re saying: “I love her”.

This is not love. This is social/sentimental reflex follow ups.

And later they’re saying: “My relationship sucks. My girlfriend sucks. I treated her so nicely and she gave me no attention last week. Now I want to break up and she’s being so sweet to me”

Shit, you should fucking know better, shouldn’t you? Didn’t it all start like this? Wasn’t this EXACTLY how you got there? Wasn’t you the one trying to train dogs instead of looking for a woman? You knew she was like this before you started. You could only start, actually, because she was like this. For all your weapons are for dogs, and if someone behave spontaneously and reasonably you wouldn’t know what to do with that. You knew she was unfair at the beginning and in fact you reinforced it in her when you used it to fuck her.

Are you any better than her? She’s blind, of course, she bends herself to an enemy and forget her friends. But you were there in the game too. You can’t see that well. Are you any better? If she treats you nicely, won’t you just follow your convenience too, and care little for her? If she’s away won’t you fight to bring her back?

I believe people have their own legs. They go where they wanna go. I watch and I react. I choose what’s best and then I force my body to do the right things and my mouth to say the right words. I’m no dog. I’m free.

A friend of mine had this theory about freedom. He said freedom is for angry beggars. “If you can go A or B and you choose A or B, this is not freedom. This is random. If you’re hungry and someone offers you food, and you refuse it – that’s freedom”

If I beat your knee with a hammer, will you feel like kicking? Can you call this feeling your desire? Can you say that’s what you WANTED to do? The hammer is not your desire. Mostpeople confuse it. Following your desires is actually freedom. Obeying the hammer is simple slavery – even if kicking is considered being free in some cultures.

Freedom is having your knee beaten by a hammer and not kicking, if you don’t want to.

I’m free. If I want a girl and she walks away, I let her go. I feel like running after her, but I don’t want to live on the run. I want a girl, not a fight. I’m not in a hurry, and I’m no dog. I like dogs, but I believe I can do better. I don’t have to fuck, only. I can love and fuck too.

If someone is treating me nicely I feel no immediate urge to please them. But I need no immediate urge to eat either. I eat, most of the time, because it feels good. To repay kindness feels great. You probably should try it more often.

People have all this shit against love because they’re too lazy, ignorant and corrupted to experience love. If you can only eat dog food because there aren’t supermarkets and you can’t cook, dog food still sucks. If you’re too lazy, ignorant or corrupted to cook (like if you lost your arms already, for example) this is no reason to say dog food is great. No reason to say there ain’t no lasagna around. No pizza, no sushi and no salad and only dog food everywhere. If you have only experienced dog food and you call it cooking, you’re dumb. You shouldn’t pretend what you experience is what the whole humanity have experienced or can experience. The poets have being talking about something for thousands of years and if you think it’s all bullshit it only means you’re ignorant and you’re protecting your ignorance, instead of attacking it.

Mostpeople can’t understand love’s puzzles. You need the fire, for example, but nothing can be on the fire forever. You must learn smoked food, if you want to be a chef. And cold salads and sandwiches and so on... Out of the food business straight back to the animal world: You cannot achieve love while trying to manipulate the dog in people’s minds. If you fuck through manipulation you’re only masturbating yourself with other person’s body. Meat dolls.

Some said we’re like isolated islands – all of us – and no matter how many bridges we build, the abyss is always there. One can almost really touch another through sex. And you have this bazooka in your hands and you use it to throw paper planes around.

I’m not mounting cute words for stupid girls to copy into cute shallow Internet messages. I take all of this very seriously.

Anyone can fuck, but to love it takes ability. And it’s easy to feel frustrated with failures and just go coward. Say you don’t want love anymore.

People I see denying love fall into three categories, mostly: a) the weak b) the dumb c) the mean.

If you can’t follow the hardship in love’s way – like loyalty, care, awareness and so on – you are weak. If you don’t realize love is a possibility, you’re dumb. If you realize it and have the strength to try it, but you can’t – for example, you adopt the general rule “One must be kind” and you’re blindfolded kind (you’re kind even when it’s obvious the time for kindness has ended, and you keep hugging and kissing a girl who just want to be left alone for a few minutes) – well, you’re dumb too. If a salesman can’t make a deal, it doesn’t mean deals are a fantasy – maybe the guy just sucks.

And some are just mean. They have more pleasure in manipulating and conquering then they could ever have sharing. Do you take pleasure cooking for your friends, for example? (If you do, and you’re a single girl, call me:) If you’re just mean – and that includes selfish, sadist, vain, greedy and so on – fuck you.

Sometimes, I should add, when people run away from love, it’s not love they’re running from. It’s attachment. My friends fuck bitches for a month and they become girlfriends. I can have love in one night. I can have sandwiches – I just don’t like dog food. Vulgar, pointless, socialawardwinning egodriven stupid sex. When I say I’m out for love, I don’t mean I need to lock a girl by my side and to be the world for her and for her to be the world for me till we eventually get to experience even this same useless attachment you feel for a girl or a toy or a dog or a pillow that’s lingering around you for too long. Till we experience everything. This is a feast, but I can have simple meals.

There are loves, and Loves, and LOves, and LOVes, and LOVEs, and LOVES, and LOVES and LOVES and so on...

I just don’t like dog food.