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"
"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 plaudoIpse domi simulac nummos contemplar inarca" - Horace - Book 1, Satire
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 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.
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"
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
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
