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