domingo, 19 de dezembro de 2010

The sky was dark and clear, all stars up. She had braided hair and a red dress on, looking through the window of her bedroom she saw the dark night. Life in the castle was very pleasant, good hearted people, sometimes not so much, no physical needs, perhaps financial needs but nothing too serious... everything in its place. The new boy came from far away to work for the lord, he was beautiful, all dark and well built, he had the brown eyes and the hair, just as she pictured. She would wander through the gardens and day dream of that one, the one she read about on books who would, with his dark passenger on his ear, take her away from that reality that was so unbearably real. Luck, love and wealth, all in a very distinctive way. The boy was charming and clever, he knew a lot about the trees and the animals, he knew everything there was to know about nature. He would walk around shirtless making her blush everytime, she'd laugh at his jokes and the way he'd make fun of her braided hair. " Isn't that the way a proper girl should be?" she asked him, he said: "well, if a proper girl is what you are then, you probably shouldn't be talking like that to a servant, or letting him wash your hair at night, or wish he had a darker secret then the color of his trousers... you know miss, maybe your not that proper after all." She laughed and thanked him for his honesty and that kind of behavior for he was the only one who would truly see her beyond the braids.

The days passed as if nothing else in the world was happening but them. They played under the moonlight and she began to notice that the boy had traces of a man by the way he would look at her sometimes, you see, it is noticeable for a girl when a boy becomes a man for only they can actually feel the transition. It is in the way the eyes stop acting so surprised and more analytic, how their hands feel tougher instead of soft and touch becomes stronger. It is when you are held by man and you feel safe as if nothing, at that moment, could harm you or even reach you. It is when, instead of awkwardness, you feel freedom and, instead of frustration, you get expectation. A true man could stop a hundred horses with a scream, make a hundred servants with his posture, a hundred days of happiness with his mouth and a hundred years of love with a look. In the meantime, as a boy who's becoming a man, he would let her know with his eyes that, soon, he would be complete in all matters you can be. She let her hair down and got closer to him, staring straight into his soul, she tried to tell him but knew it wasn't the time. Not yet. His voice would change as he told her about the spirit of a flower, how it grows and listens to you, how it responds to your caring. She cared for nothing else but the higher of his being, she could not wait until he was complete, she had the need to savor the child in him before it was gone. Their lips touched and his eyes became surprised and his touch was soft for the last time. At that moment, she understood that, a girl only senses the transition of a boy becoming a man, because she acts as the trigger object and joins him on the same path. It is when a girl turns a boy into a man that she, herself, becomes a woman and, in this explosion of a moment, there is a glimpse of sadness for knowing what will never be the same and the responsibility one carries when being a part of such event.

They looked at each other as completely new beings and, all that doubt and questioning that would torment them before, it was all gone. All that was left was the urge and need to have more so their lips collapsed again, now as man and woman, his touch was stronger and his chest was home. Together they became one and discovered that, once that point was reached, even if far away, they would never be apart.

to be continued

terça-feira, 7 de dezembro de 2010


tuas mãos sujas, calejadas, esfarrapadas
deixam digitais nos meus olhos, pele e cabelos
te quero fora e exorcizado de mim, mesmo que só por hoje
só pra poder lembrar do tempo em que eu sonhava por ti
esquecer de mim nos teus bracos e tirar de ti a vida
assim como gostaria de tira-la de mim
tuas declarações nunca foram suficiente, nem as tuas, nem as tuas, nem as tuas...
quando a musica muda, muda a cor, o cheiro, o sentir
e me da vontade de ser tua de novo
e de curar teus calos e secar teu suor
"o esforço acabou" dizer no teu ouvido baixinho: it's already over
enquanto tu te esperneias e gritas para que não o solte
e então
eu te observo cair
e o teu olhar se tornou sereno durante o trajeto ate o chão
nesse segundo eu vi que tu compreendias e me perdoavas por te-lo amado tanto
e eu vi tua vida sair do teu corpo num leve sopro
sorri e me senti completamente amada por saber que tu serias sempre meu e que, mesmo sem vida, teus olhos seguiriam, sempre, olhando pra mim.

o trajeto de volta pra casa foi como se, a cada passo, um pedaço de mim se perdesse pelo caminho.
atravessei o campo de flores sob o luar, rodopiando e dançando feito menina em sonhos dourados.
cantava teu nome e a cada silaba saboreava como se o dissesse pela primeira vez.
engraçado como o nome da pessoa amada se torna enfeitiçante. como se tivesse o poder de materializar-lo ali em minha frente. então peguei em tua mão e deixei que me levasse ate um trajeto mais escuro.
ficou frio, gelado e muito, muito escuro. então cai. cai e rasguei a palma.
vi o sangue e então eu vi, vi que estava sozinha e o sangue não era meu.
de repente, um buraco abriu-se dentro de mim pois percebi que não estavas ao meu lado, nem jamais voltaria a estar
ao dar-me conta do ocorrido, pus me a chorar lagrimas frias que de nada me adiantavam
comecei a correr, eu tenho medo do escuro, do desconhecido e de qualquer coisa sem ti.
enquanto corria, pedia perdão, pedia que viesse me socorrer, que nunca mais faria aquilo de novo, prometo!
cheguei ate os trilhos de trem, nos quais tantas vezes nos despedimos e tu partias para tao longe...
e agora o longe se transformou em nunca mais, e o amanha se transformou em pra sempre.
soluçava e gritava aos ventos que jamais me perdoaria, que jamais me deixaria amar outra vez, que preferia a morte a ter de viver sem minha vida.
a luz me cegou, interrompeu minha fúria
olhei para a luz e então te vi, não a tua materialização mas tu, de verdade, caminhando em minha direção.
tu sorrias, sorrias aquele teu sorriso leve e bandido.
era o perdão
então eu corri, corri em tua direção, em direção a minha luz e então... como que num baque surdo, eu estava em teus bracos e eu te beijava o peito, como se nunca mais fossemos nos soltar
uma lagrima rolou, estava feliz e me senti amada pois, agora sim, tu serias sempre meu mas, por estar eternamente abracada em ti, jamais veria, novamente, teus olhos olhando pra mim.

quinta-feira, 4 de novembro de 2010

my hands are growing

kiss me and forever free me from this inner cage. lost inside a thousand walls that keep me in this alluring prison... who's to blame? emotional wreck for lack of compassion, to love and die or to live and die from the absence of love, that is the question. wrap me up, unfold me... I am small and needy, warm me up and breathe me... that's what she said. the girl who just cannot keep steady even though she craves for stability. what to do with such irrational state of mind? what to live for if not to love and be loved? sometimes I feel him talking to me through my thoughts, nights like this one when I can't sleep, just thinking and wondering where did it all go? so many questions, so many sentences that were already spoken... so repetitive, but what are the words that were never spoken before? is there such thing as an untold story? an idea that wasn't thought about before? there is no future, just the repetition of everything that was already said and written. we are little pieces putting together the puzzle of life, which was already thought through before... so why is it so hard to understand? why is it so hard to get any answers? why do we ask so many questions? same doubts, different instruments. if only the wind would stop so it could start again in a new/old way.

sexta-feira, 29 de outubro de 2010

the unbearable wish

through the window of my bedroom I see Paul, he takes off his shirt everyday at six thirty, which is exactly 45 minutes after I get home from school. The other day I saw Paul at the groceries store, he was wearing that brown shirt that matches his eyes, he asked me if I knew where the chicken broth was, why would he want to know that? was he sick? was his girlfriend sick? Does he even have a girlfriend? My eyes went straight to his tattoo, he has cross on his left arm, I always get drawn to the little tip that gets out his shirt's sleeve. He thinks I'm a weirdo, and maybe I am - you'd be a weirdo for Paul as well - "second row", I said after staring for about 4 seconds. I wish I could just tell him, I can always say everything, I'm not a nerd, not a weirdo... only when he looks at me, as if some sort of spell was cast on me every time I see his eyes, his light brown eyes, like fire on a train track (train track? yeah, that's the image I see when he looks at me), like a train on fire, and I'm inside, burning, but it doesn't matter because he's looking at me, all I see, in the midst of all that fire, are Paul's eyes. All I see are his dashing eyes, for all eternity in his eyes, four seconds. One day I saw Paul at the library, he was reading "The unbearable lightness of being", only him would read literature at a library, well, him and me. He had a hoodie on, so simple yet so complex, how could a creature so mundane seem so angelic to me? His thin pointed nose, those strong shaped lips, high cheeks... not to mention his long fingers flipping through those pages, he would caress his head and touch his hair... to touch his hair...He looked at me and smile, you would think I could not deserve a smile but, like I said, I'm no freak. I just happen to have this urge to get inside his chest forever and stay there, comforted by his weakness and threatened by his strength, wander his thoughts and most shameful desires, speak with Paul's voice, touch with Paul's hands, hear his music but, most of all, see with Paul's fiery eyes. I wish there was a door to Paul's world, to his soul, wish I could consume Paul and all his essence, wish I could be Paul. I wish Paul was real.

terça-feira, 26 de outubro de 2010

the start of amazing men

Hoje Mr. Kowalski esta, e assim ficara, mais confortavel em seu novo lar. Compartilho esse espaco tambem com o mais novo membro da minha (in)consciencia, o garoto malvado da coca. Ele tambem tem coracao e olhos de pedra, rara excecao feita devido aos seus olhos azuis. Eu nunca gostei de homem com olho claro, nao me passa confianca, mas Tommy me mostrou que clareza tambem pode ser empatica. Gostaria de deixar outra coisa clara, aqui nao iras encontrar nada de informativo ou, sendo assim, extremamente construtivo aqueles que veem na superficie do espelho. Me encanta o sexo oposto, obviamente, me encantam suas maneiras distintas e febris de pensar e agir. Divirto- me observando o comportamento masculino: o processamento de informacoes, o raciocinio raro e a formulacao de conclusoes. Homens sao divertidissimos, nao tendo uma missao explicita nesse mundo (no caso das mulheres seria ser mae, supostamente), sentem-se por vezes confusos quanto ao que fazer ou dizer quando questionados sobre o mesmo. Principalmente quando questionados por mulheres, pobres homens, cercados por duvidas sobre o que pensar ou dizer sem que parecam machistas, mal sabem eles que as maiores machistas sao, de fato, as mulheres! Inclusive eu que,acredito ter deixado claro, sou admiradora fiel desse ser tao magnifico e intrigante que e o macho de nossa especie decadente. Voltarei a discutir esse assunto mas, no momento, me encontro absorta em pensamentos por demais cabulosos para, sequer, continuar a escrever.

"Don't you know? You're the most beautiful thing there is in this planet, you're a man..."

domingo, 17 de outubro de 2010

Ceu Distante

eu era a primavera e não sabia... quando escuto o choro do vento batendo nas ondas de pais distante me da saudade das águas do sul e das lagrimas do sul. de poemas de Jabor e casas de praia abandonadas, casas de praia aonde minha virgindade repousa, onde a juventude guarda os contos de infância e o cheiro de mofo transporta o espirito de volta a inocência. Havia uma beleza ali ou era criatividade minha, quando andava pela rua cor de sol amarelo ouro, me fitava e eu avermelhando nos jardins de ouro. Desvanecida de amor cor de carmim...
a nostalgia eh a mais louvável forma de viagem no tempo, quando podemos dançar velhas musicas e beijar lábios de primeiros amores, de amores que sequer foram amores. me da uma saudade de ser Carolina, Daniela e Susana - codinomes de quem não da importância a nomes. fantasias e delírios dentro dos teus olhos verdes, lindos - tu não eh único, nem primeiro, nem ultimo - es assim eterno, duradouro, de modo que te confesso agora todos os sonhos de outrora construindo, assim, uma porta para o imaginário, infinito e lirico que existe só no meu pensamento que eh tua morada, enamorada sou eu desse teu animal enjaulado no teu corpo que tem sede da minha sede e fome da minha fome. eu me alimento com teus devaneios enquanto tu te sacias com as minhas mentiras.

sexta-feira, 13 de agosto de 2010

the doors must be open

Sofro agora a dor do fim de uma era, era de sonhos e amores perdidos, de aventuras inocentes e outras nem tanto assim. Agora ha pouco li todos os posts antigos e chorei como uma criança... vi que minhas frustrações ainda são as mesmas, meus medos ainda são os mesmos e, ateh os amores, me doeram... não soh a perda deles em si, mas de saudade de todas as coisas lindas que desejei e que nunca existirão, os planos que fiz que não mais persistem, dos que fiz sofrer e dos que me fizeram chorar. Acho tao triste quando chega o final de um ciclo como esse, mais despedidas, por mais que já esteja acostumada, não fica mais fácil, não doí menos, não deixa de tirar um pedaço de mim. Por isso, agora, sofro e choro por esse pedaço que fica, como se sentisse ele sendo arrancado de mim, o pedaço imaturo, ingenuo e sonhador, não cresceu o bastante pra continuar - deve ser substituído por outro mais forte e mais maduro - que a essência nunca se perca, mas a matéria agora se vai e machuca pesando na garganta a despedida da criança imatura e ingenua e sonhadora. Sigo em busca de novas batalhas, novos sonhos e, sempre, novos amores.

segunda-feira, 2 de agosto de 2010

back to basics

Going back to the roots of real things and true words of inspiration I realize I'm back on track following my path. When people and random situations seem to let you down, philosophy and literature bring you back to where you want to be and never disappoint you. Now I read Oscar Wilde and he speaks to me in my language, whispers the truth in my ears, telling me that pleasure is very different from happiness and some things are more precious because they don't last. Typing this makes it feel like the keyboard is in fact a piano that exhales poetry in the form of music (or the other way around). My hands feel like soft tools to be used as instruments of inspiration, I declare myself a messenger of sense and sensibility, always searching for tutors in the greats and passing on to the weak. If only one would notice and appreciate it maybe I could feel less of an incomplete but, at the same time, less unique. I claim the right to be observed and studied the same way I love to observe and study another one.

You are eyes and hair and hands, breathing through an insatiable heart. I hear your call, come out, come out wherever you are.

sábado, 24 de julho de 2010

porque eu nao vou morrer de amor

" birthday is coming, and if I had one wish, yeah, you'd be it. When you're around I lose myself inside your mouth, you've got brown eyes like no one else baby make it to me again and again..."

"you know something? I have always wanted to kiss you and I hate myself now because it's too late..." foi o que tu disse hoje pra mim. mas que audacia, jamais seria tarde demais... ah sim, claro, tu te apaixonou por outra pessoa, logico... da nada, to acostumada. mas, pelo menos fiz tu entender que comigo a roda gira pro outro lado, que eu nao vou ficar chateada contigo, ou te deletar do facebook por que? porque eu sou do caralho! eu sou a guria mais afude que tu ja conheceu na tua vida - sim, pelo menos tu entendeu isso e me beijou porque sabia que eu nao ia morrer de amor, que bom que tu entendeu e me abracou porque sabia que eu nao ia entender errado, que bom que tu entendeu e me levou no cinema e fugiu do resto do povo comigo, e me deu metade do teu crepe de nutella. que bom que tu entendeu que eu entendo.

entao ta, assim ficamos combinados: tu pode deitar no meu colo, pode me abracar, deixar eu dormir no teu peito, pode me contar teus segredos, pode me mostrar teus filmes e tuas insegurancas, pode me falar dela tambem (sou craque em dar conselhos pra quem amo), pode beijar meu rosto sem medo que eu tente beijar tua boca, pode me chamar de Marrrriana e falar comigo em alemao ou frances, pode ateh me convencer a assitir um filme de acao chato nao primeira fila do cinema e me deixar com enxaqueca, pode dizer que me adora mais do que todas as outras pessoas que tu conheceu aqui. eh isso que eu quero de ti, tua consideracao - e hoje tu provou pra todo mundo que por mim tem muita. que bom que tu entendeu o que nenhum outro entendeu, que bom que tu entendeu que, nao, eu nao vou morrer de amor.

quarta-feira, 14 de julho de 2010

Acabei de fazer amor contigo por telepatia

Vem chegando a tao esperada hora da partida. Ha anos, vinte para ser mais exata, tenho vivido intensamente cada segundo por saber que ela sempre vem, sem atrasos. Caminho pelas ruas exageradamente iluminadas e poluidas de tanta informacao. Hollywwod Blvd., Sunset Blvd., Vine, Highland, Barham, Mulholland Dr., Wilshire e tantas outras. Outro sonho realizado, outra experiencia tao bem apreciada... mesmo assim, na calcada da fama, eu sinto saudades da minha Porto Alegre boemia, das ruas da cidade baixa e dos mendigos do centro... saudades de caminhar por la e me encontrar com as pessoas que tanto amo. Nao ha duvida que sentirei falta desse lugar tambem, talvez mais do que espero mas, esse ano, me abri feito flor na primavera e as outras estacoes nao me assustam mais do que me encantam. Aprendi a apreciar o momento e nao chorar quando ele acaba, mas sorrir porque o vivi.

Entre tantos desvios e pechadas pelo caminho, eu dedico essa vida - e a proxima - as pessoas que a viveram, vivem e a viverao comigo, sempre, de algum jeito ou de outro, carrego cada sorriso, cada lagrima, abraco, beijo e tesao que dividi com todos que me construiram e me destruiram e me construiram de volta. Agradeco todos os dias por ser livre para pensar sem sentir medo, beijar sem sentir culpa, transar sem ter vergonha, compartilhar tantas mas tantas noites e tardes e dias sonhando com o que seria, o que haveria de ser EU, essa pessoa que nem eu mesmo sei pra onde vai ou o que quer ser. A hora da partida esta chegando, como todas outras vieram e mais irao de vir, essa marca um ponto final, e eu to tri afim.

sexta-feira, 11 de junho de 2010


Meu coração, não sei por que... bate feliz quando te vê e os meus olhos ficam sorrindo e pelas ruas vão te seguindo mas, mesmo assim, foges de mim.

Foge de volta pra casa, que bonito eh estar tao apaixonada por tao doce criatura. A doçura da tua voz, tao cândida, tao profunda. As tuas costas machucadas pelo peso do trabalho (vida). Fico viajando nos teus lábios, tuas sobrancelhas perfeitamente arqueadas. A tua imensa delicadeza e ateh a tua falta de empatia, tao compreensível, tao perdoável. Nao tenho vontade de te mudar, de te fazer mais maduro, quero so observar-te caminhar pela vida e crescer como espirito. Te tenho como flor guardada dentro de um livro bom que continua cheirosa e me fazendo sorrir, mesmo já tendo decorado a historia. Quero, porem, te falar das coisas que aprendi e dividir contigo meus desejos e meus medos porque sei que parecem com os teus. Entao, sem medo, me da a mao e vem comigo aproveitar o pouco tempo que temos, vem comigo transformar esse pouco tempo em eternidade para nossos coracoes tao desiludidos mas cheios de esperanca. Vem comigo compartilhar segredos entre beijos, cancoes entre prazeres e historias entre estrelas. Vem dancar ao som do vento que nos separa e da dor que nos une.

Amo-te como amigo e como amante, numa sempre diversa realidade.

sábado, 22 de maio de 2010

le garcon avec les yeux tragic, frappe la port

lembrei daquele quarto que eu tinha na pensao, dos momentos solitarios bebendo uisque e dancando ao som de Doors. Dos vizinhos, da comida, da familia, das experiencias... procuro nao me arrepender do que faco mas, dessa vez, o arrependimento bate forte. Me arrependo de ter esquecido de mim por tanto tempo, de ter deixado aquele lar que, apesar de nao ser meu, foi o melhor que ja tive, o mais libertador, mais otimista do que qualquer outro. Lembro daqueles que me visitaram la e daqueles que eu visitei. Todos, todos eles, nao importa quantas vezes me decepcionei, nenhum deles me desrespeitou tanto, me diminui tanto, me esmagou, me tirou a alegria de ser eu, Mari e sim, eu tive tanta saudade de ser eu e de ser eu com os outros. Felicidade eh saber que o tempo cura e fecha as feridas que devem ser fechadas e seca as lagrimas desmerecidas. Sei que tudo eh um aprendizado e que o futuro reserva grandes experiencias e eh soh isso que me importa

e um suico de olhos castanhos malvados.

quarta-feira, 19 de maio de 2010

Because you took that one

E assim como veio ja se foi. O menino dos olhos tragicos bate a porta ou, como tu me ensinou :le garcon avec les yeux tragic, frappe la port. Sim, fala frances, me diz qualquer coisa que eu escuto e enxergo. Tu tem medo do que pode acontecer e no fundo sabe que eu tambem, a gente nunca sabe o que vai acontecer ou, principalmente, como vai acontecer. Acredito que nos motivamos com simples desejos e objetivos - um deles era ter essa conversa contigo, ter esse momento que, no meio de mil realidades paralelas e pessoas que poderiamos ser, aconteceu hoje - hoje tu largou tudo e veio me ver, soh por me ver, e assim como de repente, pegou na minha mao e a segurou e entao suavemente me largou, esse leva e traz do teu espirito me enche de agonia mas tambem admiracao... como se gritasse "sim" mas recuasse na logica do "nao". Assim que te gosto, indeciso, impreciso e intrigante, sempre me deixa esperando mais, imaginando mais. Contigo eu sonho de novo com os romances impossiveis e o morros de ventos uivantes. Es como um traidor da propria natureza, tragicamente impossibilitado de satisfacao. Lutando contra os fortes demonios e fogo da tua alma para permancer puro atraves desses olhos selvagens.

terça-feira, 11 de maio de 2010

sobre Kull e Bondy

Entao o mundo gira, a vida anda e me leva de volta a essas pessoas tao especiais que conheci. Tu, por exemplo, um menino de 19 anos naquela epoca, alto, desajeitado, cabeludo, barbudo, um viajante do mundo... me mostrou uma docura incondicional, nao me pediu nada e mesmo assim beijou todas as partes do meu rosto. Hoje encontrei outro parecido contigo, com a mesma docura mas, devo dizer, um pouco mais de malicia. Ele tem mais escuridao no jeito de se expressar e deve ser por isso que me atrai tanto. Acabei por descobrir que eh grande amigo teu, eh obvio, tudo fez sentido. Nao sei o que em voces germanicos me deixa tao enfeiticada, falar contigo agora depois de tanto tempo me deu vontade de te ter de novo e, como tu mesmo disse, eu vou. Esperar...

"obrigado pela experiencia" obrigada voce meu anjo por me deixar ser parte da tua vida.

domingo, 2 de maio de 2010

Sing it like Fiona

You said I killed you
haunt me then
be with me always

take any form
take any shape
drive me mad
but don't leave me
in this abyss I cannot find you

I cannot live without my life
I cannot live without my soul



quarta-feira, 28 de abril de 2010

Sick of it!

Foda-se as gracinhas, fodam-se as paixoes passageiras, foda-se a carencia e a vontade de te ter porque um almadicoado eternizou minha Alma nesse buraco Negro de desilusoes onde meu corpo se esconde. Foda-se o carinho e o desejo, FODAM-SE todos esses detaljes superfluos que nos levam a essa mentira que eh o amor.

quarta-feira, 14 de abril de 2010

home sweet home

hoje, pela primeira vez em vinte anos, me senti em casa. sinto como se estivesse exatamente onde eu deveria estar. a mobilia parece estar no lugar certo, as cores quentes desse studio tem a minha cara, fiquei ateh com vontade de comprar quadros pras paredes, agora isso eh muito importante - quadros na parede, isso eh sinal de casa, livros na prateleira abaixo do abajur com uma cadeira confortavel ao lado, isso eh sinal de minha casa - minha cara escrita nas cores quentes e nas almofadas de leopardo.

terça-feira, 13 de abril de 2010

it's always you my love

It's just so impossible to express the way I feel about you right now. I wonder if it's the lack of interesting people I've been meeting or if it's just genuine affection. You are just so wonderfully designed for me, and handmade for my care. I wish I could just hold you for a whole minute and gaze into those wild blue eyes, those tragic eyes that I adore.

I wonder if my obsession affects you in any matter, after all it is not possible to be unaware of my constant thinking about you. It's impossible not to feel all this fire that I send to you. I do believe one day maybe you will see and appreciate my glossy gazes into your heart.

here it's Tom and his striking personality, eu sei mas nao achei uma foto que ele esteja menos palhaco...

domingo, 11 de abril de 2010

For Tom

This is where I write my thoughts and desires and dreams. The importance of appreciation for me is, by all means a high point in my behavior. I want nothing more than a sample of your affection, a little piece of your soul that I can carry with me forever, for that is what I do, meeting people no matter how worthless they might seem, there is always something enjoyable in each one's personality. That is how I get love and attention, by taking a little piece of everyone I have the pleasure to talk to. It's like a conversation could be a window to each one's soul, to each one's heart. Even though they may not notice or even think that I am cheap for selling myself so short. They sometimes don't see or realize that we all want the same and one thing only, appreciation. I know that there will be one, eventually, that will see and understand that. I also know that I am not ready for him but I shall be damn if he finds me before that.  

sexta-feira, 9 de abril de 2010


Ser capitã desse mundo
Poder rodar sem fronteiras
Viver um ano em segundos
Não achar sonhos besteira
Me encantar com um livro
Que fale sobre a vaidade
Quando mentir for preciso
Poder falar a verdade

quarta-feira, 7 de abril de 2010

The Devil in the Kitchen

Marco is at John's bachelor party, he is not really the party type but what the hell, he thought. John's worked in the kitchen with Marco since they were teenagers, and now he found this chick, this girl with the most scintillating personality he's ever seen. Not worth it, Marco thought. Anyway the loud guys were thrilled when they heard that there would be a stripper coming and all that usual nonsense. As they cheered and raised glasses to Marco who would scarcely smile, he thought that if it wasn't for the bourbon and the fourteen years of friendship with John he would jump out of that balcony and run for his life. The music went on, and so did the  drunkenness, when the doorbell rang. Cheers, he thought, the stripper is here. At last some better form of entertainment than drunken hippies. She walked in in a very sexy outfit, obviously, and a mask covering part of her face. Marco thought: "how interesting she didn't say a word instead of that 'can I put out your fire' bullshit". She walked to the center of the room and put on a song, a stripper's song, whatever that means, and started to dance. Slowly moving her hips from one side to another, back and forth, moving her hands on her body and, sometimes, turning. That dance went on for what it seemed to Marco hours. Hours of pain for having to watch that poor girl sell her soul to the drunken hippies, he could see her eyes through that mask, beautiful hazel eyes on which he seemed to drown. She proceeded as one of the guys had the wonderful idea to play the guitar while she danced. Yes, the imbecil clown could actually play it quite nicely. He was playing what sounded like a gipsy lullaby and she responded by doing the most addictive performance Marco could possibly imagine. He found himself drifting into that woman's eyes and the way she moved her hands made him follow every moment as if he no longer was a part of that stupid party but a member of her body, revolving and spinning. He got dizzy and thought it would be clever to stop drinking when the music stop. 

About an hour had passed when the stripper had to leave. She said goodbye to the hippies who begged her to stay in a very "delicate" way but she smiled and went to the door where John discreetly  paid her an amount that Marco couldn't tell. He felt a strange urge to go after that intriguing lady and after a quick goodbye to John when he told him how happy he was for his marriage and that he would see him tomorrow at the festivities, Marco left quite in a hurry downstairs. He got to the entrance of the building and stopped to light up a cigarette. "Have you got an extra one?" said a female voice which he recognized. There she was, a huge coat on and no mask, the eyes uncovered, savage hazel eyes on fire. He reached his pocket to give her a cigarette. He couldn't stop staring until he realized that she noticed him staring. "Why are you still here? I mean it's cold" what a douchelord he thought to himself, what kinda question is that? She lighted up her cigarette "well my car just broke so I'm trying to get a cab or something". He was staring again, stop it you idiot! " I can give you a ride, where do you live?" she smiled and said "downtown". On the way to the car she finally said " I saw you looking at me upstairs" he puffed the cigarette "isn't that the point? you dance, we watch...?" " yes, but you had other thoughts than the others" "well, you're a great performer". As they walked to the parking lot he noticed from the corner of his eyes how gracefully she carried herself on those high heels and how delicate she seemed to smoke that cigarette. "So what do you do?" she asked, "I'm a cook, me and my friend, the bachelor you saw at the party, we have a restaurant in West Hollywood" she looked at him and said: "Really? I would love to see you cook sometime" she took another hit of the cigarette and he stopped noticing how she was trying to intimidate her with that conversation, he wouldn't be intimidated, not tonight " come with me then, I'll show you". They walked to the car and left.

He opened the door of his condo and thought about the mess he left in the living room, books and records everywhere. He had a storm the other day when he thought that his creativity was on hold so he started searching for inspiration in every word of those books and music. But that didn't matter right now. He had to show her, prove to her that he wasn't the lamb, he was the wolf, he had the control of everything...or so he thought. "Nice place" she said, "it's a little bit messy but, it's been worse" she laughed and follow him to the kitchen that was absolutely clean and organized, that was his sanctuary, nobody was allowed to touch anything there or take anything out of place. That was one of the many reasons why him and Laura broke up, she would always try to move stuff for him, always telling him that he had to let go that perfectionism. that it wasn't healthy for neither of them. So he let her go, he couldn't have anyone else trying to control that world in his mind, no one. "Sit down" he said to her pointing to one of the stools, he asked if she wanted to drink something and she said yes, so he poured her some red wine which she started drinking in large sips. He took off his coat and rushed to wash his hands, she watched him do so very precisely, he would wash one hand completely and then the other almost like a doctor. "So what are you going to make?" she asked, "I still don't know, I'll let them guide me". "Them?" she said a little confused, "the ingredients, I pick them up as they appear and then they tell me what to do". Interesting she thought, she knew what he was talking about, she would always let the signs tell her what to do, she didn't like planning anything, waste of time, it's always more exciting to see where life is gonna take you. She believed that you would loose too much of what was happening if you kept planning your next move.

He remembered the crab meat he bought that morning at the Farmer's Market and that was his queue, he grabbed some baby tomatoes, lettuce and avocado and started working with them. "So what are they telling you to do?" he didn't look at her when he responded: "the question is not what, but why? Why are you doing this? You see a lot of things are like this, instead of always asking yourself what am I doing? you should ask why are you doing it? Visualize the dish in your head and work your way through it, that's how you get to the perfect result." "What if I don't know how I want it to look?" she asked, "then you shouldn't bother doing it" he looked at her, staring at those big hazel fiery  eyes "if don't know how you want the result to be, you probably don't know yourself very much, do you?". She stared at him back, he turned and got some more eggs outta the fridge. "Can I put some music on?" she asked, "sure, there are some records... everywhere." She walked to the living room and started looking at the records, she wander through Jethro Tull, Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Beatles and this beautiful looking record with two girls in the cover sitting in a car. She felt intrigued by the look of these two women and decided to listen to it. She put it on and a drunk male voice started singing, breathtaking she thought. She then looked around that mess and appreciated it, she wouldn't have liked a more organized place, the reason she couldn't tell. 

He had her again at the corner of his eye, sitting on that stool, she was sweating, after all she had a fur coat on and the heater was on. Of course she wouldn't take that coat off for she was with her stripper outfit underneath it. "Would you like to put on one of my shirts? Perhaps you'll feel more comfortable..." he said to her while he chopped the tomatoes. She said yes, and her guard was completely off by now, for he has shown her that he had no dirty intentions towards her, perhaps no intentions at all. He went to his room and gather a t-shirt for her. He handed her the t-shirt a little blushed for she had taken the coat off and he could see now her magnificent body, she had that pale texture and a very soft skin with voluptuous breasts. "Thanks" she said, taking him out of the journey he was in staring at her body. He went back to the kitchen and asked her to taste the tomato pure he just made. She loved it and wanted to know if that, whatever he was cooking was his invention. "We are in a world of refinement, not invention. We don't create anything, only refine, redecorate, we learn and lighten things up as we get older" he said while he was chopping the lettuce and the watercress . He would say these things and chop the lettuce, she thought. "Do you know how to cook everything?" she asked, "I wouldn't say that, but there's nothing we cannot learn now is it?" she was puzzled "well, I don't think I would have the ability to do that, I find myself quite capable of several things, but not cooking". He thought that was absurd, any human being could cook "didn't your mother or your father teach you? or cooked for you?" she thought for a moment "I can't remember much of what my parents could have done for me". He grabbed the pepper and the salt and dropped at the sauce. "You see, there is no such thing as the incapacity of doing something, you are capable of doing everything you allow yourself to do, now if you don't allow yourself to cook then you never will and I don't know, as much as I find a person who says that cannot cook a little annoying I, maybe, should be thankful for they are a great part of the restaurantgoers." She felt a little angry for him calling her annoying but answered back: "well I think chefs sometimes can be extremely arrogant with your genius ways and cocky manners. He put the plate in front of her with a huge and appetizing sandwich. "Eat it" he said, and she did. It was a delicious mix of sweet and sour of the vinaigrette and the crab meat almost melting in her mouth, she felt as if no sandwich could be so divine and at the same time she was furious with him. "It's wonderful" she said, "the only thing that makes a chef look arrogant is his pursuit for perfection, the effort that he puts in any type of dish is bigger than what a lot of people put in life itself, therefore he does not admit mistakes or any lack of concentration. Sometimes he brings that to his personal life, sometimes he doesn't.""Which one are you?" she asked but he did not answer so she said:"I don't like the way you try to intimidate me, you know? It makes me feel a little shaky, I don't like that." Does she always speaks whatever comes to her head? he thought "I don't have the power to intimidate anybody, if you are, you are doing this to yourself". Arrogant bastard she thought, but as much as she loathed him she could not seem to find reasons to leave. She ate (devoured) the club crab meat sandwich and took the last swig of her red wine. She started watching him clean the kitchen, again, with such obsession and perfectionism and she noticed how his hands were big and rough looking, the way his curly and messy hair would fall on his eyes, those sexy harsh eyes and she couldn't tell if it was the wine or the song that were making her feel so attracted to that despicable man "you said no one creates anything anymore, but I don't think anyone could transform a sandwich into such a sophisticated piece of art" she said smiling. He saw the way she said those last three words, it was almost sexual, he also noticed the way she was moving her crossed legs, inviting him "the real artist is mother nature, she has everything all we need to know is how to put them together" he said as she crawled on top of the counter looking at him. She sat on the counter in front of him and spread her legs apart. He could see those magnificent thighs  and he followed her hands as she was taking the shirt off: "what else does it take to be a great chef?" she asked gazing at him, she wanted to touch him and so she moved his hair away from his eyes. He was beautiful, tragically beautiful with those tragic harsh eyes and strong  hands. Thinking he could not stand staring at her any longer he kissed her and she embraced him completely as he lifted her up and took her to the living room floor. I need the words and the lyrics he thought. They made love passionately, he couldn't help but touching her lips and neck and looking into the devilish hazel eyes, one day they might kill me he thought.

He lighted up a cigarette and started thinking of all the dishes he had made so far and how many of them were for his women, demons are what they are. Toying with the most sincere of feelings of admiration, he felt bruised and cut but not by his cooking but for the way he would always let himself fall for the littlest sample of affection. She was also smoking as she thought of all the men she have met and how adventurous life felt at that moment, she had no regrets and started humming with the song playing, even though she didn't know the rhythm.

sábado, 3 de abril de 2010

Time grabs you by the wrist directs you where to go... How is it we're all wrapped around this cybernetic net that no one understands? When do we stop being children and become people? When is the turning point from being someone else's to be your own? I question my own idea of reality, of responsibility and what it is to be a human being? What is that? Who has the answers to all these questions? I do. You do. Everybody knows their own path, I know all the answers to my questions! Still, why do I keep running from them? Why do I refuse to follow the rules and whatever is expected of me? Why do I rebel? I have nothing to complain about. The only thing I have to complain about is myself. How ironic is that? I'm a rebel against myself. Ain't that stupid? Can anyone come over and hit me hard in the head to see if I get better maybe with a seizure?! I deserve to be severely punished for being so disappointed at myself and yet do nothing about it but to feel angry, to feel sad and to feel like nothing could ever make me feel better. I just realized that I hate the fact of moving in with my mother because she makes me confront everything that I hate about myself and maybe that's the only way of getting better. She wants me to be better so why do I hate that? Why do I run away from that? Why am I so scared of becoming a real person? A wonderful one as I know I could be. I use to be so proud of how mature and understanding I always was and now I see that it is worthless to be understanding towards others if your not satisfied with yourself. It is worthless to feel empathetic if you hate to admit that you are weak. Weak and worthless. You see I do know everything that's wrong with me and that's the only good thing I believe I do.

terça-feira, 30 de março de 2010

No topo do ceu

Sonhei que morava numa casa/castelo. Ficava passando por todos os aposentos tentando escolher o meu. Escolhi. Tava ali porque o Rei me queria. Ele tinha cabelos pretos e longos e olhos azuis, frios e crueis. Eu temia o Rei, mas tambem o amava, amava ser amada por ele. Por mais que eu errasse o Rei sempre me perdoava, ele colocava suas maos frias e brancas em meu rosto e dizia que meu fogo ainda ia mata-lo. Nao! Eu nao queria matar o Rei, eu queria ama-lo e aprecia-lo e deitar meu corpo contra o dele. Nunca consegui, no sonho ele sempre me procurava e nao me achava. Eu via ele chegar em seu cavalo negro pela janela, ele olhava pra cima pra mim com aqueles olhos crueis e eu me sentia culpada e ao mesmo tempo nao. Nao sei, eu acordei e ela tinha ido embora - triste muito triste.

Soh mesmo uma conversa com o Gi pra me acalmar, ele sempre sabe.
"sinceramente, apesar de nao saber se sou capaz, tenho vontade de curar tuas feridas..."
o Gi tem a letra.

segunda-feira, 29 de março de 2010

Mari no findi maravilhas em Redondo Beach

Entrei na casa com Joao acendendo velas como um ritual, ele logo saiu cantarolando algo que eu nao entendi. Logo vem Johnny e coloca as velas alinhadas em perfeito angulo, ele eh obsessivo compulsivo e fica aflito quando as coisas estao fora de lugar. Nunca vi quarto de dois caras ser tao cheiroso e organizado tudo obra de Johnny eh claro, Joao didn't give a shit. Ai notei uma foto no closet de Joao e vi que ele tem uma filhinha, coisa linda e pensei na hora "cara, eu me relacionei com caras que tinham filhos, mas os que tinham filhas eram sempre mais especiais..." eh verdade, homem que tem filha tem uma sensibilidade maior para com as mulheres, e o Joao tem - encantador. Joao eh o Mad Hatter e o Johnny o coelhinho nervoso. Mais pessoas chegaram porque a gente tinha ido ver a UFC, nunca tinha assistido uma luta inteira, ontem descobri por que. Enfim tinha tambem o Diego que tava rouco e eh cantor, lindo e adora dar elogios - ele disse que eu tinha labios lindos e uma expressao charmosa, tambem falou mais outras coisas inapropriadas de um jeito bem cavalheiro, adoro! Comecaram a tocar Joao, Diego, Justin e Johnny. Psicodelico, o tempo agora passa muito mais devagar e a musica parece que toca ha dez anos, todo mundo em silencio sentindo...Justin eh americano mas fala portugues: "nossa mais esse seu negocio na orelha eh muito se diz isso em portugueis??" "brinco" "ah! pois entao, que brincadeira ai na sua orelha..." aham, eu e ju tocamos pinhal e sob um ceu de blues. Dormi na cama de Johnny (...nao sei).

Acordei ao som de Joao tocando e cantando Blackbird, sorri e disse "caaaara que delicia" tomei um suco de laranja mara e fui pro sol ouvir o som. Todos concordaram em churrasco e no caminho Juliano grita: "nao esquece os coracoezinhos pra mari!" coracoes pra mari...certo. Tom estava com dor no joelho, Joao: " cara eu tenho o bagulho que vai te fazer melhorar" na hora penso ai meu deus que tipo de coisa ilegal ele vai puxar dessa gaveta..." cataflan 50 mano, nao tem nem o que discutir, toma ai..." ele tem um jeito tao unico de expressar as sou a lagarta azul que fuma e filosofa afu, certo. A Helly eh a Alice que ta deixando o pais das nao sei se foi o cha, o suco de laranja, o rum, a cerveja ou a companhia mas na hora que a gente quase dormiu assistindo Jimi Hendrix eu percebi que sim, eu gosto de experiencias, de pessoas e momentos - e de um irlandes, rapper, engenheiro que mora em Studio City.

sexta-feira, 26 de março de 2010


Remember that tank top you bought me. 
You wrote 'You're Gorgeous' on it. 
You took me to your rented motor car and filmed me on the bonnet. 
You got me to hitch my knees up and pulled my legs apart. 
You took an instamatic camera and and pulled my sleeves around my heart. 

Because you're gorgeous I'd do anything for you. 
Because you're gorgeous our love will see us through. 
Because you're gorgeous I'd do anything for you. 
Because you're gorgeous I know you'll get me through. 

You said my clothes were sexy, you tore away my shirt. 
You rubbed an ice-cube on my chest snapped me 'til it hurt. 

Because you're gorgeous I'd do anything for you. 
Because you're gorgeous our love will see us through. 
Because you're gorgeous I'd do anything for you. 
Because you're gorgeous I know you'll get me through. 

Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba 

You said I wasn't cheap. You paid me twenty pounds. 
You promised to put me in a magazine on every table in every lounge. 

Because you're gorgeous I'd do anything for you. 
Because you're gorgeous our love will see us through. 
Because you're gorgeous I'd do anything for you. 
Because you're gorgeous our love will see us through. 
Because you're gorgeous I know you'll get me through. I know you'll get me through.

terça-feira, 23 de março de 2010

Chariots Rise

Assisti pela segunda vez na mesma semana: Vicky Cristina identifico com Cristina, assim como eu ela ainda nao sabe o que quer e soh tem certeza do que nao quer, sente que tem muito a expressar mas encara o fato de que nao tem veia artistica o suficiente para o mesmo e, assim como eu, seu maior medo eh nao ter a capacidade de inspirar o homem que ama.

Mudando de assunto, estou lendo uma novela erotica ma-ravilhosa da Anne Rice chamada The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty que conta a historia da tao conhecida Bela Adormecida que ha 100 anos esta em sono profundo e finalmente eh despertada pelo tao esperado principe mas, diferente do beijo com o qual estamos acostumados, principe desperta Bela iniciando-a sexualmente e portanto toma Bela como sua escrava sexual, fato aparentemente muito comum naqueles tempos. Enfim eh sadico, cru e ateh por vezes doloroso mas incrivelmente narrado e impossivel parar de ler. Confira!

P.S. O livro lembra muito o filme Secretaria, tenho certeza que ha uma inspiracao ai por tras. Por hoje eh soh pra esse blog que hoje esta um tanto quanto informativo, demais ateh pro meu gosto.

sábado, 20 de março de 2010


Tava olhando essa foto aqui em cima, como eh linda e lirica... tenho vontade de deitar ali do lado do johnny e acariciar-lhe a face levemente com as folhas secas e cantar-lhe um lullaby... ateh pensei em mudar mas nao consigo, a sua beleza me encanta e me enche de paz - eu aprecio a beleza de uma forma que poucos compreendem nesse ambiente carnal e pratico que tanto detesto.

sexta-feira, 19 de março de 2010

procurando a poesia que teima em acordar..enfim

nao consigo parar de escutar me adora da pitty...injustamente julga por prazer, cuidado quando for falar de mim, soh nao desonre o meu nome. 

anyway, tomei um sol hoje, que delicia, to bronzeada, indo pra praia amanha depois de uma diaria, nao tem sensacao melhor do que a depois de um dia cansativo de filmagem...nessas horas penso que escolhi a vida certa - agora soh falta ganhar pra isso. Tenho conhecido pessoas maravilhosas, outras nem tanto assim - mas tudo eh bagagem eh historia - que a gente inventa e melhora depois no roteiro.

sábado, 27 de fevereiro de 2010

Hey you've got to hide your love away

eu nao tenho mais medo, ele saltou pela janela ou melhor, eu atirei ele pela janela
"nao tem mais lugar pra voce aqui"

e assim as asas se abriram e aqui vou eu voando, buscando...feliz

quinta-feira, 18 de fevereiro de 2010

Quase dormindo comecei a pensar no meu roteiro de tese e pensei e pensei e pensei: "nao! nao eh isso.." ai veio essa outra ideia que me lembrou dos dias que eu era eu mesma ha muito muito tempo atras e me deu saudade desse blog e de nao ser julgada. Tanta coisa acontecendo e mudando sem parar minha veia artistica ta querendo acordar e resolvi dar corda pra ela porque meu mapa astral falou que as vezes eu sou muito dura com ela, tanto que tinha deixado ela de castigo. Coitada sempre foi tao boa comigo.

i believe I  should give her another chance to tell me where to go, wherever that is.

Here's a sample of Sample:

- How come you don't ask me anything?

- well, I'm still shocked that I might be dead so I feel very comfortable...


- What is it that you want?

- There are many many things I want..

- What is it that you want from me?

- Honestly? just a sample of your affection...

- who are you?

- I dont know... do you?

- No... no I don't..