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.