FOUND SCENE

EXT. NIGHT - CHICAGO HILL

Lisa is sitting on the car and Tom is walking around looking at the beautiful view. 

TOM

How come you don't ask anything? 

Tom turns to Lisa who is lighting up a cigarette. 

LISA

Well, I'm still a little shocked thinking I might be dead so that makes me feel comfortable. 

Tom laughs and comes closer to her. 

TOM

Still I thought you would attack me with questions. 

LISA

So you thought about this? 

Tom stops for a second. 

TOM

No, not really. 

Lisa is smoking her cigarette we can see that her hand is shaking. 

LISA

Should I feel... 

TOM

What do you feel? Right now 

LISA

I'm feeling good, I'm scared and I wish I could feel like that forever. 

Tom grabs a cigarette. 

LISA (CONT'D)

You know, I know a lot about you but you have no idea who I am obviously.. 

TOM

What is it to know about you? I mean what is it that you want? 

LISA

There are many many things I want... 

Tom looks at her. 

TOM

What is it that you want from me? 

She smiles and then looks down. 

LISA

Maybe a sample of your affection, a taste of your tenderness.. 

TOM

Why do you think you don't deserve the whole thing? 

LISA

I do, I know I do but you asked me what I want, not what I deserve. 

Tom gets closer to her, he touches her hair looks into her eyes and kisses her. 

TOM

Who are you? 

She smiles. 

LISA

I don't know. Do you? 

TOM

No, I don't. 

He climbs on top of her and they start kissing. 

FADE TO BLACK. 

EXT. DAY - CHICAGO HILLS 

Tom and Lisa are sitting on the floor in front of the car. 

LISA

This is beautiful 

TOM

What is? 

LISA

Everything, nothing is where it was supposed to be. It's great. 

The Self

Chimney falls and lovers blaze
Thought that I was young
Now I've freezing hands and bloodless veins
As numb as I've become

I'm so tired
I wish I was the moon tonight

Last night I dreamt I had forgotten my name
'Cause I had sold my soul but awoke just the same
I'm so lonely
I wish I was the moon tonight

God blessed me, I'm a free man
With no place free to go
I'm paralyzed and collared-tight
No pills for what I fear

This is crazy
I wish I was the moon tonight

Chimney falls and lovers blaze
Thought that I was young
Now I've freezing hands & bloodless veins
As numb as I've become

I'm so tired,
I wish I was the moon tonight

How will you know if you found me at last
'Cause I'll be the one, be the one, be the one
With my heart in my lap
I'm so tired, I'm so tired
And I wish I was the moon tonight

I'm so tired, I'm so tired,
And I wish I was the moon
I'm so tired, I'm so tired,
And I wish I was the moon tonight

All the roads lead to this, all the sounds are created for this - I lived for this. Blessed be the new era for it allowed me to be and be one in us and in us there is more me than this will ever be. This is sacred, divine, celestial and crucial. This is the definition of now and now is everything, now is all there is. What is the meaning of together if there is no separate whatsoever? What is the conclusion for this question if the question no longer exists? What is the reason for existing when existing is the reason? What is reason? What is not?  If I am you and you are me and we are all there is then what was I before this? This is all there is.

I live for your evil laughter.

"Here's what he doesn't know yet --
I disappear into the person I love.
I am the permeable membrane. If I
love you you can have it all: my
money, my time, my body, my dog, my
dog's money, my dog's time...
If I love you I will carry all your
pain, I will assume your debts, and
project upon you all sorts of fine
qualities that you have never
actually cultivated in yourself.
Oh. And I will buy Christmas
presents for your entire family.

I will give you all this and more
until I am so exhausted and
depleted that the only way I can
recover is by becoming infatuated
with someone else."

just keep following the heartlines in your hand

Aqui é sempre um dia chuvoso. Aqui nao se quer mais ser exposto nem se falar em primeira pessoa. Aqui ja nao se soltam livremente os pensamentos livres sem medo. Aqui se tem medo. Aqui ja nao mais se encontra. Aqui ja se modificou, morfou, mofou. Aqui se seguem as linhas da mao. Aqui ja passou da hora, esta atrasado. Por que é mais facil falar de dor e medo do que descoberta, liberacao e alegria?

Aqui mora a nostalgia, meu amigo.

New Year's Eve

I really like your arms...
                      - they like you too ;)

Happy Hanukkah!

You came! You're here!
Just what I needed right now, perfect timing, mate!
I called you, shaking it out... thanks for helping me clean my back.
I love how you helped me paddle faster.
I love how you know how and when to calm me down.
Thanks for helping me bury that horse.
I love how you surprise me, me (!), the one who cannot be surprised anymore.
Thanks for keeping me on my toes.
Thanks for your duality.
You got the gist.
Made me write again.
Cheers!

Calaaaaaados!

Vamos mudar o mundo!
Simbora escrever um livro sobre a sociedade injusta e irreal, uma cancao subjetiva com letra protestante, um blues raivoso e cheio de alma doente de tanta falta de alma e falsa modernidade. Eu nao me importo com nada que fale a respeito de uma massa aonde eu nao me incluo, nao perco meu tempo pensando que, mesmo a minha maior vontade e tentativa, terao o minimo resultado nesse mar imundo. Nao tenho paciencia para pseudo intelectuais, ambientalistas e qualquer tipinho blaze tentando me fazer sentir menos por nao fingir que me preocupo com o que acontece com gente que nao conheco. Tambem nao acho que deveria, desisti de tentar entender e de perdoar a raca humana. Assim como eu, somos todos escrotos egoistas e egocentricos, obviamente, existem niveis de escrotisse e eu escolho me relacionar com os menos asquerosos. Eu sei que, se todos fizerem sua parte, talvez algo melhor aconteceria mas, eu sou a mariazinha chata do maternal que acha que, se joazinho nao precisa fazer, eu tambem nao preciso. E nao acho que devo satisfacao a ninguem a respeito do meu ponto de vista, tambem nao tenho paciencia pra discutir isso. Cada um no seu quadrado! Nao faca aos outros o que nao quer que facam a voce! Mate com docura! Admita que, em tudo que lhe acontece, voce tem culpa sim! Nao coloque a responsabilidade do seu sucesso em qualquer outro que nao seja voce mesmo! Faca o que tiver vontade e sempre, sempre, diga a verdade a voce mesmo.

Nao tenho mais paciencia pra esse post, nem pra nada que me fez querer escrever tudo isso.

Unable

I use to breathe and live by love, give it to the most unfortunate and unlikely to receive it
my love was charity and compassion, for the return of selfless love is the most precious treasure one can have.
Little do they tell that, once love is given it cannot be taken back. Perhaps I gave all of mine, come to think that it might take an eternity to get some of it back.
As I stand here, loveless, millions of different feelings come to place: lust, hunger, coldness of being, passion, hate. Began to think my heart's grown hard and tough with no place for warm sentiments or kindness towards another who tries to get in. Began to think others were unworthy of my love or even I was unworthy of my love. Began to forget how it was to live on an edge of madness caused by somebody else whom I despise today. Miss the feelings, never the men. Believe I haven't, to this day, met even half of the person one should be to deserve such complex appreciation as mine. Would like to think I earn no regrets, would like to think every mistake was necessary and every fall a new beginning. I wish these veins on my hands could let you know where they've been. I wish I could showcase all the people (men) who made my chest so hard and who killed all the butterflies in my stomach. Wish I still had the colors to showcase the ones who made me cry and pour out joy into words. Of all the ones I loved, all the ones I cried for and out of all the ones that made my days worth living, the ones I haven't met and the moments I still haven't lived are, certainly, the ones that I miss and what makes life hurt the most, for it is the uncertainty of fulfillment that moves me and kills me every day.

Raphael

Oh if it isn't for the souls of the lost in the abyss of oblivion
for the hands that longed to touch the invisible
feel the unimaginable
there's the dream of conquering all of the impossible
learning the inexplicable

loving the despicable
as in the day I saw your eyes for the first time
two black holes into which I fell
never to return to surface again
for then, I knew, once seen the future
the present had nothing left to give

but time
time as in waiting and waiting the best way one can
loving the despicable
learning the inexplicable
conquering the impossible
feeling the unimaginable
touching the invisible
falling into oblivion

as the sounds of glory loudly make their way into the crowd
two black holes guide me towards the infinite
for in your eyes reside all glory, fear and regret
the guilt of not being enough
but the hope of being tragic enough for
 romance

and so we lie in tragedy and silence
and in silence we find bliss
answers in discomfort
solitude in being together
for it is best to find love in silence
than passion in chaos

it is best to be intrigued by coldness
than to feel safe with warmth
and I'd rather live a thousand years in your silence
than only one second in your loudness

your hands and wrists are keys to my abyss
in which I'll keep you
for every time I fall.

Salvatore

As I held her, weak as her "life" proceeded to wish to leave her, she met me at the place she longed to be in. A little village, right outside of London, five hundred years ago. Long blue dress, long dark hair, shining around with those big green eyes. "I've been wanting to come here" she said. "Well, the word got spread around" I replied. "The sun feels so warm, I missed this so much" she said as she leaned her body against mine on the field, autumn trees filled the place with their orange leaves, the horses made the whole scene feel like a celebration of life, of day light. "Am I dreaming?" she asked, I shook my shoulders in the hopes of convincing her that it actually didn't matter. "I miss being human" she said to me, "humanity is overrated" I said trying to make her forget about the beginning but to enjoy the end. "I had friends, I had a family, I mattered", she looked up to me as I said: " you still do".

- I don't, and that's ok, but you do. You spent your whole life surrounded by the people who love you, I spent five hundred years just existing.

 She said as if it was possible to live for that long and continue to feel, to hurt.

- I didn't have a choice.

I told her.

- There's always a choice.

She said while gazing at me with those big green eyes. I said "You know, you are ruining a perfect day with your strange, philosophical blabber". She laughed and kissed me.

- I'd like to enjoy the fresh air, will you enjoy it with me?

She asked.

- For a while.

I said. She leaned her head on my shoulder.

As I felt the fresh air for the first time in 120 years, with my eyes open I still had her dying body in my arms on that filthy bed. I grabbed the wooden stake as I let go of her hand.

On the field, she grabbed my hand harder and thanked me. "For what?" I asked and she replied: " for being this good". It was the first time in a hundred years I had listen to the word "good" being directed at me.

- Am I gonna see them again? My family?

She asked.

- I think you're gonna see whoever you'd like to see now.

- I'm not afraid anymore.

With the stake in my hand I gently positioned it on top of Rose's heart. She interrupted me to ask if I'd like to race her through the woods.

- Well, be aware that you're gonna lose.

I warned her.

- Well I'm older than you, and faster.

She replied with the devil's eyes.

- Oh you think? Well I'm controlling this dream, maybe I'll cheat.

She laughed and said:

- On the count of three.

My hand now strongly tries to fight the will of pushing the stake down her chest.

One..

Even though they were little, my strange tears painfully rolled through my face.

Two...

Like my existential crisis of feeling or switching off my humanity kicked in and I was left with the decision to kill her/it or let live.

Three

Michael told me last night...

I believe in the unsaid, the imperfect, on what's already gone and all we left behind. All those beautiful moments we pictured and that will never be. I believe in Michael and everything he told me about the stars, for I'm his soul sister and he gives me rides across the sky. Michael never cries, he never complains and he never hides. Michael only shines, and breathes and smiles. He's an angel for sure but he can't stop telling lies. We both agree that fantasy and reality are equally relevant. Whatever you create or live, once you forget, ceases to exist. Therefore, once remembered, everything is here and everything is now. It's all real.

Perhaps, instead of trying to go back and fix it, we should make a mental note of asking our future selves for guidance. Right now, ask for it. Perhaps that's the secret, for, once we know we, indeed, need help from our future selves, knowing that, in the future, can make us come back in a completely real way through our conscious(ness) and save us from ourselves.



Whatever may not make sense right now, I know the time is gonna come and you will realize the same thing and wonder and weep for it. "Oh, why didn't I ask myself that before?" Everything could be fine for not only it is a way of self comprehension, it is also an escape and a fantastic way of believing that you, yourself, have the answer to all of your questions. It is a matter of time until you actually have them, but knowing that truth will come might be the most comfortable and practical way of living with yourself. No matter how old you get, you'll always be sure that the answer will come to you and there is no need to worry.

Michael says: "be calm, be sure, be lieve."

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

castigo

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.

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.

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.

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..."

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.

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.

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.