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