long is the way and hard that out of hell leads up to the light. [john milton]
June 30, 2006
bullet with butterfly wings
and here's something really good to hear, despite the harsh times. it can evem make it up if the portuguese team gets defeated tomorrow by the english press. i mean, the english football team:
little angel, go away. come again some other day. the devil has my ear today, i'll never hear a word you say. promised i would find a little solace, and some piece of mind, whatever just as long as i don't feel so
desperate and ravenous, i'm so weak and powerless... desperate and ravenous, i'm so weak and powerless over you...
someone said that when we have nothing, we might still trade it for something else. what if we do have something else, but no one else wants to trade, or even accept it for nothing?
in times of darkness, old words shall be remembered again. and, perhaps, rewritten.
life's a game. a motherfucking game that we play blindfolded. we learn how to raise and walk only to learn how to fall. we smile. we cry. we rejoice. we suffer. all in vain, for in the end, every one of us will inevitably lose. death will come to take us away with her. there shall be no redemption. no return. only an endless sorrow for all that we leave behind for the eternity.
i know all this, just as i knew it six years ago, when i first wrote it in my english class. a red page on my notebook. i know all this. it's obvious. everything that has a beginning has an end. now, i don't need to remember this in every waking moment. let me live my life with all its troubles; i need no other. i need not to worry about inevitabilities such as death, because there are a lot of things that aren't inevitable to worry about. those can be changed. those may be worth changing.
carpe diem, said the romans. seize the day. do it. help me doing it. don't cast an anathema on me. not before the time.
i let the hammer fall, violently, on the blackened anvil. a promise. it takes a shape, out of the purest pride. and with it this promise shall be forged: you shall never see me cry. never.
someone gets a new house and in the first days he or she invites all his friends (and some enemies too, so they can envy the new life) to a party at home. as if the party was the innauguration of the new house. is it just me, or this is plain ridiculous? *at least my upper floor neighbours' party is ridiculous, for it is denying me my sleep when i finally decided to go to bed before 2.00 a.m..
the marketing teacher may be right when he states that people would quit smoking if there was only one place in this city where one could buy a pack of cigarrettes (as if lisbon wasn't already a hell). we may then die old and healthy and with our lungs in one piece, but in the end we'd be rounded up in hell for a mortal sin. we burn for falling into the vice or to stay out of it due to sloth. double bind anyone?
with a harsh night of sleep, works of hours saved in the wrong hard disks (which ultimately took us a lot to recover), countless hours waiting for nothing, and a uncomfortable late-night feeling that the weather forecasts for the next days will be rather gray, i can't stop saying that the day of the beast was indeed a bloody one.
the constant use of some words can make them seem common, even trivial. sometimes we think that the idea, the feeling, is already said, and we think about stop saying it on and on. yet, the feeling of emptiness that takes us over when we don't hear those words back, like the echo folowing our shout in the mountains, is strangely unbearable.