long is the way and hard that out of hell leads up to the light. [john milton]
October 31, 2007
still, it is funny
i like denial. i really do. i like when people refuse to do something because it's silly and all, and start doing exactly what they said they wouldn't do as soon as something changes. then it is no longer silly, but cool.
meh, coherency and human beings are not a happy match. definetely.
i long for the quiet sobs. for the outbursts of anger. for the endless hours of drinking to oblivion. for the solitude. for the despair. for that empty feeling that tied a knot in my stomach. for feeling something being torn apart in me, as if my heart was standing on a deadly vice grip. i could stand it. i had no doubts back then, and there was nothing to fear.not any more. everything was said and done.
. . . until more things were said and done. then it felt like being ressurected only to suffer a slow death.
sometimes there is so much darkness around us that we desperately need to see the light. a light. some light, who cares. we need a reference, a guidance, a way to escape the hell we're into, or, at least, something to give us enough hope to believe we can escape. but that hope can never come from an intermitent light, that shines sometimes and vanishes when we most need it.
i'm not wondering too much, i'm not making movies worth a fucking oscar, i'm not dreaming awake (well, i'm trying not to). i'm just trying to live in reality, that's all. and in the reality, it is not happening. it doesn't mean it's not going to happen, it doesn't mean it can't happen. it just means that it's not happening right now, in this very moment.
i wish things would be easier to forget. i really would. that way i would avoid silly headaches (heartaches, what-the-fuck-ever), feeling jealous for petty reasons, sleepless nights, disturbing thoughts. but i can't forgive, either; and maybe that's the root of all evil.
it is sad, but it's true. there's nothing that i can do about it. i would have been there before, when it was important, if i could. only, i couldn't, and now i feel that world miles and miles away. there is no more bridges leading to it, not for me. i cherish the memories i have, the fantastic moments i lived there. but they are not coming back. now, in that world where i belonged for so long i would be an intruder. i would feel like one, and most people would think of me as one. and i don't want to be anyone's shadow.
i'm tired of living a double reality. with double talking, concealing double meanings, based in double intentions. tonight when i get home i'll drink till my eyes' focus separate and i see everything doubled. at least then my body will be exactly like my mind.
four trips so far. work. never asked for anything concerning the hotel room.yet i've always been given a smoking room. i don't know how the hell do they guess that, but hey, that's one hell of a costumer service, isn't it? next time, please remember me to ask for the lottery numbers as well.
went to a technology event with analysts, press and stuff. and considering the female department (tech is, by definition, poor in chicks), journalists beat the public relations gals by far. well, to be honest, two spanish journalists alone beat all the public relations there.
don't waste your time or time will waste you. definetely. then why the hell do i keep doing it?
and with this quote from the song knights of cydonia, by muse, and this million dollar question, i've reached the post number 666. the number of the beast. the post of the devil. quite appropriated, in this time of the year. anyway, grats me. this will require a celebration someday, but i'm wondering if sacrificing a black chicken on a pentagram drawn with my own blood would be enough. ideas, ideas...
we can't live on our own, that's for damn sure. okay, we could be hermits, all right, but what kind of life would that be? alone in the woods, like thoreau described... we'd bore the crap out of us. we need others around us. we need them to give us what we need. love. friendship. passions. strenght. support. everything.
everything but one thing. one little thing that makes all the difference. hope. no one can give us hope. no one can pass us hope, can make us feel hope. it must be found within ourselves. and when it isn't, then everything else simply doesn't matter. doesn't matter at all.
i went to the woods because i wanted to live deliberately. i wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. to put to rout all that was not life, and not, when i had come to die, discover that i had not lived.
in a way, this is exactly like the doubt we have at the beach, when we're going to the water: shall we enter slowly and adapt to the temperature drop, or shall we plunge at once, without thinking about it? what is easier, what is harder? what hurts more, what is less painful?
and it might feel like i'm smashing myself on a concrete wall, on and on, endlessly. but the thing is, it seems i'm beyond pain. i'm bruising myself against the wall, i'm cutting myself on broken glass scattered in the ground, and i don't feel it. maybe later, when i lay down and try to rest, it will all hurt me at once; but for now, i keep going.
i can't remember dreaming with reality as i did last night. everything was clear, everything made perfect sense, everything was exactly as before when i went to sleep. yet two events - the death of someone i never met and someone's wretched actions (which i didn't see; i was told in the dream) - seemed so real that it was disturbing.
i can handle my own mistakes (well, sometimes i cannot, but anyway, i can pay for them all right), but what i cannot do is to pay for someone else's mistakes. sorry. i have enough trouble already assuming the consequences of my actions.
we are weak. our mind is weak. our flesh is weak. we cannot avoid falling in temptation. once we face it, puff, we're gone. the only way to avoid the fall is to avoid facing the temptation as hard as we can.
indeed, it is obviously right. hope gives us faith, a strenght to fight for what we believe that we didn't know we had. and it weakens us, every time we're driven by it towards a huge delusion. like a fall that cannot be avoided.
this translation is terrible, i must add. still, it's my little garden from now on. or else, is joão's little garden, and he was so kind to invite me to post along with him and his friends. honored by the invitation, missing some company, and always ready for a new challenge (well, almost), i couldn't say no. and guess what - i'll be writing in portuguese there, for a change.
and yet i tell you, the name in portuguese is awesome, but the translation to english is awful. it might be a practical languange and all, but lacks some poetry on it (excuses for my lousy vocabulary, that's it).
well. a little survey on the people i know as regular readers of this blog - two people - told me that 100% of my readers want me to keep the comment boxes open. well, this is my blog, i could merely say "no", after all it's personal and all, but hey, regardless on how personal my posts are, readers are always the most important. so, if they want comments, i declare myself defeated by statistics. let the comment boxes be back.
don't ask me why. but i'm the kind of guy to whom everyone (especially girls, go figure) tell everything. and i mean everything. okay, they usually don't get laid with me, and i guess that's because they tell me everything about them, dunno, that's a sad story, not really worth mentioning. anyway. most of times, people talk with me about their misery. about what has left them down. about what makes them feel miserable. and it eases me. it really does. it's not that it makes me feel better. someone else's misery doesn't make me less miserable, mind you. it just makes me forget, even for a short while, of the stinky pool where i dwell day after day. and that - pure oblivion - is something priceless.
fuck the noise. fuck the silence. fuck the uninvited silence that means more than any words that could be yelled, said or whispered. thought, even. fuck my cigarrettes for making my life short. fuck the moments when i run out of them. fuck relationships, they only bring us suffering. fuck their ending and the creeping solitude that takes us over when it's all said and done. fuck love. fuck hate. fuck duality, from happyness and sadness to war and peace. fuck heaven, too hard to reach. fuck hell, to hard to avoid. fuck the friend who pretend to care about you. fuck those who don't even try to pretend, and those who really care and always end up having pity on you. fuck the boredom. fuck the overload or work. fuck the time and the lack of it. it is never enough for what we have to do, let alone for what we want to do. fuck the dumbness of youth. fuck the wisdom of being old, as you'll soon be dead and all will be useless and wasted. fuck death, for forcing our life to end. fuck life, for screwing us day after day, endlessly, restlessly.
my daily work consists in writing about technology: computers, racks, blade servers, cooling systems, laptops, services, a-lot-of-things-over-ip (soon sex, i bet), femtocells (whatever that is, couldn't figure it out yet), databases, solutions for everything, security appliances and so on. i have yet to find a firewall for my mind though. kinda need some software to block some pop-ups and adware that my mind spams, with some pictures that make my heart shrink and hurt and shatter again and again. so please: oracle, cisco, symantec, checkpoint, whatever, if you don't mind, work on this. thank you very much.
and yet, as the role-play went on, i couldn't help but feel weird about the room. it has changed, of course. in fact, nothing is as it used to be. except the desk: being not the same, it's exactly on the same place, where we used to hear system of a down endlessly. and the balcony of the wild nights, and the red light. everything changed, and yet everything has her trace, like a faint scent that three years were not enough to erase. it's funny to think about it, now that the world has gone mad and our lives went so different, so distant. i remember the last time i was there, when i left forever, thinking it would be the last time i'd be seeing that room. i was wrong, even though the situation changed so much. and it makes me wonder: how's it gonna be now?
a. calls me by the evening asking if i know what is wrong with b. i know what is wrong with b., i know it all too well; yet i say "no, i don't. have no clue". obvious lie, of course, but a. does not insist. he knows i won't say a word. i don't have to. first, it's not my business, have more things to care about. then, what's wrong with b. is as obvious as my lie, only a blindfolded wouldn't know, and only a rock wouldn't do anything about it. and last, but not least, i hate being interrupted. especially when i leave myself, my own life, and get into the world of dungeons and dragons. there, john is no more; and the paladin Malian Hammerfall draws his shining sword to smite the evil in a dark world. never thought it would be so challenging, so amusing, so... forgetting. can't wait for next weekend.
the post below was the result of the late hour in the last bloody day of a bloody week (even though i'm still curious about it). in the meanwhile, 50% of my known readers (which translates in one person) have complained about my decision to remove comment boxes. will have to make a survey to the other 50% one of these days about it.
it was so much easier to endure the walk through the valley of shadows when the responsabilities could be avoided, delayed or simply forgotten. for that i miss my school times. i really do. i could simply not attend to a class, or to any class, if i wanted to. if i didn't feel up to it. any excuse would do, i wouldn't care. everything could be crumbling outside; it didn't matter, i could stay all day wrapped in the solitude of my blankets if i wanted to. but not now. not any more. now i have things to do. now i have to see people, whether i want to or not. now i have to face the sun - and feel myself darkened so deep that no light seems to be able to reach it. now it does matter if i can't focus, if i can't sleep, if my mind wanders between painful memories and sorrowful conceptions of a shattered future. now it's a royal pain in the ass, much more than it used to be. it's so fucking helpless.
there are some words that will never be written. some things said to me that i'll never be given the opportunity to say. and the questions. oh, the questions multiply themselves, and it is not even beginning yet. some of there will be tough, driven by surprise and shock and anger (my anger, mind you). they will be insisting, curiosity smashing on an old concrete wall desperately trying to hold in one piece. no, no, the worst haven't happened already; it's yet to come. the worst is not the fall. is all the questioning about it. feels like pecking at an open wound that's still bleeding. feels like revolving the ashes. feels like exhuming a rotting corpse that no one cared to identify and pray for.
got a smart phone to test for a couple of weeks. it does almost everything - i hope i can find the application to make me a coffee or even a blowjob. in the meanwhile, i can post stuff here. mobile blogging for the win!
challenge pushes us forward. it drive us. easy things provide the comfort of getting them fast, of fulfilling the immediate need or desire. but once that need is no more, what's left? there was no fight for anything, no conquest, no sense of accomplishment. there is discovery, but it fades away too fast. no, easy things are seldom worth getting. we need more. we need to be compelled. to be pushed. to dare the odds. to despair. to wage war. to feel, in the end, that it was worth everything, and that we'd do it all again if needed.
we wait. we all wait, whether we want or not. whether we are aware of it or not, because we all hope, because we all dream with the impossible. our unconscious mind keeps asking "what if?", and our mind's eye keeps seeking in vain. until one day, one fateful day, we realise we're no longer waiting. no longer expecting. no longer hoping. and when that day comes, we will notice that the emptiness that had overtaken us is falling back, that the wounds that bled for so long are starting to heal.
and this blog reaches two years. been sorting things around here, and finally decided to dedicate some time and patience to change my template - it isn't over yet, but at least it's somewhat different. also did a post clean-up, to remove all those drafts i had left hanging around (and they were a lot more than i thought). at the moment, i count 615 posts -616 with this very one. missed 50, for satan's sake, but eventually will get there.
anyway. thanks for everyone who ever read this blog. and to those who never read it as well (they aren't missing much).
it was something really tough to hear. i could help but see that picture in my mind, and i felt my heart shrinking painfully. still it is right, so sadly right. sometimes the only way for us to grow up it to be kicked right in the ass, without pity or mercy. i just hope never to step on such a picture out of my own inner world.
(...) they fix fix me a pretty decent steak for my last meal. they even throw in a brew. it's the first i've had since back at nancy's. then they shave my head and fix me with a rubber diaper. and get to it. and it's about damn time, if you ask me.
priest: yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...
marv: would you get a move on? i haven't got all night.
there are things i did that make feel sore. i regret doing them. i really do. it was useless, of no consequence at all. childish, even. still, they are done, they have caused damage (at least for me), and they will never be the same again. but every attempt on denial, every attempt to erase them as if they had never existed at all is useless. we might delete a phone number from our cell phone, or an e-mail from our address book. we might do whatever we can, but we can't simply forget. so it's utterly useless. denial brings us nowhere.
i was lucky, though. found someone to talk to tonight. well, it would be relatively easy to find someone, but sometimes we don't need anyone. i mean, i need no one to make me feel miserable - i can do that pretty well on my own, thank you. i need no one to tell me that she didn't deserve me (one of the silliest things to say), that everything is gonna be all right (they won't, and we all know it). i just needed someone to be real. to say what should be said, and to waste no time with useless crap. to amuse me and distract me with a very good conversation about many different things (world of warcraft, relationships, politics, literature, whatever, you name it). at the same time, i needed a decent place to drink to oblivion. got both things, and thanks to one person. thank you, dear.
some time ago, i was talking to a friend about telly and stuff, and we mentioned euronews. and we both agreed on something: the best part of euronews is the 'no comment' section, where they let the public watch the images, and that's all - no reporting, no talked crap, nothing. only the images. usually very good ones. as this blog is almost doing two years - brand new record for me, yay - i believe it is time to change some things around here. the template will change one of these days - when i can set my mind to it. and the comment boxes are closed from now on. they hadn't much use anyway.
this blog's contact is displayed on the left bar - it's the black hole. anything you feel like saying about anything i write here (i doubt it, but still), don't be affraid to use it.
i wrote in something special a secret message for myself. a promise. a curse. and it erased itself. there is nothing writen any more, as if i had never tried the white ink on that god forsaken night. now what what the hell is that supposed to mean?
why is everything so clear only when it's over? now i know, i could have done so much more. nothing big. but since when does it matter? we don't need grandeur to show someone that we're in love. the little details are everything. they keep things going. but i (we) forgot them, and now there's no turning back. what is done is done, what wasn't done will never be done, and the world will keep spining around oblivious to it. and what hurts is that only now i can see that. only now.
all these months have been a time of "hurricane relief". drain floods, rebuild walls, repair ceilings, fix doors, have new glasses on the windows, salvage whatever could still be salvaged, find new rituals, new details, new hope, reasons to carry on as before. i don't believe this is going to work; and yet i go on as if i did, indeed, believe. as if the "hurricane relief" somehow brought peace and made me forget the hurricane itself. until one day i forget that i am in "hurricane relief". and live, at last, as if there could ever be any possible relief.
free (and rough) translation from this post by pedro mexia (who i hope not to mind about my crappy translation). i, too, live under hurricane relief, and little more.
sometimes we wait because we have nothing better to to, or nothing we can do at all. and so we stay on hold, waiting for a return call that won't come, waiting for a word we won't listen, waiting for something that will never happen. and we know it. and we wait.
the last wall collapses and we are defeated. there is no place to run, nowhere to hide, no courage - or recklessness - enough to make a desperate last stand. no weapons to fight back, for they are all worn and useless. our stronghold was breached, pierced to its very heart, and at last our enemies went through, a killing spree towards us. and now we face them, they stare at us with blazing eyes, their weapons thirsty for blood. and there we are, utterly defenceless, with no more strenght to fight back. ready to take the blow that will take our lifes and drown us in the cold darkness forever.
and i've found a place that for the first time made me feel sorry for leaving. it's no big deal - i mean, it's not even beautiful - but there is something in its quiet desolation, in the sad trees waving with the wind, in the pale street lights, that appeases me and dries my tears and makes everything and everyone become meaningless.
we can no longer be sure in a love relationship, for they start when no one is expecting, and when no one is expecting (not even the lovers), it is over. we can no longer trust the end of a relationship, because the fact that two people loved each other yesterday and do not love each other today doesn't mean at all that they won't love each other tomorrow, and be in each other's arms again as if nothing had ever happened. then... what shall we do? in what shall we believe?
for fuck's sake, i can barely remember what i had for dinner yesterday (well, that i remember for the worst reasons), let alone what was said and done two weeks ago in a conference... delayed writing is a pain in the ass, i tell ya.
phylosophy out of a friend's messenger nickname (XI)
those who have themselves in high regard fall easily. maybe not. someone who considers oneself great might hold the illusion long enough to smother the fall. and anyway, everyone falls in the end. it's not a matter of falling or not; it's rather a matter of when.
for all the wars we waged on each other, why is everything breaking apart so peacefully? where is the hate, the anger, the blinded passion that drove us mad? it shouldn't be this way; we should shout and curse and blame and fignt and cry loudly. only, we don't. we stay silent in the dark, quietly sobbing, staring at each other with a cold despair. feeling everything lost, yet lacking the words to acknowledge it. lacking the guts to admit it to the other, and to ourselves.
you are creative with a great imagination, living in your own inner world. open minded and accepting, you strive for harmony in your important relationships. it takes a long time for people to get to know you. you are hesitant to let people get close. but once you care for someone, you do everything you can to help them grow and develop.
in love, you tend to have high (and often unrealistic) standards. you are very sensitive. you tend to have intense feelings.
at work, you need to do something that expresses your personal values. you would make an excellent writer, psychologist, or artist.
how you see yourself: unselfish, empathetic, and spiritual. when other people don't get you, they see you as: unrealistic, naïve, and weak.
how the hell to they know? it's all more or less true... except, i don't see myself as unselfish. 'cause i know i'm selfish, quite selfish. and still empthetic, which is curious. and, yes, i'm totally unrealistic, and not only in love - but it's in love matters that i get more trouble due to it.
when you've got nothing, you might well trade it for something else. precisely. no more dry tears, no more whining, no more dark thoughts. fuck it. fuck it all. i'm besieged, and have nowhere to run. so it's time for my last-ditch effort. there is nothing to lose. i have nothing to lose that isn't already lost. i will stand my ground, or die trying.
freedom is not an end by itself. it can never be found, can never be achieved. yet the closest you get from being free is when you walk the endless road to reach it. but it's not the end of the road that frees us. it's the path itself.
in around 30 years, assuming that i will live that long, i shall write again this faulty action and be free. at last.
a freudian slip, or parapraxis, is an error in speech, memory or physical action that is believed to be caused by the unconscious mind. some errors, such as a man accidentally calling his wife by the name of another woman, seem to represent relatively clear cases of freudian slips. in other cases, the error might appear to be trivial or bizarre, but may show some deeper meaning on analysis. a freudian slip is not limited to a slip of the tongue, or to sexual desires. it can extend to our word perception where we might read a word incorrectly because of our fixations. it is important to note that these slips are semi-conscious. this is to say that these thoughts are consciously repressed and then unconsciously released. this is unlike true freudian repression which is the unconscious act of making something unconscious.
the freudian slip is named after sigmund freud, who described the phenomenon he called fehlleistung (literally meaning faulty action in german, but termed as parapraxis in english) in his 1901 book the psychopathology of everyday life.
i'm not good at finding the inner meaning of a poem. really, i'm not. it never seems clear, and when it does, usually it's so obvious it is nowhere near average (the poem, i mean). so i merely try to feel its words. not what the author was feeling when he or she wrote it, but what i do feel when i read it.
raïne merèdhril was an adventurer of rare courage. he set out to the sea and went where no living being had gone since the dawn of the world. and under the amber eyes of arathien, he gave the light of his life for a story never told before. but she will never know if she really owns that light, for it shattered in shadows as he dared something greater than himself. and the promise of rebirth turns into restless death, one that time never quite forgot. and as the glow of the eternal star dims to oblivion, the world grows silent, its spirits wandering. forsaken. the fires of war will be over soon, yet a fallen soul that cannot rest is not meant to find peace. not again. not any more. for in the blood red sands that were once bright under the sun, lies a legacy that cannot be claimed. a deed that cannot be undone. a darkness that no light can reach. a borderless prison that no key can open.
history repeats itself. sooner or later. and we are never prepared for it, whether we can see it coming or not. because we don't want to. we just don't want to see that. not again. we want to believe it is possible for things to be different. only, they aren't. they never are. in the end, we hit the ground, and that's hard and ugly and stings like the fires of hell. we battle, and we lose, and we fall from grace. from the heaven we were once. but falling from grace, albeit painful, does not hurt as much as surviving the impact. we have, before. we try to believe we will, again. but one day, one fateful day, we will be mistaken, and there will be no more beginnings. no more rebirths. no more sunshines. only despair. only oblivion.
the trouble is, i'm jealous. i'm fucking jealous. and it freaks me out. it really does. i mean, i'm glad for it, of course. it's what i've always wanted. but not like this. not this way. i never wanted to stand for a whole soddin' world. it was unbearable in the long run. but fuck it, i never wanted to become a pariah. not again. i just wanted to belong. to be a part of something. not to be a bloody shadow that is there just because that's inevitable. just because it is.
i would most likely say no, but hey, it would be nice if i was asked.
and why, why do we keep looking back? why do we seek what is not there, what is never there? and we know it, and we can't help it. and it makes no sense, no one would be looking for us, not now, not in any bloody moment. no sense, no fucking sense at all.
some things that should never be common, trivial, can become of little consequence by repetition, by habit. then we turn around, take a step back, and try to make amends. but the step back went too far, and what we said too much start being said too little. again, the irony. by trying to save its meaning, we make it lose its importance. until it doesn't matter anymore, and everything else becomes common. trivial. of no consequence at all.
and you, can bring me to my knees... again. all the times that i could beg you please, in vain.... all the times that i felt insecure for you... and i leave my burdens at the door.
but i'm on the outside, i'm looking in. i can see through you, see your true colors. 'cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me. i can see through you, see to the real you...
all the times that i felt like this won't end, it's for you... and i taste what i could never have, it was from you... all the times that i've cried my intentions, full of pride. but i waste more time than anyone.
but i'm on the outside, and i'm looking in. i can see through you, see your true colors. 'cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me. i can see through you, see to the real you...
all the times that i've cried, all this wasted, it's all inside..! and i feel all this pain stuffed it down, it's back again... and i lie here in bed, all alone, i can't mend. but i feel tomorrow will be ok...
but i'm on the outside, and i'm looking in. i can see through you, see your true colors. 'cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me. i can see through you, see to the real you...
and then life kidnap us. no warning. one moment we are here, another moment we are somewhere else. in different places, far away from each other. sometimes moving, sometimes stuck in some dark corner of a dirty street. but distant. as if there is an entire world keeping us apart. as if there had been something lost, something that was there but no longer. no more. it's funny, because it was supposed to be the other way around. different experiences, different daily lifes, should bring more issues to the coffee table, more topics to talk about, more things to share. in theory, of course. but no. it doesn't happen. we dive, and we forget. we don't have time. we think we don't have time, we don't sacrifice anything. instead we keep walking. alone, and it sucks, and we both feel it (at least i do), and yet we do nothing. nothing. as if it was simply not worth the trouble, the effort. but if it isn't - then tell me, what on earth will ever be?
you basically get fucked up when you're on high demand of something that's in short supply. its price will go sky high, and you're clueless about what is the highest value you're willing to give for it, regardless of the quantity or quality. and the funny thing is, this ain't about economy at all.
i should have known that the movie the golden compass, based on philip pullman's masterpiece northern lights (the movie title follows the american book title), would get a crappy translation in portuguese. somethings never change.
is it worth to sacrifice ourselves in any way for the sake of someone else? most of times, we are merely making a fool out of ourselves. i mean, why should i do anything for someone who wouldn't do anything for me? i know it sound selfish, and as matter of fact, it is. fuck it, sometimes i get tired. i really do. it's not that when do something for someone i'm expecting from the begining something in return, not at all. but damn it, we shift our position in the equation and we get a different result - most people wouldn't do the same for us. then why should we care? why should we bother? what should we stop anything we could be doing instead, if when we are in need or when we want something, all doors are closed and we are left alone?
when she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed, with a word she can get what she came for. ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to heaven.
there's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure, 'cause you know, sometimes words have two meanings. in a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven. ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to heaven.
ooh, it makes me wonder. ooh, it makes me wonder.
there's a feeling i get when i look to the west, and my spirit is crying for leaving. in my thoughts i have seen rings of smoke through the trees and the voices of those who stand looking.
ooh, it makes me wonder. ooh, yes it makes me wonder.
and it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune, then the piper will lead us to reason. and a new day will dawn for those who stand long, and the forest will echo with laughter.
if there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now, it's just a spring clean for the may queen yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run there's still time to change the road you're on.
ooh, it makes me wonder ooh, ooh, it makes me wonder
your head is humming and it won't go, in case you don't know, the piper's calling you to join him. dear lady, can't you hear the wind blow, and did you know your stairway lies on the whispering wind?
and as we wind on down the road, our shadows taller than our soul, there walks a lady we all know. who shines white light and wants to show how everything still turns to gold.
and if you listen very hard the tune will come to you at last when all is one and one is all to be a rock and not to roll.
curious, this text (and the one it quotes as well). some time ago, a pub i usually go with my girlfriend hired a brazilian girl whom i guess wouldn't be over 22, but age can be deceiving nowadays, so we never know. she was obviously cute (underline "cute", please), and also clumsy as hell - she kept forgeting the customers' requests, spilling things and so on. in other words, a walking disaster. but she always had that smile, you know, that kind of disarming smile that would make us forgive her and laugh with her (and not about her, mind you) everytime she fucked things up. she was so nice to the customers that no one could complain about her - at least i couldn't, and no, it wasn't due to her pretty face.
now everyone know that i do not have any special love about brazil or brazilians (even though i don't hate them, of course), and holidays in brazil are not in my long term plans. but that they, most of times, are much more kind than the portuguese when working here, well, no doubt about it. so i'd never, ever, ask in a pub or in a restaurant to have a portuguese waiter instead of a brazilian one. in fact, if not for politeness and for some weird patriotic feeling that sometimes assaults me, i'd always ask for a waiter or waitress from brazil or the eastern europe. i really would.
i missed my prom. it's not really my kinda party, you know: dress up and lousy music (most of times) and dance and alcohol. i mean, i can dress up, all right, and my ears are resilient enough to stand a couple of hours of portuguese popular music, so i'd survive for sure. but when it comes to dance... i look like a skiny frog in a fucking blender. no joke, i really do.
now when it comes to alcohol, i bid thee welcome to my world. but i don't need to dress up for that, and not to dance at all. just need a bottle.
now there was one moment that kinda made me regret not going to the prom after all. this friend of mine, caressed by the touch of some wine god*, approached one of our teachers, who was dancing with one of class mates, and said something remarkable. something like "leave her be", and pushed her aside to dance with the teacher - something like this, i dunno, i wasn't there and can't recall what i was told, you already know how my memory (doesn't) work. surely an awkward moment for the dancing couple, and one hell of a laugh for anyone who saw. mind you, nothing moves me against anyone, but still, it was fun.
the funny thing is, this friend of mine had no idea what she was doing. and when reality comes by with its ironic sense of humor, we can't help but wonder how the world can be so silly. i mean, sometimes we do things just for the fuck of it, only to reality to screw as soon as we turn our back. but no matter; my dear friend (yes, i know you'll be reading this), you were brilliant..!
[*edit: she argues that she wasn't caressed by only one wine god, but for an entire cathedral of them. all right, she's bound to know better than i do..!]
one shouldn't define goals utterly impossible to achieve i guess. i mean, it's not that it's over, but 16 days to write 102 posts is something not even a super-hero would be able to do (at least not with as much free time as i have). i blame my sis' camera, which i borrowed to take nice pictures in cannes, malta and rome and turn this blog into a photo-blog for a while - one post, one pic, see the idea? (i'm a borne cheater) well, it's not that my skill with cameras is remarkable (if it was, and if i were some sort of macguyver of the photojournalists, i could take extraordinary photos with my little finger, two clips and an empty beer bottle), but the camera itself haven't helped much, especially at night, which was when i visited the most interesting places. oh well. guess i'll have to celebrate twice: both the october 18th (when the blog has begun) and the 666th post (just for the sake of the devil we all have inside of us).
you see, my friend, that's why i've not shaved myself for more than three years. instead of keep using a razor blade that left my face as smooth as a baby's bum everytime i shaved (and made me look like a bloody teenager), i got myself a shaving machine, so i can keep my beard nice without shaving completely - before getting it, spent four months without saving, and my mother almost had an heart attack. and guess what? everyone always believes i'm older than what i really am. yet this works differently for men and women: men always want to look older, women always want to look.
maybe this is related to the fact that girls prefer to date older guys, and boys prefer younger girls - probably the only thing in which both worlds match perfectly.
can something we expect to happen be a surprise nonetheless? the answer is yes, even though it might seem a paradox. a surprise, by definition, is an unexpected event. something we couldn't see happening. yet we might be expecting something to happen, and when it does, we are deeply surprised. we want it to take place, but we find it unlikely. yes, could happen and all, but we keep thinking, no way, it can't be, she 'd never go that far. and it can be. and it is. and we can't help but feel speechless then .
(and yes, i'm thinking about something that happened long ago, but not saying what it was)
most of the people who know me believe i don't like to be surprised. this idea comes from something i said once - i would hate to have someone organizing a surprise birthday party for me. and i really would. but that's nothing to do with surprises, rather with the birthday iteself: a silly comemoration when we celebrate that we have one less year to walk on the surface of this planet. anyway, it is widely accepted that the birthday "belongs" to the new-old one. if that's so, then arranging a surprise party means to deny one the basic right we had, of celebrating the day as we wanted, with the people we wanted to have around. not to have someone enlightned picking up some people we would well do without and force their company into our circle. no one ever tried to do this with me though - i have warned some people in several occasions, just in case.
but this doesn't mean i don't like surprises. 'cause actually i do. i really do. some surprises, of course. it's been a while since someone have really surprised me, but i always smile when i think about some things. like that indigo-blue lamp i have in my bedroom, or the way someone dressed so nicely for something trivial a long, long time ago.
i get fed up of some people quite easily. i really do. it's not that they did something wrong to me. but when i think about them, i simply don't miss them. they have come into my life, they had stayed for a while - sometimes short, sometimes quite long - but somehow they have closed the door behind them when they left. or maybe it was me who close the door. i don't know.
adn what did they left behind? some memories of a couple of laughs and a bunch of interesting conversations that added nothing to myself. and they were close to me. quite close, sometimes. yet they left nothing of any consequence. memories, only. good moments that were fun by the time, but for which i long no more. they were nice, and it's nice for them to be over. end of story.
a good friend today might well be a stranger tomorrow. we never know how people might lack the ability to surprise us.