everything in its right place

you didn't need to ask me for this, dear. i had to write something about it. it was inevitable. as happy as i might feel - and as out of words as i might find myself - i have to find words to say something. and what i can say is, no one has ever done anything like that for me. for us. that would be worth of all my love, but it is yours already.

everything in its right place. soon, soon.

those days are never coming back

talking with you about your childhood brought mine back to my memory.

thinking about my childhood always makes me sad. it's not that my childhood was unhappy or somehow troublesome, because it wasn't. it was normal. i learned how to walk, how to speak, how to read and write and count. i made friends. i attended school and was a very good student, except perhaps in maths. i learned (way too late) to ride a bike. but i look back now and although none of it was sad, there is no moment i long for. there's nothing i miss there. most people i know have something in their childhood that makes them smile whenever they think about it. like saying those were the days, you know. for me those were not the days. those were just days. i've walked through them fine, but they mean so little now. yes, i had fun, whenever i was playing football with my friends (even though i sucked at it), or playing hide-and-seek. or when i was with my best friend running around the brooks and the marshes, catching snakes and toads and turtles, never to hurt them, only to know them (back then i wanted to be a biologist). or when me and my gang were riding around the countryside, across forests and plains. it was all fun. but there's nothing left of it. and whenever i think about it, i always feel somewhat sorry about it.

(untitled)

it's hard to write about happiness. happiness is, itself, redundant: it is an end itself. unlike negative feelings, like sadness or anger. there's always something to write about sadness, about the thorn in the side that drives us insane. most of times, we seek redemption. we seek healing, a way to overcome it, to see the blue sky beyond the clouds with the sun shining above. sometimes we just feel miserable, and we want to find ways to go on feeling like that. to feel sorry for ourselves.

we can, of course, write about happiness when we are sad. but it never feels real. we're not thinking about something we have, but something we wished to have. and we can only wish for what we don't have. thinking about being happy when we're sad thus involves a degree of longing, of not feeling whole. of having something missing, as melancholy lurks around. sadness is always hungry. it demands feeding, nourishment - not to quiet down, but to carry on. it draws on what we don't have to continue its near-endless cycle. and there's always something to feed on. there's always a way to proceed and to control.

but when we feel happy, we need nothing else. the feeling nourishes us, drives us as long as we let ourselves go. we don't miss the darkest days we've left behind, we don't look at any possible cloud in the skies - and even if we look at them, we don't see them as a threat, as rain to fall. we look at them and smile. as if we could touch them. and perhaps we can, as we can drift over them. we can't overcome happiness - or rather, we don't want to. we feel for the sake of feeling. why should we write about it, then? it would be redundant, as it all seems so obvious. no words would be adequate. they are nearly pointless, as a matter of fact. we are happy. our smile is just there for everyone to see it. what else could we possibly need..?

digression!

they say that one never forgets how to ride a bike, no matter how many time passes without riding one. there are other things that one doesn't forget how to do either. i, for example, still know rather well how to spin an unpleasant conversation so it becomes harmless. on the surface, at least. of course i'll be thinking about it for quite a long time, as i can't let things go that easily. but on the surface, on the level that can be seen by everyone, i can spin it, and divert everyone's attention. that's often good. as it is said, "if you can't impress them with your intelligence, dazzle them with your bullshit". this is not even a phylosophy. this is a way of life.

(*snap*)

one day i will finally break. no *snap* sound will be heard. but i'll break. break beyond repair. break beyond fixing. break beyond healing. break beyond survival. one day it will happen. and no one will hear it but me. me. i won't be able to help it but hearing it. i won't be able to avoid feeling it. the *snap* sound. the breaking sound. no one will hear it. no one will notice it. no one will notice me. but i'll be there. just there. broken. beyond fixing. beyond everyone.

two and two ain't five. sadly.

i lie and i cover the lies with more lies. it is not mathematical though: the sum of two negative numbers does not produce a positive number, but a negative one.  

god loves his children

it rained tonight. a heavy rain, the fury of the skies above unleashed in liquid form over the earth. the air was thick, somewhat warm, drawing the sweet scent of the earth. i've always liked the scent of the dry earth after the first rain. it is full of life, of a primordial power that we have once known. once. a long time ago. it rained for a while, a long while lost in time. 

i was longing for it. 

crashlanding

the flight started perfectly. everyone on board, sitting comfortably and waiting for the flight to reach cruise speed so the drinks would be served. a smooth take off towards a clear sky. and then something goes wrong, and crashlanding is the only way to deal with it, to try to save something and someone. whatever happened was no one's fault. whatever will happen shall be no one's fault. but something did happen along the way, something that no one could predict. something out of place, in a moment when everything was supposed to be perfect. it did happened. it disrupted everything. it forced the plane to crashland. and all the crew's skill was not be enough to save the day.

the right thing?

i remember writing here once the right thing never helps. i suppose the wisest thing to do is not to think in terms of right or wrong. in other words, not to think.

a song out of darkness (III)

radiohead, weird fishes/arpeggi, @ live from the basement, vh1

in the deepest ocean
bottom of the sea
your eyes
they turn me

why should i stay here?
why should i stay?
i'd be crazy not to follow
follow where you lead
your eyes
they turn me
turn me on to phantoms
i follow to the edge of the earth
and fall off

everybody leaves
if they get the chance
and this is my chance

i get eaten by the worms
and weird fishes
picked over by the worms
and weird fishes
weird fishes
weird fishes

i'll hit the bottom
hit the bottom and escape
i'll hit the bottom
hit the bottom to escape
escape

(dedicated, of course.)

fitter happier (?)

one of these days i'll end up filtering myself as well. i just wonder what will come out on the other side of the filter, really. 

shattering mirrors?

it's always like that: the first ones to talk and point the finger are always those who, if they had a mirror at home, would keep their filthy mouths shut. just look at you. have you ever saw your face in the mirror? or have you shattered all the mirrors you had at home so you could spare yourself if from your sight? probably you did just that.

cobwebs

sometimes everything is so easy. but we do it the way of spiders: we create a web, jump into it, get ourselves stuck and then struggle to break ourselves free - never stopping to think, not for a moment, that the more we struggle, the more stuck we get. and the spide lurks around, watching its prey, preparing the sting and the poison, and all it takes is a moment of clarity for us to stop and realise how easy it is to get out of there and be safe.

we did it. and let's try to avoid it to happen again. not sure if i've told you, but i hate spiders.

boomerang

past is like a boomerang. if we throw it away, it will come back to us. sooner or later, often in the worst possible moment. throwing it away is not an option. we have to hold it for a while, walk our way with it, and then, when the time comes, carefully put it down on the floor. there's no need to put a stone over it, but just to leave it there. and resume our walking. without running or hiding. just walking our way.

time lapse (II)

the easiest way of breaking meanings is to place them out of their time. i should know it, for i do it quite often. and in the next days, this blog will be on self-updating mode, automatically posting stuff i've written here over the last three months and never published. some of the texts might be new, yes, providing i have the time and the will to write, but i suppose there is no way to tell the new posts from the former drafts. it's a sort of a stunt. i remember when i studied literature and poetry, and the class was interpreting poems. sad poems. and we'd all say, teacher included, that the poet was sad, angry, in pain, whatever. but was he? how can we know? he could be sad, yes, and wrote that poem with words shaped like tears of his own sadness. but he could also be okay, and feeling like writing about something that had happened before that time. or he could simply be a twisted son of a bitch and wrote sad poems when he was happy, and happy poems when we was sad. i don't know, the possibilities are countless. but i'm writing out of time too. and publishing out of time. 

just so you know.

time lapse (I)

now i just need to turn the hourglass around 8760 times. only 8760 times. and then everything will be in its right place.

splinter.

there is another thing. like a splinter under our skin, unseen but always there, stinging now and then. unspoken. silent. against our will. could it be changed? i guess it could. but not lightly. we would have to find the splinter first. then remove it carefully. then mend the wound if it bleeds. it seems simple when it's not, i know. our methods are not the best either - sometimes they get way too rough, and dangerous without the right tools. so to speak. 

on stereotypes.

talk about stereotypes, and how easy it is to get them all wrong. most of times there is some truth in them - deep down, of course. but to use them always implies that we're getting something wrong (being unfair, if you want), for they can never be true for everyone who was supposed to fit there. i remember one stereotype in particular, a very portuguese one, and right now i laugh at it. open-minded? spare me. unless we're thinking like richard dawkins, who once said there's this thing called being so open-minded your brains drop out, then we can easily see that it doesn't even fall into the cathegory of stereotype - it is, in fact, an urban legend. or dawkins is right, and that situation is the exception that proves the rule right.

communication is unlikely, it seems.

even though i can't remember who said it (been a long while), i can't agree more: communication is unlikely. if everything, even the silence, is communication, meanings are bound to get lost in translation sooner or later. and then we start fearing what should never be feared, as we learn to read between the lines of what is being said or done. communication is unlikely. how are we supposed to know if we're getting it all right? how are we supposed to be sure? i guess the answer for both questions is we aren't. but then misunderstandings arise, and what was so simple suddenly turns into a bunch of tangled, barbed wire. it is so easy to fall into this... and so hard to get out of it, once you get there.

metalanguage (2+2=5)

a no-event. something that has no place in time, no time in space. why i still do it? what drives me to go on? a game, playing a game. meant to lose, it doesn't annoy me. it's not even accurate, the word. it destroys me, it kills me a little bit inside every time i move forward or backward. why do i go on? cause and effect. the cause was unexpected, the effect should be out of control. it is obvious though: cooldown. long reach, nothing wrong with that. i'm just convincing myself that two and two makes five. and it could. it really could. fuck me. fuck you. fuck everyone. control. control. sweet talk, go on. pretend. we're always pretending, bloody human beings. and stockpiling ammunition. whether we save it or burn it right away seems to be a matter of personal choice that we illustrate with fancy and often misplaced adjectives. all messed up, all messed up, not getting away with it (no image, thank god!). some things can't be learned. some things can't be known, are never known. imagination is useful after all, even if in the end its sole purpose is to deceive ourselves so we can survive. today, of all the days (when was it anyway?). erased. from time and space and everything, without a trace, just erased. it always means something. oh go and tell the king that the sky is falling in when it's not, maybe not. and in the end, we always walk blindfolded by our own choice. we wouldn't have it any other way. 

unintended.

it takes the smallest thing to ruin the greatest moment. only that. the smallest thing. often unintended.

on doing things.

she is absolutely right. and i, too, should find out one of these days whether i'm the kind of person who does things. maybe i should also do what the young kid from the countryside did when going to study at sorbonne university, and feel that cold feeling on my belly as the plane was taking off: all my life is being left behind.

perhaps.

slacking? hell, no.

you told me i've been slacking with the blog. well, i do a lot of slacking - i'm expert on the subject of slacking, by the way. i've not been slacking though, not here at least. i might have been a little unispired, so to speak. but oh well, we must keep the readers happy (especially the most demanding ones, right?), and so here it goes as promised: something for you to read in the morning, as you wake up. just this: no cheap phylosophies, no codified messages to someone, no untangling of my always tangled mind, no quotations, nothing of the usual stuff: just something for you to read in the morning, as you wake up, before the breakfast and the first cigarrette.

oh, and sorry for me to keep you waiting, but well, you know, i love to make someone curious. besides, you also know, as well as i do, what is the reason for all the "slacking". i just hope it goes on like this.

i'm not slacking

i'm just keeping you curious until morning. 

a song out of darkness (II)

blasted mechanism, the atom bride theme, live @ studio 2 for sic radical, 2007

the laugh of the day:

this.

the big mistake.

it's not that i'm ill-intentioned, but i can't help saying it: if you do that, my friend, it will be your greatest mistake. i've seen it happening. i'm seeing it happening, as a matter of fact. you might tell me that people are different, and what happens to one doesn't necessarily happens to other. that's true, of course, but i can see too many similarities there: the same lack of experience, the same naiveness, the same will to take the very same steps. without knowing that it is too early, that many lessons must be learned first, that starting something by its end means (most of times) that it will end when it should be beginning.

on pet turtles

some friends find it funny that i have a pet turtle, instead of a more common pet like a dog, a cat, a goldfish or even some singing bird. while i understand that reptiles do not seem to be the cutest animals out there, i can tell you the following: a turtle is a safe choice, perhaps the safest choice of all when it comes to pets.

i had a goldfish once, when i was a kid. it died, eventually (goldfishes do not last long, do they?), and it truly broke my heart when it died. so i learned: never have pets with a potentially short life span. i've had birds too (a canary), and they sang beautiful. but alas, they are locked in a cage all day. you can't pat them, you can't feed them on your own hands, you can't that much fun - just hear them singing when it's sunny outside. that problem is fixed if we get a dog or a cat. dogs are always good company - loyal, funny, caring. cats are even better in my opinion - they have personality. they are independent (most of them, at least), they make funny pranks, and the sweetest thing of all, they purr then they're happy. however... they are not the best company if you're allergic to them. and their meow is not fun when they want to hump some kitty - as it isn't funny when they start pissing all over the place. dogs tend to bark at night, to chase the mailman. and both cats and dogs die too early, and we spend years building up affection to see them die.

turtles are different. first, they have a long life. you get a turtle when you're a child and, as long as you treat it with care, chances are high that it will be present at your funeral. they are smart enough for you to teach them tricks - okay, they cannot bring you the newspaper, but they won't chew on your shoes either. but you can teach them to eat on your hands, to follow you, even to make them understand where they should take a leak. they are funny when walking, either slowly or fast (yes, turtles can run - and sprint!). and it's so cute when they stretch their neck outside their shell so you can pat their heads.

besides, they don't bark, they don't go berserk for mating, they won't leave you in trouble when they have babies (turtles don't look after their babies, so even if you were to get a couple that actually breed - which would be extremely rare - you would simply have to leave the little turtles on a river or a lake, and they would take care of themselves), they don't leave fur all over the place. and... have you ever heard of anyone allergic to reptile scales?

i remember reading somewhere that there is nothing worse than to be sitting side by side with the one we love, knowing that such love is impossible. yes, that is painful... but it's not the worst that might happen. i dare saying, the worst thing that can happen is to see two people falling in love with each other while they cannot be close, together. i can't think of many things as unfair as this.

this is SO true

from graphic jam

...

why do i have a feeling that take some medicine to stop coughing without quit smoking, even if only for a while only, is more or less the same than to sum -1 with 1?

a song out of darkness (I)*

radiohead, where i end and you begin, live @ glastonbury festival 2003

*thought about the title "a song for the weekend" but i decided do yet again borrow the title of one of the best shortstories i've ever read in my life, written by loren l. coleman. 

birthday

now i remember the reason why i never celebrate my birthday like most people do, with a great dinner with a lot of friends or even a party. i have no patience for it. i don't like to be with too many people at the same time - a group bigger than six is already a crowd. i don't like to scatter my attention across everyone, ending up paying too little attention to each of the guests. i don't like to organize a dinner, see people saying yes and then no at the last minute, be worried about getting everyone comfortable, waiting for those who are arriving late (and making everyone else wait). really, i can't be arsed.

five years ago, i thought "fuck all that". on my birthday, i invited one of my best friends to have dinner with me. great evening, good food, excelent conversation. last year i've cooked a dinner and invited two of my best friends. nice evening at night with them, then a walk out that was funny. no crowds. no scattered attention. best ideias ever. 

this year i don't know what i'll do, but it won't be far from any of these options.

Clinical report

i've found out. d.s.p.s. or, stepping out of the acronyms, delayed sleep phase syndrome. Explaining: [dsps] is a circadian rhythm sleep disorder, a chronic disorder of the timing of sleep, peak period of alertness, core body temperature, hormonal and other daily rhythms relative to societal norms. People with DSPS tend to fall asleep some hours after midnight and have difficulty waking up in the morning.

this explains a lot. now what's the matter with this?

The major feature of these disorders is a misalignment between the patient's sleep pattern and the sleep pattern that is desired or regarded as the societal norm.... In most circadian rhythm sleep disorders, the underlying problem is that the patient cannot sleep when sleep is desired, needed or expected.

or, in other words,

Lack of public awareness of the disorder contributes to the difficulties experienced by DSPS patients, who are commonly stereotyped as undisciplined or lazy. Parents may be chastised for not giving their children acceptable sleep patterns, and schools rarely tolerate chronically late, absent, or sleepy students and fail to see them as having a chronic illness.

confirmed. but there's further evidence.

the disorder has, in fact, been referred to as "social jet lag". Often, sufferers manage only a few hours sleep a night during the working week, then compensate by sleeping until the afternoon on weekends. Sleeping in on weekends, and/or taking long naps during the day, may give people with the disorder relief from daytime sleepiness but may also perpetuate the late sleep phase.

(been doing this for years)

People with DSPS tend to be extreme night owls. They feel most alert and say they function best and are most creative in the evening and at night. DSPS patients cannot simply force themselves to sleep early. They may toss and turn for hours in bed, and sometimes not sleep at all, before reporting to work or school.

no further evidence needed. what about treatment?

Treatment, perhaps better referred to as a set of management techniques, is specific to DSPS. It is different from treatment of insomnia, and recognizes the patients' ability to sleep well on their own schedules, while addressing the timing problem. Success, if any, may be partial; for example, a patient who normally awakens at noon may only attain a wake time of 10 or 10:30 with treatment and follow-up. Being consistent with the treatment is paramount.

but

experienced clinicians acknowledge that DSPS is extremely difficult to treat.

and

A chief difficulty of treating DSPS is in maintaining an earlier schedule after it has been established. Inevitable events of normal life, such as staying up late for a celebration or having to stay in bed with an illness, tend to reset the sleeping schedule to its intrinsic late times.

hold on, not done with the bad news for me. here comes the best part:

Patients suffering from SWSD disability should be encouraged to accept the fact that they suffer from a permanent disability, and that their quality of life can only be improved if they are willing to undergo rehabilitation. It is imperative that physicians recognize the medical condition of SWSD disability in their patients and bring it to the notice of the public institutions responsible for vocational and social rehabilitation.

what about alternatives?

Working the evening or night shift, or working at home, makes DSPS less of an obstacle for some. Many of these people do not describe their pattern as a "disorder." Some DSPS individuals nap, even taking 4-5 hours of sleep in the morning and 4-5 in the evening. DSPS-friendly careers can include security work, work in theater, the entertainment industry, hospitality work in restaurants, hotels or bars, call center work, nursing, taxi or truck driving, the media, and freelance writing, translation, IT work, or medical transcription.

good. i thought about ending this with a sound "i'm fucked", but i realise there is hope after all. well. some hope, at least.

[source]

on memories

there is a difference between inner memories and outer memories. inner memories belong to us, and to us alone. no one else can see them or feel them. they often hurt, and hurt like hell at first, but they are often more eroded by time. eventually we forgive, and even if we don't forget (somethings are unforgetable), we manage to at least lose the resentment. but outer memories do not belong to us alone, because they are not inside of us. they are on the outside, random mementos of the past that at some point became a part of our lives. after that they are hard to let go. incredibly hard. i remember walking into that room, watching those and calling them horcruxes*, a wicked way of keeping the soul alive after it is broken. those were objects, all objects of different kinds. but it doesn't take an object. it might be an habit, a changed routine, an expectation. these are more strong when facing the time. even if we can get rid of them, if they're objects, we will be remembering in the moment of destruction; as such the immolation could bring no catharsis, only more pain, pain derived from denial. even if we change or reverse them, shall they be habits and routines, denial will keep stinging us in the back of our head, telling us that something is wrong. that something is missing. these outer memories are thus hard to destroy, because the moment of destruction is itself a memory, and often a painful one. they persist through time, always remembering us of what once was. and they are hard to forget: we can ignore them, we can not even acknowledge they presence during our daily lives; but it takes only a moment, a shard of a second, when our eyes randomly focus on them, and everything comes crashing down. 

the bottom line is, we are all hostages of our memories.

*yes, i took the word and the concept from the harry potter universe. found it oddly appropriated. 

boogeyman also needs a bath, i guess.

i have a feeling that my washing machine will claim my fingers one of these days. 

getting up

i never have problems of getting up early if i have to get up early to do something i really want to do. like a trip somewhere, for example. then i wake up before my computer starts playing heavy-metal (yes, it's my wake-up trick: a computer set to restart by itself and hit the heavy playlist). do i have to be at the train station or at the airport at five a.m.? consider it done, no alarms are required. the excitement - the same excitement that keeps me from going to bed early - takes care of my wake up. often several times during the night. excitement. it's all about excitement, the prospect of facing the unknown, of living something new even if it is only for a couple of days. how i long to feel like that. 

glimpse (of winter)

we were given a glimpse of summer, with a burning sun during the days and warm nights luring us out. the keyword here is glimpse. tonight's cold breeze augurs winter rain for the end of the week. 

one hour.

a friend calls early in the afternoon asking if i want to join him in some pub to watch the champion's league match between chelsea and barcelona. i decline, because i have already things arranged with another friend. then i have to decline that too, because something must be done at work after my time to leave. it turns out to be a flop and i end up having dinner and watching the match in a pub nearby alone. i was hoping for chelsea to win and go to the finals, by the way, and barcelona's last-minute goal ruined that too. and along the way, i still find the time and the opportunity start a wildfire with an unintentional spark. 

...

learned something out of all this. if it takes me more than one hour in bed to get up after i'm awake, then the day will be pointless from its very start. better turn off the lights and go on sleeping.  

and finally i got the meaning of this song right. took a while, i'd say.

i blame you for the moonlit sky,
and the dream that died
with the eagles' flight.
blame you for the moonlit nights,
when i wonder why
are the seas still dry?
don't blame this sleeping satellite...

did we fly to the moon too soon?
did we squander the chance?
in the rush of the race,
the reason we chase is lost in romance...
and still we try
to justify the waste
for a taste of man's greatest adventure..!

I blame you for the moonlit sky,
and the dream that died
with the eagles' flight.
blame you for the moonlit nights,
when i wonder whyare the seas still dry?
don't blame this sleeping satellite...

have we lost what it takes to advance?
have we peaked too soon?
if the world is so green
then why does it scream under a blue moon?
we wonder why,
if the earth's sacrificed
for the price of it's greatest treasure..!

i blame you for the moonlit sky,
and the dream that died
with the eagles' flight.
blame you for the moonlit nights,
when i wonder why
are the seas still dry?
don't blame this sleeping satellite...

and when we shoot for stars,
what a giant step!
have we got what it takes
to carry the weight of this concept?
or pass it by? like a shot in the dark
miss the mark with a sense of adventure..!

i blame you for the moonlit sky,
and the dream that died
with the eagles' flight.
blame you for the moonlit nights,
when i wonder why
are the seas still dry?
don't blame this sleeping satellite...

tasmin archer, sleeping satellite, great expectations (1992) #1

quoth the raven (XLVI):

i must go on. i can't go on. i will go on.

samuel beckett

(so will i. as i promised to myself. and then the day finally arrives, and the fundamental flaw is finally exposed, i'll improvise. as i always end up doing.)

p[c+m+y+(-L+d+f3)] = (-o+g)

i can see it being torn apart, it's bright colours ripped by claws of despair. or burning. or burning... all its ciens, mangentas and yellows melting into orange flames, their meaning reduced to ashes in a heartbeat of fire. orange turning gray in the end. all to waste.

*key to solve the title's equation: the value of the variable h is -1.

butterflies and hurricanes

the chaos theory is fundamentally right, but it is not always the butterfly in brazil the responsible for the hurricane in texas. sometimes a vulture, a carrion bird, is the one to blame. and the beating of its wings is far more powerful.

claws

a long reach? no. a huge reach. you can run but you can't hide. so true. and underneath the most insignificant cobblestones of the floor where we walk hide the claws that are always ready to jump out and grab us. they don't even have a conscience, they are not aware of what they do. they have no body or mind any more. but they do have a memory attached, and that memory triggers a purpose. a long-lost purpose.

apologies are overrated.

i wish i knew another way to fix it. but i don't. i never did. everytime it happened, i could only do what i've always done: hold on to my pride as long as i can, until the moment i can't hold it anymore and send it all to hell by breaking myself. is it effective? appparently yes, but only apparently. it's actually the worst way of dealing with it all. because right after it, right after the little and destructive silence that follows, everything resumes its course as if nothing had ever happened (but it did, damn it, it did), and everything seems forgiven and forgotten. until next time, that is: one of the sides stockpiles weapons, a whole arsenal of mistakes and misunderstoods ready to be used the lowest way possible; the other, stockpiles resentment that one day will break it for good and send it all to kingdom come with a loud and destructive bang. saw it happening way too many times to forget it.

postsecret

it's because of things like this


or this
that postsecret.com is doubtlessly one of the best and most interesting blogs ever made. and this is not advertising, but only acknowledgement of a work truly well done.

(pictures taken from postsecret.com)

mail

mail is old-fashioned. and i don't mean e-mail: i mean the classic mail, the post, whatever you want to call it. i knew that writing letters was not common anymore, but today i've learned that a standard-sized envelope has no space enough to hold a standard-sized postcard. funny. but quite nice, to be honest. i go on saying that i'm an old-fashioned guy, so why on earth don't i send mail, real mail, more often?

excuses

i like it when people come up with lousy excuses for something. i mean, when they lie so obviously that you can hardly feel resentment for it - as a matter of fact, what you feel like doing is laughing at them, at their unability to lie. it seems i don't have your phone number after all. please. i know all too well that you had it. but you've either lost it or deleted it. and it wasn't even the point: you simply forgot to give me a buzz, as you said you would. so what? i'm not the one who's going to be pissed because you've forgotten about me when, well, i forget about myself quite often, and keep forgetting about the world i live into every day. but thanks for the laugh. that excuse was brilliant. and in the end we were both happy: you, because you think i swallowed that, and me, because i simply don't care.

but don't worry about me,

i'm just having pork meat for dinner.

maybe i should have the slug on wheels, and downhill?

time is an absolut relative. okay, one minute holds sixty seconds, one hour holds sixty minutes, one day has twenty-four hours and so on. but the way we perceive time is relative. we can joke around it and say that one minutes might or might not be merely one minute depending on which side of the toilet door we are. but the fact is, time is relative for us, regardless of how exact is the passing of time. this to say that somehow i have a feeling that the next month will move forward at the speed of a slug...

good movie? check. good cartoons? check.

today i saw again who framed roger rabbit (1988). i still remember the only time i had seen it, when it was first broadcast on portuguese television more than one decade ago. way more.

and is it just me, or after twenty-one years this is still an extraordinary movie, and even one of the most original and well done movies ever made?

and 7.6 points out of 10 on imdb.com is nothing but a robbery. i've seen shit hitting eight - and more - easily there.

metalanguage

i can see the difference. i can feel the difference. like day and night, see? light and darkness, no hope beyond. it's the same here. just the same. star. dead star. imploded. starts die by imploding, you know, is that the fate that awaits us in some dark recess of the universe? we are the same, we are just the fucking same. (no torture any more. only for me) you know just as i do that i'm talking about myself; she is nothing but an excuse, a bloody lousy one. she, of all the creatures in the world, the one who nearly killed me. and you? i thought you were perfect, but now i see you fall into the same petty mistakes that i do. how naïve of me. and how funny. she was right: it never meets our expectations; they are simply too close to perfection and perfection in human beings is something that simply doesn't exist. i have known this for ages, and i've convinced myself that i want no perfection, not in any way. [throw them in the fire, throw them in the fire,/ throw them in the -/ we are not scaremongering,/ this is really happening, happening./ we are not scaremongering,/this is really happening, happening.] you're telling me more than you want to. everyone always do. metalanguage, metalanguage. we rise and fall. again. we implode. again. will we make a supernova in the sky? now i know that this makes perfect sense: something that will never happen. and it goes down and down, until the concrete wall, until the emptiness below. *slap* i guess you've understood now. you understood that i know. i know what you're talking about. well, it was too damn obvious. fuck. you've just messed it all up. i've just messed it all up. in the end it is the same thing, isn't it? and who the hell cares anyway?

(heh. stitching together months of discarded drafts can make funny things after all)

i also told you i was not good at making titles.

i know i promise i would write something about it, but the fact is, i've been rather uninspired today. you know, it's much easier to write when one's sad, and lately i've been far from that. anyway. to write something... well, there was so many things i could say. i could go on about what i've been living. about what i feel. about my expectations. about my wishes. these four topics would be enough for me to update this blog for one entire year on a daily basis - with several posts per day, mind you. but i won't do that - at least not that way. i suppose it would be too easy, and since there's nothing easy on all this, why start it here? anyway. before this post starts making even less sense than it does already (haha), i'll say something that you already know: it has been a long, long time since i've smiled like this. almost three years, to me more accurate. and yet i do it now, and i do it because of you and for you. and you can't imagine how glad i am for that.