Mini Post-Christmas Bitch Fit

Enough is enough, right?
Ha. Lessons you learn from watching "Pretty Woman" for the gazillionth time. That's exactly why I write under the name of Penny Lane. Got a lot to learn from her in terms of... well, saying enough is enough.
I'm just tired, that's all. I want real things now, but at the same time I'm scared. And no, come on, who am I kidding? Listen to Joss Stone's "Lady" - "why are you still here when I told you it don't come to nothing?". Just go. All of you.

Need. Time. Alone.

*

"Sweet heart, bitter heart, now I can't tell you apart..."

Sadness soaks and chokes the life out of you
When really, life should be permanently invited in.
But you don't invite sadness
And neither do you expect it.

It comes in bunches, instead.

She sung about miniature disasters
She played about minor catastrophes
And I am living proof that they will bring you to your knees.
No amount of patience, bravery or introspective thinking will make it go away.

Because it comes in bunches - it's bad.

There is a cure and it hangs in the skies
She blows the clouds around a twinkly dot of hope.
You become curious and enthralled and wonder if it's just a plane
The cure is that which whispers to you that the dot is indeed a star.

So yes, it comes in bunches.
It's sad and bad and messes with your head.
I'm still crawling on my knees, tearful and sore
But because of that star last night... I'm not dead!

Dead in the body and dead in the soul
Are the far ends of (at least my) reality.
I don't want either for anyone
But if the choice is to be made, let it be the first over the latter always and forever.

Soul.
"She's in Heaven and Heaven is in our hearts,"
I was told by a six-year-old.
Out hearts and souls beg us for Peace, Love and Humanity.

Believe in stars.
Choose life for the soul.
Keep the sky in your hearts.
Your head's still on fire, your body is still sore, and your eyes still leak.

But how would you otherwise know and feel you're still alive?
You're still alive.
We're still alive.
Don't look for who shot the arrow - follow it and look for the target instead.

Nothing makes sense if not thought about at the right time.
The right time is not previously scheduled, but comes in random bunches to balance out Sadness.
With a heavy head, sore bones and liquid eyes I hereby beg you:
Don't foll around while you wait for the "right time".

Instead, I lower myself from my kneeling to throw myself at your feet and make an honest suggestion.
While the right time to think doesn't come to your life
Live in Peace, Love and Humanity.
The "right time" has a will of its own and surpasses mortality; your personal expiration date does not.

You make people hurt when you pound at our doors.
We hear your subtle whispers, there is no need to add to the Noise.
Talk.
Just talk to me.

*

Why not?

Peace, love, safety, happiness, warmth, earth, wind, fire, water, spirit, moon, stars, smells... and a weirdly prophetic dream, as the cherry on top. Then waking up to feel lazily divine, after sleeping with the feeling I was not alone in my room. There. That's where I'll stop.

I will not go blind. This is a new beginning, however little and seemingly insignificant. Because it all starts from withing, don't it? :)

Colour me free indeed. Allow me to have beautiful mornings every morning and let the world shine as bright as it did/does today forever. It IS all in the eyes of the beholder, so let me be a clean, blissful, peace&love beholder. No lies, no cheating, no drama, no unnecessary or evil intoxicants.

Peace, love, and blessed be.

*

Fkldçajs

I want you (tam tam tam tam tam)
I want you so baaaad (tam tam tam)
I want yoouuuu (tam tam tam tam)
I want you so baaaad it's driving me mad, it's driving me mad.

Hahah okay. I might be going mad after all. All your fault, with your pale blue eyes (don't start singing again) and your fasdjfaç. What is it about you? Shitttt how this sucks.

I love how you say love. I love how you say just about anything. Me and accents, oh well. You might change my mind about something after all, and I hope my friend's wrong about you and that boy (in a rock and roll band la la la la). Shitttttssss.

I had a dream last night (heeeey another song?!), which I can't even bring myself to repeat. I tried to say it to the one friend who'd understand what it's like to WANT but I ended up telling her about the other dream, the stupid dream. You're the dreamy dream I should be talking about because holy shittt how faslkfja you are.

And hey, just for the record, wanting is different from love. I am not in love. I am in wanting, I guess. And I want you (tam tam tam tam tam). Bad.

*

"Putting Out Fire... With Gasoline"

I'm not sure Bowie's song (see title) is really the best for what I want to say. I'm not sure about anything at all, actually. I mean, how can I be sure if what I'm feeling is so unsure and contradicting and "twisted and deranged" (yeahhh Arctic Monkeys) and simply... crazy?! I haven't been writing anything at all because I feared it would come out like it's coming out - simply... crazy.

Anger: for having to stand up for my uni's reputation in the middle of a World War III (a.k.a. Family Dinner). Hell yeah we party hard, but it's not like you say it is AT ALL. We do study, we do have lectures, we do know what a library is. And for your information, we also do become this country's most influential group of people, no, not because we're filhinhos de papai or bratty heirs, but because WE WORK OUR ASSES OFF FOR IT.

Happiness: for standing in the middle of a dancefloor, buzzing with alcohol but not drunk, being pulled in a trillion directions by a clutter of very different arms. Arm 1: random and annoyingly cute guy who doesn't stand a chance. Arm 2: drunk friend punching the shit out of Arm 1's boozy face. Arm 3: Hopeful person I won't even mention here because I want things to work out. Arm 4: crazy girl who dragged me to a corner and pulled my dress down to check out my *¨&(%. Laughs. Lots of Laughs. And I promise I'm not mad, it was funny as hell. Arm 5: increeeedibly hot guy we sadly suspect is gay. Oh well, sigh.

Disgust: for cheaters, sluts, double sluts, hypocrites, fuck-heads, junkies, and coke-whores. No wonder I don't use my middle name.

Love: for Arm 3. I'm Hopeful and you're Hopeful, and I won't say a word because I don't want to screw this up - and I am known for screwing this up, either because I want too much too fast or because I fall in over my head and end up losing myself in the process. Linger on... those pale blue eyes... Ahhh fsadkljfas you're so pretttttty. I want you. I want you so baaaad.

BOTTOM LINE: confusion. curiosity. madness. anger. the horror. lust. love. hope. peace. smiles. laughter. nakedness. arms and legs. faces. eyes. blue eyes. pale blue eyes. pale blue squinty eyes.

Here's Sylvia Plath, before I go mad. "I am. I am. I am."

Mad Girl's Love Song
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

Decadence Avec Elegance

I walk along the rows of my familiar Friday book store with a serious and determined air, looking for the answer to that which has been robbing me of my usually thought-out, witty words: what am I looking for?

Automatically, I unleash my supposedly soothing thoughts - those meant to keep me from panicking and dropping my mask of poise, elegance, and control.

Why am I looking? Because I feel alone - not lonely, because that's temporary. What I feel is utterly alone in the sense of never being able to be exactly and entirely myself with anyone at all. I'm not saying I'm a liar; I'm saying I'm only parts of myself at different times and with different people. And I'm not alone in the friendship sense either; however, I'm scared to verbalize what I am, in fact, alone in. Because it sounds clichè, because it sounds silly, because it sounds old fashioned, because it sounds lame - take your pick. And it scares me as much as it scares the few friends I'm able to confide in. Aren't I supposed to not care about... love? Aren't I supposed to be out at night, continuously in search of mouths and necks and bodies - nothing else? I am and I do. Did. Do? Sadly, it oscilates. But it's there and that's what matters - that and the feeling of emptiness it brings. I feel like a cannibal, depraved of all senses of self and morality. But I (and everyone else) tell myself: that's what nights are for. For letting it out, for feeling like that, for behaving like I'm supposed to, for not holding back. But then day follows and there's not much else to feel, since there's nothing to feel at all.

I guess that explains the "how am I looking for" part too. And since it's not working, or at least hasn't worked so far, I might go vegeterian in the sense that I won't settle for anything below my so-called "absurd" expectations. Which brings me closer to that which gives me the creeps, which makes me panic, which makes me absolutely vulnerable.

But not yet there. I remind myself to go easy, slowly, patiently... Basically, everything my thirsty self lacks.

So comes the next question: what am I not looking for? Easy, thanks to the past. Not looking for clingy, not looking for curious, not looking for shallow, not looking for someone with all the wrong reasons (or someone with all the wrong consequences either), not looking for money, not looking for a body with an empty mind (or vice-versa, forgive me), not looking for experience, not looking for cheap, not looking for someone who wants to share me, not looking to be someone's rebound, not looking for a candle that burns both ways (but of course I'll make an exception if my big "if" becomes fact), and not looking to be a toy. Oh, and especially not looking to be someone's summer postcard from one in several places of the world to later be shoved away in a shoebox like a distant memory of a long-ago trip. Because that made me believe, for a moment, that I'd never fall in love again.

Okay, deep breath now, as I pick up an elaborately-packed poetry-prose book by a man I've never heard of. Bless you, D.T., for making me believe in the existence of your race. Yes, you did not answer my question at all. You only triggered new ones. But you also gave me clues about what I do want, with that uncanningly (and shamelessly) written phrase of yours. I do want to be the "right ear to lyrically dirty phrases". I do want to give my soul up for words "written in passion-red lipstick". I want to be deliberately stupid, to be "crowned with a sonet", to be "an old poet's muse". I want to believe his words without having to run a background check, I want to trust and be trusted, incinerate and burn, mark and be marked.

Of course, as my best friend so appropriately put it today (in his sad, struggling words), the more I read the pickier I get. Because I do look around to only find myself face to face with betrayal, selfishness, voids, deterioration, and rotten, rotten people. Yet I'm still hopeless in the sense of never losing hope - I know what I want now, despite how hard I try to ignore it. And I'll try not to give into the night, I say as I'm slipping into the shimmery short black dress and heels, and I won't settle for less.

It might not be passion-red, it occurs to me as I carefully paint my lips tonight. But it's red alright.

And the mask is back on.

*

Here I Go Again

So. What does writing a 50,000 word novel in one month sound like?

www.nanowrimo.org

I'm doing it again this year.

*

Regados Por Cerveja

Quem? O que? Meus pensamentos? Os conselhos que ouvi? Os que eu dei?

Tudo.

Bem que falei que escrever alegre era mais... gostoso. Tudo flui. Flui.
(Nota-se que estou me divertindo com a pronunciação das palavras - em pensamento. Que beleza!)

Algumas conclusões (e introduções também, já que todo final de uma boa discussão é também o começo de uma novinha em folha):

-Aquele-Que-Não-Deve-Ser-Nomeado (aka Mad Hatter, Heartbreaker, take your pick) não merece nem minha aversão à músicas de fossa. Porque "Crying" do Aerosmith é sim uma das minhas favoritas, e nem a pau que vou abrir mão disso por ele - ou qualquer um, for that matter. Ok, talvez pelo Steven Tyler já que com ele a coisa vira 2-em-1... mas todos nós sabemos que o cara em questão não é nenhum Steven. Mas estou fugindo do assunto. ANYWAYS, decidi que não desisti. Decidi que acredito sim nessa coisa de realmente gostar de alguém, ao contrário do resto do mundo. É uma coisa meio "been there, done that": experimentei o oposto (extensively, for that matter) e não gostei. Ok, talvez eu tenha gostado um pouquinho... ou até bastante. Convenhamos, é sim divertido. Mas nesse caso, o que importa não é o quanto eu gostei e sim o quanto eu me identifiquei - nada. Por isso achei melhor continuar do jeito que sou, sempre sonhando e olhando pras nuvens em busca de um tantinho assim de integridade e respeito. (dreamer/ stupid little dreamer/ so now you put your head in your hands, oh no! etc.)

- ...o que nos leva à questão da verdade. Quero a verdade, a quero muito! Mas não posso sair por aí e chegar nas pessoas "oi, tudo bem, você é de verdade?". Poder eu posso, mas nem tenho a cara de fazer isso. Não tanto pela vergonha (ok, talvez também pela vergonha) mas mais porque ninguém entenderia. Todo mundo acharia que eu estava falando literalmente, quando na verdade não – como sempre. Ninguém entende o meu sarcasmo quando estou brincando, imagina quando falo sério! No fundo é isso que eu quero – poder falar sério. Hoje em dia tudo é muito tipo “e aê cara, conseguiu o VIP da balada?” e eu, como garotinha da FAAP (cantem Seu Jorge quanto quiserem, já to imune e nem ligo :p), convivo com isso toda hora e também tenho meus momentos; afinal, saber quem tem VIP é algo de importância nacional em alguns casos (big flashing lights: aqui estou sendo sarcástica). ANYWAYS, quero também meus momentos de “cogito ergo sum” e coisas do tipo, nem que seja só às vezes. Porque eu penso sim, e logo existo! Juro, acho que a única coisa que me mantém sã é pensar... Pensando bem, talvez seja a única coisa que não me mantém sã, já que a sanidade, como todos sabem, é um produto da imaginação racional dos Caras Chatos – ou seja, não existe. Ninguém é são.

-Outra coisa que não existe é o tempo - e isso me irrita pra caramba. Tipo, o que é o tempo quando na verdade a nossa vida é contínua? Ela não para nem pro relógio, é o que eu quero (e tento, quase sempre em vão) dizer. O que são sete horas da manhã, quando pra você é o fim da noite? O que são nove e meia da manhã, quando você está com sede de cerveja? Quem são seus pais ou o cara do boteco pra dizer que é muito tarde ou que não se serve bebida a essa hora? O que é tarde e o que é essa hora? Se essas horas não servem, qual hora vai servir? Se não sabemos quando vamos morrer, porque vamos nos preocupar com o “quando” das coisas de agora? Sim, não podemos despirocar total. Porque aí a verdade se perde – e isso também me irrita (notem que “poder” depende do que me irrita; notem também que muitas coisas me irritam). Conclusão: faça o que tiver vontade quando tiver vontade; normalmente esse “quando” é o tanto de responsabilidade anti-despirocamento que você precisa.

Sleep it off, love. Sleep it off. Vou seguir os conselhos a-la-Millie. There’s nothing a hot bath won’t cure. Nem uma crise de perda de esperança pela raça humana, um coração arrebentado à distância, ou uma ressaca maluca da única coisa que tem matado minha sede.

This Is What You Write After You've Had More Than a Few Beers

Call me call me call me. Pick up your goddamn phone or call me. Because I told you I want to drink. I told you I need to drink.

(this is me not drunk enough, but quite drunk to think all these twisted thoughts)

***

I miss you. I see you in that picture on Facebook and I miss you. I want you, just like that, with your eyes closed and yout poet-eyes shut away in dreamland. Because I'm a dreamer and you're a dreamer. She's not a dreamer. I want you, have I said that before? I don't care about anything else - I just want you and that lovely sleepy face. Not in a bus. Not in a tree-lined avenue on the other side of the world. Not at Hyde Park. I want you in places I wouldn't dare list here. I want you like Liz Phair's "Flowers". I want you to unmask that big lie and I want you to play "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" with me and I want you to keep sending me that poem and I want you to fall over on top of me in the tube station (as you so irresistibly call it). Be. Here. Now.

I hate you.

***

Loud music. Mr. Jägermeister gently pouring shots between my lips. American girl discovering Brazilian man. Me jumping and dancing and raising my arms up to the beautiful night sky just because I'm so blissed out - and not even high. Man in torn stockings - note: they're not torn on the knees, they're torn right between his legs so this city's demented shadows can find a way in. He smells like pee and I start to get a little freaked out. I start to realize things aren't quite what they appear to be. I realize I'm in a hole in the heart of this city's underground scene. I realize that guy's Tic-Tacs weren't actually Tic-Tacs. I realize things are spinning. I realize I need Mr.Wasted Guy's special cigarrette. I realize I don't smoke. I realize those girls in the weird capes don't just have a crap dressing sense - their actual "dress", if you can call that minuscule piece of fabric a dress, is a pole-dancer's outfit. I realize I did take a pole-dancing class last summer. I realize I'm not at the right place at the right time. I realize I don't even care. I realize I'm alive.

***

More. More. More. Keep filling that fragile plastic-fantastic cup up till the contents spill. Because it's not about the contents - it's about the idea behind (and in front of) the contents. It tastes like the dirty tap water I had to brush my teeth with from that kinky road-side motel back on that college road trip. It tastes like rotten bubbly water. It tastes like something one should never taste out of free will.

But after one, two, three, thirteen... it just tastes like water. And I'm thirsty, so excuse me. Fill it up, fill it up - I'm burning. I'm starting to see things - actually, I'm starting to miss out on things that are there to be seen. I'm starting to give people extreme-makeovers in my head, like... beauty-fy them. Because deep inside no one's as ugly as the real world makes them. It's not their fault, it's not my fault, it's no one's fault. Blame is like God in many ways - it's omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient, but it's just there, invisibly luring people into its mad fits of uglyness.

And beer helps.

Out I go before I give the entire universe my oh-so-famous finger and walk out on life. Out I go, into the demented holes of this city to drink even more than I already did. Out I go to live, to shoot for the moon and land among filthy rats disguised as stars. Out. Out. Out...

Because I can no longer stand to stay inside. And it doesn't feel grand, lemme assure you of that.

*

Coisas Que Me Irritam (Leia-se: O Post Menos Editado da Minha Vida)

Ultimamente tenho estado beeeem irritada, to say the least. Podia ser cansaço, depois do fim de semana mais longo (e louco, obviamente) da minha vida. Podia ser TPM até uns 6 dias atrás, exatamente. Podia ser muito tempo sem chocolate. Podia ser um milhão de coisas.
É por isso que vou deixar minha reencarnação budista falar; ao invés de buscar a causa, vou metódicamente discutir o presente, irritação irritante por irritação irritante. Sim, daquele meu jeito perfeccionista que inexplicavelmente bota tudo numa lista... porque assim pelo menos alguma coisa faz sentido - que nem aquele monte de coisas que o prof. de filosofia não parava de falar, sobre a forma vs. o conteúdo e blá blá blá (eu te amo - heheh sorry, não resisti... Lobão de novo, of course).
Ok, vamos botar ordem na bagunça:

-Irritação Irritante No.1: Alguém chegar pra mim, na estúpida tentativa de me mostrar o quão inteligente ele é (why, oh WHY?), e começar a desmistificar a coisinha da fitinha do bonfim. "Cara, como assiiiiiiim?" foi o que eu disse (antes de começar a ficar toda irritada). "Não tem nada a ver, é tudo científico, tipo física quântica da projeção dos pensamentos", foi o que ele 'explicou'. "Não é não, é MÁGICA", foi o que eu teimei. "Mágica o caramba, você olha praquilo toda hora e lembra do seu pedido - isso é fato", foi o que ele manteve. Foi mais ou menos aí que eu comecei a estreitar os olhos e levantar o dedo do meio. Afinal de contas, quem quer ouvir que o Papai Noel não existe? Eu, pelo menos, não quero ouvir isso de ninguém - muito menos do cara mais irritante e mimado e MALA do mundo. Pena que ele é o cara que te compra um saquinho de Ruffles no dia seguinte, quando você está de ressaca total, prestes a entrar na quadra pra jogar futsal, usando um uniforme mega feio e largo, sendo que nem era pra você jogar (já que você só é uma atleta-social, daquelas que sentam no banco de reserva e ficam fingindo assistir o jogo enquanto bebe a cerveja do técnico).
-Irritação Irritante No.2: ser largada no meio de uma balada por uma "garota-no-cio", como meu pai delicadamente diz. Daquelas que dão em cima de tudo que tenha um *** entre as pernas. Ok, paro o desfile de sutilezas por aqui (o jantar com a fami é daqui a pouco, isso é papo de mesa total... NOT).
-Irritação Irritante No.3: cuidar de bêbados só porque você não está louca o suficiente... e queria estar. Mas tem um cocô de jogo de futsal pra jogar. Sendo que você nem joga. Etc.
-Irritação Irritante No.4: estar finalmente conseguindo dormir por alguns minutos, depois de quinze bilhões de horas acordada, e aos pouquinhos sentir um peso em cima de você. No começo é até que bom, tipo quentinho... E o tal peso nem é feio, você percebe, ao abrir os olhos devagarzinho... Mas aí você toma um puta susto e acorda na hora. Como se não bastasse, leva uma lambida na cara. Ew.
-Irritação Irritante No.5: estar dirigindo por São Paulo, o lugar mais caótico pra quem acabou de tirar carta (talvez só depois da Índia), e receber a vigésima ligação em menos que cinco minutos da sua mãe (que está falando algo totalmente irrelevante o mais devagar e compridamente possível, tipo "ah, não esquece de colocar o bolo de banana com canela da sua irmã dentro daquele potinho laranja com florzinhas no bolso da frente da mala colorida de ballet dela, junto com a água de côco e o canudinho e o garfinho do Simba"). Aí você se segura pra não desligar na cara dela e fala que já liga de volta, pois está dirigindo. Pra quê? Pra ela começar a gritar como se tivesse chutado a quina da mesa dizendo que você é uma desnaturada, mal-educada e mal-agradecida que merece um tapa na cara ao ser expulsa de casa. Sendo que você está deixando de ir pro shopping fazer compras para buscar sua irmã na escola e ficar de motorista a tarde toda enquanto lê o livro chato de política pra tirar notas boas e continuar sendo a melhor aluna da sala.
-Irritação Irritante No.6: ser forçada a ficar em São Paulo durante a semana do saco cheio... trabalhando. Period.
-Irritação Irritante No.7: ver seu favorite quote no status de alguém, sem seus devidos créditos. Saber que esse alguém, que te tratou tão mal aquele dia na balada, gosta das mesmas coisas que você... e ao mesmo tempo te trata tão mal aquele dia na balada.
-Irritação Irritante No.8: calorias.
-Irritação Irritante No.9: estar irritada com mais exatamente 23479103 coisas, mas não poder meter o pau em nenhuma devido a 1) falta de espaço, 2) falta de tempo, e 3) maldita censura.

Ok, um pouco mais leve.
Acho que estou espalhando esses pesinhos por todo lugar... aqui, no meu violão, no cara que eu ainda não respondi, nas ruas de São Paulo, no meu carro batido...
Oh well.
You wanted feelings? You got feelings, mate. Agora cadê meu JD pra deixar tudo... lúcido? Acho que isso pede por uma balada solo lá em algum buraco da Augusta - com direito a Joy Division e bateção de cabeça e vestidos caros e curtos e shots de Jägermeister com sabe-lá-o-que de graça, dados na boca pelo próprio Mr. Jägermeister.

Respira. Tipo paz e amor.

*

But you were fucking that girl nextdoor...

Well here's the thing: you're one of the few idealized thoughts of mine that I'm glad I didn't act on. Because you wouldn't deserve it. Because you're an idiot. Because my thoughts were, as usual, way prettier than what actually happened. Because you act older that you really are and in reality you're you're so full of shit andnot half the man you think you are. Because you suck. You're lame and I hate you and... well, I might have loved you.

Yes, I'm still sort of not over it and I think we shouldn't have seen each other again. On second thought, yeah we should have and I'm glad that we did... That way, I don't have to wonder "what if...?" for the rest of my life. That way, I can know for sure how lame you are and still miss holding hands with you in the park while I froze to death in my mini-skirt just because I wanted to look and feel pretty despite the well-known awful weather. Yeah, I wanted more. Yeah, I'd spent hours planning my outfit because I wanted it to be functional and appropriate for what I wanted you to think and do to me. Yeah, you missed out. Once again, because you suck.

You are not in any way the traveling soldier you see yourself as, with a girl in every corner of the world and lots of clever remarks said in an irresistible accent. What you really are, is lame. I picked you, don't get THAT wrong. And I only did so because you were what everyone was after and I just had to prove (to myself, to the world?) that I could. And I did. And now you're not that irresistible anymore. I can see right through your I'm-so-hot-but-I-couldn't-care-less clothes and your sarcasm and your oh-so-witty comments about the world.

fadsklfjaskljf

Lily Allen is right about you people.

*

Coisas de Domingo

-Maçãs cortadas e descascadas pela sua mãe, servidas com gelo num potinho do Simba que te lembra da sua infância;

-Deitar na grama e tomar sol o dia todo enquanto o vento sopra, ficando mais preta a cada segundo sem nem sentir;

-Enfiar o dedinho na piscina pra testar a temperatura e sentir um frio do caramba e rir e gritar e ser empurrada pra dentro e ficar mais resfriada ainda;

-Sentir o peso de certo alguém em cima de mim e instintivamente saber exatamente o que fazer e onde tocar e sentir a maior paz (e prazer) do mundo ao fazê-lo... E antes que eu me empolgue demais, lembrar que eu estou falando do meu violão;

-Me irritar num almoço de família (só porque eu posso) e orgulhosamente assumir meu papel de ovelha-negra sob disfarce... e mesmo assim sair de lá me sentindo no topo do mundo just because I belong somewhere;

-Me sentir inspirada e precisar escrever (juro que achei, essa semana, que nunca mais ia me sentir desse jeito), o que me lembra da simples e crua pergunta que inesperadamente me fizeram na época dos College Apps/Vestibular: "escrever te dá tesão? é quase uma necessidade?? você não consegue viver sem isso???". O mais legal é que o cara que me perguntou nunca pareceu ser o tipo profundo e poético, só "o" bonitão perfeito que tem todas as meninas (yours truly sort of included) à seus pés;

-Dar uma volta a pé no quarteirão de casa sem ter que me preocupar com ladrões e cocôs - afinal de contas, é domingo!


*

Segunda Tentativa (de botar ordem no mundo)

Sim, esse é meu segundo post hoje. E estou escrevendo em português (btw, nunca sei se é com letra maiúscula ou não) pra desenferrujar e pra surtar de maneira diferente - acho que o post anterior já fez isso muito bem. Então aqui vão meus pensamentos, de novo em forma de lista porque pelo menos uma coisa tem que fazer sentido lógico (e eu sei que todo o resto não vai fazer):

Pensamento 1: sim, todos nós temos o direito de ficar irritados. Passei a tarde discutindo possíveis "outlets" (viu, não consigo de maneira alguma pensar em uma só língua! juro que não é síndrome de burguesinha, como todo mundo fala) com minha melhor amiga e percebemos várias coisas. Primeiro, que ela reage da maneira certa e paciente e nobre e eu da maneira errada e impaciente e ferrada - mas mesmo assim sempre nos encontramos no fim da linha, do mesmo jeito, com as mesmas vontades e no mesmo barco. Segundo, que todas nós só pensamos em uma coisa (and I'll leave that to your imagination, thank/fuck you very much). Terceiro, que ela é outra "pessoa a distância" pra mim - vai dizer, isso é maldição, karma ruim, ou pura e simplesmente uma merda?? Bom, percebemos outras coisas também, mas estas não vem ao caso agora.
Pensamento 2: quando não existe opção ou esperança, esperar não é tão fácil não. Nem nobre. E nem vale a pena, eu suponho. Digo "suponho" porque o que eu tenho feito, mesmo sem entender, é esperar. E não entendo mesmo. O pior disso tudo é que minha curiosidade, que sempre mandou em mim, quer entender. E pra entender é preciso parar de esperar e se jogar de cabeça. Mesmo estando a um milímetro desse salto, não pulo - e não sei porque não. Mas quero saber, e o ciclo recomeça. Maldita curiosidade.
Pensamento 3: quero falar tudo na lata porque é assim que penso e todo o resto me irrita. Quero que me falem tudo na lata também porque só assim vou começar a dizer o que penso, o que faço, o que fiz e o que farei. Não posso ser a única pessoa falando tudo como tudo é. Quer dizer, poder eu posso, mas não tenho... a coragem. Ainda, né. Porque, pensando bem, mudei bastante. Até insultei um certo Mr. Shrimp ontem - completamente sóbria - just for the sake of the truth and my honor. E outra coisa - quero conversas cara a cara, não mensagens de texto e posts e scraps e toda essa bagunça confusa que "revolucionou o mundo". Entendo quando um certo alguém me convida pra uma conversa de vídeo (mesmo que na hora nego, pensando em mil e uma obscenidades (?)). Não entendo quando outro certo alguém me manda à procura de seus sentimentos através dos pensamentos de sua amiga. Voltando pro começo desse Pensamento, quero as coisas na lata mesmo! Não suporto esses joguinhos mesmo que participo deles! Lfasjdfk.

Acho que estou 1) ficando maluca, 2) de TPM, 3) em crise de abstinência e 4) precisando sair. Não é nenhum segredo que tenho sede e fome e vício de viver. O mundo é tão mais bonito desse jeito! Millie would agree that the only thing that drives us all is the call of the demented night, waiting to twist up your soul.

*

Blame it on the distance!

Mood: annoyed.
Reason: same as ever.

***

Yes, I will explain myself a little better.
(Hahah and I AM utterly aware that nobody asked and that this is actually a random monologue that would be better off locked away in my heart, but...)

Okay, maybe change my mood to "bitter".

ANYWAYS, I am rambling because I wanna write about this despite how repetitive it feels and because I don't know how to start, without simply telling you to flip back to the "If I Fell" entry. Because it's about that same person and because no, I haven't even gotten past my second page in that supposedly-oh-so-powerful autobiographical romance on how a certain Mad-Hatter broke my heart even though he was a billion miles away. And I let him, that's what I did. I fucking let him! Like, I allowed myself to get all vulnerable and dreamy (though, on second thought, I'm dreamy all the time) and hence my current I-wanna-curl-up-and-watch-chick-flicks mood.

I don't make any sense, I know.

What triggered this step back into that place, one might ask? The answer's obvious. Somebody else. Who's also far away (again, not even in the same coutry, though at least this one's in the same continent - I swear it's the accent haha, I'm a sucker for that kinda thing). If I get all Freudian on myself, I can easily point out the reason for my thing for foreigners: when they're far away, I'm allowed to idealize them and to blind myself to the flaws. I'm allowed to fantasize at night (mmm wink wink) and turn them into whatever I want.

Okay, this might as well be the crappiest piece of thoughts EVER, I wonder (again) why, instead of typing them and posting them on the fucking INTERNET for christ's sake, I didn't just let them linger in my heart.

Mr.Shrimp (hahah, fake name fake name) would wisely advise me: "Stop thinking about those losers. Jump into your current hippie-guy's car and go pole-dancing in weed-world. (Pause). On second thought, you and I can do a lot more than that - I guarantee you won't regret it".

Thank whoever's Up There for Mr.Shrimp. And the rest of the suckers who've been rocking the boat with me.
And before this post turns into a bigger disaster, I'll leave off with a Neil Gaiman quote:

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”

*

"Confesso que Vivi"

Okay, looks like I've got billions of things to apologize for. I'm not a big fan of apologies, especially in this case, when none of what I did was wrong. But, since I am living in the real world and not in my mind, and since I am no hippie (so that excuse is taken), and since this is the conventional society that seems to demand an excuse for every single accidental laughter that breaks the silence, here's my excuse for it all: I'm alive and young and careless so all I breathe and all my heart beats for are exactly those moments of "tipsyness" and smiles and long stares and hiccups and fights and peace-signs and angry middle-fingers and kisses and tugs and bites and truths and lies and laughter and repression and jumping and kicking and stumbling and bleeding and hugging and then finally falling asleep. The rest, my friend, is history.
Now if I've seriously offended anyone in doing any of that, well, no apology for you. Because I am sorry, deep inside - sorry you missed out on the fun; sorry you weren't able to see the cup half-full; sorry you were such a pain in the ass. Because hey, after living a life like mine and reaching that point when you're so happy you couldn't care less, apologies start to look a little... morose. And that's the last thing I care about at the moment.
I feel like this is the never ending climax of the whole thing - I've done all I had to do in order to get smart enough for life (from being the best student in the class, to hanging out with all the wrong people, to getting into all the colleges I wanted, to taking a pole dancing course in Vegas, to letting it all go in New Year's, to starting over for the millionth time, to a backpacking trip all over Europe...) and now I can allow myself to actually play around with it. With life, I mean. And I do feel like walking the world, still, because that's what we're all here for. To play and to laugh and to walk the world and then die being able to leave a note with three words of triumph: "confesso que vivi".

Muchas gracias, Pablo Neruda. You're next on my list.

*

Walking After Midnight

As I heard what sounded like a fat fish falling on the wet floor, all I could think of were my favorite boots. It was crucial not to get them splattered.
I lowered my eyes, which were usually looking up and above and lost in dream-land, to find a wasted-looking girl (who'd otherwise look extremely cool and elegant) puking her alcohol-corrosed insides out. The room spun. Without stopping once, I skipped over the chemically-colored purple puddle of regret on the floor and made my way over to my final destination: the last, blissful-looking black bathroom stall in the dirty, vomit-smelling, toilet-papered bathroom. I locked myself inside and let out a deep, shaky sigh.
A mental timer went off in my mind; I had less than five minutes before they started wondering where I was to figure out the entire purpose of my existence... and pee. My mind was so convoluted with thoughts and drinks that I didn't even know where to start.
I let out another breath, trying to place myself back in control.
First hang your purse on that tiny hook on the door. Check.
Now try to make that toilet look a little less infected. Check.
Okay, now concentrate and release the infinite amounts of liquids you just poured inside your bladder.
The room continued to spin whimsically around me, like a pinched balloon flying in the air. List. Make another list.
Okay.
Glass of Red Label. Shot of Grey Goose. Beer cup, beer cup, beer cup. Vodka & Red Bull.
Ew.
Nausea took me by the neck and I swooned.
My mental timer kept on running, its pace seeming to pick up as every second went by. Another breath. In and out... and start.

Thought No.1: letting the Mad Hatter go, convincing myself that I'd idealized him in every way in my mind... just because of the accent. Check. Additional note on that: this was only the first thought chronologically, not because it was the most important. Word.
Thought No.2: believing with my heart and soul that with time, things at home would even out. Because they were meant to be and they know it.
Thought No.3: dealing with my best friend and hoping to get my message across without causing much damage. Because it does happen to everyone and because I do love him to much just like that - a friend - to be straightforward about it.
Thought No.4: answering someone else's message and deciding if I want it or not.
Thought No.5: deciding if yet another person is bipolar or not, clearing things up about that stolen token of my good-will and about that drunken peace sign last weekend.
Thought No.6: not getting drunk...er.
Thought No.7: ignoring someone else's rudeness yesterday at the place I thought I'd never have to see again. Because I am too nice and because I do care too much. And because he's only bitter because I didn't grovel for him, like the wrong girl continuously does. Laughing at him because she does grovel and because he's flattered, but doesn't want her.
Thought No.8: keeping clear from someone, just for tonight, despite the ride she gave me earlier. Because she's drunk and I am too, and neither of us want to admit it.
Thought No.9: clearing things up with Freddie Mercury II - is he or is he not? I mean, WTF. I am not Bella. Technically yes, and maybe in many other ways too. But... no. Not an inspiration in that sense at all - just in the soul.
Thought No.10: STOP WORRYING ABOUT DINNER. You don't always have to say all the right things and rock because that's what friends are for - for knowing you when you do and when you don't rock. And role models and family even more. And yeah, everyone knows you're a bit of a dreamer and yeah, everyone knows you were born in the wrong decade and yeah, she's a bit of a hippie too. And she gave you her blessings on Thought No.4's someone.
Thought No.11: yeah, your parents can tell when you're sober from when you're drunk. And now you are drunk.
Thought No.12: getting on Facebook and writing your soul out... Tomorrow it will cheer you up.
Thought No.13: you shall not go straight to the bar everyday after class... at least wait till after noon.

Flush.
Get your purse.
Let the desperate banging-person outside in.
Deep breath, walk out, skip over the puddle of puke (good name for a band, innit?), wash your hands, walk out with a big drunken smile on your face and act normal.
Because you are normal - you're normally-drunk!
Cheers! (because I can't remember - or spell - the german word she taught you earlier).

*

Listening to: Walking After Midnight - Madeleine Peyroux

Do the box ***

From driving till the end of the world to not get a table, to losing/breaking the bar's card, to waiting for a cab in a gas station while having a smoke, to bar hopping and watching magic tricks while playing Kings until they kicked us out by pulling our table, to going to THE party and meeting people I haven't seen in ages, to leaving *again* and breaking my promise of not taking rides with very drunk people, to entering another club and buying the 2nd most expensive beer of my life, to taking a very drunken taxi ride home while holding my best friend's hand. Cheers.

Lived in Bars - Cat Power
We've lived in bars
And danced on tables
Hotel trains and ships that sail
We swim with sharks
And fly with aeroplanes in the air

Send in the trumpets
The marching wheelchairs
Open the blankets and give them some air
Swords and arches bones and cement
The light and the dark of the innocent of men

We know your house so very well
And we will wake you once we've walked up
All your stairs

There's nothing like living in a bottle
And nothing like ending it all for the world
We're so glad you will come back
Every living lion will lay in your lap

The kid has a homecoming the champion the horse
Who's going to play drums, guitar or organ with chorus
As far as we've walked from both of ends of the sand
Never have we caught a glimpse of this man
We know your house so very well
And we will bust down your door if you're not there

We've lived in bars
And danced on tables
Hotel trains and ships that sail
We swim with sharks
And fly with aeroplanes out of here
Out of here...

Graduating from high school: check.
Getting into my dream college: check.
Making NORMAL friends I'd die for: check
Passing my driving test (even if only after the second attempt :D): check.
Getting a decent car: check.
Getting a decent job: check.

What's left now?

Yes, it's all very exciting and new and I feel sooo bubbly I hardly have time to breathe. And hey, it only confirms the fact that I'm not a lunatic (or a masochist) for loving this feeling of breathlessness. Strangely, this doesn't feel like choking at all. It feels like I'm living. Love it. LOVE it. I don't mind anything else, be it because I don't have any time left to think about it AT ALL or because I honestly couldn't care less now - and it's the best feeling in the world.
I was once told I have that Mona Lisa sort of face - where you can't tell whether I'm smiling or frowning, simply because I look like I couldn't care less all the time. But now I care so much and so little about all the right things and at all the right times - which explains my sudden relapse behavior with the blog for a while. All I've been getting are... well, ten tons of sunny d all the time. And hell yeah, the chickens are out!

Woohooooo!

Hahah, well, I'm out. Baking cookies :)

*

Adventures in Wonderland

Why I have changed so much, I'm not sure. What and how everything changed - the trip to Europe, of course.
I did write a travel journal down and I was considering posting it here, but what I did is not what I want to talk about, strangely. Instead, I can barely sit still after the whole thing. Maybe it was all the walking, but now I can rarely keep still anymore. So many ideas for the new story, so many things that did happen (in and out of my mind), so much I've learned from "Alice in Wonderland" and Queen - yes, the band I'd been trying to hate all my life and that's now one of my favorites.
So instead of typing down my oh-so-detailed (and packed with dried up flowers and brochures) travel journal, I'll do the bullets thing once again. The list, I mean.

-I'll start with the fight, because that's what's been on my mind since yesterday. The whole "not tonight" situation and his reaction really did mess me up. Actually, what it did was fix me up. In his car on my way home that night all I could do was blame myself and look for what I'd done wrong, but after a serious dose of "He's Just Not That Into You" and chocolate and the whole trip to Europe, I finally got it into my mind that despite the looks and the money and the hands, there's not much else to him afterall. So yes, like a true "killer queen", I called and was "dynamite with a laser beam" in my bitch-fit-breaking-up-mode people rarely get to see. Called him a "spoiled brat who's not used to getting 'no' for an answer" and told him "never to call me until he's thought about it". And who says I'll answer? Freaked him out, it did. Never heard anyone's voice as shaky - and through the phone, cara. Score!
-Met the "If I Fell" person in Europe. Have we become too close or what? Definitely the highlight of the trip (or at least one of them), but it confused me SO MUCH and I still can't talk about it. That's what wanting so much (of him, of life, of me...) does to me. And that's what the whole song's about, isn't it? Yes, it was a scary day and the rain actually managed to make it all better... Oh, what umbrellas and bagels and talks in the park do to me.
-Visited Versailles and confirmed the fact that I am Marie Antoinette. Hahaha, long story, won't get into it. But really, it was creepy knowing it for a fact. Got me in good terms with my "restless spirit", since now I know why my head's always in the clouds. HAHAH okay, I'll stop.
-Fell in love with someone in an Ed Hardy shirt - can you believe it? But it's more than complicated, so I won't get into that either. Yes, my parents would kill me. Millie would understand.
-Almost got abducted by freakish goths in Camden Town while trying to innocently buy a Who shirt. "Wanna see the basement?" was what she said while 'gently' holding my arm. Holy shit holy shit holy shit was what I thought as I shook my head and mumbled something about checking the weather outside. Ahhh creeeepy!
-Leather jackets, cigarettes, warehouses... Okay, certain things are meant to NEVER be mentioned again.
-Explained to dad that one should NEVER agree to see the basement of a Camden Town shop unless one is looking for a million and one ways to smoke weed. "How do you know?" he asked as I innoncently blamed a book I read (hahah, I never know when to keep my mouth shut, do I Millie?).
-Missed Cat Power in São Paulo for... the beach, of course. Yes, it was cold and rainy but everyone knows you shouldn't say no to the beach. Kind of sad that it was reportedly such a good show, but then again, how could it not be? It's CAT POWER, man. Still, going was good because now I'm on good terms with her again, since she's finally decided to own up and quit hiding it. And she's right about me, surprisingly. I'm starting to follow her footsteps, in that sense.
-Saw "We Will Rock You" in London and fell in love with Queen and the whole concept of a musical. Wrote my college essay about it, last year - the way shows get to me... It really is something, I mean, how could an essay about that get me into 3 colleges? I love the whole thing - the goosebumps, the wanting to stand up and clap and scream and hoot and holding back so people don't shut me up, the crying, the chills... It does resemble you-know-what for me, strangely enough.
-Finally decided not to tell her half of what really goes on at night for me. No, I haven't decided to tell the entire truth - I've decided simple not to say a word. It does get more complicated, believe me. She's supposed to back me up when I'm being a bitch, isn't she? She's supposed to understand and to want me to break up with slimy idiots like him after what he's said and asked. She's supposed to want to kill him for what he's done, but instead, she says I was "impolite" on the phone. Oh well, go figure.

Starting a new story in the makes of "Brass" and "The Bell Jar" - autobiographic romance, isn't that what it's called? Putting bits and pieces of the old unfinished ones together and it's coming out quite nicely. I might even have the guts to get it published... under a different name. I can name at least fifteen people who'd start looking at me a bit differently if they knew it was all based on my life. Millie, Esther... and me. The three lunatics everyone falls in love with despite their crazyness and unthinkable thoughts.

PS.- I miss you.

Feriado

I can't talk about everything, so I'll make a list. Of feelings, yes. And thoughts. Because this has been described as a place of both - feelings and thoughts. That's why it's so vulnerable and controversial, I guess; most people can't deal well with either. I, on the other hand, fling myself face to face to both, unaware of (or purposely blind to) the consequences. But I've mentioned my love for the whole thing before, so I won't get into that.

-Meeting Nick or Paulie Bleecker (take your pick) at the one club I regret going to. Excusing myself to go find my friend. Never getting his phone (and being ridiculed and laughed at for not doing so later) but feeling great about it. Figuring out how nice it is to simply meet someone and just talk for a while before leaving with no regrets, only an ear-to-ear smile of satisfaction for having met one of those people - "ele tem o coração de ouro", que nem o amigo idiota falou.

-Hating the cold and the rain and wishing I was at the beach alone watching the sunrise or in China being attacked by moskitoes (?) while holding hands and being chased by angry chinamen.

-Saying yes and nodding until being called back to earth.

-Wanting to walk down the yellow brick road after a pair of magic red slippers that would take me home.

-Throwing a bitch fit for the first time in my life (scary, yes, I'm usually a calm person). Knowing I was right but apologizing anyway. Not believing in holding grudges, wanting fun and happiness all the time.

-Being called a "fucking hippie full of intriguing quirks" and loving it. Peace and love and happiness uhuuu.

-Wanting him not to go farther away for college but encouraging him to do so "because I know it will be good for you" and "because you just can't ignore the scholarship". Scholarshit, I hate you for taking him even farther away. Hopefully the 6th will match up to our dreams. A couple of bloody dreamers, that's what we are. Hahah, see, you're getting to my way of speaking.

-Throwing another bitch fit as I read last post's comments and finally deciding to control people's high-schoolish thoughts. Changing my mind due to my firm belief in freedom of speech and hatred for any form of censorship. Appreciating the alleged cause behind it all - being stood up for. Thanks, but no thanks.

-Falling in love with Millie and being afraid to "pass out and miss the fucking fireworks".

-Leaving to start my current obsession - aquela receita do Semifredo de Abacate com Cookies de Pistache. Trial and error, baby, trial and error.

*

Annoyed.

I know we met under unusual circumstances. I know our time together was mostly pleasant, so far, except for that one Sunday afternoon. And I know you're the kind of person every girl wants. Older. Intelligent. Beautiful. Rich. Nice. But what's missing is the spark, the thing that would actually make me like you.

I'd love to tell you random stories about things that make me care a billion times more about the others, but you don't even give me a chance to talk. I try, you take over and start your DULL monologue about I don't even know what, since I have a haaard time keeping track of your words. So know this: yes, I did lie on Sunday. No, you were NOT doing anything right. Yes, I am far more interested in someone else I can't mention here even though I'm supposed to like you. And YEAH, I reaaaally don't feel like going out with you on Wednesday because I'm tired of you telling me you care and of your drinking before noon and of you telling me I don't make any sense and of your constant attempts at proving me something I already know. Friday night was a lot more fun and I deliberately chose not to answer the phone. Saturday too. I am making other plans for Wednesday and if they work out, I'll cancel. Ugh, you piss me off. From the moment you step out of your car to the moment you say goodbye. I know I SHOULD like you, to say the least, but... I don't know. I might not want you or any of them... except one or three haha. Anyways, watch "Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist". You're Tal. And I'm this close to cancelling Wednesday.

Latest Addiction

http://thealphafemalesays.webs.com/

C'est la vie

Yesterday he was angry because I wasn't making sense. And I really wasn't. I wasn't telling him the whole story, but I wasn't lying either. I wasn't thinking straight and my words, usually carefully chosen, fled from my mind and I couldn't speak at all. He said I was confusing him, with my mind in one place and the rest of me in another. I remembered that movie in which the guy said "end of discussion" and the girl angrily responded "end of relationship". I did angrily say something like that, and the worst part is that that's what I meant the most. He said he didn't get me, but I left him there to deal with it. Then I was the one to go home and I was the one to deal with what would follow.

It sucks, but it's a relief to feel childish in the sense of never wanting to see him again. Puta contradição, que nem ele falou. Mas é assim que é a vida, eu disse pra ele, pouca coisa faz sentido. E às vezes é melhor deixar não fazer sentido do que tentar entender. That's when time gets lost (and I do tend to think in time).

Isso é outra coisa que deixou ele confuso - my tendency to think in terms of time. Either we have it or we don't, and I think that's because of that summer two years ago (still). I'm glad I'll finally deal with it this summer - 6 and 7 are my favorite numbers now. Two days isn't a lot, but after yesterday I find that four hours are more than enough time to deal with the important things.

Odeio silêncio. Odeio conversas evitadas. Odeio pessoas que odeiam contradições mas vivem se contradizendo. Odeio a pressa, odeio ontem a noite, odeio vinho, odeio orelhas. Apesar disso, tenho certeza que vou mudar de idéia daqui a um segundo - puta contradição, eu sei, igual a esse post trilíngue sem sentindo (pra combinar com meus pensamentos). Mas é a vida, e continuo a saber que nunca vou me arrepender de nada.

*

Friends of the Night (listening to "Date With a Night" - Yeah Yeah Yeahs)

I found your email on the last page of my song book. It looks funny and intrusive because you're still my friend. It looks very odd because despite it all, this hasn't reached an end.
I remember spelling your name wrong more than twice, till I shoved you my pen and you laughed and made it right. Strangely it was all under the innocence of you wanting those photos. Well... since we're talking about that non-date - your voice's still on my tape. And you're teasing me about knocking that bottle over, saying it hadn't been cheap (while I shrugged and got on my feet and stood on the chair).
You know, I could use a friend right now. Because I still believe in love, somehow. And all I get lately are words devoid of meaning and meaning devoid of words. Why can't I have both? Why and how and when and who?
Oh well, my phone calls me. There's an(other) excuse to be made.

In the name of fun and saudades...

I thought I'd never say this, but I actually like receiving comments just so I can answer them and extend my (sometimes uninspired) entries. I especially like the last one I got and if I'm right about who sent it, well... he knows I could write a whole book on that.
But hey - isn't life a million times better when you see it in the eyes of a poet? I know, EVERYTHING begins to seem so dramatic and sometimes you begin to overanalyze yourself to try and understand it, but you never can - which makes everything even better. I guess that's why people crave other things (e.g. drinks, pills, you name it). They somehow manage to make our lives even more twisted and it's FUN. Hahah, "fun" might be my new favorite word.
Anyways, it's like a friend wisely said today: "everything begins with a drink". I did laugh. A lot. Because he's right, and I never expected HIM of all people to be. I mean, the best things in life do begin with a drink- and I swear I'm no alcoholic. Think about it. At parties, the first thing you do is head to the bar to get a drink. Or you have an "esquenta" somewhere else before. At Christmas and Festa Juninas, there are drinks... many drinks. In New Year's Eve! The beginning of a whole new year! You start it with a drink(or a whole bottle at the beach with the best people on earth, in my case :D). Drinks may be the best invention ever, after all.
Drinking to an extreme is a whole different story. Fun, but not very pleasant after a while - and not very pretty to watch either. But I've changed a lot on that front since last year, so again, I won't get into that.
So there - that was the phrase of the day for me: "everything begins with a drink". Especially since it was said in Math class, where it's impossible for me not to feel useless and stupid and ridiculously depressed. I'm going to miss people SO MUCH, even though all I want now is to be done. So yeah, I might go back to believing in the absolute truth of that phrase for at least a little while - all in the name of fun and saudades.

*

Thursdays (I'm in love... Hahah thanks for the inspiration, The Cure)

I'm kind of starting to look at life like Millie does. With her eyes, I mean. Except for that minor detail, I'm just like her. And it's FUN.
Thursday was awesome. I love Thursdays. I love wine. I love button-down shirts and well groomed hands that know where they're going. I love running away from the security cameras and sneaking into my own house trying not to laugh. I love it all!
Today was kind of weird too. I met my musical soul-mate and borrowed a bunch of CDs and DVDs. I might cancel on someone else for tonight to stay home and indulge.
I wonder what tomorrow will be like. I might go to the movies and I know I owe someone an explanation, just for the sake of clearing things up about Thursday. But I kind of don't feel like explaining myself, because what happened was just... what happened. And I want things to keep happening, but I don't want other things to be thought of me. Yes, it's fucking confusing. There: I won't try to understand it.

Oh and a note on some of the comments I've been getting: I did consider deleting the negative ones, but hey - if you don't like what you're reading, GET A LIFE and go find something else to do. I've been writing here forever and I'm not forcing anyone to read this. For the positive ones, thanks, I LOVE IT how you choose to spend some minutes of your lives on my thoughts. It does mean a lot.

*

Clearing things up

No, I won't cut the crap and name the names. If you know who you are, you know who you are. And by the way, I did mean what I said to you.

And "anonymous FUN person", yeah you're FUN and do read No. 5, because that's what I wrote FOR YOU.

DONE DONE DONE

DONE WITH THE IB EXAMS!

Mas por outro lado, descobri que não vou estar aqui pro vestibular da FAAP. Yes, I'll be in Europe a) pretending to be Marie Antoinette, b) touring London and Liverpool with the world's best guide (and trying hard not to forget about life here to stay there with him, hitting Hard Rock Calling and Beach Break to see The Zutons), and c) doing everything else you're supposed to do while there (e.g. shows, museums, musicals, etc.). Fiquei só um pouco preocupada quando descobri isso. Só um pouco. Vou prestar ESPM logo depois, mas nem sei se passo. Se passar faço a transferencia. Se não, fodeu.
Mas nem vou pensar nisso agora. Bem agora que larguei total de tudo que supostamente importa, não vou voltar a me importar. Porque no final das contas, as coisas que todo mundo menospreza são as coisas mais fofas do mundo.

VERY CRAZY Things That Can't Be Left Unsaid

To Person No. 1: I can’t believe I had to give you such a wakeup call last night. But things did work out for you in the end, didn’t they? All I wanna say is I like her and I’m sooo happy for you! Hahah, someone did get lucky, eh? And you weren’t even wearing my jeans.

To People No. 2 and 3: For the sixteenth time: I do love you!

To Person No. 4: Thanks for the ride, the coat, and the company. Now that I think of it, you’re the one person I hadn’t said ‘I love you’ to, so here: I love you. Hahah yeah, I promise I’m not writing this in my ‘happy place’. I am sober.

To Person No. 5: Last night you told me you liked TTOSD. You also mentioned that you appreciated what I’d written about you two posts ago. But... Ugh, trust me, I AM trying to say it in the most gentle and delicate words, but... well, none of it was for or about you. Since the beginning you were what you claimed to be: a once in a lifetime delicious insanity. Who knows if it will ever happen again; all I know is you owe me breakfast J.

To Person No. 6: You probably don’t remember any of it, but here: I did mean that apology and I did mean it when I said that despite everything, I’ll still miss you. I feel kind of bad for making you freak out like that, but it is what it is in the end of the day (and that I don’t feel sorry about – at all).

To Person No. 7: Thanks for saving me. But I didn’t need to be saved.

To Person No. 8: Like I said – we still have loads of time. Let’s see how things happen for me and do move on with your life in the meantime. Because you deserve someone like her – and hey, I did think you had a thing for her! Didn’t you? Was it really, like you said yesterday, to make me jealous? Because I wasn’t, I love you so much and all I want is for you to be happy.

To Person No. 9: Ahhh you have such a twisted perception of yourself. You deserve way better. It’s like you said – you’re a queen and he’s ‘too much sand for your truck’ haha. Don’t give into them just so you won’t be alone. I think you look way better alone than with him, but that’s just my opinion.

To Person No. 10: Okay, I really don’t know how to start here. What the fuck was that? Alright, I’ll admit I had fun being your friend but NOTHING MORE THAN THAT. Ugh.

To Person No. 11: If you know things will end up badly for others because of YOU, just don’t show up. It annoys people.

To Person No. 12: Why won’t you get on a plane and come after me like in the movies? PLEASE listen to “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)”. Because I do – I WANT YOU. And I’m having the time of my life without you, so for now it’s your loss. But still, listen to the song.

To Person No. 13: You know, 13 is my lucky number. If you’re smart enough you’ll take your phone (hopefully I slurred the right numbers) and we’ll get dinner, like you promised. I think I’ve met you before. I don’t know. I did like your smile too. I’m glad they didn’t beat you up.

*

I'm writing a new story. This time it's about a compulsive liar. Yeah, it might be a bit autobiographical.

*

I'm starting to get really bouncy about the next few months because I think this time it will be for real. I think this time I won't be let down. I think this time things will not happen in my mind.

*

Let's see how I handle tomorrow, shall we? Hahah, now I know better. I know which drinks not to mix. Bem que me avisaram sobre "intoxicantes budistas". Acho que sei qual mistura faz deles "intoxicantes". Mas dependendo do caso, são eles que eu vou usar pra voar. Afinal de contas, O FIM ESTÁ PRÓXIMO!, como o mendigo bêbado da esquina falou. E nesse caso, todo mundo QUER voar. É estranho pensar que vamos voar juntos dessa vez.

*

Let anonymity go to hell. Or not. The doubt makes me wonder whether people mean what they say or not. In any case, thanks for last post's comment, Anonymous Stranger. If you really are who you claim to be, VALEU, GOSTEI MUITO DO ELOGIO. MAS... COMO VCS FICARAM SABENDO DO BLOG?? HAHAH VOU SENTIR SAUDADES.

*

Feeling a bit freaked out by a certain stalker I am no longer free to talk about. I mean, that's what stalkers do - they stalk. So I'll have to contain myself on that one. Ugh, hard to do, I tell you.

*

Going to Europe soon! Can't wait... After that there's China, and JFHADSJFHAS I LOVE MY LIFE!

"Well, these should be the best days of your life, but you worried all the goodness away!"

New favorite band of the moment: The Zutons. A little emphasis on "Don't Ever Think (Too Much)", which fits my current mood perfectly.

In dire need of a Gibson Dove, someone's calculus paper (for copying purposes), more time&rest&health (yeah, yeah, it's NOT the swine flu, I've checked), and SOMETHING TO DO as the end draws near.

Yes. Graduation. AT FUCKING LAST! Been talking to people who agree with my view of my class, and now I know for sure I'm not crazy.

Oh, and today. That someone I mentioned before (and later felt silly about) gave me that look again. Like it's true and like I'm not... crazy. "She loves you yeah, yeah, yeah", The Beatles once said. And who knows, maybe I am going crazy afterall. Here, reason with me:
1-Sighting
2-Nervous and quick (but existent nonetheless) glances
3-Feeling a certain pair of (also golden-tipped, who would have known??) eyelashes making a hole in the back of my head - is it lust, is it anger, what IS it?
4-A surprised hello, suddenly very alert eyes sending chills to the core of my existence
5-I come close, person comes close, firm but unnecessarily long handshake - with the little squeeze and all
6-Valedictory smiles, obvious thoughts of "I wish you'd stay longer", departure.
It is what it is, isn't it? Yeah, it does scare me a bit.

I'm scared. Did I ever mention that? I mean, something big's about to happen next semester and I'm scared I'll get hurt. I'm scared I'm making castles in the air again (or Gibson Doves) and I'm terrified I'll be let down. Here's another Beatles reference (watch Across the Universe for the bigger picture):
If I fell in love with you,
Would you promise to be true
And help me understand?
'Cause I've been in love before
And I found that love was more
Than just holdin' hands.
If I give my heart
To you,I must be sure
From the very start
That you
Would love me more than her.
If I trust in you
Oh, please,
Don't run and hide.
If I love you too
Oh, please,
Don't hurt my pride like her
'Cause I couldn't stand the pain
And I
Would be sad if our new love
Was in vain.
So I hope you see
That I
Would love to love you
And that she
Will cry
When she learns we are two
'Cause I couldn't stand the pain
And I
Would be sad if our new love
Was in vain.
So I hope you see
That I
Would love to love you
And that she
Will cry
When she learns we are two.
If I fell in love with you.
The Beatles knew it all, man. Dev was right afterall. Or was it Thom? Well, it doesn't matter. What matters is my fear of getting hurt because love is indeed "more than holding hands" and I have no idea where what's left of my mind will go if I found "our new love was in vain". Because I want it so bad - true love! I know, EVERYONE wants it too. Everyone's gagging for it, everyone's out and alert looking for anyone to love. The Beatles again: "could it be anybody? I need someone to love". But for me I've already made my mind up that it CANNOT be anybody, because I'm too picky and I've been with everyone I didn't want before and I need a fucking change. I need true and I'm absolutely tired of false - I do live in the biggest of the Vanity Fairs (which I'm currently reading, btw) and maybe that's why I think I'm crazy sometimes - that's why I mix up dreams and reality, that's why I remember things that never happened after especially foggy nights, that's why I've looked around like a lovesick puppy all of last year and some of this year's random moments too. And I know he's like me - not the kung-fu person, but HE. The HE that I want. The HE I can't get at the moment. The HE I'm patiently waiting for (maybe that's where my small share of patience ran off too). HE's the HE who's worth it, and HE's the HE who'll probably break my heart. There, that's why I'm scared.

*

Response to last post's Bullet No. 1

"I walk quickly down rain-black streets, eager to put distance between us. Once I'm back weaving through the smouldering core of clubland, dodging bodies and fun and laughter, the anxious spacey pang in my head starts to lift. In its place, I feel foolish and embarassed at reacting like that - for seeming so brutally stung. For having misread her so badly. And for feeling so intensely jealous..." -Brass, Helen Walsh. My bible. My life.

*

Convoluted Thoughts

My internet has been off all week. Piles of thoughts have accumulated in my mind – which reminds me of my latest trick. One of my favorite parts in Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar is when Esther’s in the hospital right after Suicide Attempt No. 1 and says “I would rather have anything wrong with my body than something wrong with my head”. It’s chilling and terrifying because it’s true. Most truths feel that way – chilling and terrifying. And I love hearing it and standing up for it – the truth. It sounds so noble and unblemished at first, until you remember it’s rarely what you want. But I’d kill for that moment – for being able to tell the truths from the untruths (not lies, because dreams are untruths but not lies).
Part of my life is filled with those untruths by the way. I’ve been given “stress pills” for it and was told to go to therapy – which reminds me of another book. Bridget, from Ann Brashares’ The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, is described by the school counselor, right before he tells her to get therapy, as “single-minded to the point of recklessness”. That’s exactly how I feel but in reverse, sort of. I feel like I’m a dreamer to the point of recklessness. And like The Beatles once said, “I feel fine”.
Okay, I should stop getting so deep into my mind because, like I said, “I would rather have anything wrong with my body than something wrong with my head”. I fear if I get too deep in my mind I’ll find out what’s wrong with it after... after last year, I guess. That’s when it all went wrong, and I do sound a lot like Willy Loman. I should stop trying to trace back to the moment it all went wrong and look forward. And so I will. Here are some things that have been flying around in my hazy mind all week:
-A certain person in kung-fu class – not the new instructor who’s only a couple years older that me, as most people would guess. Even his girlfriend knows it, it’s sad. He is waaay in over his head for me, though I hate to admit it. He keeps lingering and touching and talking and we both know how bad that is. But anyway, I’m talking about someone else. The person I’m talking about is not in any way available and that’s why I’m like this. Out of reach things feel better, I guess. And in this case, I might not be dreaming, as usual. I’ve noticed all the corresponded furtive glances, the shaky yet firm hand-shake, the stutters that flood both our speeches, and the undeniable coincidences that irrevocably link us together. More than that, there’s the delicious tension I haven’t felt since ages ago. Last year was all about exterior feeling; this one’s all about mind games and... tension. Hey, maybe that’s what lead me to stress pills! Anyway, I keep getting distracted. Well, for now there’s not much to say because we’re both aware of all the reasons not to give in and give it a try. And I do have a song to go with this situation, but if I said it’s name (or even singer) it’d be too obvious, and we all know obvious stinks. It’s all about coy and tense and dramatic and redeeming in the end.
-Pills. This one, that one, anyone. Think of all the different connotations and remember about that drug lecture I’ve got tomorrow (or maybe I’m just throwing you off, because could be not what you think). Think of Janis Joplin, my Extended Essay, China (KT Tunstall’s “Other Side of the World”), hands and other things, worried parents, and unwelcome conversations in the farm. Listen to The Beatles’ “Strawberry Fields”.
-Helter Skelter and not thinking straight and not remembering and then remembering deliciously insane fragments of the “demented night” (Brass, Helen Walsh) and mixing intoxicantes budistas (see older blog entries) and falling and giving money to the poor and yelling in the street and coming home in a cab and almost not making it to bed (alone). “Yeah, you may be a lover but you ain’t no dancer” baby.
-Crushes that never were. Like a certain person who reminds me of that actor that played Wolverine. Billions of thoughts involving that one, love. Not a single thing came true, which was a big change and what I loved about it the most. Now even thinking about him feels strange because I’ve moved on. My thought linger in the previous three bullets.
-Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter Dougie Poynter. H-O-T and back from the dead pile of discarded images.
-Clouds. Aren’t clouds wonderful? I wonder who lives on them. I gotta lose weight fast if I wanna make it there. Hahah, it’s the meds, I tell you.
-Dreams – not daydreams. Especially one involving a falling plane and a certain person who could very well be an improved (and available) version of Bullet No. 1.
-That Gibson Dove guitar I crave so much and that Topshop scarf.
-Lessons. All kind of lessons, wink wink. Hahah, the meds speak again.
I better go before the meds spill too much. It’s so hard being subtle when I want so badly not to. The Beatles were right again... “Love is all you need” if you wanna go craaaazy. Love and meds and plenty of buddhist intoxicants. I wish George Harrison was alive. I’d be a groupie for sure. But hey, that’s what Steven Tyler’s for.
Holy fuck, get my fingers away from the keyboard.

*

An excerpt of last year's (still untitled) novel.

1.8% of the story I wrote for Nanowrimo. Enjoy.




Scarlett
“Stian, that was the best!” I screamed, high on adrenaline, as we walked off stage. The manager waited for us there with a bottle of champagne, which he handed to me and I popped open, spraying everyone and anyone close by. Then we poured out several glasses and clinked them with each other and the staff.
The manager expressed his thanks extensively over the still audible shouts and claps of the audience. I gave him an apologetic look and ran back onstage.
The crowd made more noise and I shuddered with pleasure, from head to toe. I smiled and slipped on my guitar. Stian came after me and picked his guitar up too, with a funny smile on his face. He was smiling at me.
I sat down on the edge of the stage and began playing The Beatles’ “Blackbird”, my favorite song of all time. This show and the others had consisted of mostly my own songs and “Flower”, of course. It felt good to play “Blackbird” again.
Some enthusiastic people up front touched my legs and bare feet (I had gotten rid of my shoes halfway through the show) and I didn’t feel like leaving. I could stay there forever.
“’You were only waiting for this moment to be free…’” I finished, my voice full of real, almost tangible emotion. People stood up and made noise.
Stian handed me what was left of the flowers and I took them and jumped down into the pulsing crowd to give them away. I hugged and was hugged, feeling so full of this warm, dizzy feeling that I thought I’d explode.
Stian came after me and took my hand, his face and his heart mirroring mine. We made our ways back on stage and off stage after we were done with the all the flowers except one (which I’d keep as a memory), and headed to the dressing room. Stian closed the door behind him and both of us closed our eyes, tasting the perfectness of that moment. We started packing, in silence, relishing every second of this.
We took a cab back to the hotel, silent all the way. That was one of the things I loved about us, Stian and I. Silence was rarely awkward and both of us enjoyed it. There was rarely that pressing necessity to break it by saying useless things, like with regular people.
We entered the room and set our things down. Stian closed the door behind him and we walked a little further into the room. Then we paused, our cheeks hurting from the incessant grinning, and stood right in front of each other. Our grins faded a little, or rather morphed into another kind of smile.
Then the world stopped for us.

Stian
The room spun around us as I looked into her eyes properly for the first time. The show had been one of the best so far and as we struggled to leave the crowd and get back onstage, after she jumped in, I followed her, staring into the back of her bouncy head thinking thoughts I had avoided before.
Why had I been unhappy all my life until the very moment I discovered her guitar, back on the deck of my father’s boat? Why had I never taken any risks until I read her diary and was swallowed whole by Scarlett’s story? And why had I been killing myself holding myself back all this time? Because I had been thinking and living with reason. All of the pivotal moments that had made me change so abruptly had been geared by emotions, not reason, I concluded at that moment.
And now the room spun rapidly and slowly at the same time for me, and all I could see was her. She had saved my life, now that I thought about it. She hadn’t allowed me to go on living under the strict rules of reason. She had shown me happiness and insanity through the intensity of her emotions.
I let it all flood me for the first time. All my emotions came in one monumental wave, all at once. I took a step forward, closer to where she stood.
She waited there for something to happen, but not impatiently. For the first time, she stood completely still, silently telling me she’d wait forever if she had to.
I reached down and took her hand, feeling the impossible softness of it bring happy tears to my eyes. I touched her cheek with my free hand, covering a good part of her face. She opened up a Scarlett-smile and laughed a little, placing her own hand over mine on her face. She looked up at me, her eyes tearful as well, hopelessly happy and blissful. She closed her eyes and I bent down a little, to get my face closer. I had to get closer.
She closed her eyes and kept her smile and I finally went for it. My lips touched hers softly at first, and then she wrapped her arms around me and made more pressure. I parted my lips hungrily and she did the same. It felt warm and wonderful as I had expected. Yet at the same time, it was nothing like I had expected.
I wanted more and more and so did she. I felt as if she was sucking away all the air in my lungs and felt so dizzy I could fall. I shuddered with absolute happiness and held her the tightest I could. I wanted her with me forever and always, bound to my body for all eternity.
We did not stop for air. It seemed unnecessary at the moment. Her warm, tiny fingers ran down my shirt until it found a breach, a passage to what laid underneath. I mimicked her movements without letting go of her, ripping away unnecessary pieces of cloth. And as the world came to a stop, we did not.

Anyways.

This week's racket is all about my redeeming autobiographical novel to get rid of bad memories I can't bring myself to regret. Fun. Flirty. Heart-breaking. Or soul-shredding, suit yourself. What is it about? you ask. Here's what I'll say: it's about wanting everything all at once; about having an excruciating thirst for life; about having the soul shredded and unconsciously fighting to mend it; basically, it's about being young and wanting to fly.
I probably won't ever finish it, as usual. I feel I haven't lived it all yet; I'm still stuck with un-lived feelings that do exist in theory but not yet in... well, the real world. Ah, it all comes back to the real world in the end of the day.

Sometimes I wish what's in my head was the real world. I wish it all the time, to tell you the truth. Why can't it be that way? Why do I live in my world/mind so much? Why is what's real so boring and why does that have to be what's real? Why can't my mind be what's real?

My god, I have so many questions! Like all the un-lived emotions, almost. I know I make excuses for everything in my mind, just like in The Beatles' Come Together: "got to be good looking 'cause he's so hard to see". Am I that hard to see?

(pause)

I'll let the question linger in midair for a while. When (and if) I finish my new novel I'll answer it. Or maybe not, maybe I'll let it go. But I'll definitely take it down from where it hangs like a hangman's corpse, still and bloated and purplish blue - haunting and totally disturbing. By then my un-lived emotions will lose its annoyingly stubborn prefix and I'll be okay again (which reminds me of a Dickinson poem - the one about hope I keep in my wallet for good luck on dates). Time will help, I think and hope. Love will too. Maybe more questions will be raised and hung and left to linger creepily. By then, with a little luck, I won't have to make excuses anymore and all "buts" will be banned and I won't ever be that hard to see.

Reckless Abandon

I've told the people that matter that boredom, breaks, and free time often lead to trouble (or terrible parties). Those people agreed but didn't make a big deal out of it. I wouldn't have cared either, in their shoes. But they should have listened.

My reckless abandon has gotten me into loads of trouble (and terrible parties). I've tried most aspects of it and am now in the middle of experiencing another one. Who knows what will happen.

Something's going on. I can't quite tell what. Yet.
I need to get it all out before time runs out, but I have no idea when that will be. I should know, but what if that's not the actual end? What if it's all in my head again? I can never tell where reality starts or ends - things inside my mind are so intense at times that I have to constantly hold a wall between me and others not to sound like a lunatic. Because most things were real. They're just twisted now, that's all.

Ugh, I feel the need for more arms and legs and eyes and ears. I want it all here and now. I'm the least patient person in the world and this restlessness has only led me to places people would never picture me in so far.

When they ask me about my tattoo this is what I'd like to say: I chose a bird because its heart beats faster than any other living creature's... just like mine. It beats so fast and so intensely that it hurts at times. But I crave it; I love it - living on the verge of a heart attack, on the verge of a hyperventilation, on the verge of a breakdown, is the best thing. So yes - forget about the Things That Matter because you'll eventually find out they don't. School? College? Living up to people's expectations? Keeping people you should like around just for the sake of seeming normal? Pff, none of that matters. Don't strive to be normal and don't worry so much about anything. Nothing is worth the worries. The one thing we should all do is live until our hearts explode from the effort to keep beating. Do it with no caution, but with all the reckless abandon in the universe.

And... I sound stoned.

Sometimes it's better to push certain things out of my mind because if they don't happen... well, I don't know. I might switch back to how I was last year or I might colapse and get sent to a madhouse.

But sometimes it's nice to let them come, to let it all come at once. That's why I love sleeping. When I dream I can't help it, things just... come. And knowing that in a while there's a good chance I'll be living it just makes everything a billion times better.

And the doubt and the not knowing for sure and the "mights" and the "maybes" just make me feel alive, like the little sparrow flying by my ankle, and I love it, I do! I fucking love being alive despite all the drama, because it's the drama that makes me feel alive!

Now excuse me (while I kiss the sky hahah) because there's a life to be lived.

*

Let them eat cake!

Today I want to believe in Marie Antoinette's famous "Let them eat cake!" quote. She never really said it, unlike what most people think. I think it was the French king's lover three generations back who said it.

Anyways.

I wish Marie Antoinette had said it. When people come up to you and say, secretly fishing for gossip material, "what will other people say? what will they do? OH MY GOD!", I really wish I could give them the finger, shrug, and walk away after spitting a "let them eat cake".

Oh, why do people have to talk? Stupid question, I know.
I guess I'm just not one of those people who can do anything with reckless abandon. Even though most of what I do isn't clear in my head and even though I had an amazing time being reckless last night, I just have to let it loose in my thoughts the next day. Fuck. This is me pushing boundaries like last year all over again.

But hey, it was FUN.
And I like FUN.
I'm sure my unquenchable desire for FUN will get me into serious trouble. It already does, what am I talking about?
Man, hangovers are the best for feeding my need to write.
Ugh, I'd sworn I'd never drink another tequila again last time I had it, but my quest for FUN as usual sabotaged my plea. Ew, I'm gonna throw up if I keep thinking about that.

I'm going on and on about nonsense (like Kerouac and Salinger) but all I wanna say is screw the rest, I like fun, I'm so fucking in love with life, and let the rest of them eat cake.

*

I like hanging out with myself, OKAY?

I like living in my head, sometimes. Especially when I'm forced into doing things I couldn't care less about, like driving lessons (hah, that's the mildest example I could think of). But it's good, I know my way around my head, people there are awfully nice (and h-o-t), and there are no rules.

Ugh, rules.
Take one good look at me and you'll see a person who doesn't break them.
But then stalk me for a weekend.
I bet you'll re-think that.

Now it's not as reckless as last year, but that, I swear, is a good thing. I still have nightmares about those long nights with strangers in a cab, racing around the city in search of loud music and open bars.

See, everytime I come write that's what I write about. Last year. It might be because this year is all about cutting myself loose from that one. The more people exhasperate me the more I remember why I only look forward and why I ignore them. I'm scared. I really am. I wish I could fast forward these few months and jump to my journey to China, where I'll restart and where I (hopefully) will reunite with the one person who's worth it. One no, now that I think of it. I can't think of a precise number. But it's ridiculously funny that we're all coming together in China, of all places. Where it all began, and where it will all end. Scary, isn't it, that the one place that will fix me is the one place where I met her, my ticket into the reckless world of carving people's souls and emptying them.

But it was my soul that got carved out and shredded and emptied. It was my soul that burned, not because of what she did or didn't do, but because of what I did. What I allowed myself to do.

Oh well.

Now it's all behind me and I don't regret a single thing because of all the life experience I got out of it. Hahah "life" experience. No better way to describe it.

***

Tonight is all about proving myself yet again. Thank God it's free. I would never ever pay 500 reais for that. And I only make a point of proving myself not because I care but because I have my dignity to look after. People have said a billion things before to try and tear it down and there is noooo way I'll let them do it. Plus, I've been sober for ages. :)

I hope he doesn't try to lure me back in. I've already given in once this year, and I'm not planning on doing it again.

***

I like being alone. Sitting alone is the best, with all eyes on you and your short summer dress.
I like driving alone. Singing to Lily Allen's new (and not as good) album.
I like everything and I like nothing, and that's the strangest feeling in the world.

To hell with this world's rules of 'normality' - Some things are meant to be loud!

Just for the record, no one is normal and no one will ever be. Normal doesn't even exist. To me it is absolutely acceptable to want a day off, from time to time. Especially when there is no school on a blessed Tuesday, it is completely acceptable to want the day for yourself and no one else, to want to do nothing all day and to go out at night after reckless fun, to forget about your responsibilities and simply lie in bed daydreaming, to muse about life in the sun and to watch re-runs on TV until your whole body is sore. To me, the one unacceptable thing is to criticize others for their not wanting to comply with the image you have of them, to call them and say their life is pathetic simply because it doesn't fit well with yours.

And that's that.

So here's something a little more cheerful I woke up to write last night. Hopefully it will turn into a song.

SOME THINGS ARE MEANT TO BE LOUD
like my desperate cry of untanglement
from last year's black hole
and my hopeless yearning for the one
looming ahead
and the sound of my new guitar
playing along to Jimi's (in my mind)
and that funny noise your hands
lead me to make that night
and my ultra-solid 'fuck you' to
that girl from school
and my ear-to-ear smile as I realized
I had a new friend
You see,
SOME THINGS ARE MEANT TO BE LOUD
and that's why I write about them
with no gain, bass up, and treble down
SOME THINGS ARE MEANT TO BE LOUD
(I hope my pen is loud enough)

Combust

Today I learned a new word - combust. Yes, it generally means "to burst into flames". But today it felt different to me; I felt as if I was bursting with emotions of all sorts and not very nice ones but it was fine! I felt alive and human and so fragile and so strong all at the same time. And then in what felt like a blink - it all went away. And all was well again.

Yes, I just had a temper tantrum. And yes, it did involve my mother. It is slightly embarassing to admit temper tantrums involving mothers but hey, they happen. This time of year especially, this numb void that follows the college application process and that precedes the acceptance/ rejection letters. Everyone feels tense and uptight because of the uncertainty! Everyone but me. I couldn't care less about what happens. I think that the less choices I have the easier it will be to actually choose, as spoiled and ungrateful as it sounds (since I have all the options one could have).

But let's not get into that. Ugh, enough about that matter. And back to the bursting into flames.

I'm glad I had my new huge sunglasses because I looked like a lunatic as I angrily stepped out into the street and breathed in all the air I could hold (repeatedly). But then it vanished. And I felt stripped and naked and vulnerable but also empowered and in control. And all the while I sang "Lady Madonna" in my mind with a crazy impish grin on my face, as Millie would say. I felt like sticking my tongue out and opening the car's door in the middle of the avenue (as it was still moving) and walking out into the rainy world, just me and my grin.

And that's what tomorrow is all about.
Hahah I'll explain later.

things you don't have to do

I can't breathe at the moment, I should go drink some of that Indian tea thing someone left in my car. Oh, yeah, I got a car. (!)

After so many days of doing nothing (well, actually pretending to write songs and not doing my holiday work) things start to feel exponentially more exciting when they do happen. Like getting a car and getting old (tomorrow's my birthday). But yeah, there's more.

First there was that guy I met last Friday at Daslu. I won't say much about him because I'm a little paranoid at the moment (for some reason :D) but he was okay. He was older, he looked reaaaly nice (light brown hair, green eyes), he had a stable job in his father's company, he had traveled the world, and he was filthy (FILTHY) rich. In other words, not very interesting. But I thought to myself, well he can't be worse than the guys I do know (pfff okay I saw that on a Gossip Girl comercial - ewww) so I gave it a go all weekend, since for some reason we kept seeing each other again and again. And here's what I wrote for him late at night after a "date"...

For me it was on purpose
How was it for you?
Did you feel it under the table as my parents gave you six stars?
Or were you busy talking business, football and cars?
I know, I know, your pants were still on
But I wore a dress and my legs were bare and I felt it all.

And what about that warm tug on my arm as we parted?
Was it just a goodbye or was that how it started?
Questions Questions Questions!
I wonder why so many
I think it was your honesty -
So unlike that of those who left me.

So now I'm thinking all the worse
Along with lines of Emily's poem
I hope the second thing happens
So I can deny all I told them.

Oh well, go figure. And the other thing (yes, a quick change of subject of my part - quite on purpose). Before I forget. Cof cof. Well, I'm looking for a job. About time, right?! Hahah, I know, I know. I've sent my resumee (I never spell that right) to a bunch of places and two called back for interviews as of right now. I've sent them yesterday, so that's not that bad, is it? My god, the phone interview thing was soooo nerve-racking (yes, my spelling has parted along with my good sense) and I stuttered a little but I think they found it adorable, since I'll be going there tomorrow and the day after. But the job itself sucks a little - okay, here it goes... It's a job for... well... an English teacher. Yes, that's right, I'll be dressing up in mother's clothes (not my mother's clothes because they're actually the same as mine) and standing in front of a bored class who'll run off as soon as the bell rings. At least it's not in an actual school. It's in a languages school. Same thing, innit? Oh boy, I'm getting old.

I'm off now. I'm hungry and I want to try that Indian tea.

*

Furious, angry, and pissed off.

Some people are simply ridiculous. This annoys the hell out of me because I intend to be a journalist and everyone keeps telling me I need to love people and blah blah but as usual I prefer to disregard what they say. I think that negative feelings about others simply open our eyes as to who they really are when it matters. Anger and annoyance are the best for feeding our critical visions of the world so screw everyone who dismisses them. It seems totally contradictory with the person I am - so loving and generous and open-minded (pfff) - but hey it's not. I'm furious and angry and pissed off! I might be a little egocentric but I think people should be more guarded around others, like me. I'm not saying I'm the role model for the perfect individual because I'm aware I have a billion more flaws than qualities but being guarded and poised and cordial towards others is definitely one of my pluses. Christ, I sound like a mother.
But back to my point. I just got the most ridiculous call from a person I try really hard to love and MY GOD how absurd it was. I was minding my own business, playing my guitar in my room, when all of a sudden my phone rings (note: I already hate being interrupted in the middle of a song, so imagine having to stop for the following). It's that unlovable person I wish so hard I could like, and she comes on telling me I can't stay all day making up songs and playing the guitar, saying I'm a fucking hermit and telling me I have no life, and ordering me around to do all the stuff she wishes she had done but couldn't. But hey, that's not even the worst part! The worst came as she actually got emotional and God knows if it was fake or what but UGGHHHHHH it pissed me off!
All I'm ranting about is how some people have no filter whatsoever - they just let their thoughts loose and expect people to live with them but it doesn't work that way! Imagine if I, of all people, let all my thoughts loose. The world would be absolute chaos! So come on people, make a little effort to understand that everyone's different and that you just can't lose your cool like that around others, expecting them to adapt to fit your needs and requests. And hey, I like spending my days with music and with stories and fantastic things like those! Just because other people prefer, say, going to the gym, it doesn't mean it's the right way to live. If it were, where would the Beatles be, man??
Oh, miserable, miserable world. I'm telling you, this world is paradise and we're the ones making it hell.