MARY JANE'S BOOTS

sometimes I do, sometimes I don't

2012-01-29T08:09:00.000-08:00

in London, Aug 2011

Subverto a ordem, a causa, o objecto

2012-01-29T07:35:00.000-08:00

A história repete-se por ciclos. O que foi dito num ciclo pode ser transcrito para descrever o ciclo seguinte, mudando os locais e os nomes dos intervenientes.

Posto isto, a ontogenia recapitula a filogenia.

E as palavras gastam-se, gastaram-se. E, ao relê-las, o ciclo avança e termina mais depressa.

Embora os ciclos não sejam lineares e, por preguiça, eu goste de saltar partes das estórias e alterar a ordem natural. Escrevo e omito, revisito, revelo o omitido num desenquadramento temporal que me é caro.

Declaro paixões não carnais que poderão parece-lo. Declaro apodrecimentos sensoriais que são, no fundo, carnais. Subverto a ordem, a causa, o objecto. Tudo o que eu escrevo não deverá nunca ser levado à letra.

Let's drain the seas

2012-01-14T03:53:00.000-08:00

 Chicago 2010, in the middle of a storm

"I tell you how I feel, but you don't care 
I say tell me the truth, but you don't dare 
You say love is a hell you cannot bear 
And I say gimme mine back and then go there - for all I care 


I have never been so insulted in all my life 
I COULD SWALLOW THE SEAS TO WASH DOWN ALL THIS PRIDE"

Fiona Apple - Sleep to dream

2012-01-09T08:18:00.001-08:00

Guardo a caixa das memórias debaixo da cama, com o caixão da gaivota primordial.

2012-01-09T08:17:00.000-08:00

Não fiz balanços de ano velho ou do final de uma idade.

Não fiz resoluções de ano novo ou do início de uma idade.

Não escrevo aqui há tanto tempo, porque tudo tem tido um peso maior. A dor a sério não deve ser partilhada assim e o prazer a sério também não.

Um rol de futilidades tem lugar, das botas às viagens internas ou externas. O que fica agarrado à sola das botas e o que é deixado nas asas do avião, é outra história que não tem lugar aqui.

As gaivotas, essas sim, podem ficar aqui guardadas. Porque as gaivotas são sempre substituídas, ou acabam por definhar. As gaivotas voam, arriscaria dizer que migram, e acho que posso dizê-lo, percebo de cérebros, não de animais que se alojam no estômago e comem peixe putrefacto.

Devia estar a explicar como passei 3 anos a brincar ao telefone estragado, como me pagam para isso e como o faço mesmo quando não me pagam para tal. Aliás, como faço isso comigo própria. Como tento distorcer a realidade para me agradar mais, como tento ver o que não está lá. Quando acabar de escrever esse capítulo, deixo de brincar ao telefone estragado. Talvez deixe mesmo de usar o telefone e pronto, resolvo uma série de problemas que a reprodução serial me criou em série.

Vou voltar a ser racional, a ter medo de cair e me magoar, talvez isso seja o mais adaptativo.Vou voltar à Ciência e ao mundo aparte, sem artifícios ou metáforas ou inferências sobre o que não se vê. Vou só acreditar na brutalidade das palavras, esquecer que fui treinada para lidar com dados comportamentais e não relatos de introspecção. Wundt talvez estivesse certo. Desisto de tentar compreender comportamentos que contradizem relatos verbais.

E isso vai tudo fazer-me tão fria. Como se fosse possível sê-lo muito mais.

2011-12-17T05:33:00.000-08:00

Esta ilusão de querer matar todas as gaivotas tem de acabar.

Elas não morrem, algumas suicidam-se, é certo, mas depois há sempre gaivotas bebés, como aquelas do cais do sodré, há muito tempo... nem devia lembrar-me destas coisas.

O conceito de gaivotas bebés é ridículo, mas toda esta situação é ridícula. (as cartas, todas as cartas, também o eram, supostamente)

Se não as consigo matar, fugir delas talvez seja o melhor. Terá sido por isso que fui tão feliz nas margens do Mississippi? Fugi, não para o habitual Big Sur, mas para o interior, onde não oiço gaivotas e os cucos ainda não chegaram. Serão dois dias de fuga suficientes para calar as gaivotas, já que não as consigo matar?

2011-12-11T10:43:00.000-08:00

Acho que hoje mataste a última gaivota.

E já não doeu.

Estava moribunda há muito,

tentava agarrar-se à vida que não era dela,

respirava nas entrelinhas,

enterrando-se mais e mais no estômago que a alimentava. (de há algum tempo)

(as coisas mudam, alteram-se, a história repete-se, hiperbolicamente, mas, de facto, as gaivotas já morreram, já não fazem sentido; é mais ou menos como um artigo que é rejeitado e revisto tantas vezes que, na última revisão já não é o que tinha sido criado por nós, o que tinha sido sentido, e já não acreditamos mais na sua aceitação, porém, a rejeição já certa deixou de fazer doer, porque o artigo já não somos nós)

2011-11-14T15:39:00.000-08:00

apetecia-me dizer tudo
usar as palavras feias e as bonitas
humilhar-me sem pensar que o fazia
apeteceia-me abraçar-te até os nossos ossos se partirem e se fundirem
apetecia-me que não houvesse amanhã
e o meu hoje fosse só aqui e agora contigo
apetecia-me fazer isto tudo à chuva.
apetecia-me dizer-te que te quero para sempre,
apetecia-me ter a certeza que não mentia,
se tu acreditasses, acho que eu acreditaria.
era isto que me apetecia.

o tempo não sara nada,
o tempo só faz com que as cicatrizes se tornem mais imperfeitas

plan for the next months...

2011-11-07T16:37:00.000-08:00

Condensation effects

2011-11-07T16:34:00.000-08:00

blurry can be good, if you don't try to figure it out too early

Catharsis

2011-11-04T06:48:00.000-07:00

I've been writing in Portuguese just because I needed the catharsis that had been delayed for such a long time. The healing process started an year ago, but now I'm finally letting it go and I'm not mad at everyone anymore.
I know who I am again (well, I do know how to look for who I am, and that's enough for me). Sometimes all it takes is getting hurt in a different way, learning to get exposed again.

Esquizofrenia

2011-11-04T06:37:00.000-07:00

Devias estar aqui comigo. Não o que és agora, mas quem foste. Era a nossa cidade, era a nossa canção. Quando tu eras tu e eu sabia quem eu era, quando descobriamos música nova todos os dias e achavamos que podia ser assim para sempre. Passavamos as tardes a pintar, a escrever, a tocar, a criar. E era como se viajassemos, como se conhecessemos o mundo. Devias estar aqui. Não estarás tu aqui?

Anos de medicamentos para ti, e anos de novas canções para mim. Passaram dez anos. Arrisquei sentir de novo, mas enganei-me. É impossível alguém ficar, tentar, arriscar. Só tu podias e querias e percebias. Sentir faz-me mal, magoa-me, devia ter continuado a esperar que tirassem o peso ao nome da doença.

uso a palavra que mais dói, não a usei durante todos estes anos

Boston?

2011-11-01T22:33:00.000-07:00

"It's the last goodbye I swear
I can't rely on a dime a day love that DON'T GO ANYWHERE
I learn to cry for someone else
I can't get by on an odds and ends love that don't ever match up
I HEARD ALL YOU SAID AND I TOOK IT TO HEART

I won't forget I swear
I have no regrets for the past is behind me
Tomorrow reminds me just where

Can't quite see the end
How can I rely on my heart if I BREAK IT WITH MY OWN TWO HANDS?
I heard all you said AND I LOVE YOU TO DEATH

I heard all you said don't say anything

IT'S THE LAST GOODBYE, I SWEAR
I can't survive on a half-hearted love that will never be whole"

Seattle

2011-11-01T22:16:00.000-07:00

Tinha esperança que chegar aqui me fizesse ver mais nitidamente do que nos últimos tempos, e fez...
Toda a desesperança e todo o desamor moram agora no espaço anterior e interior que deveria ter ficado vazio, como já estava havia dez anos. A insignificância certa e que é, finalmente, percebida, deixa-me escrever o que quiser. Nada está diferente aqui, onde algumas palavras aparecem, é a sua origem que se alterou. Negra e azul, Seattle é suja, sozinha, implacável no seu betão, fria. E é assim, igual, o onde se fazem as palavras.
Desisto, a chuva vem sempre cedo demais e o Pacífico tem um azul diferente do meu.

2011-10-29T04:05:00.000-07:00

Entranhas.

Os homónimos são tão intimamente relacionados, que a correlação ilusória cria a febre que existe só num dos significados.

Entranhas.

Entranhaste.

As Entranhas são agora arrancadas, desfeitas, ensanguentadas.

Des-Entranhas, com o custo das Entranhas.

birds of a feather flock together

2011-10-20T19:38:00.000-07:00

Thank you, all the editors and reviewers who really like me and my outstanding research, and compliment my well written intros, but then reject my papers. I'm really doing some far transfer here, and my personal life is so much easier. Thank you!

Conference mode: ON (practicing my Spanish...)

just a fix

2011-10-17T10:29:00.001-07:00

I feel the itch in my arms and the cold in my sored veins.

So long sitting here

2011-10-15T11:12:00.000-07:00

repeat after me: esseieidoubletiELLEi - elle runs away

2011-10-15T10:52:00.000-07:00

Puget Sound

I'm so good at running away (some people are better)

I'm so much better at draining the blood (some people are better)

I'm so good at licking the wounds (some people are better)

I'm so much better at getting new wounds (some people are worse)

2011-10-10T18:05:00.000-07:00

Parece que sou a responsável pela alteração do universo.

Consegui confundir as estações, as marés, e os destinatários dos acontecimentos.

Já não sou eu a sister surreal, a viver num sonho do Lynch. Lá se foi a Laura e o seu sweet tooth.

Em vez de 9, o monstro estará pronto em 3 - já tem esqueleto e berra com os editores.

O Outono não chega, porque não fiz os rituais do Verão.

E agora? Eu sabia lá que por alterar tudo, tudo se alteraria? Que por mudar de paradigma, a experiência daria resultados inexplicáveis? Por deixar de saber escrever em Português, por deixar de não pensar em consequências, por deixar de ser um free spirit (deixei? ou alguma vez o fui?), por deixar de amar quem amei.

Não há redefinições pensadas, mas não há mudanças não pensadas. Os resultados convergem, a hipótese nula deixa de receber apoio, e o universo descontrola-se.

Entropia.

Quem era o default perdeu o estatuto. Quanto tempo alguém demora a tornar-se default?

O universo desgovernado é agora o único free spirit, e decidiu que eu já não estou no mesmo sítio

oops

2011-10-08T11:02:00.000-07:00

Alec Soth - Mississippi

no...

it seems I couldn't kill the seagulls!

but I have to start calling them by their English name so they may lose the poetry

(there was no poetry at all anyway, seagulls indulge in the mud...)

I can still hear them, they're loud

2011-10-04T20:15:00.000-07:00

matei as gaivotas todas.

afoguei-as.

as gaivotas afogam-se?

as que me atormentavam, sim.

definitivamente

(devia acrescentar ali um ponto final, mas isso já é exigir-me demasiado)

senti-as a sufocar, lentamente, sem saber o que lhes acontecia

senti-as a achar que se salvariam, a justificar a falta de ar, não, a ausência de ar que, para elas, se tornou falta (que uma metáfora há que ser completa, definida, variável com variável)

senti-as a querer ficar, a agarrar-se,

a cravar as garras no meu estômago,

que sangrava, sem perceberem que era no meu sangue, e de tanto se agarrarem, que se afogavam

matei-as

a todas

já não oiço os seus gritos e as suas asas já não batem.

a sua carne entrará, lentamente, em putrefacção

o cheiro desencorajará quem quer que seja de se aproximar

no meu estômago, a carne morta das gaivotas que não me deixavam dormir

a podridão no meu estômago a sangrar

matei-as eu,

não queria e não gostei,

mas se não queriam ficar, nem deviam ter surgido

não as matei,

afogaram-se elas próprias no meu sangue.

acabaram-se as asas a bater, os gritos,

a impaciência, a agitação

as gaivotas morreram.

(ponto final)

serão as borboletas mais fáceis de matar?

2011-10-02T02:31:00.000-07:00

as putas das gaivotas não me deixam dormir

e o meu estômago já não as aguenta...

quero expulsá-las, já não me sabem bem

"As we discovered in the train, tomorrow never happens, man. It's all the same fucking day"

2011-10-01T05:48:00.000-07:00

Going back to the old standards.

Up to Lexington 125 once again, because tomorrow never happens...

Mix the colors of chaos and prepare whisky for the Fall.

Also...

2011-10-01T05:18:00.000-07:00

And after the gray, green at times, Sligo, it was time for pretending to be cosmopolitan (not as much as in Berlin, though)

split reality

2011-09-23T01:49:00.000-07:00

 (shoot, reshoot, some terrace down south, 2011)

better repeat, split, behind bars, Snow White, white snow

get used to resubmitting, rebelieving, living in between

off of coffee and apples

equinox

2011-09-22T18:53:00.000-07:00

"strawberries, cherries and an angel's kiss in spring"

a manuscript and two more

by the river and the slowly disappearing lights

2011-09-22T18:47:00.001-07:00

2011-09-22T18:45:00.000-07:00

2011-09-18T18:16:00.000-07:00

If I tried to paint my own chaos the colors would be deceiving. I wish I could accurately report what is not supposed to show. The performance was too dangerous for the star in charge of collapsing and it couldn’t end with a bang. Entropy made all the fangs separate as energy had to be minimal in an infinite time setting. And chaos thinks infinity is tomorrow.

Down by the Salley Gardens*

2011-09-05T09:41:00.000-07:00

I went...

to Ireland

to Sligo,

and stayed at the Clarion Hotel, a former mental hospital which is haunted, according to some (including the cab driver who drove us from the train station to the hotel). I didn't have time to check if it was haunted and whenever I'd go to the room, I'd be so tired that all I remember is falling asleep.

After staying a few hours in Dublin and a 3 hr train trip, I had to be ready for the conference as my presentation was the following day at 8.30 am, and I am not a morning person...

I ended up enjoying the conference and, of course, entered the conference mode (I thought I could only do it in the US) - thank gods for Spanish-English speaking-Pearl Jam's fans- researchers...

From the Irish music to the Irish food, Ireland treated me well.

*poem by William Butler Yeats, who lived in Sligo; the Salley Gardens are supposed to be located near Sligo

banalidades

2011-08-13T07:37:00.000-07:00

trivialidadesbanalidadesefemeridesbenemeritasdescontentescontraproducentesnoitesdeveraodiasdesonodesconfortobanalidadrestorturasdormentes

torturasdormentesdocementesementescolhidas

say hello to my new "job" inside my "job"

2011-08-01T11:08:00.000-07:00

tenho de escrever. tenho de pensar antes de escrever. não posso sentir. não, não tenho de escrever, tenho de reportar. não, já não posso criar, tenho de recontar. fria, analiticamente, suportada por gráficos, tabelas e p's, effect sizes e citações.

tenho de hipotecar algum tempo, penhorar a imaginação. parar e não sentir, só escrever, reportar. poderei reportar e escrever e sentir numa língua que não era a minha mas já quase se apropriou da chamada mãe? espero que sim. recuso-me a reportar apenas, fria, analiticamente. eu escrevo agora o que criei, tão apaixonadamente como quando elaborei um plano, concebi um design.

nestes meses (recuso-me a admitir que foram anos), fui engenheira informática, técnica de contas, matemática, secretária, professora, aprendiz, aluna, criativa, designer, filósofa, conselheira, relações públicas. para os próximos meses, serei apenas fulltime writer, com tudo a que tenho direito (criatividade e respectivos bloqueios incluídos)

even the haircut matches!

2011-07-18T04:43:00.000-07:00

It just occurred to me...

2011-07-03T06:42:00.000-07:00

Será que me sentiria mais segura, se fosse mais bonita? Eu costumava achar que sim, mas acabei de ter uma epiphany e agora sei que não. Haverá sempre alguém "mais" (assim como alguém "menos") e isso não muda nada. O meu problema não é falta de beleza, é falta de segurança, and they say no one likes it...

Se calhar, qualquer coisa nao chega

2011-06-13T16:00:00.000-07:00

Hoje eu disse: "Estou mesmo apaixonada", pela primeira vez. Damn it, nao parecia eu... E assustou-me muito.

E falei sobre a mesma pessoa durante horas, em modo metralhadora fonemica (ok, esta parte ja foi mais parecida comigo). E nao foi sobre o corpo, os olhos, o cabelo, as tatuagens ou a roupa. Foi sobre os projectos, os livros, as ideias, a musica, a idiossincrasia notada por todos (mas, desta vez, no bom sentido), o todo. A personalidade como um todo, pela primeira vez, em alguem. O querer enfiar-me num carro e percorrer uma estrada qualquer com essa pessoa e so com essa pessoa, durante muito tempo. O querer construir qualquer coisa...

Vou ali escrever um artigo e ja volto...

I wanna do bad (good) things...

2011-06-03T16:20:00.000-07:00

Next time you thank me for everything, I'll just ask you if you want a bj, so you know why you were thanking. Just because it's something that you really make me wanna do...

And feels great to feel this again. Especially because I couldn't feel it with the Prince of Perfection...

*Please just don't mess up my bangs next time. Love, Elle.

p.s. thank you mirror

Thanks

2011-05-23T03:14:00.000-07:00

A few days later, M&C did it... I'm getting used to be rejected. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger...

Come on M&C, it's a good day to get your decision

2011-05-19T06:30:00.000-07:00

At least it wouldn't be the only rejection of the day. And the funny thing is that it would have been the exact time window, which according to the time measures used by grown-ups is "too long" and it almost doesn't make sense that you bring the subject back now.

Life gave me tomatoes and I made tomato juice - simply speaking I just smashed the tomatoes against an ugly wall (of course this just makes sense in Portuguese- in English it would be more like: Never mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols, although I'm clearly lacking a Sid Vicious since I dumped the one that could have been). Btw, instead of a Sid Vicious I thought it would be less painful to deal with someone that looked wiser (at first glimpse only, of course) and Gods, I was so fucking wrong. Learn from me: Never pick the shallow guy, the dark tortured soul is, at least, caring.

Now, M&C make my life a little brighter today and reject me too, then I can say that my presentation is messed up because I got a paper rejected and still can't deal with that, instead of showing up with mascara running through my face and saying I just got completely dumped by someone who didn't know who Kusturica was and values Ivy League because of its style and not the wisdom. Clearly I can't follow the second hypothesis, people would think I'm crazy, a guy like that would be dumped by me (I wouldn't even be friends with him, actually) and not the other way around. Come on, my ego needs treats, and I know I can actually be part of the Ivy if I don't have anyone holding me back. So, in the long run, I'll probably have to thank you.

p.s. M&C - treat my ego a little more and give me a reason to celebrate or just a better excuse to look messed up.

picture of the day:

2011-05-19T04:48:00.000-07:00

go ask!

2011-05-16T15:00:00.000-07:00

If I told you I can easily forget you but not the way you made me feel, I would be lying. The truth is that I want to forget how you made me feel and it probably is really easy since I can't forget you. Can you see the difference? Life taught me to believe that effort is not a negative thing, we make an effort when we care and if we make an effort we add value, we give more of ourselves and we show more of our inner soul, we share fears and joys, we belong and long to embrace and cherish. We are ourselves and accept the others as they are, so if it were easy to forget you and I would only keep the way you made me feel it would mean I never truly embraced you, I never truly loved you and it had been only about myself and not about us. On the other hand, if I easily get over the way you made me feel but I can't get over you, it's because you were important enough to make me want to make an effort to know and understand you. As I believe that real valuable things need an effort to be created, contrary to your beliefs, the best is to forget the way someone made you feel but not the person.

Here's you answer.

it kind of feels like this...

2011-05-16T14:23:00.000-07:00

creation

2011-05-15T13:28:00.000-07:00

Gabriel Moreno

How I miss the visual aspects of creativity...

How I miss to play with colors, shapes and textures. I miss to create something more than words and numbers. I miss the creation for the sake of creating and not for the sake of a name and a publication in a fancy journal. I move between science and art. I tend to feel that art belongs to me but I ended up being a slave to science. But now I'm growing weary of the weight of science... I just wanted to spend my days reading good literature or even bad poetry, and writing about my lame life, about loves that ended and loves that never started, and photographing the sunset or drawing the sunrise. Maybe next year, if I sleep with science for the next months...

Adara Sanchez

Laura Encursiva

Boneca de Luxo a.k.a. Breakfast at Tiffany's

2011-05-01T04:50:00.000-07:00

Surprisingly, I do prefer the Portuguese translation for Breakfast at Tiffany's...

and btw, this explains a lot...

http://www.flickr.com/photos/dinosonic/2816267247/lightbox/

2011-05-01T04:47:00.000-07:00

"- Pois muito bem, não é um canalha sem causa. Não é um canalha do tipo King-Kong, como o Rusty ou o Benny Shacklett. Mas, bolas, que grande porra... - disse ela enfiando um punho na boca como um bebé no meio da choradeira - Eu amava-o. O grande sacana."

Boneca de Luxo (Breakfast at Tiffany's), Truman Capote pela Espiral

ou como já li tantas coisas que não ficaram, que não marcaram, mas deviam. Os amigos que lêem estão cá para nos relembrar desses pedaços de outras vidas que, na altura, não nos lembravam a nossa e achamos que nunca lembrariam...

Apetece-me engolir o teu mundo

2011-04-26T10:06:00.000-07:00

Apetecia-me engolir o mundo. Assim perceberia a indisposição e o enjoo que insiste em aparecer de quando a quando. Apetecia-me tornar tudo relativo e pouco importante, avançar o tempo enquanto partia todos os relógios para que passassem na faringe sem o tic-tac irritante que dá horas para se ser sempre mais, maior, melhor. Apetecia-me deixar de me preocupar com aquilo que ninguém me pede para que me preocupe com, mas que toda a gente espera que me preocupe com. Como usar proposições no final das frases, senti-las incompletas, mas as mais completas porque assim o desejei. Apetecia-me que o tempo passasse de uma vez só, que tudo fosse tão rápido e tão lento ao mesmo tempo, que as tatuagens opostas se tocassem para criar a liberdade que voa nas costelas. Apetecia-me ser eu, de novo, e engolir o mundo que não fosse o meu. Sendo o meu aquele que li e que se faz num carro, num quarto de hotel sujo ou nas traseiras de uma livraria dos anos cinquenta. Cresci a achar que era esse o meu mundo e assim foi, por vezes, quando não deixei entrar quem não esteve lá. Agora, apetecia-me engolir quem não viveu nesses sítios por onde andei, porque pertence ao mundo que não é o meu.

Not the physical but the actual distance...

2011-04-10T03:27:00.000-07:00

I'm surprised, puzzled actually... I'm having trouble with a standard recognition task and I bet an inclusive test would lead to the same feeling of unfamiliarity...

I thought I would be thrilled and curious and willing, but in fact I feel static and apathetic and not willing to make an effort (yes, surprisingly it takes an effort that I wasn't expecting).

The distance grew too long. You made your decision and now I'm a slave to it, can't go back anymore even if you wanted to, which I'm too painfully sure it's not the case.

The opposite of Prince of Imperfection

2011-03-31T13:05:00.000-07:00

Your superficiality hurts me deep in the guts. It's blinding to see that you don't know who you are and can't find a way, a path of your own. It's painful to observe how you run away from your own pain or even life. It's scary to watch how you're scaring away all of your friends who have a brain working outside the world wide web. It's sad that you prefer to surround yourself of fake people and fake ideals and fake interests, while you're getting more and more empty and making other people sad. It seems that you crave emptiness and keep acting like you're perfect and standing above. You're just the opposite of Prince of Imperfection, who was indeed the closest that someone can get to perfection.

The baby (aka dissertation) is a HE!

2011-03-24T18:44:00.000-07:00

I decided it should be a male dissertation, dealing with hardcore basic science in a sensitive way. Yes, the so-called love child is a he and now it really has to see the day light in December. I'll just dive in the books and papers, I'll just look at my data as an art work, I'll be designer and art director, doctor and patient, mother and step-mother. I'll do this as I did everything before, quietly and effectively. Btw, didn't you know that being creative and flexible is not the same thing as don't having goals? Didn't you know that going with the flow is a result of adaptation? And didn't you know that adaptation results from natural selection? Okay, probably you don't remember Darwin, that would be being too book-smart for you...

Rosemary's Baby (as in GG)

2011-03-13T07:36:00.000-07:00

I smoked in my bed, I smoked by the window, I smoked in the kitchen floor. Then I got pregnant. The love child is due in December, if all goes according to planned. I made peace, I didn't forget but I put it behind. I'm glad I was expelled from your sick world of fake pleasures and fake images and fake people and fake goals. As the song goes by, I apologize, but I'm really sorry for you.

Arrasto-Expulsão-Erosão-Sedimentação

2011-03-06T13:41:00.000-08:00

Tipicamente teria de ser assim... Senti hoje aquele aperto no estômago, que os portugueses insistem em chamar borboletas, quando assim se perde todo o significado da expressão original. Eu não sinto borboletas de certeza, esses seres delicados... porque só sinto esse aperto quando sei que, quaisquer que sejam os seres irrequietos que se agitam no meu estômago, não vão poder libertar-se ou aquietarem-se com um simples toque.

Passei estes dias a tentar fugir da solidão, a tentar não pensar, a distrair-me com os amigos, com as festas, com os artigos, com as drogas, com o passado... Mas a tua recém-imposta imagem não se desvanecia. Não se desvaneceu ainda... E eu desisti de tentar apagá-la. Vou usar o tempo, em vez de o deixar usar-me a mim. Lamento a ausência de importância e a ausência de impacto. Gostava de poder (não-)sentir o mesmo...

.

2011-02-26T20:03:00.000-08:00

i didn't miss the comfort in being sad. i didn't ask you anything. i didn't want anything. i didn't want you to be part of my life and i didn't want to be a part of yours.

but you made me want all of those things i didn't. you made me wait for a little something everyday. you made me want the spring to come (what else should i be, all apologies).sorry i wasn't what you expected. my task was easier, i guess, i didn't expect anything from you.

the saddest thing about this is that you didn't disappoint me, it was not unexpected, you just made me lose a little more of the very few faith i had on myself (good things will pass//everything stays the same)

yes, I am the same and I will never fool myself again.

it's done.

i'll do memory to erase my own memories (real and false ones) and i regret the day i stopped doing judgment and decision making, expecting that taking the best would prevent value loss.

and i'm done.

2011-02-17T16:53:00.000-08:00

YOU ARE NOT THAT SPECIAL, BUT I WANT YOU TO WANT TO BE

Warmth

2011-02-15T01:20:00.000-08:00

Packing and running away... is something I usually do. I'd like to say I just fly without a known destination, but that has never been the case. In any case, the known destinations are always uncertain and somewhat unknown with unknown people. In any case, I end up missing the known and people who recently started being important. Am I getting old? Maybe that's why I ran into the cold this time, because I want known warmth when I go back to the place I know...

flames...

2011-02-10T06:57:00.000-08:00

Where did your flame go?

I hope it just left to a warmer place for a brief period of time.

Can I feel the fire in your eyes again? Can I feel the heat in your touch again?
I said I like you too many times and your reaction was stopping reacting to me... And that makes me start thinking that I don't attract you anymore and I have to confess that doesn't change me but breaks my heart...

Bruises...

2011-02-09T09:58:00.000-08:00

Bruises are okay only when you hear "I love you" afterwards.

Bruises are okay only when warm arms embrace your naked shoulders.

Bruises are okay only when everything seems certain and the fire is alive everyday.

This means that I love the bruises that your teeth leave in my skin, and I love to have the traces of you fingers pressure all over my body, and I love physical pain that takes me higher. But I love it only if you love me. The problem is that I start to really doubt it, for me words speak louder than anything else and you only seem to love me when you're able to soak your words in alcohol and turn my fire on with them...

Rest In Peace T.

2011-01-24T17:36:00.000-08:00

I just posted something about love doubts, jealousy and other human frivolities. In the meanwhile I was thinking about something a little deeper...

Just heard that my first crush passed away (I always used the word "died", but the crush itself died many years ago). It seems he's been sick for a while. He was thirty now... That's how time went by. I don't feel sad or anything, I just feel powerless. It's scary how people we once knew die like this. For me, it was all of a sudden. And I was sitting here, worried about someone who may or may not love me... I guess it doesn't matter anyway... people appear in our lives for some reason and they leave something of them with us, even if they were only a pre-teenage crush. Everyone who stopped by my path, or, to be more precise, walked by my path gave me something that I ended up keeping. Many of those people may not be aware of this, but they made me as I am, with their positive and negative contributes they built me, with my strengths and weaknesses. And I should be thankful because I was able to learn from everyone I met, even if it was implicitly and I just realized it many years later.

T., I confess I still think of you when I listen to the song that I was listening to on that afternoon, when I kept mentally repeating "turn your head, turn your head and look at me" and you did it. That will always be your song. And you deserve it (it's not an angry song, by the way, it's a sweet one). See you somewhere in a better place

questions

2011-01-24T17:05:00.000-08:00

I question myself about what I feel about you. I guess I only keep doing it because I'm too scared of the answer. Please don't lie to me... The answer is in your actions. I want to trust you, but something tells me I can't (those little two somethings that should be past now). You already broke my little heart, when I had someone I could run to, but now I don't want to have to run to someone old... so, please, please, don't do it again.

I know I'm not as pretty, but you also knew that. You may not be as interesting as I initially thought, but now I know that and I still find you interesting. I don't want to have questions like this. I'm not usually jealous, but the smell of a lie can poison me.

Just answer all of my questions with your actions, please

and for the next week...

2011-01-24T10:00:00.000-08:00

Chickenpox at my age... or my Peter Pan syndrome. It's true that I don't want to grow up, but this is a little too extreme, don't you think?

lazy days

2011-01-14T13:30:00.000-08:00

You make me wanna stay in bed the entire weekend, while it's cold outside...

(please don't let the cold come inside)

Got fired by the breathing company

2011-01-03T10:09:00.000-08:00

...because I messed up yesterday and forgot to breath for a moment...

2011

2010-12-30T10:28:00.000-08:00

welcome it with flowers and washing away the past - I want a kiss at midnight (true or fake, I don't mind)

Rancor (because I don't know a better word in any other language) or an exorcism

2010-12-29T02:36:00.000-08:00

I was kneeling at Old Bull's grave while she was going down on you

I was tattooing my pain away while she was fucking her pain away in your bed

Then I realized what just happened - I'm a fucking psychologist (if there were any doubts)

So I decided to go back to my black days for the few remaining weeks

You were riding bikes with her while I was riding a different car every weekend

You were paying her attention while I was showing someone my great data and my body

You were being a cliche thinking about going back to her while I was being a cliche by fucking someone in the copier room

You were confused and retrying the taste of a pseudo-rock star while I was not confused at all and trying the taste of a real rock star with a hot british accent

Then, Halloween came and I was...

You were amazed by her great body and sex, while everyone else was amazed by ME

I could have stayed there... I could and I can, I don't know if I want to...

Christina Heaston

Now, I just want to forget about this and move on, with you. I need to exorcize the reamining ghosts and all the rancor... I used to hate my tattoo because it reminds me of you and her together; but now it will remind me of how I can always turn the tables

a different task...

2010-12-23T09:12:00.000-08:00

Eugenio Recuenco

Tape ain't gonna fix it
Honey, it ain't gonna stick to you
Six kinds of glue
Won't hold you
(...)

YOU'VE GOT TO GO STRAIGHT AHEAD

(Tape Song - The Kills)

going back....

2010-12-08T22:34:00.000-08:00

daqui

Blind love you got me spinning like a wind up toy*

2010-12-06T09:11:00.000-08:00

Imogen Heap - Say Goodnight and Go

I don't know if I should call this crazy weird unknown and unexpected feeling love... Honestly, I don't want to, because it would seem too definitive and too painful if it's not definitive, and probably it isn't either of these...

I guess I'm going with the flow, but in a much better way than I did in the past. I really want it, I don't feel the doubts or the indifference I'm used to feel under this circumstances. I'm just relaxed and enjoying this hunger to be with someone, this lack of concentration, this silly smile in my face... I was warned I may get disappointed and I don't care as long as you want me right now as you said you do, because I do...

This is so not me... spinning like a wind up toy, and this time I don't think Nirvana could provide the soundtrack... (maybe later...)

*Juliette and The Licks

Dizziness

2010-12-01T18:59:00.000-08:00

Back home.

But home became a meaningless word. For all this time I built a house in a different place. The other house saw me grow and it's where I tried hard to leave my growing pains. This house saw me change and calm down. I gained some self-love but lost some uniqueness... Well, I also gained other type of uniqueness...

Now I'll always miss something and it won't be something about the places or even the people, it will be something about myself. I'll never feel complete in one place or another.

I wonder if someone can change this feeling someday. I wish I could call home to a flesh and bone place instead of a brick and stone one... And it's probably the first time I allow myself to think this and truly feel it. Maybe ontogenesis is replicating phylogenesis and I'm evolving to accept the need of bonds and ties, despite all my fears and resistence to it.

For now, the truth is that there is no home, just a perpetual dizziness, an impaired spatial perception and a rough notion of equilibrium...

the windy city

2010-11-24T13:32:00.000-08:00

post-conference stress can be easily handled by a little roadtrip to my favorite city in the world... (yes, it beats San Fran)

ready to go

2010-11-18T06:53:00.000-08:00

This could be me today... except for the fact that I can't bend my back. Despite that, I'll have to deal with paper tubes and presentations, and questions... Today I'm a researcher (I guess that's what I am everyday, but today I'm supposed to show it externally). So, I won't care about feelings today, I won't care about attention, and I won't care about love. Conferences are what they are...

handle with care

2010-11-10T10:17:00.000-08:00

did I forget to mention that?

DONE

2010-11-09T19:13:00.001-08:00

♥ ? or I don't give a damn...

2010-11-08T06:59:00.000-08:00

Some days I wake up a different person, someone I don't recognize. I'm sure it is because "I miss the comfort in being sad". But, then I shower and look at my war scars - the old and the new ones - and I just realize it's better to miss the comfort in being sad but still independent and fearless. I'm more like myself if I'm happy but tough and cold than if I'm sad but soft and dependent. I try to love you and miss you and need you just because that's how any other girl would behave and feel. But I'm not like any other girl and I don't want to lose it from the start by being someone else. Please learn to know me, that's your task, accepting it is another story... And my task is just being myself, because accepting who you are is part of myself, loving it is another story...

drained...

2010-11-04T12:29:00.000-07:00

(daí)

estou demasiado cansada...

cansada de não articular as ideias com as palavras nem as palavras com as ideias

cansada de não ter certezas

cansada de não saber se vale a pena

cansada de ter de ser tradutora, designer, matemática, e engenheira informática

estou demasiado cansada...

No, Freddy... wrong, wrong, wrong or Yes, Kurt... right as always

2010-11-01T17:32:00.000-07:00

O mundo seria tão melhor sem feriados nem fins-de-semana, quando eu não estou em "casa"....

(however,the numbness scares the hell out of me... I guess I wrote this to convince myself that I am feeling what anyone else would be feeling)

Old Bull Lee

2010-10-31T08:36:00.000-07:00

A small gift buried near you, a small part of me that was there when I grew up 10 years in one afternoon, when I gave up my teenage angst, when I gave up the dreams and the hopes from childhood to embrace new ones; not when I stopped being a teenager or stopped behaving and dreaming like one, because, as I learned from you, the journey only ends in Wagdas and mine is still far from that. Maybe when I build myself an Orgon Box I'll be a little closer...

2010-10-28T18:28:00.000-07:00

there

You expect me to prefer that amazing old city light to the only think I can do.

You expect me to give away all this time. But you never asked me for my time.

So, I suppose I can't complain, when you don't have time for anything but running errands for someone else.

It seems you don't have the need, the urge or the will, simply the will to reach me...

It is not the ocean, but it may be the time or the way we dealt with it.

I miss you and I don't, with you it's probably the same.

I'm not sure if I'm jealous or if I don't care at all. And what hurts is not knowing what I feel this time.

I was expecting you could show me, but it takes an extra effort and I start to doubt you're able to forget about you for a second and try to do it (hey, what's the surprise?! that's your introduction line)

please?

2010-10-27T23:12:00.000-07:00

61:3

2010-10-22T05:15:00.000-07:00

the bible says: "To all who mourn in Israel, he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the Lord has planted for his own glory."

Photo by William Gedney

I say: "Give me my crown of beauty, a joyous blessing and a festive praise, please, 'cause 61 divided by 3, all at the same time is a lot of people and I just hope that by the end I feel like a great oak, but more alive"

the lab

2010-10-22T05:04:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the Experiment!
Please read the instructions very carefully.
It is very important that proper protocol is followed.
(or someone will get hurt...)

New boots are now old boots

2010-10-11T10:42:00.000-07:00

All that's new at one given time will eventually get old. That's what happened with the new boots that now seem old to me. I lack the discipline to have shiny new boots and keep them updated. So, I decided I should write only for me in any language I feel like... There are no new boots after all, it's all part of a continuum in one moment or another, in one continent or another...