sexta-feira, 10 de julho de 2009


It’s such a shame, isn’t it?
That there’s nothing to be done
That we don’t actually fit in anywhere
And that nothing is just right for us

I’m aware it’s disappointing
That you and I are so far we can’t reach
Yet we spend endless nights wondering
What ever happened to the joy we never had

This never-experienced contentment of our part, dear
Is a mere inconvenience this lifestyle displays
I’ve been told (by myself), pumpkin pie,
That you can either be happy or be interesting

Have I told you I’m sorry?
For nothing, really, but it always feels
I’m missing something and that fits
I didn’t mean to fill the silence, it sometimes happens…

I can’t say I’m comfortable with this shallow smile
You sometimes put on my face, for I know it lies
It shouldn’t really be a smile at all, it comes out wrong
Yet, sometimes, we all must fake it

You know me by now, and I surely do
I’ve sat in the dark too often, and I could see you
I’m not romantic anymore, man, I’m horny
And we’re still making love when you can’t see me

I’ve tried to turn on the lights, but the sight is just awful
I don’t know who you are, who I’m writing to
What I mean and who I’m supposed to be
But I’m here, darling

Precisely where I can’t be found
Between this keyboard and
A bed that could easily shelter another
- although, as time has proven, it won’t

I’m in the exact place where we can’t ever meet
Because neither of us would step out of our own little worlds
And in much too comfort by the idea that
We will never. ever. be.

Breathing is tiring and
Life is never kind, we know
What are we waiting for?
I'm waiting for you

segunda-feira, 6 de julho de 2009

confession #2

It’s not odd how everything comes down to this depth sometimes, given my choices and the way I refuse to change – my psychologist would say I have no desire to change yet. An acquaintance of mine told me, some weeks ago, he knows me since 2006 and I’ve stuck in time. Maybe they’re right, but what else am I waiting to happen before I can change? Is this who I am? Maybe I’m far too anxious to know where my life is going to get – if anywhere. To be quite honest, I’m so terminally lonely no matter what, I need someone so badly. But not anyone… I’m a beggar who refuses things that are given to him. Does this make me even more unworthy and ridiculous? Who am I to be picky? Tonight there is a bright night outside, and it feels like the sun is going to come out anytime, which just makes me feel even worse. You know how I hate the dawn, don’t you? Nevermind.
I’m in love, breathing and needing desperately (but, as he once said “what don’t you need desperately?”) a finnish autist. If this was a sitcom, this would be where the fake audience would laugh. Thing is, this is no sitcom. This is an unpopular maudlin story. The show isn’t going to end anytime soon, no one’s getting paid to perform (they’d be paying not to). My psychologist and pretty much all of the people who have been able to put up with me, this depressive and depressing creature, say that the theory that I’m always falling in love with people from different continents means that I’m afraid of my sexuality. Maybe they don’t know (because, after all, no one can walk in anyone’s shoes) how much I’ve tried with people who lived quite close to me. Was I afraid of my sexuality back then? Probably much more than I am now. How is this my fault?
I know he probably can’t express his feeling, though he tries his best, but everything hurts. I probably see him as my reflection, as my soulmate, as someone who’s basically me (minus the autism I actually wished I had – yes, you should be thinking I’m stupid – so that I could actually put a name on what’s wrong with me and hide like a coward behind it). By saving him – and I’d give so much for it –, I’d see there’s salvation for me too. The idea that we could save each other, though, is unlikely. I wish he could find a girlfriend (yes, a girlfriend, so society wouldn’t hurt him), and every single one of my friends could find their love too, somewhere. There just seems to be no way out for me. And every single time I have an erotic dream (yes, absolutely everytime), someone always walks in before I can actually do anything. Not even in dreams do I get the chance.
Whenever I go out, it’s “How Soon is Now” all over again, you know? It’s not like it hasn’t been done or tried. Plus I keep thinking how better is it back at home, with my music and my stuff. Fuck, man, fuck… I feel like I know all there is to know about me, plus the fact that there isn’t a fucking thing to be done. Just wait. And wait. With no guarantee (yes, life has no guarantees, thanks for warning me). If I could just hug W and K for a while. Maybe see Neto again, too, while he was passing through the same street I was. Hey, as long as I’m asking for things that won’t happen in my platonic relationship, imaginary, fucked up, emotionally shattered and hopeless world, I can have three wishes. None of these things will happen anyway. This genius has fled, the lamp is broken to pieces.
And I feel like I should be happy by being a middle class son. I can buy most things I want. If I killed myself, people would say “why did he do that? He had EVERYTHING”. Everything? If this is everything, I’m not very curious to see how people can live with less. There’s emptiness all around. Most people would kill to be in my position, with the wonderful parents I have, nice family and some loyal friends. I don’t deserve any of these, behaving the way I do. And what makes me the most angry is that, after all this emotional vomit, some people would just call me juvenile. “Grow up, be a man and close your mealy mouth”, right? There are people in much worse condition than you. Why does it make me angry? Because it’s true. I’m a child and everything must turn my way otherwise I get angry or sad. Please vomit.
I’m so sick of me, also. Sick of not finding a way out. Sick of walking my path to my 21st birthday and never having had anyone ever. Sick of not knowing where I fit in, professionally. There’s no hope, just nothing to do. “The story is old, I know, but it goes on”. And there’s nothing no one can say about it, except:
- I hope things get better.
- :(
- Damn, Yu…
- …
And I don’t know how long I can take this. These same problems over and over again. No one can help me with words. Will anything I deeply need ever be granted to someone like me? I’m not a bad person, I swear… I’m just terminally hopeless.

quarta-feira, 1 de julho de 2009


Lovers are today riding the streets in fancy cars they are
Going their ways through dark alleys and shades some of them
Pregnant and some of them violently
Beaten down scattered apart seems as if they

Two lovers think about
Each other and drink
Something they have but
They will not meet so they
Just look at nothing
Ness and pretend that they
Are as to be

Don’t cry for them
Oh but why should you be
Cause no one really
Cares about other’s
Feeling and how
Could they really
Be honest shall
We never will