domingo, 14 de fevereiro de 2010


Why must this come with so many ‘sorries’ and so much sorrow? And what is ‘it’ anyway?

Have I ever loved, or has this all been obsession? And who can tell me that it is not love? Who can tell me what love is? Who can be arrogant enough to even dare?

Is it worth changing yourself for the world, knowing the world won’t change for you? Is living all by yourself an option? (is happiness an option?)

Can you really get used to desperation?

Is the world so fucking sick you can’t be yourself? Why are human beings so obsessed with making sense, growing and being happy – or in search of happiness? Why can’t I be in search of something else?

Why talk, at all, about your life, unless your means are an end in themselves? Why cry on your shoulders if you will get wet and I will keep sad? (or can sorrow de diluted in water – or cloth?)

Why does anyone read this, anyway? How can people be interested with what goes on in my head? (was that self-pity?) And why has every single sentence so far been a question if I’m so sure of my doubts?

Now let’s take a moment to think these questions if they mean anything to you, well do they? (“see how I went all the way through the end, like I care?” / “oh, but I do”)

Is lie better than the truth? So: is a good liar better than a bad honest person? Is there ‘sin’, at all? (why do people fake orgasm, friendship, love?)

Can a past be forgiven? Can a future be forgiven?

Can you forgive yourself for the person you are?

Are you satisfied (I bet you are, now – but how can you if when you look around it’s all shit, hopelessness, despair, death, hypocrisy, stealing, corruption, hunger, savageness, evil, low payment, no future at all, more people being born, global warming, people cooling, getting sicker, spreading viruses, noises invading our houses, dogs waking us up at night, people fucking up our lives, bad people prospering over good people; women, negroes and homosexuals being beat, raped and killed; kids, teens and adults being exposed to ignorance and believing it, contributing for a future of absolute fucking hell)? How can you be glad you’re happy? Aren’t you fucking ashamed? Have you no. fucking. shame of laughing? What reason have you? Have you got someone? Oh yeah, until when? Don’t you know you’ll die all alone?

Or can you just close your eyes to all the world and pretend it’s all going pretty-well? Oh, isn’t it marvelous? Isn’t it just FABULOUS?

They said ignorance is bliss, right, but is it really? I bet you think so, don’t you?

Oh, why live in this world? And yet they say it’s you that’s wrong, it’s you who must change, it’s you who must move on – but move on where? Where ARE we going other than downhill to our graves? Why pretend this is happy? Why pretend this is worth it if you’ll lose it all?

Should we be thankful for what we have? Yes, or so I’ve been told – but should we be thankful for what we don’t, should we just forget?

Is it better to not be loved for who you are or to be loved for someone you are not? What’s the difference if YOU are not loved either way? Is there an essence? And is my essence what I think it is?

How can pain be the easiest if it’s the hardest? How can this all be juvenile if a child is happy (because she doesn’t know how the world works)? And I still don’t know how it works, but the more I find out, the worse it gets, do you feel it too? Does this bring us together or further apart?

Should we give up on people who are not ‘useful’? What’s the use of something useful? Should we throw out those we ‘love’ because they’re not good? Is there love, at all? Is there love other than desire for flesh or fear to be alone? Am I shallow? Does that make you deep?

Does this make you sick? Do you think I’m hopeless? Do you think you should still hold your head high instead of hanging yourself now? Aren’t all of us who think alive because we’re afraid there isn’t anything else? What’s the exact point where nothing is better than anything possible, and do we know it when the moment comes?

If you hurt your friends being yourself, then do you really have friends or just people who want you to be someone else? Why can’t you be whatever and still sigh? Is being pathetic worse than being empty? Would you rather be a good kisser or a good writer?

What is the meaning of hope except for illusion? Why is this man most of us place our trust upon (though not me) pissing, shitting and coming all over us every single day? Are the insane wiser? Would you kill for food? Would you kill for thought? Do you live for what’s your basic needs? Would you leave if nothing else fulfills? Are you fooling yourself things will go right?

Does love have a distance? Can hearts easily be fooled? Can words so easily be believed? Can people get easily depressed?

Can you stop this all?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…

segunda-feira, 8 de fevereiro de 2010

i still mantain

As I lay here and I – a-lone-r – wonder why or what you’ll be where you are. Wonder how and see – though it’s only (you) and me.

Ponder reasons for the silence, longer seasons for the grievance, taller buildings shall relieve this, other loves – I can’t relive this.

Take me to where I’m trying to go, let me know if you will ever or, if you won’t, don’t let me be here while you are there – the distance is… as far as Is can see.

(if this is final don’t be shy, no – turn the page, but be kind rewind)

This is the sanctuary where we meet every night when the stars are bright and with them only I shine – though in a perfect solitude and unforgivable darkness. Sounds and images fail to reproduce what only my mind tries to seduce.

This is where you fertilize my brainstorm with your life juice. This is where the crowd vomits. Remember me?

Why should I make sense just like everything else? And yet I do. Yes, I’m a public – no – pedophile. If I had sex with dead animals, though, it wouldn’t be a crime. I could fuck them while you ate them. Stupid us.

What have the years told you? Do you go in circles and realize that, unfortunately, it all comes to this? Why bother, then? Let us write suicide (news)letters and let you know how we’re coping with pain.

Pay me a ticket to Dreamland only you can afford. Just open your legs and let me baptize you with (un)holy saliva.

Everybody’s got someone. I have your absence. I’m the most happiest (!) man alive.