Welcome home man.

Although I said that's not my habit write in english, the words flow easily this way. Traveling always inspires me. I belive that inspires every one if you dont get sick or sleep the whole time. These last four days I spent time with my family and folks, really good stuff. Perhaps I' am too nostalgic and saudosist now, but thats a good part of me. Life can't be fullfilled without people to love, care, worry and even, those you never know what kind of feelings you feel about. When I walked through the door, I felt home. The same mobile and smell, but a different air. An air which I no long make part. The same home, but another being. A visitant with new stories, expectations, a suitcase and oh! a moustache. Stories that include a reflex, too similar, but far to be an image. With thoughts and words and worlds. Also a new and great and indecipherable someone. This I'll try to describe later. No, better dont even try. The question here is: Where I do belong?

Because a mainer to my vein

Leads to a center in my head

And then I'm better off and dead

I really don't care anymore

Mutant Instinct.

Lately some questions have hammered my mind, essentially of existentialist nature. The kind of questions that my dad, when asked, would say ''Sometimes it's better stop asking and start living. Worry about questions that may enrich your life.'' And it makes me wonder even more.Which type of questions are these?
Is not part of my style, writing personal posts, nor in english (although my digressions are usually in english).

My most recent query to myself: Few days can really change someone?
I would say no, but in my deepest thoughts I can't deny this. I've changed. My perspective is so increased, the part of what is called 'growing' that I never really understood. The fear of losing my identity always scared me a lot, until I realized that I never had one. Live is in itself, change, mutate. We have ours principles (or not), beliefs (or not again), but at least, main ideias, when well defined, an ideology. Never a constant form; people aren't archés. There is no be or not-be. Parmenides forgive me, but I don't care if the coming-to-be it's a sensitive ilusion, nothing proves that life ain't also one.
A song called 'ripples' clarifies so much:

While you're down a pool appears
The face in the water looks up
And she shakes her head as if to say
That it's the last time you'll look like today


Sail away, away
Ripples never come back...                ok, I'm too sleepy to continue.

Some other questions will appear and be posted here. Meanwhile I keep changing.

Had a friend, she once told me, you got love, you ain't lonely.

Se acordo chateado, é porquê ainda não olhei no espelho pra dizer bom dia.

Incompleto.

Quis te ver sorrir. Te ver de perto, assim como realmente é. E tenho visto, e vivido, sem saber se o que é, tem sido mais do que eu devia querer. Quero matar essa dúvida insolênte, que veio sem ninguém pedir. E eu dizia, ''é sempre assim'', mas eu menti. Nunca foi assim. Nunca quis assim, ver alguém e querer seu bem, como se fosse meu. No meio de tanta gente, te encontro, tão doce, me perco. Olhos nos olhos e tudo fica claro, menos quem sou eu pra você.

Esse texto foi postado numa época em que não havia divulgação do blog e feito num tempo de muita clareza pra mim.


Encontre sentido na palavra
ainda que pareça estranha e perturbadora.
Mesmo em linhas tortas
o texto não cessa, não seca.
Tão certa e fria é a morte,
pelo teu pecado vil e cruel;
que através da palavra veio
e aquele que se viu no espelho,
se arrependeu de ir pro céu.
Sentiu o latente esmorecer
sem sentido, sem ser.

Wild thing, you make my heart sing

I wanna take you home, yeah I won't do no harm You've got to be all mine, all mine ooh Foxy Lady Foxy, Foxy.

You make me wanna get up and scream!







Ouvindo e aprendendo.

Poema Misto

Tenho duas formas de ver,
o que ninguém nem parou para olhar.
Queria eu assim ser,
da fumaça do cigarro fazer ar.

Estou preso,
estagnado em lugar nenhum.
E aqui me encontro
onde dois são um.

Uma porta pra fora
das correntes e vertentes.
Escravidão mental, outrora
sem querer sei que sentes.

Como proceder,
se sinto sem sentido?

(Versos pares por Rodrigo Lima)

I can see what you see not.
Vision milky, then eyes rot.
When you turn they will be gone,
Whispering their hidden song.
Then you see what cannot be,
Shadows move where light should be.
Out of darkness, out of mind,
Cast down in to the Halls of the Blind.

And I have become confortably numb.