Monthly Archives: January 2011

You are

Alguém que você não conhece, escreve para você : you are such a beautiful soul.

E eu chorei. Chorei por uma delicadeza tão grande vinda de uma pessoa que mal sabe de você e pelo fato de somente uma desconhecida enxergar isso. O que deve querer dizer que não é verdade.


Depressed Nation

That´s me, I  say to Paris.I´m the girl who is lost in space, the girl who is disappearing always, forever fading away and receiding farther and farther into the background. Just like the Chesire cat, someday I will suddenly leave but the artificial warmth of my smile, that phony, clownish curve, the kind you see on miserable sad people and villain in Disney movies , will remain behind as an ironic remnant. I am the girl you see in the photograph of some party someplace or some picnic in the park, the one who looks so vibrant and shimmery, but who does in fact soon going to be gone.

(…)

Oh Paris, I cry some more. No one is ever going to love me that way because I´m so awful and all I ever do is cry and get depressed.

If I were another person, I go on, I wouldn´t want to deal with me. I don´t want to deal with me. It´s so hopeless. I want out of this life. I really do. I keep thinking if I could just get a grip on myself, I could be allright again. I keep thinking that I´m driving myself crazy, but I swear, I swear to God, I have no control. It´s so awful. It´s like demons have taken over my mind. And nobody believes me. Everubody thinks I could be better if I wanted to. But I can´t be the old Lizzy anymore. I can´t be myself anymore. I mean, actually, I am being myself right now, and it´s so horible.

Wurtzel, Elizabeth. Prozac Nation.



Galaxy of the lost

Como estou com writer´s block, life´s block, love´s block e não consigo eloquencia ou assunto nenhum que não seja o mesmo para escrever, me resta ouvir e ler:

Hate to think
What would happen if I started to drink like you
Maybe I would
Loosen up
So pour me another gin.

Guzzle down
My neck will burn
And as we kiss
And I’m sick in your mouth
I know you want more
Lick my open wounds
And add some ice
And choke on my sick vice
Oh God, the lights are on.

Trapped in bed
As the poison slowly creeps
And stops me dead.
I should have known
Better than to cave
Into such fantasies.

I feel better
Now I’ve seen you
But deep inside
My bones feel like timber
And I am shaking at the tension
And I will shudder at the mention. //


Letting the cables

You in the dark
You in the pain
You on the run
Living a hell
Living your ghost
Living your end
Never seem to get in the place that I belong
Don’t wanna lose the time
Lose the time to come

(…)

Silence is not the way
We need to talk about it
If heaven is on the way
If heaven is on the way*

É bagunça. Uma bagunça que torna tudo indiscernível para mim, como se eu precisasse andar tateando paredes e me esquivando de memórias depositadas propositalmente em cada esquina da minha cidade, da minha rua, das minhas casas, de mim. São papéis e fotos, são mensagens, são restos. São loucuras.

É sobretudo o silêncio que contribui para a bagunça. Me tornei muda. Das minhas mãos não saem mais textos  senão lamentos e profecias macabras acerca da minha pessoa. O exercício eterno do lembrar: enquanto penso em motivos e soluções inexistentes, enquanto repasso mentalmente todos os passos, procurando sinais, procurando indícios, procurando, me assaltam cheiros e gostos e lembranças boas que nunca vão se desimpregnar de mim. Sorrateiras, entram por qualquer brecha e, se enchendo da poeira da minha solidão, fazem meus movimentos de respiração ainda mais dolorosos.

Um a um, meus dedos são soltos do livro. Eu não adormeço. Só sinto o titubear do meu coração inconstante, indeciso entre parar ou seguir.

* Letting the cables sleep – Bush


,

mas,

sempre mas,


WAS IST LUST ZU LEBEN?

e onde eu compro vontade, tesão de viver?


Sudden Death

” I died a sudden death
I made an awful mess
I didn’t stand a chance
I didn’t stand a chance

‘Cause when we where our best
I could care less if people bred themselves
To death
Oh, but now that you are gone
I just know that everything is wrong

Don’t leave me alone now…

A Sudden Death – The Organ”

Nem escrever consigo…

Defeito de fábrica

Eu sei de pessoas que conseguem (se) desligarem. Como se fossem robôs, como se realmente houvesse um botão. Trocá-lo: do amor, do romantismo, do ser amante ao ser amigo.

Mas… posso eu fazer isso, tentar achar em mim um interruptor onde eu apenas “desligue” ? Se pudesse, ou houvesse, eu já teria achado a essa altura. E desligado.

O fato é… aparentemente, vim com defeito de fábrica. Não possuo tal modernidade. Os sentimentos, on.


Do you remember the moon I gave you? The one that resembles you?

If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.
You leave the same impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating.
Both of you are great light borrowers.
Her O-mouth grieves at the world; yours is unaffected,
And your first gift is making stone out of everything.
I wake to a mausoleum; you are here,
Ticking your fingers on the marble table, looking for cigarettes,
Spiteful as a woman, but not so nervous,
And dying to say something unanswerable.
The moon, too, abuses her subjects,
But in the daytime she is ridiculous.
Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand,
Arrive through the mailslot with loving regularity,
White and blank, expansive as carbon monoxide.
No day is safe from news of you,
Walking about in Africa maybe, but thinking of me.
[ The Rival – Sylvia Plath ]

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