domingo, 31 de agosto de 2008

Kanpeki

"I want a woman who can sit me down, shut me up, tell me ten things I don't already know, and make me laugh. I don't care what you look like, just turn me on. And if you can do that, I will follow you on bloody stumps through the snow. I will nibble your mukluks with my own teeth. I will do your windows. I will care about your feelings. Just have something in there (inside the head)."
Henry Rollins

Well, before he would end up busting his head off time and again to try uncover some weird way to find someone. All the romantic crap and eternal perfect movie-like meeting and details and all the scenes imagined. Creating patterns and projects, stupid ideas, just a way to cope with the day, and run away from reality.
He gave up a lot of things during his short time either strolling or marching into this world. He learned the hard way how "losing" is difficult, heavy, oppressive. 'Maybe losing your dream is the last step before losing your hope', he thought.
It would be nice to find someone like Mr. Rollins said (keeping the bloody-boot-biting sort-of-kinky fantasy). All he wants, actually, is someone that is able to help him dream again. And, yes, that is too much too ask - specially when you were playing the role of dream-burier, uncommitted and disrespectful villain.
He might be seeking dreams, because in some place in his head, that is where he will find forgiveness.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what kanpeki is all about. Perfect. Not free of defects. Free of self-loathing, self-pity and self-destruction tendencies. Free of himself.

You are only able to find love when you are ready to accept it.

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You give me the idea, I quote you in my post. Quid pro quo. Although you'll never read this text, we're even - probably owed you two.

terça-feira, 19 de agosto de 2008

Avec 2 lits, s'il vous plaît.

He kept standing up from his bed, although he had no intention whatsoever in doing it. His room was his fortress, his cage, his prison, his refuge. This bittersweet feeling was just enhancing the lack of balance that hanged over this tenuous line that separated his so-called freedom from his self-imposed handcuffs. There were no chains, however he could feel that his steps' elapsed distance was limited.
The door is the hardest part to get through - it feels like moving a whole planet, just to realize that it is even harder to move yourself out of this place. There is no fear - only reality striking hard on a guy that is just waking up. The burden is not, but it surely feels like way over he can bear. And he barely does. Out of the room, he is still engulfed within the house - but rules have already changed. Away from that door, he is exactly what he thinks he is - life passes and you get to be right much more often that before. Much more often than you wish, some times.
His words, just as his steps, come at a slow place, as if studying where and if it should carry on this hurtful message. He is not sad, he is not lost, but he is not content and don't know where to go. The years were hard on him and spared no mercy. Eyes swerve away. Heads still held high. Not looked down on, not looked up to. Just like that, a face to be forgotten amidst the crowd. Not a hero, not a villain. Believing in God, in good. Leaving important things behind that door, the only place he can be himself.
He had his chances, he had no regrets. Past is past and there is no closet in his room to keep skeletons.
It takes just a little faith, the Big Guy said. Just a little faith.