Plagiarizing words

•March 21, 2014 • 2 Comments

“The man over whom fell the curse of sorrow of the world,
the man that is sad for all centuries and never more its grief goes out!
Doesn’t believe in anything because there is nothing that brings solace to grief, that only he watches.
And when he turns into a worm, is the hurt that accompanies him yet!
Ah! Surely I am the most heinous generalization of discomfort …
Pain, I am your lover!
I burn in your abstract body.
I’m the one who stood alone singing over the bones of the way
A soul ripped off of the pleasures of the world
A widow soul of the passions of life.
The poetry of all that is dead!
Miserable being among the miserable.”

No, it was not written by me.
It is a mix of pieces of poems by Augusto dos Anjos,
and there’s nothing better to translate the undoing in me caused by chaotic days. 

Awards!

•March 17, 2014 • 7 Comments

wpid-versatile-blogger-award1The Versatile Blogger Award

Thanks, Jack Sutter, for this award.  I’ll avail the opportunity to introduce to you all his latest post  “One Man Wasteland“.  

My mind is a wasteland of memories.

Of half-remember skills, and unfulfilled dreams.

It is filled to the brim with relics of my past.

It haunts me.

My heart is a wasteland of passions.

Of warped, shattered desires, and atrophied talents.

It is empty, left wanting for what I could have been.

It taunts me.

My body is a wasteland of flesh.

Of neglected tissue and abused mechanics.

It’s been marked and stained by all my sins.

It reflects me.

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I’m NOT Featured on Freshly Pressed & The Dragon’s Loyalty Award

Thanks for both awards, Sage. I already reblogged some of his poems, but this time I wanna emphasize his other blog: The Journal of Wall Grimm.

“The Journal of Wall Grimm is rated R due to adult content in the form of sex, drug and alcohol abuse, vulgar language, and other things that can occur in the world of a guy in his early 20′s. It is comprised of the fictional journal entries of Wall Grimm.” And who’s Wall Grimm? Well, his answer:

“MY NAME IS WALL GRIMM AND I AM…

a cowboy constable, threatening harpist blues punk pain in the ass who doesn’t need as much advice as some people think.  I’m a pain in the ass gypsy known as Valente Spirto, Valspirto, Valente, and sex.  I’m a boy toy, kept boy, badboy, a constructive and destructive force of fire.  I’m shelter and a patriarch.  I am a challenging consumer with evil spirits ready for my beckon call.  I’m a nice guy, best friend, a pet, and a potentially obsessed symbolism attributor.  I’m a chew toy, a dick, a god, and an annoying fuck who deserves chairs smashed over his head.  I’m the guy in the kilt, the kilted cowboy gunslinger, an unpredictable, sometimes dangerous guy, usually reckless, but quiet and antisocial.  I’m the go-to reliable guy, a loser, a gypsy pagan great guy to have around for Beltane.  And though I’m cool, I’m the guy who farts noxious fumes in class.  I’m the hot older guy, a lost cause, and I’m sometimes liked.  I am Grimm.  I am Wall Grimm.

That is an amalgam of what other people think of me.  All summed up like that, excluding some people, their opinions, some more positive perspectives, or my own thoughts of myself….well, I guess that might just make me a good writer in the end.  Either that or I’ll die alone.  Maybe both.”

In the blog, you will also find “AMON-RE”, a novel by Wall Grimm. “The novel takes place in a nonspecific time, in a nonspecific couple of cities. Amon-Re is a drug addict, but he’s also a writer and a poet, a genius…”

Thank you both, for the awards. If you felt curious and want to know a bit more, go ahead and click in the links (in orange) and you will be redirect to their blogs.

“Nostalgia”

•March 2, 2014 • 8 Comments

Reblogged from Sage Doyle’s blog
“This poem was written for Morbid Insanity who wanted a poem about nostalgia, addressing not only the looking back, but how the reflection can be ”a mix of sad joy” which often constitutes the past.”

Sometimes I will be reminded
by the way the wind blows
and the sense of being
somewhere else
as I hear familiar sounds
which bring me back to the beauty
of a simple moment
not always defined
yet it embraces me
sometimes suffocates me
as moving onward becomes difficult
should I have mistaken it
for something else
though at the time I believed I was free

The painful memories cause me to wrench
within every cell of my body
knowing it is a part of me
evidence of how I am here

I am here to live
to take in what came before
and take on what is to come

I am here to prevail
as I design for justification
and delve for the fragments of me
strewn across the days
to seep into my skin
riding slick like boundless vessels
through my blood
so that I may close my eyes
and poise my arms in triumph
as I am incited by the particles
of my existence

I will feel alive
I will be alive
I will be who I am
an allocation of living tissue
validating all that has come before
affirming every joy
accepting every agony
as I thrive today
alive and seething
at peace and breathing
immersed in the world that touches me
carousing in the life that reaches me
the strong and graceful me
encompassed by sorrow and bliss

For this my day and all days forward
I am chiseled by those yesterdays
with the surge of my providence
to verge on amongst my tomorrows
with pride instilled to dispel grief
and the confidence in my purpose

If I had tried, the result would have been different and not as good as his.

Lost smiles

•February 26, 2014 • 5 Comments

For some odd reason, today something came to my mind. I used to work as attendant and some guys used to say: “You should smile more.” or “You have a beautiful smile.”

Some of them I knew that they were drunk, but one of them… I never understood his insistence to make me smile. Specially in days that I was irritated. It made me feel kinda silly and when I realized that, he started to annoy me. I quit the job, not because of him, and rarely see him.

I am not the kind of person who smiles all the time, but I try to be polite, even when my humor is not welcoming.

A smile is a good accomplice, and avoids insistent questions.

So, I’m not a smiley person and I always wondered why people always smile in the pictures. I think it’s the first thing most people do before taking pictures.  A friend answered: “I don’t know. People just smile. Maybe the problem is on you.” 

After thinking of it all, my mind took me to years ago. I saw my child version waiting, impatiently, with a big smile in the face. And for 14 days that smile was there and, also, a different shine in the eyes. 

But it is past. The smile and the shine are now in the past. Buried in the past.

 And, maybe, my friend is right; the problem is on me.

“I hit the stones with a rude torment

And my grief is so intense today

I think Joy is a disease

And Sadness is my only health. “

(Augusto dos Anjos)

2014

•February 24, 2014 • 2 Comments

It’s February, almost in the end, but now I can say that 2014 started for me! In the beginning of the year, I, impulsively, came back to the classes of screenplay. I still don’t know why I did that, but I went there and faced the situation.

After many years, long years, I could write a screenplay. Something completely different from anything I’ve ever written. And it was well accepted for the ones who read it, in order to analyse the structure and all that. What will happen? I do not know. It would be interesting if it could be filmed; it is simple, short. But I don’t wanna think about it, because it’s worth it already having realized that I can still write.

Another new thing; now I can die! Well, not now, but after 90 days. I now have funeral assistance and can die without being buried as a pauper. At least about it, I no longer am a dead weight in anyone’s shoulder.

Those are my updates. Other than that, everything else remains the same. And I still don’t know what to do with this blog, but I’ll try to figure it out, some day… But, while I don’t decide, I will try to be more active.

That’s it.
Nothing more to say, that I remember.

Last breath

•December 19, 2013 • 17 Comments

I’m out of time, and mind, to devote myself to this blog, for various reasons, but I have pending issues that I will use to make this the last post of the year.

First of all, Blog of the Year 2013 Award. A while ago, I received this award and despite thinking that my blog is too bad to get any kind of award, and I just received the second Blog of the Year 2013 Award 2. I’d like to thank Sage for the double nomination, and, obviously, remind you all to visit Sage Doyle’s blog, and Grimm’s too.

“Happy Anniversary”. I received a notification that I completed 6 years registered on WordPress. My first blog was deleted years ago and I still don’t know why I decided to “give life” to another one. I’m not a poet, I’m not a writer. I don’t plan to publish a book, I don’t dream with my screenplays being filmed, not anymore. And more than once I read something like “the content is of low quality.” It doesn’t bother me because I always knew that what I write isn’t so enjoyable. However, I have to admit that I’m thinking better about how long I’ll insist with this…

It leads me to other thing: new insane minds. I have new followers. Unbelievable, right? I don’t know why you decided to do it, but even so, I thank those who read and like and comment and follow. Whatever the reason! 

To complete this last post, I’ll end with a brief retrospective. This year, after years, I left the inertia behind, I could be useful again, I could allow myself to be receptive enough to someone who is becoming a good friend, it’s like I have already met her before. And it’s good to see again someone who is from a tortuous past, the only one who was sincere in my sobriety and lucidity, and loyal in my minutes of decay. And, after years, people around me were laughing with me and not about me. And most important, I could give an invisible slap in someone’s face who used to say about me “you can expect nothing good from her.” Yes, it is a nice sensation. 

In some months of this year I could have a relief, but I will not delude myself believing that everything will be different next year. Maybe something different happens, maybe someone different cross my path, maybe yes, maybe not. I’m not waiting, I’m not making plans. I’ll do what I gotta do and go to bed to try to sleep and if I wake up the next morning… I’ll get up and see what I have to do. Until when I can keep my sanity…

“This is the end, Beautiful friend
The end of laughter and soft lies
The end of nights we tried to die
The end”

Until next year!

 

Who’s gonna save her soul now?

•November 16, 2013 • 18 Comments

She was born in a home careless and rude.
Never felt the meaning of affection.
She grew up listening to groans and obscene words.
Never heard about respect.
She grew up with beatings and harsh words.
Never had an example of delicacy.
She has been living without knowing what really means family.

Probably never will. Her mother is too busy with booze and vulgarity to try to remember that already is a mother, or how a mother should be.

She lives on a street where the common is girls being “mothers” at 13 years of age, and younger boys having “to relieve” the bigger boys. And in a neighborhood where the law is: no one sees and no one hears and no one speaks and no one knows.
But they knew about it, they still know.
They heard that she had been abused by a boy from the neighboring house. Nothing was done.
But they knew about it, they still know.
They heard that she had been abused, molested, raped at home by her stepfather.
Some swallowed down the indignation and pretended that nothing had happened, others pretended to forget…
But did she forget? No. She will remember for the rest of her days. She is still a child and has begun to live for the reverse side of life. A child who is already lost, condemned, abandoned to her own luck. Because no one sees her, no one listens her, no one talks about what happened, no one tries to know what she feels or how she feels.
No one really cares.

But it’s okay, it’s over. It’s buried in the abyss of oblivion.

Who needs therapy?
Her, now, daddy bought a car and takes everybody for a ride.
A little fun is good to relieve trauma.
Who needs therapy?
Her mammy asked grandmother to take the girl to do ballet classes.
Something new is always good to deceive the mind, especially when it is a child.

She’s 10 years old now and still living in the same way, surrounded by the same people and in the same house with the man who dissipated her innocence.
Nothing was done.

“A hotbed of sensual larvae in where the brothers sleep mixed with the sisters in the same mud; paradise of worms, marsh of sludge hot and steaming, whence springs life brutally, like from a rot.”

Promises Broken

•November 6, 2013 • 18 Comments

In the radio plays a song that reminds me of you.

A bitter longing corrodes my heart.

I look at the guitar I bought for you, and the sound of your voice penetrates my eardrums echoing in my mind the song you wrote and used to sing for me.

Sour memories devour my thoughts.

I wanted to have already forgotten you, but I can’t.
How to forget that night?
In my body I still see and feel the weight of your hands.
I had asked,
you had promised,
but you didn’t keep your word,
you didn’t fulfill the promise.
The only thing I had asked you not to do was exactly what you did.

You broke my heart and my bottom lip;
you hurt my soul and also my body.

“Sorry, I lost my head. I didn’t wanna have done it, believe me.
It won’t happen again.”

No, it will not happen again.
You would need your hands.

What I did to you hurt me too,
because I miss your eyes waiting me wake up, in the following morning.
I miss your voice singing to me every night until I fall asleep.
Yes, I still miss the man who enchanted my dreams and made me want to share my days with someone else.

Nevertheless, I do not regret for having cut your hands off
and for having broken your knees.

The wounds caused by you will never heal in me,
however you will never hurt anyone afresh.

“So promise me only one thing, would you?
Just don’t ever make me promises.
No promises”

Something nice!

•November 3, 2013 • 2 Comments

I was organizing some papers – lie! I was looking for a document that I have no idea where I put it – and found a sheet of notebook paper inside a book. Why would I look for a document inside a book? Because I’ve already forgotten a cellphone inside the refrigerator. But that’s not the reason why I decided to no longer have a cell phone.

Anyway, it was written years ago. It’s a “poem” to a boy. I can’t remember the situation, but, fortunately, it’s written some little notes. I would take a picture if I had digital camera, but I just have the old ones, you know. Yes, I’m a bit old fashioned.

Why I showed him what I write? This was a stupid idea, [my real name]. Now he thinks I’m oddest than people say I am, and boring because he asked: “Have you ever tried to write something nice?” What does it mean? I told that I could try. This was a stupid answer. Do not allow it. Keep in mind: if the person doesn’t like what you write it’s because the person doesn’t like you. But I think he is right and I ain’t nice enough to write nice things.
To [his name]
I don’t wanna disappoint you, but I will.
You say you want me because you like me,
but, to me, what you feel is not real.
I don’t wanna hurt you, sorry if I am.
You are a very cool boy and we can still be friends.
What I want I’ll never find in you, it’s better you understand.
I don’t wanna hate you, so open your eyes.
We can’t stay together and live a life of lie.
I can try believe that what you feel is true, but I don’t feel the same for you.
I don’t wanna make you cry, it’s not my intention
The only thing I ask you is comprehension
and I hope it is not too difficult for you to accept.
* I showed him what I wrote. I thought about asking him: “Is it nice enough to you?”. I think it was good not have asked because I gave him the paper and he read and he gave me the paper back and he walked away. He stopped talking to me. Keep in mind: Do not show what you write to anyone and stay alone until the last day of your insignificant life.

I think , after reading my “poem”, you can understand the motive why I don’t write poems. Pathetic, isn’t it? Yes, it is, and silly.

Rereading my own words, I can realize that I haven’t changed my thoughts; I still think that I am not nice enough to write nice things, whatever it means; I still think that what I write shouldn’t be exposed, I just don’t know why I keep insisting on it, and I truly believe now that “stay alone until the last day of your insignificant life” was not so dramatic and wrong, because it is how I have been living…

But I won’t let this post decay because it is written “something nice” in the title. “Is it nice enough to you?” I guess I should have asked him. Now I would know what nice meant to him, or what means ‘something nice’.

Weekly Smile

•October 29, 2013 • 21 Comments

Spring came and spread a smell of news in the air, and some discrete smiles.

 Purple hair. My purple hair is back! Finally, I dyed my hair again. Half Purple (back) and half brown (front). I had to listen to some bad comments, but fuck it! I did it for me and to me. I like it and the hair is mine. Evil smiles!

 My mother trying to say foreign words.Really, maybe you can think it is something silly, but my mother speaking Yorkshire is hilarious. Not to mention revenge, beautiful… The list is a bit long!

 Flamengo, Bayern and Arsenal. Football not always bring smiles, so any good result is a reason to smile, celebrate, thank… And I can’t complain about their last results, even with the draw in Flamengo’s last match. Oh, nice drunk smiles!

 Musical Saturday. How not to smile with a whole day listening to Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash, New Order and Nouvelle Vague? Even if they are melancholic smiles, no matter; music is always a good company, when silence is too hard to bear.

 Busy days & Productive weeks. Yes, busy days make me smile shyly. I was consumed by empty days and, for now, they’re gone because inertia set me free.

Anxiety and nervousness walk by my side yet, uncertainties continue whispering in my ears, my cold hands shake and sweat stubbornly, my heart beats so accelerated that is hard to breath, even then, I get up and go out to face a place where I can feed myself with knowledge. That’s what has to be done. But I still have a constant internal battle to deal. Sometimes, I feel like going down, but no. Good things don’t happen in my existence often. Life doesn’t stop, doesn’t wait.
I know it. I also know that I still cannot feel hope running into my veins, but I can still sustain my bones. In the end of each day, my soul can smile in relief for feeling a little less useless.

Well, this is the summary of what brought me some smiles in a few weeks, just what I could remember.

Weekly Smile

 

“Sleep never comes to those who write”

•October 22, 2013 • 14 Comments

Go betray your eloquent kingdom
Before it desiccates the adjectives you derived from
Demons will awake to your innocence unbroken
Manipulate you to beautify life’s tragic tokens
Make heartbreak look more picturesque
Than the unsent letters beneath your desk.

Tie a noose around your brain and tightly secure
before your insecurities invade you , endure
the consequences of addictive writing
Insomnia can become rather inviting
When we’re the one you spill
about , you know the drill.

Eliminate the words broiling in your head
Donate an eight hour hug to your abandoned bed
You are incorrigible like modern love parades
Let your regrets free fall in cascades
Connect them to paper like an obsessive creep
Since people like us never get sleep.

Reblogged from Spirited Away

 

 

Reclusion

•October 4, 2013 • 12 Comments

Darling, give me your absence tonight
Take the shade from the canvas and leave me the white
Let me sink in the silence that echoes inside
And don’t bother leaving the light on
[...]
But don’t reach for me, I’m too far away
I don’t wanna talk ’cause there’s nothing left to say
So my
Darling, give me your absence tonight
Take all of your sympathy and leave it outside
‘Cause there’s no kind of loving that can make this all right

(The Child Is Gone – Fiona Apple)

Sometimes, strangely, the soul needs
absence – about words,
emptiness – about people,
silence – about external voices
In order to find strength to emerge from inertia,
leave the dark room with cold walls behind
and try one more time.

But, one day, the soul will get tired…

 

 

♠ Sorry

(Queen) Of Pain

♠ Oco

♠ Not Yet!

Dark Days

Minute of Decay

 

 

 

 

“When Inches Seem Like Miles”

•September 28, 2013 • 8 Comments

*

Feeling lonely in the marital bed,

When inches between you seem like a mile,

With last night’s scene, replaying through your head,

Those wounding words, so full of bitter bile,

Which were aimed at you, just like a weapon,

Knowing how much damage they would inflict,

It seems to happen more and more often,

A harmless comment leading to conflict,

Then his violent temper seems to erupt,

And those words from his mouth ceaselessly spew,

Just gets worse when you try and interrupt,

As he says things which are mean and untrue,

Belittling you as woman and wife,

And in drunken rage calling you a whore,

Blaming you for all the ills of his life,

Nothing you do seems to please anymore,

Feeling anxious in the marital bed,

Wondering how he became a stranger,

And how even his touch, you’ve come to dread,

Yet say nothing, lest you spark his anger.

*

♠ Half a World Away

 
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