Saturday, August 12, 2017

I should be less of a bitch

I know, I know. I should be less of a bitchy guy, but what to do?
I know that I am using a dating app, however I have nothing there that tells I am looking for something. People are annoying in the real world and they can be more annoying in the virtual world - in the end, I just want to look at endless profiles and look at endless opportunities that I could take if I were open to that.
I am not.
People bother me even more, the more time passes by. People annoy me and my great desire to move to the countryside, where the possibility to see anyone decreases with the arrival of winter. I want to move to my grand dad's house (he passed away almost seven years ago) and live here for the rest of my life - since I was a little kid I have wanted to and the desire to do so only increases, the more life passes by and the more I deal with people.
I know that I should allow them to come close, but I even want to move to this tiny little place, far from nearly everything and everyone, as I have already mentioned, to even walk away from people I could consider of friends - and some friends have shown me that they weren't such good friends, in the past month and a half.
I know... I am aware that perhaps I shouldn't join to such apps and websites, but it's always funny to see them in pictures that only portray a little frame of their pathetic existence.
In the end, I fear I'll end up stuck in a city I hate, surrounded by people that I hate or despise, dealing with stuffs that I consider unnecessary. And sadly, some other people end up "messed up" with the mess of others.
I know. I should be less of a bitch. But hey!, it's only me being myself. I cannot change that, as I don't want to change that and I will not apologise for being myself.

Monday, May 29, 2017

I stand still

My mind was running crazy, while I was in the shower. Perhaps, not crazy in the sense people who know me could think, but still...
My mind and my soul are full of wonders. Longings, desires, incomplete phrases. The same way that our souls are shaped with everything we get throughout our living time, the same way our soul gets the tombs of those corpses we get throughout our very same existence, the same way we choose to carry such wounds, my mind got filled with wonders and wonderful treasures, feeding and keeping a huge empire. Through the times of my life, some tried to steal my treasures, some.others tried to destroy my empire... but I stand still.

Tuesday, March 07, 2017

I am not good at bringing any news. I am not good ant making comments to what is happening around the globe. I am not good at talking about religion, neither politics. So I stick with making words related to my soul, to my thoughts, to my feelings.
I am far from being OK. I mean, I am not hungry, I am not sick, but... My poor soul. My poor soul who feels this little too much, who goes down on the dark core of those thoughts (yes, yes, I know, over thinking doesn't helps). My poor who feels pleased to swim on the darkest and dirtiest swamps within the forests, within itself. Poor soul who enjoys a little bit too much to dance naked and alone, around a bonfire, almost as a ritual of witchcraft.
I know. There are countless ways to surpass this: seek help, talk to someone, go out for a walk or for a run, go out and meet with friends. Go away. Just go away and leave me alone. And I'll be fine - or maybe not.
I have been really melancholic and gloomy in thoughts in the later times. Luckily, it served the purpose to restart doing stuffs that should have been done a long, long time ago.
Who knows? Who cares?

Saturday, February 18, 2017

What's wrong with me?

What is wrong with me? What's wrong with how I am feeling? What's wrong with me tonight? 
My soul aches, in many different ways possible, but I still don't know why. I still have no idea what brings me to such a mood, what makes me stop in the darkest corners of my mind and of my soul, staying there and touching those old ghosts, embracing them with dry, yet painful, eyes.
From times to times, I come back to such doubts, to such pain, to such desires. I'll go to the window, after writing this text, I'll light up a cigarette and look to the same old buildings, the same old starry sky, full of the same old doubts, full of the same old bullshit. I know it's pretty useless, because things won't change, unless I try it hard to make such changes happen. 
OK. OK. I feel like I'm not making sense.
I feel. Therefore, I think and I think a lot. Too much. It can be overwhelming, the way those feelings affect me.
I feel. And what I feel is painful. So much of what I feel, I have felt it during most of my life. Some of the stuffs that I feel is stupid futility, others are thoughts about myself, my life, my options. I feel things I don't understand and I don't deal very well with not knowing what is hurting me this much.
I could harm myself. Or I could draw. I've done both. But this time, I write. I write non sense, without any order. I write about people, that may be real or imaginary...

Then comes a time that I feel pretty ridiculous. And there aren't many ways to let go of your feelings, when the things you used to do aren't part of your life anymore, if you don't feel clean after writing, when self harming isn't obviously an answer, when the thoughts won't stop and you can't let go of them either, neither you can go outside and walk the streets of the city. There aren't many ways to escape, when there's nothing good left and all you can see are ugly faces all around you. And, c'mon, by ugly... let's call it ugly souls. Everyone's so full of shit, everyone is so full of lied and there aren't many good people left out there.
I want to shut all those thoughts and lock all those feelings. And it feels impossible tonight.
I cannot hide the face of disappointment. And it all turns black. 

Sunday, February 12, 2017

Unexpected

I didn't expected that. Neither your sudden appearance, nor your proposal to smoke a joint. Through that experience, I did not expected your excitement for smoking with me. I didn't expected either our conversation. Your questions. Or even your words, your sweet, kind words, trying to make me feel good.
I didn't expected, buddy, that it turned out to be such a spiritual thing without entering on spiritual levels. And yet, you've made it. You've gone deep within my thoughts, my beliefs, touching on issues that I am always avoiding. For the very first time in a long time, you've asked questions that left me uncomfortable, that made me think what would have I chosen on different days, you've made me think... Think on so many things, that I avoid to think on.
It's been messing with me. It's been messing with my mind. And although it's good that I am forced to think and to feel uncomfortable until it becomes comfortable again, it's not good on my poor and limited perception of my own and poor feelings.
Thank you.

Friday, February 10, 2017

I keep running. I keep hiding.

I'm still running. I'm still hiding.
There are no reasons to run away, there are no reasons to hide, but I still do so.
One. Two. Three. I look away and there's nothing I can see.
I'm still running away. I'm still hiding away. And while I run, and while I hide, I look for the immense danger, I look for the immense adrenaline. I want him, one more time; him, who have had the pleasure of my body; him, who after pissing me off and making me telling him to stop and forced me to take him inside of me. I want to feel him, one more time... two more times... I want to feel and the lust and the madness of a full moon howling, in the streets of the city.
I walk down the dark and cold streets (I'm glad that I've mentioned them) and I look back, after listening to what seemed like a weep. Cats fighting or breeding a few more of them. They make strange noises, in the dark and cold streets, while they face each others. And I look back, because it might be the killer that I look for at times, while hunting down the danger and the adrenaline, of a dark alley. A wet, dark alley, that has the smell of piss, where a dark man takes me away from myself.
I keep running and I keep hiding, while I expose myself right in front of their eyes. 
I keep running. I keep hiding.
While young thugs piss me off and their shirty conversation feels like imminent rape. 
I keep doing something else. And running. And hiding.

Tuesday, February 07, 2017

Your (still) poetry!

I see you're still there. I see you still choose to write your poetry and throw your beautiful soul to the fire, as they dance around the essence, as they dance around such fire.
I hope they keep coming. And while they do, I know you are alive and that you're still feeling. And that's a sign. That's a good sign.
Thank you so much, Ayujaded!!

Sunday, February 05, 2017

Too much drama, madness and the need to enjoy myself

It doesn't matters where else do I write. It doesn't really matters where else have I written before - for a long time, I have been writing here, on this blog and this has been said, by myself, as being my origin as a writer of blogs. It's not my intention to be famous. It has never been. I have always written to myself, for myself and no one else.
I have a blog in Portuguese, that came as a joke of a friend of mine and it feels really good and really therapeutic to write in my mother language. However, it doesn't feels enough. It's never enough and after a few years of writing there, I have decided to get myself another blog, on a Portuguese blogging platform. There, I came to see some neat blogs and it's a pleasure to read what some people have to say. There, I came to see some bloggers to which I feel connected, because of the darkness within them (e já não me sinto tão só! ). Also there, I came across some drama, of so called bloggers who seem to have nothing else to do, but to attack and offend others. And this is something big, that drags onto too many other blogs and there is/are always the protagonist(s) on such attacks. I won't stop reading or commenting the blogs I like to read or the texts I feel I'd like to comment, because something awakened the urge in me, just because of some morons. On the other hand, I will not allow such drama and negativity to come across my blogs, by opening the access to the comment sections for everyone to read.
I haven't slept. It's almost lunch time and I still in bed, as it's Sunday. I have in the cafe until it were four in the morning, I went to the gas station to have a coffee and then I came home. My boss called me, because he went to the gas station with the dude whom he left the cafe with, to meet me, but I have already left. Then, my night was spent checking blogs, through the section of comments, following some authors of blogs, reading here and there and doing the same with the comments. For the sake of my sanity, I need to see other souls, to read them, to absorb them. For the sake of my sanity, I need to step back from the drama, even if I am reading authors who are attacked. For the sake of my sanity, I need to write as much as I want, divided in as many posts as it's necessary, just because it's my blog and it's my mind.
I don't ask people to read me. If they don't want to, I won't oblige them. In the past, as a younger guy, I used to ask people to read what I had to say, to give me their opinions, but that's not necessary nowadays. I write because I want to write and I feel that if I don't escape somehow, I'll go nuts. And if I go nuts, who knows what might happen? I have done so many stupid things and even recently I have suffered the consequences of stupid actions. And I need to stop myself from being so stupid again.
The night has been a mixture of funny and overwhelming. It's also been one of those nights that I feel that I could have had a better ending for it, but... well, I am happy that I've done it safely to home, that I have spent it in my bed, reading, checking future reading places, enjoying my lone time. I am choosing to stay at home and enjoy myself, enjoy my time, enjoy myself; it doesn't matters how crazy it sounds to others, but I am much happier in my corner, than I have been hanging the streets.
There are people out there, hanging the same streets that I do, who are worth my time and energy, but I haven't seen some of them in a while. Or those who I have seen recently, seem to be busy or with other plans, so I stay at home and enjoy myself.
It might be crazy, but I am just being myself.

Sunday, January 29, 2017

Photographs and what nots

I used to love to photograph stuffs. Even with the weakest of the cameras, I uses to hold some memories so close to the screen of a computer or so close as to a physical photography. I don't photograph that much nowadays. In a world where everyone has a camera in their phones, it feels strange and awkward to start photographing the world or even the people around me. Or maybe, I don't have the right people around me to photograph people. Or the surroundings aren't exactly the ones I'd like to have in a memory.
During my life, I also used to make some X-rated photographs and videos of myself. Nowadays, whenever a picture of that is taken for "sexting" or even for a special thing, I get those pictures deleted. Don't ask me why, especially with so many males (and even females), who keep those kinda pictures on their phones, on their Twitters or Tumblrs, but if feels awkward, the same exact way it feels awkward to photograph the world around me.
I have no idea, if it's of me, if it's because I've grown onto a weird adult man, if it's because I came to any kind of strange conclusion that I'm not worthy to be kept on photographs, the world or the people aren't worthy. Yet, after getting those pictures deleted (all of them, not only the x-rated ones), on purpose or accidentally, I always feel bad. After deleting or losing them, I feel like I have lost a part of me - in the same exact way that I feel anytime I remember all the old drawings that I decided I should get rid of.
I feel like I have lost myself along the way and it isn't only because of my drawings, because of my pictures, because of the deleted blog entries or even the images collected on the web and shared here, on a glimpse of self-shame. I feel that with all this, I've thrown part of myself away, because I was lost, because I am still lost and I am constantly trying to find myself out on glimpses of myself and of my shame.

Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. I've assassinated a man. I've committed suicide countless times.