I went to do some necessary shoppings. It rains hard outside and the river near my house is almost dropping out. The wild ducks found safety on the grass.
I hate to walk in seas of umbrellas - don't get me wrong, I love the rain and rainy days, both to walk outside and to stay at home doing anything pleasant enough for, I just hate have to walk a bit more slowly due to some people who seem to be naturally slow.
Almost one month has passed by since a friend of purs has died and that has been the hell of a quick month. In the meantime, my mother has fell on her job and have had to stay at home since then. My mental sanity hasn't been the best, but I am putting an effort on staying well. I have been doing the somewhat of my part-time job in the cafe where I used to be a regular costumer for the last almost eight years (8 years?! Ha! I'm getting old here, peeps).
The last times have been rough ones for my writings and for my drawings - yes, I am drawing again! I try, I start writing a few new lines, but then it unpleases me. Even now, sitting on a barely empty cafe, it's gets hard, as new person I know arrives and greets me or a random costumer here asks me for the newspaper lyin by my side in the table. I am typing, putting an effort into it, though. I am not allowed many more mistakes or failures. From now on, I am only allowed the sucess and I not succeeding.
My mood hasn't been the best, but I have learned to keep to myself what I feel or think. Even when Death (Oh! Great Glorious, thou shalt keep me 'till they're passed away) crosses my mind, I keep shut and quiet within me. I write about it and that's it. More than putting an effort on writing, I also need to put such effort on what type of writings do I want to do - people shall not know my more sensitive side, my greatest desires.
A sea of umbrellas is outside and I am working on getting brave enough to cross it again. Back home. Later on, I'll have to return here to have a bica (a portuguese name for coffee, expresso) and to work and that'll be more than enough for me. I am getting too tired of some lifestyles of my own and that's why I am working towards a change - night walks under the rain aren't that usual now; night walks without a destinations, only with my instinct driving me, aren't usual anymore; staying around with people who continuosly bother me, who continuosly annoy me, just to have some company and stay outside my house for a few more hours... that's no longer happening. I have been cutting off with some friends who were constant sources of problems and irritations, friends who mattered not with me, the way I worried about them. I have been cuttng off with those who smiled at me, but who were constantly speaking about me on my back (one of them, only would call me when no one else were around around and that has been the giy who pointed that to me. He also said that I was a bad influence and that people should stop hanging around with me).
I am tired of shit. I am tired of shitty people and I am just up to keep close those who I can count on, the same exact way they can count on me. I am up to keep close those who are real friends and not occasional companies.
A sea of umbrellas and a rainy day.
I have been thinking on spending a little money buying a small notebook - I know, I haven't written, but just to be sure... but that's a whortless thought, as quite possibly I will keep the money and the notebook will stay on the shop's shelf.
I am running to the edge of the world. Running to a very lonely place, where there is no one to look at, no one to talk to.
I am crossing the line of boredom and apathy. It matters not. Not anymore. People can't see the pain hiding behind my eyes. People can't understand my actions. It matters not. I am running to the edge of the world... alone! All alone!
I am the pain of lonelines and the loneliless in pain. Who am I?! What the fuck am I?! Nothing, but ash and dust; nothing but dust and ash.
I have been struggling with my feelings and with my need to write / type anything down. It took my almost one month to face the reality of the death of a friend (I cried when I got the new, I have cried in the funeral, but not I am realizing that I'll never ever see him again). It took me a lot of struggling to be able to sit down, quiet and peacefully, listening to my precious artists (or to some of them) and to finally managing to write down anything. It took me so much pain and despair and even later on, I don't have any guarantee that I will be able to write any poem or anything at all.
I am running to the edge of the world. And the edge of the worl is a very lonely place. It's even lonelier when we choose our own loneliness.
Let me vanish in the night and to sing my sad lullabies.
I'll turn into the God I dreamed I was. Once in a while, they're still living and praying in front of old temples and statues. Once in a while, they're still looking for my comfort. The same comfort that I am unable to give to myself. But, once in a while, they're still seeking for my own despair. They want as much pain and despair as they can get, so that they can get the feeling of being alive. This is kind of a very masochist way of living, but that is what I do to myself. Why would be my characters any different of me?!
And my poetry?! What about the feelings I continuosly say that I despise, such as love, but I keep writing about them?! May this be what I am unconsciously seeking?!
I am running to the edge of the world. I am vanishing. I feel lost and trapped on a very evil and twisted game. Maybe, somewhere in this cosmos or in any other dimension, a very, very mean God is playing twisted games, testing His Holy colours or pens.
I am running to the edge of the world and soon I might fall into the great and dark abyss.
[...]All I see are signs, all I see are Dollar signs [...] Rihanna "Pour It Up"
I have "faced" a message on FetLife from a user who felt offended by my comment to his picture of his BMW car. He said that it was quite offensive to say that it's not needed to be rich or wealthy to have a car alike. It is an high maintenance car, so yes, it's needed to be wealthy or luxurious.
About the other part of the message, that he does respects my (homo)sexuality but that he doesn't takes any compliments from men. I need to ask why is he on a Fetish website, with his pictures unlocked for everyone to see. He and countless other guys who are around here and keep saying that they don't want comments from men. It is quite easy to lock your pictures for your friends only to see or comment on your pictures. In fact, it's easier than on Facebook, more effective and even faster. There's surely the reason that you don't want to lose the ladies comments and understand that... just do not complain when you are showing off to the world and then receive any kind of comments from men or from people who love the same brand of cars but that aren't wealthy enough to afford to buy and to maintain them.
This serves the purpose oly to entertain my mind and to avoid to reply to such message, that has been deleted right away.
To some people, it's hard to understand others' lives. It's not their business, but they keep fussin around, trying to know what's going on, what others are doing and why. I am always affraid and ashamed at some parts of my personality: I get nasty and kinky from times to times, I "hang" around some websites that if some people could see them, would judge, criticize and speak the shit out of their mouths.
Shit out your brain and leave empty your skulls: they'll be the ornamentations of my dungeons. Speak all the shit you have to speak, as you try to figure out what I am typing about, I don't care. For 20 people who judge and criticize me and my life, there's one person in my life, loving me for being who I am, exactly the way I am and those are the people who really matter.
Why am I writing such entry? Maybe because I am no longer on FetLife with this same nickname (AngelAlucard) and maybe because I am wearing the nickname of porn and disgrace that I've proposed to myself for porn. For every line of gay erotica and porn-aphernalia that I've typed and that I've deleted later, thinking on what woul the others think and say. I have never been the kind of person to worry too much on what others would say or think, so why would this matter now??