What makes you stay around someone problematic? Someone who doesn't cease to piss you off and to dry your nearly non existent patience? It doesn't makes of you a bad friend for leaving anyone behind, especially if that person keeps on sticking in problems, after being warned way too many times. I don't repeat myself, when I speak of something serious.
I won't say the same thing twice, three times, a hundred fucking fuck times. Do you want to be and act like a moron? Do you want to have the cops riding the car slow after you on dark alleys, when they're a threat themselves? I really don't need any more excitement nor anymore danger in my life (not those I ask for, myself).If you want to be a moron, if you want to act stupid, if you wanna get the crap beaten out of yourself, then just go for it! Don't make others hang around more than once - and it's also my fault for accepting to hang around with you, the same way I reject her company. Go fuck yourselves…
Let me take this to a whole new level. I need it. You need it. "We all scream, ICE CREAM!"Oh, no. Wrong "singing"!Glue your hair. Grab firmly to something.
Close your eyes. Or look around.
Do you like the darkness within? Do you kiss it softly, with glimpses of a glimpse? Do you crave for the questions over your soul and existence itself? Do you ever speak to the night and you feel like you're being answered? Well, maybe you are! "The Theater Of Dusk" contains 13 short stories (I think some experts would call it "tales"), that'll leave you chasing something to the darkness. Now it's up to you, to unveil it or not. Are you brave enough? Lizbeth Gabriel Facebook page Lizbeth Gabriel blog Lizbeth Gabriel Twitter Any of those links will aid you to find more information about the author herself and even the book. Check out the author, check her work and remember to drop a rating and a review of the book.
Independent authors survive of w…
It all goes. It all goes down, from times to times.
I haven't written much here. I know, if I have nothing good to say, it's better left unsaid. But there is so much to be said. I just lack the words - the right words, I mean - to explain what goes and lies within my soul.
I like walking the streets at night. I love the daylight and seeing people passing by, I love the passing cars and all the life that city holds during the day... But the night is very special. While everyone sleeps, there are some people, and I am included in those people, who hang the streets. We're harmless, let alone some thugs, and just want to smoke our cigarettes, booze, chat, laugh out loud, go on swings like grown up kids. However, melancholy, nostalgia, whatever... However, it never vanishes. And our eyes are sad, even when we laugh out loud and light up a room with our inner light. Our souls are sad, no matter how hard we laugh, how easily a joke breaks us in cackles.
It's been a while. An…
Do you believe? But do you truly believe? Do you seek yourself in the dark sky of the city or in the starry sky of the country? Do you seek signs of who you are? Do you seek signs of where did you came from? Do you seek signs of the places where you've been, of where you've lived?
I overthink about nearly everything.
I think. And think again. And even if I don't take a single step to change, I think again. Stupid, useless and actually very sad, but I think and keep thinking and thinking again.
One of my latest and most recurrent thoughts is about this blog and it future. With this, I analyze the possibility to annihilate my Twitter and my Tumblr accounts, to start 'em over. What's the point? What's the fucking point? And still, I keep desiring such things and thinking about them. What will change with that? What will come my way by doing that, that hasn't come until now? The answer: nothing!
My life needs immediate changes and it'll only happen if I work my butt off to get all my effort paid. If not, Iit doesn't really matters how much I whine, and cry, and curse whatever is there to be cursed. Action attracts change, not being on inertia. I see time passing by. I realize how fast it's vanishing and yet I am stupidly enough to…
I've closed the other blog I owned. I mean it, the privacy settings on it allow only invited readers to it and I haven't invited anyone. Why? Well, first and foremost, it's my blog, my rules, my decision. Then, it came a time that the link, the blog title weren't exactly what I truly wanted. A joke (that at a certain time became offensive - and do not get me onto the same level of those Internet users who get offended even by the farts of Gods themselves! ) that made sense, times after, as my allowance to have people joking at me. A joke that I want dead and buried and that I have turned onto something new, on a new platform.
As for this very old blog... I thought about closing it too. I mean, years passed by since I have opened it, to share images to which I'd add somr phrases of my own. I got advised to write longer texts and I did so, after deleting those initial entries. In the meantime, more entries and images have been constantly deleted. I don't regret …
I should be drawing or editediting my diaries. It's been a while. It's been a while and things haven't been made in that time.
I feel lost, yet too comfortable in such a mess. Isn't this sad?
I light up another cigarette and the music of the Marchas Populares de Lisboa breaks the silence of the room.
I should be doing something. Instead, I smoke and slowly type these words on my mobile's screen.
I should be drawing. The paper and the pencil are right on my legs.
The diaries have been waiting for too long. I should be reading, choosing, cropping drawings to be sticked on a new diaries' pages.
The night melts away slowly. Hours drip away.
I choose the quietness of this room to the crowd in Lisbon. At a point, I would freak out.
I try to get focused. I am driven away by the rhythmic of the music. I turn my face aside.
I'm freaked out.
I'm freaked out about everything.
In the end, it doesn't really matters what you do nor how hard you try.
You don't care anymore, to tell the truth.
In the end, I'll stay quiet in a corner, running from such contacts with strangers, to try that people's attention lays on someone else.
I noticed, one more time, that I need to be left alone.
It won't work.
I won't stand anything.
We live and keep living. We meet and keep meeting.
There is nothing else than those quiet nights. Or agitated nights, when you feel the stress of danger. There is nothing else than the night.
We walk those streets. Talk and feel the night, feel highed, feel everything and nothing at all.
Go. Keep going. Keep fighting and struggle. Do not give up now. That's not an option. Not now. Not anymore. Keep going. Even if you don't allow yourself to feel, to love, keep going. Keep fighting. What you believe, keep believing, keep fighting for your beliefs. We've been made for that.
Our ultimate belief is that we gotta annihilate each others. And we keep fighting. We keep working on our own extinction.
Quiet night. And none of those phrases make sense. Do they?
"Why are you crying? " the man asked.
The little girl kept crying, under the pale moonlight, silently.
"Why are you crying?! " he then insisted.
"Because you're dead" the little girl said, with her face hidden between her hands. Then se proceeded: "you juat don't know yet!"
The man grabbed the little girl from the shoulder, with a face of incredulity, and yelled ferociously : "What did you said? "
The little girl turned to him, with a huge open jaw that had enormous fangs coming out and cuted the man's neck. He fell on the floor, with blood gushing as his body shaked, until the last drop of blood dripped. The little girl's big tongue became a small, normal girl's tongue in a nlrmal girl's face.
"I told you" she said, as she kicked the corpse before walking away and disappearing in the woods, "we were dead. You just didn't knew it"
I look around and it doesn't seems to really matters. It doesn't matters where you are from and what you have been through. Some people will always annoy you, under certain circumstances and be the best mates on the others. And you burn. And it all burns. In the end, you'll still be alone. I take glimpses at them. Some disgust me. Others annoy me. Then, one of the most annoying, becomes the most desired. Isn't it weird? Does it makes any sense to you, dear reader? If it doesn't, even better. No one really needs to know and I just need to spit my thoughts. I am alone in the night. I've been with so many different people tonight. I've been to so many different backgrounds in the last weeks and it still pleases me. I feel annoyed by my own wrong options, then again, I need to get back. It doesn't really matters in the end. Good night!
No one gives a damn.
No one knows either.
I feel the night passing by the music that I listen to, I feel the melancholy burning in my soul. One cigarette after the other. One thought, another one and even a third one. They race like maddened horses.
No one gives a damn.
No one even knows.
They see through me and some have even chosen to try it out. It wasn't in that night, but I an aware it'll happen. I am OK with that - the desire of one is the desire of another one. It harms me not. It kills me not.
They see through me. They don't see in me. They don't realize how deep my soul goes, they don't feel the madness in my heart, the sadness in my life.
People aren't aware.
I am not reflecting everything in me anymore.
I don't hide. I don't open the game up.
I live according to what I am, to what I feel. And it's something. It is a big something.
Do not test me. Do not test my patience. Despite my low patience, despite my sarcasm, I'm a nice guy. I can be a very good friend, even though I fail - people justify this with my humanity.
Do not test my good will.
I am aware of who you are for a very long time. You haven't fooled me that last time. I knew you was taking the money and not giving it back. However, do not keep asking for more - those €5 have been enough and do not text me with excuses (I see them as lies), do not text me asking me to pay you a coffee or you take the risk of getting a reply equal to the one I sent you right after: "I wanna see the day that you're paying me something".
You haven't replied.There is this other guy - he used to be a mutual friend. This other dude doesn't calls or texts as often as he used to.
This guy also had to learn that I am not to take only.Oh. And yesterday night. Cigarettes and coffee? How did I guessed that you too wouldn't be waiting for me for an…
There aren't too many words to be said. I search and keep on searching and yet it seems the answers are so far away. Or maybe, I'm just asking the wrong questions? I am searching for a reason to not to give up. No, I'm not suicidal. I am simply feeling like if things have a thing on going wrong. I know some of you out there feel the same at times. Maybe, you sit somewhere, or lay in the middle of nowhere and you look at the starry sky. Maybe, the moon is full and you admire the moonlight on the nocturnal fields. And everything seems on for a few days. I know this feeling too. I am at a point that I feel completely overwhelmed by the bad things that happen. They seem to come in pairs or three at a time. No time to cry. No time to rest. I am looking to my old diaries. I have been rewriting them, editing them. And by editing, I mean choosing the trash to be thrown away, that too personal to be recycled into new paper, to be burnt or to simply pretend it'd snowing, as I rip the…
I just had an idea what to write about and it just vanished from my mind. What a surprise.I should be sleeping by now. Some people are even waking up and I haven't even laid in the bed to sleep. How do I expect changes, when I am the first one pissing in any possibility of making them? It doesn't matters much by now - Sunday morning.I was on Tumblr a while ago. I look at certain Tumblrs - people share beautiful imagery of scenery, beautiful quotes, sad quotes, feelings of all kinds. Some share nearly explicit erotic photographies and then, on a second account, they make somewhat of a photohraphic diary of their lives. I suppose the same happens in any of their social utilities. It doesn't really matters.
I feel somewhat of lost. Frustrated at the feeling of not being capable of setting myself free of doubts of all kinds, of doing whatever I have to do, of doing whatever I feel like doing. I feel frustrated at what I see around, at what I feel like being capable of doiny an…
It's early in the morning. Near 7. I took both pictures at the door of my building, without flash. They turned the lights off, because of the change of hour. Ten minutes ago, it was raining and it was this dark. It's way clearer now.
The night has gone by with work. So much work. I don't complain - I like what I do and even the heavier work seems light to me.
I stayed in the cafe. My boss had some friends there and eventhough they keep asking me for their drinks, I am always invited to sit with them. Various topics are talked, discussed and the voice tone is increased sometimes. It's OK. To agree and to disagree, since everyone keeps up the respect of the other opinion (what doesn't always happens).
I see the beauty in moments like this. And in those rainy nights.
It's that time I close my eyes. And sleep.
It's time I leave the rain falling outside as I curl inside.
The night birds have possibly sung their songs - I heard them in the other night.
I am always wanting to do something. Too many things at the same time. I want to draw. Then I want to write. Oh, maybe I should craft something. And I end up with nothing done.
I know, I know. I should stick with priorities. But what are my greatest priorities at the moment? Getting a new daytime job. I have added the lacking details to my curriculum, so I am ready to order a few prints of it, to distribute them here and there, to e-mail them to some stores. Another of my priorities, perhaps the greatest one, is to live - and I keep living. I keep on trying and trying and trying. Isn't it enough? I try again!
My art... I do it when it has to be done. When I feel that the right time is there. For now, I am just back on re-writing my diaries. I think I can call it of editing, since there are lots of things thrown away. Years of moaning and groaning, writing three days in a row the same thing? I need to keep only what's important. Not everything is for one's eyes - not even m…
Back with something else.
I really haven't felt like listening to the other soundtrack whole. This music (and I'm mad enough to write a brand new entry, just because of the music).
There isn't much more to say.
The music was the reason of having me back.
The night is a cold place to be (I'm aware). It takes less than a night time to see things have changed. People have changed. Even their desires have changed - wait, have I see the same signs of you coming my way? And how many "yous" do I write about? I have planned on a quiet night at home. I'd write the letter I have to write for days. The mood isn't there; it's well known that I'm lazy too. I came to listen to something, as I write. I found this soundtrack on the suggestions (the owners of the channels where I listen some music from). I am liking it a lot, even though I am wanting to change to something more... classic, you know? There is a choir and it approaches to what I want to listen to. (I've been already called of "choir boy", for loving choirs so much) I had to write. And I write something. Here. Right over there. I long for the day where I'll stop worrying so much. I long for that day, when I won't fell the need to observe (…
.It seems it'll take me a million years to understand. It seems I won't live enough life's to understand what burns in my soul. I see time passing by. I walk away from people, for the simple reason that I am not feeling into enjoying company. I need to be on my own. I need to spend my days with my aunt or with my mum. I don't get what is this feeling, that drags me to the bottom. I don't get what is this feeling that makes me love them so much in one second and wanting to strangle them right after. But that's how I feel about my friends. And I haven't been in the best mood lately. Neither I want to murder any of them. So I walk away. And they "chase" me, they "hunt" my company before giving up one more time. No good night wishes at the café. My voice was barely heard and the dishes have been nearly thrown all night long. People got to know me in almost two years - maybe I "spit" my bad vibes all around and they feel it or maybe t…
I see nothing.
I feel nothing.
The birds sing at four in the morning - I thought I was going crazy, but the birds we're really singing.
She makes me happy. I feel happy for the times we talk to each other - others think I just wanna fuck them (or get fucked by them ). Fuck them all. Burn them all down.
Ideas flow in my mind and yet I won't write, I won't draw, I won't make the small things I want to and feel like to.
Ideas flow in my mind. Some would be unread, unseen. Others, would possibly delight the world.
I am back to reality. Reality bites. Everything bites.I know what you're made of - I guess I simply wanted to fool myself, young man.
I see you online, wandering the streets and you shit in my head, when I help you whenever I can, even taking the damage on my own budget.
You say nothing and keep on acting like shit.
I know how shitty you are. You don't surprise me. Not anymore.I remember looking at the night sky and seeing the lightning cutting it in two…
There is no such thing as unfortunate numbers. Like 27.
People die at the age they have to die. It just happened that a certain unfortunate group of young people, living dangerously on a borderline, had the end of their lives at that age. Blame their options, not the numbers.