Angel Alucard

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 ...

Voltei. Ao espaço que larguei. Ao título que matara. Voltei. Às ruas que amei. Às esquinas onde morri sempre um pouco mais. Voltei. Aos risos infelizes e aos olhares distantes. Ao ataque. Voltei. À distância e ao desprezo. Ao Bitch que me chamam. À minha mostra de sentir. Voltei a procurar aconselhamento aqui e ali. Voltei a querer saber opiniões. Voltei a fazer o que amo. Voltei à musica de sonho. À verdade que quis esquecer. Hoje estou mais tranquilo. Esqueci o arrependimento. Hoje estou mais eu. Hoje sou mais eu. E isso é bom. Isso é muito bom.

Talvez tenha sido um erro apagar um blog alternativo em prol deste. Talvez o erro seja querer privatizar este mesmo blog, para que ninguém lhe aceda, enveredando, então, pelo caminho de que quis afastar-me. Talvez, o maior erro seja questionar-me constantemente. Quem sabe qual é o erro?

Acham que uma palavrinha bonita faz esquecer uma quebra de confiança. As pessoas assumem que isso é quanto baste e não chegam a entender que, mesmo que estejas ali, o desprezo que lhes foi ganho será predominante. As pessoas assumem que uma quebra de confiança se resolve com essas palavrinhas bonitas, mas não entendem que as desculpas não se pedem, evitam-se.

Ando às voltas com os pensamentos. Com os planos. A pornografia não ajuda muito a ser concreto. Ajuda a passar o tempo. A tirar ideias. Assim é com tudo, como se resume toda a minha vida: à procura de ajudas para passar o tempo, por não saber o que fazer com ele, a tirar ideias que nunca são postas em práctica.

Tomei a iniciativa de apagar um outro blog que tinha criado. Tenho várias ideias, para o que fazer com um ou dois blogs que possam "nascer e florescer". Contudo, estes serão os únicos que quero associados ao meu email.

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 ri...

 Já tinha escrito um texto sobre este livro. Não aqui, mas num blog que foi eliminado entretanto, pelo que decidi-me a escrever algo de novo. Lizbeth Gabriel  lançou o seu livro independentemente. Um livro que não serve para todos os leitores, pois requer empatia, compreensão para com a treva na alma de cada um (ou da própria alma), abertura de mente para entender que nem tudo é o que aparenta, a níveis muito mais interiores, que o físico. Lizbeth escreve sobre morte, trevas, mentira e consciência limpa. Escreve sobre o mais íntimo das almas negras. Escreve sobre o desconfortável, sobre a solidão. Lizbeth escreve muito e bem. Acontece que ela precisa de vendas. Além de vender o livro, ela precisa de alguém que, ao ler e sentir, queira dar uma opinião e classificar o livro e a leitura. Se carregarem no nome com letras diferentes, irão ter ao blog dela e, ela melhor que ninguém, explicará a sua situação. Façam um favor a vocês mesmos, se gostam de leitura negra, se gostam de mex...

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 doin...

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...

Ando a querer ver filmes. Sem serem os que passam na televisão. Sei que há uns quantos disponíveis no youtube. Aqueles que eu quero ver. Mas entretenho-me com outras coisas. O tumblr. Escrever cartas. Reescrever os meus diários. O tempo é pouco para quem muito quer e, na verdade, pouco faz.

Eu quero dizer a verdade. O que penso. O que imagino. Mas isso, não será, não poderá ser aqui. Ainda que esteja a distanciar-me do pensamento e do julgamento dos demais, não é para is vossos olhos todos o meu pensamento pérfido. A sordidez da minha imaginação terá público, mas não serão vocês. Imagine-se. (Tinhas razão, E.)

Comentaste que não era assim que imaginavas o blog. Devo utilizá-lo para actualizar o "meu estado", cuspindo verdades atrás de verdades?

Deves pensar que eu sou otário - só quando quero, especialmente depois de já ter percebido a realidade há muito. Procura outro. Não contes comigo.

Entendo que este súbito afastamento - não atendo chamadas, não respondo a mensagens, não saio de casa senão para trabalhar - possa causar desconforto em quem me procura (especialmente, sem ter outras companhias), mas não me apetece. Não me apetece ver ninguém, senão aqueles que sou obrigado a ver; não me apetece falar com ninguém, senão com aqueles com quem sou obrigado a falar; não me apetece andar na rua ao frio. Quero paz, sossego e distância.

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 ...

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.

Às vezes, gostava que as coisas fossem fáceis de entender - tal como as pessoas. Noto que falta muita transparência, mas nem eu o sou. Como posso exigir o que não ofereço? Hajam noites. Haja vida e saúde. Devia ser quanto baste, mas tenho que arranjar sempre motivos para tudo. Paranóia,  sabem? Gostava que as coisas - e as pessoas - voltassem a ser simples. Talvez seja eu que tenha que simplificar.

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 obse...

. 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 may...

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 cuttin...

Não interessa se escrevo aqui ou noutro sítio qualquer, dedicado aos meus sentimentos. Interessa que eu escreva. Interessa que eu desenhe. Tudo o mais, são idiotices.