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.

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

It hasn't been a good night (it's been a while)

I have written a bit tonight. Right at the beginning of the day, here I am, still awaken and putting some words down in my blogs.
It has been a while. My soul hasn't been properly into writing, lately. There have been too many things going on, especially through the last year, that one we barely left behind and almost one month has gone.
Yesterday, hasn't been exactly a good day. I woke up in a bad mood. I have written about this already, on another blogs, but it would have been my grand dad's birthday, if he was alive. A happy and remarkable day for me, until it was replaced by the emptiness of his death, back in 2010. When these days pass by, I always catch myself wondering if this is what life has to give us: a bit of joy, a bit of satisfaction, but then... Nothing else, but death, emptiness, sadness... We have some happy moments, but that's all about: little happy moments, until they're taken from us, as a child's taken from his mother's arms.
I get myself wondering quite often. I get myself with not so happy thoughts, through times and through moments that should be of joy and of contentment.

It got suddenly cold outside. The not so cold Winter, finally got the real cold bitch it is and I can't complain, because I love it. I hate getting pain in my hands, due to the cold, but I love the comfort of extra clothes, the cold breeze in my face, the humidity everywhere, the rain (if it rains) falling madly, the crowd of umbrellas, through the which it gets really hard to surpass at times.
My mood decreases as the seasons changes or as the weather changes as well. But not due to the increase of cold. And the increase of cold makes me wish to go outside, sit somewhere and to smoke a joint. I could spend hours sitting on that special place, seeing the open sky of the city, seeing what the altitude allows me to see, as the palace in the top of the hill, the land full of city lights, or simply the contrast in the horizon, of the sky and the city fighting for their domain. With this cold, Cabo da Roca is another tempting destination, where you see nothing but black: black sky having sexual affairs with the black sea, the light of the lighthouse disappearing in the blackness of the night and the sound of the ocean down there (how many souls live down there, due to the ones who killes themselves there? Or due to those who have been idiots enough to surpass the Security barriers and have been unfortunate enough to fall down there, on the rocks? Once again, calling on the past, we've been idiots to go there on excessive speed, through the curves of the night road, then to sit outside the wall, with the ocean down there, smoking joints. We were young and stupid, but we're fortunate to be all alive, each to their corner and lives. )

I have also had a "visit" at the cafe. I know, darling, I know, everytime I think about you, you'll show up. It's the cosmic magnet, like I said to that sweet and young boy.
It has been a while since I have seen you (seeing your dark car in the middle of the night and seeing your acceleration, to call on my attention, doesn't counts as seeing you)! It's been a while since my feelings got all messed up in my stomach, since I have got this madness of seeing you, of feeling you so close... And although we've basically ignored each other, I have felt. I have felt it so deeply in my guts, that it was almost as if you have penetrated meand hitted me in the bottom of being a bottom. I think you feel for me too, although not this bad.
I remember that night we went to that bar. A big group  and I saw your car ahead in the road, with the high speed natural in you. I have been so close to you, on the madness of the alcohol and of the weed, that I craved that you've asked me to sleep with you. I would've said "yes", although I never sleep outside my own house.
It's enough. It's fucking enough - I love you, the same way you'll never ever love me. And it's enough being this decadent, weeping for a stupid love that existed for me only, while you've been honest enough to say you were into sex only. Poor idiot and innocent me, craving love more than anything at the time. It's enough of bringing down all those miseries, that lay in my diaries and that are the very few parts that'll possibly remain in their entirety. The same with all those poems, that are almost 2000 poems and quite possibly, half of them are for you.
It's enough.

It hasn't been exactly a good day. Nor a good night.
It begun with a fight at the cafe door, then pornography (homosexual porn), then music and finally writing down, because I am not well enough to let go of this without putting a finger in the wound and testing my ability to survive one more time.
It begun with way too much crap and ends up nearly in the morning, with me writing a lot and having to go to bed, before my mother wakes up (her alarm just started ringing) and starts yelling at me.

It hasn't been a good night. But it's time to finish it up.

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Never enough

I have been searching for something. I am always searching for something, I am always looking for something, eventhough it seems I am never able to find what I am looking for. It doesn't matters!

It has been a while since I have written anything here. And eventhough I am trying to put some lines on here, I am still not sure of what I want to write about. I have started a new blog, last year, that has been deleted and restarted. Doesn't it sounds crazy? It's there and I try to write something daily and I never cease to amaze myself on the amount of shit I write. And yes, it is literal shit, although the users of the same platform say that they love my writings, that they can feel what I feel, that they can feel their own life and their own thoughts in my words. However, it's not enough. It' never enough.

I can't stop thinking about that time that I have decided to edit my diaries - they have had too many pages and lines and thoughts thrown to the garbage. There are stuffs that I'd hate to feel on someone's eyes. I only regret the fact that a few chapters of my life have been thrown in the garbage, but about the rest... better safe than sorry. The same goes with my blog - I used to have nudes and, sometimes, explicit sexual imagery in this blog. I have decided to delete them, to delete some entries and things haven't properly gone the best way, nor even the way I have imagined them. I need to get back to edit this blog, to edit my diaries and my poetry. But I need to answer the letters I have sitting there, to add a few more lines and some sorry cards, that I'll craft later on. I need to do so many things, but I prefer doing anything else.
You are right, darling, it's all a matter of priorities.

It has been a while since I have written here. It has been a while. I have been choosing other paths, other ways. And although it feels good and right, I can also feel a bit of guilt. Oh well... I suppose it'll never be good eno