in which the lion still asked for bravery
and the tin man was still in need of a heart
but the wicked witch in disguise
turned the scarecrow into dust
and granted them both with more brains
that were sure to ruin their lives.
once the wizard was freed
and the munchkin court ordered her gone
in this version of the story
it would be too late -
the damage would be already done.
a sad ending was reserved
for animal and machine
(metal and flesh?, blood and gears?)
but they were yet to find that out.
the tin man would never know
to just love and be loved in return
and the lion would never trust
the instict of greatness that enveloped his soul
for they both had known a rational mind
for they both thought too much now.
and lyman frank baum.)
also, dorothty cried.
quinta-feira, 11 de dezembro de 2014
terça-feira, 2 de dezembro de 2014
Most of the time, I don't feel like talking is actually my thing. Spoken words - it's an art I've never been well-versed in, not really. I struggle with them as I ramble, babble, aiming for that one perfect remark, the next oh-so-interesting topic, any way to make the conversation less restrained, less awkward and flow perfectly like we're in a movie... but no one ever tells you how wrong you are when suddenly you realize you must be the only one who sucks at this in the whole wide world. No one ever reassures you that no, no one's really got the hang of this and we're all actually just pretending we're awesome at this communication thing, I mean... no one really knows how to do it, you kidding me?, no worries, we're all dorks too, just chill, wanna a coffee anyways?
Funny thing is, we're all so encouraged to talk so much about everything, tell each other everything, banalities as they might be, but we never really get around to discuss what's really important, do we? Why is that? (Oh, that's right, talking things through SUCKS.) Well, at least, what I find to be an important thing to work on whenever bonding with someone would be how to be comfortable around them and how to make them feel the same way about you. That's it. Simple as that. It's #1 in my priority list, more than knowing someone's life inside out. I just wanna know what makes you tick - and we'll go from here.
Oh, I don't know.
quarta-feira, 26 de novembro de 2014
but a flower is just a flower
no hard feelings, just the truth.
it will never run a mile
hear or sigh upon your laughter
it wont stay with us till morning
talking nonsense to the moon.
amnesiac storyteller -
she surely knows a world of her own.
it wont rembember when you held it
(the chosen one among the field)
but it felt your hands trembling
(and thats how i felt too)
the way you put it in my hair
(even though i couldnt have known)
then whispered words the wind would listen;
but the flower remained
and you were gone.
the thing about the flower, though
is that is has no recollection of your smile.
but then the flower was all i had left
and then not even that.
i couldnt look at another lilac, darling
i couldnt forgive the world for a while.
forgetful little things, i learned
are still beautiful, nonetheless -
i understood that clearly, with time
and i see daisies again now.
synesthetic eyeless bliss, the bitch.
you both left me way too soon.
a flower may be just a flower
but i cant wait for it to bloom.
sábado, 3 de maio de 2014
There are two boys whose names begin with the letter D and that could be just a coincidence, but I choose to believe the universe rarely is so lazy. Those boys do not know each other. One of them is a blue eyed brunette and the other one is green eyed dirty blonde. You might know them. They both wear leather.
That isn't the special part, though. What makes those boys unique to the rest is that, to us, they matter. More than any random David or Dylan or Derek, those D names invoke meaning, a spark of fond memories, dark memories, history, a bond. They could be anyone, but they're the ones we love - and love could never be any something, love is actually every something.
The similarities between them stop right there... or do they? I've got parallels coming out of my ears, but let's say I do not. Let's say they are completely set apart from each other from the second letter of their names and so on.
Still it matters to you and it matters to me and that's reason enough for both of us to care. D could be a dinosaur... and if I knew you were into that sort of thing, I could research them overnight and tell you now I know that its average life spam was from 75 to 300 years old and how interesting is that. D could be a dragon... and if I knew you liked fairy tales that much, I would read you one about a distant land no one's ever heard about because it hasn't yet been written by men, and how about that for creativity time. D could be a dozen different things... but as it is just one - or rather, two -, this is what I chose to talk about.
I chose to talk about D things that matter; pun absolutely intended. And if you'd read Richard Siken, you'd know why I fuss so much about it; just saying.
There are two boys, and one of them won't tell the world that he cares, because it wouldn't believe him. There are two boys, and this one thought he's known love, but he didn't, not really, not until he's met her. This boy made his way through the darkness by welcoming it as his home, a refuge he could always go back to whenever it all got too much. This boy shies away in the face of commitment and shields himself from any acts of kindness shown to him by a good heart - a heart that towards him, feels love and only love, nonetheless; because he can't take it. Thank you very much, but save the effort. Save your breath. This boy won't let her tell him that she loves him because he knows that even her couldn't possibly save him from the monster within.
There are two boys, and the other one won't tell the world he doesn't care, because it needs him. There are two boys, and this one has known love all his life, but that is the same reason why he's scared. This boy made his way around by kicking and screaming, putting on a smirk and living for the day, never letting the nightmares that haunt him at night follow him into the morning's light. This boy has the beating of his heart tattooed with a single name, a knife in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. He breathes, three letters in, three letters out; a hand kills, the other drinks. Repeat. He knows simplicity and that is the life he leads. He only wishes it knew him as well. This boy is afraid he's not loved in return by the name in his heart because he knows monsters don't deserve to be saved.
Two boys, different lives, one problem, after all.
But one could also argue that the universe is, in fact, lazy, for we give meaning to what suits us best, and forget all the rest that doesn't fit in. Isn't that right?
All the universe does is make. We are the ones who interpret, who twist and play. Where would all the fun be if that wasn't how we roll? Oh, don't get me wrong when I say the universe isn't lazy - 'cause it might even do all the dirty work... but without us, it'd be lost... the boys wouldn't even exist and their names wouldn't be words.
And it wouldn't matter at all.
Take these two other boys, for instance, whose names begin with the letter S.
One of them doesn't actually matter, like the lifeless universe we speculated above... while the other one means a lot. Quite a lot. Like the universe knew what it was doing when it first drew the letter S. If one matters without the other, it can't be a comparison at all, except in itself, and the metaphor is long lost, for the same reasons above. Bad universe? Bad us, for we couldn't find it, therefore we failed. But not all metaphors are beautiful and worth looking for - this isn't one. Thankfully, you'd say.
These boys don't have much in common apart from really great hair. Neither do these boys know each other, by the way, if anyone would care. The universe doesn't play with them because their balance isn't correct. Can there be any balance if one means everything the other could not be?, I wonder. Here we have two boys whose names begin with the letter S, like any Stephen, Scott or Shane, and it won't ever mean the same in the biggest scheme we unravel (as we simultaneously create). One could burn, for all you care, and the other one could be the flame, for all I know and anticipate.
Oh, well. I'll be quiet now, that is enough. I'll drink my coffee if you drink yours.