Month: October 2002

  •  

    **Far from home, feeling cold. Listening to A-ha, being a bit nostalgic….


     


    I feel your lips
    I taste your skin
    I need to know
    I need to feel you from within
    As your blood burns through my skin
    I feel complete
    I breathe you in
    It’s where you end and I begin


    Nothing is colder than going to sleep alone, dreaming fevered dreams.

    You can tell yourself it’s just nerve endings, just electrical firings through synapses.

    But face it, those electrical firings have inspired enough enough ecstasy and awe to successfully befuddle us humanity forever on.

    Ecstasy means to stand outside of yourself.

    Maybe it should also mean to be inside someone else.



  • The whole nature of friendship is fascinating for me. People and friendships do change, sometimes quickly. Quite honestly, I think the evolution of friendship and dynamic state of human relationships results in some of the most fulfilling interaction possible. It’s the constant re-evaluation that makes you understand, to a certain extent, why you remain friends with some and lose touch with others. It is unrealistic to expect the nature of a relationship to stay the same when people are not static. I actually find that undesirable as well. In the same way that I have many different sides to me, I want my deep friendships to be multi-faceted. This obviously needs to be distinguished from acquaintences, with whom I’m quite content to have uni-dimensional relationships.

    There is also a situational element to friendship; it isn’t always just about how compatible two people are. Sometimes circumstances force a friendship into extinction. In such a case, it is absolutely possible for a friendship to end even though the two people care greatly about each other. Maybe “end” isn’t the most accurate term for it. I think about my best friend from high school, for example. I’m not often in touch with her, but I still care about her a lot. I saw her last when I visited some relatives over the summer. In her own words, “we don’t talk often, but we still love each other.” I think what happens in situations where circumstances lead you to lose touch is that the love you have for each other becomes memory love… It isn’t active in the sense that you care about them for who they are in your present life, but you never forget the person that they were to you or for you and that keeps you interested in where they are in the world, even if you don’t actively persue the friendship anymore. I guess what I’m really trying to say is that the caring may not end, but the dynamic, active, present aspect of a relationship is what makes a friendship.

    Whew! I feel as if I’ve addressed the hell out of that issue. I probably haven’t. I have probably left a lot of holes in my argument… I do that. Maybe I’m subconsciously trying to provoke more discussion. Maybe not so subconsciously…




  • Despite my best efforts, I think I am letting certain things overwhelm me and pick apart at the already shortening thread of my motivation. I have so many things going on right now that should be motivating and inspiring me – my classes are all interesting and well-taught, the groups that I am teaching has wonderful, intelligent, and eager students, my job as a teacher has given me contact with some of the most amazing and influential people I have ever and probably ever will meet, my family has been there with me every step of my life. For all of these things I am grateful and they are the only forces right now that are holding me together. I feel myself letting go… of the facade of strength I have realized I am so good at maintaining….of everything I suppose. I’m conscious of what I’m doing. As to whether I do anything about this overwhelming self-doubt and fear…. it seems that for now, I am content in doing nothing.




  • Somewhere in my broken heart


    You made up your mind it was time it was over
    After we had come so far
    But I think there’s enough pieces of forgiveness
    Somewhere in my broken heart


    I would not have chosen the road you have taken
    It has left us miles apart
    But I think can still find the will to keep going
    Somewhere in my broken heart


    So fly, go ahead and fly
    Until you find out who you are
    I will keep my love unspoken
    Somewhere in my broken heart


    I hope that in time you will find
    what you long for
    Love that’s written in the stars
    And when you finally do I think you will see it’s
    Somewhere in my broken heart
    Oh, I will keep my love unspoken
    Somewhere in my broken heart
    I hope that in time you will find
    what you long for
    Love that’s written in the stars
    And when you finally do I think you will see it’s
    Somewhere in my broken,
    somewhere in my broken
    Somewhere in my broken heart.



    It’s amazing how much one can learn from the simple things. I went jogging again, in the dark, in the mist, in the wet mist. I thought my spring night walking was over, but in the middle of October ain’t half bad I tell you. Especially when I slowed down. It’s kind of freaky jogging in the middle of the night. In the summer I had mosquitos and insects chirping along with me, but tonight, I was alone. Alone in the big big world. It felt good. I thrive on a little desolation. I was searching for dark dark spots. There’s so much ambient light in cities and towns, how sad. I wanted to see the stars, without the blasted cars driving by me. So I went all the way up the hill, where no lights exist till the next street. The hill, how I missed the hill. So many memories, so many days, so many friendships, it’s sad that they all moved, but at least I get to keep my memories. Memories are always so beautiful. It didn’t rain as much when I got there, but the clouds were impatient and moved like a silly little child throwing a temper. I kept chasing this groups of stars, but the clouds were faster, and they devoured the holes with pride. But that’s when I turned around…


    IT WAS BEAUTIFUL

    SO SO BEAUTIFUL

    The stars, a whole groups of them, like a gap, a hole in the middle of the rain clouds. And they shone, and they shone to me, for me. I felt so small again, and everything was okay then. I wish I could write how beautiful they were. But I can’t. I wish I could paint it. But I can’t. I wish I could have videotaped it. But I can’t. And all of them would have been futile. You had to be there, it was that beautiful. You know what I did next? Being a fool that I am. I lied on the grass. The muddy, wet, cold grass, and I stared. And I stared till eternity drained and time escaped. Nothing in the world could compare to tonight.

    I would give everything to have that feeling every second of my life.

    And yet, I can’t even descibe the feeling. Not to paper, not to computer, and not even to anyone…



  • Sing a song of chocolate…
    Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate! You spread over my tongue and soak through my tastebuds like the first rainfall on cracked, dry land. How efficient you are for expediently boosting my mood! How the world changes under your milky influence!


    I make myself ill. Ill on sugar, ill on words, ill on boredom. I leave my song of chocolate and return to Anil’s Ghost, another novel from the fantastic mind of the beautiful Mr. Ondaatje.


    **I wrote this inpired on a friend whose presence is as good as chocolate…even his skin is like that..hmm.. have you ever had those delicious friends?



  • Adjectives that Currently Describe Me    



     


  • scared

  • lonely

  • stressed

  • weirded out

  • contemplative – maybe even…

  • pensive

  • worried

  • misunderstood

  • tired
  • faithful















  • done.


  • Posts from the edge…


    …of the day. I don’t care when a new day officially starts according to the time-trackers, but my day should not start before 8AM.

    …of reality. There is something surreal about being out in the city before 7AM, especially before sunrise, when the streets are still with the expectant quiet of a new day.

    …of sanity? I don’t know if I could even pretend that I know where the edge of sanity is anymore.

    I think the point is that coffee is the only thing keeping me from dropping off…



  • **At a cyber, feeling happy for having gotten some news from an old friend, wishing he were closer again…Listening to Marisa Monte, thinking she  reminds me of the great pleasure of being Brazilian…


     
    Just words…
    I have been receiving Merriam-Webster Online‘s Word of the Day for just over a year now. I’ve saved all the cool words and deleted any words that I already knew, or that were unimpressive, or that pained me by their very existence. I have 135 interesting words in my “Cool Words” folder… There are approximately 40,000 words in the English language, yet people always manage to come up with more. Not only that, there are so many feelings/concepts that English does not have words for… For example, there is no word to describe a sense of solid and complete rightness that one can feel in one’s skin. That’s a constant irritation of mine. But at the same time, English is amazingly versatile and welcoming and adaptive. Not to be lingocentric, but English’s permeability is one of the reasons it’s so popular…. Well, that and most powerful nations in the world speak it, but that’s a rant for a different day. I haven’t even finished the rant at hand… What was my point? I think it was to express wonder at how a language can have so many words at it’s disposal and still be inadequate.


    Hmmm, of the approximately 40,000 words in English, I wonder how many are actually used on a regular basis….. I would bet not even half. I like digging out musty old words and gloating over them. It’s kind of strange to think about how I can find words charming or repulsive….

    You know, I could talk about language all night… But I won’t.



  •    


    Unfinished entries repose in oblivion.


    I stare into the mirror, the dead,black pearl eyes gazed back me devoid of emotion. I wanted to scoff, to hold the image with contempt, to mar it, tear it to pieces, and watch with pure sadistic joy as the injury dances across my face, my body, my mind, and finally pierce my soul. Suicidal thoughts fixed its hungry red eyes at me…I wonder if this could be categorized as eustress, or simply the end. I haven’t cried in a long time… Crying is for the girl that had nothing to believe in but fantasies tramping through her mind. Crying is for the girl that laughed while crying, smiled while fighting. Crying is for the girl that walked along the dark alleys of life. What of tears. What of anything. I hate it all. I hate it so much I feel jaded, broken… Why is it that beautiful things always feel like a mirage, and truth stares back only when you realize you have nothing, and that you are nothing.



    I sincerely do not know whether this is a good thing or not. Time, gliding, it moves quickly, without a glance, never have I ever felt its urgency. They say that time goes by quickly when you are having fun. It rings true. Perhaps, I love life. I really do. I love all the toil, all the pain, all the hurt, and all the gain. I don’t want it to slip away from my fingers. Why haven’t I felt like this before? I remember in middle school. I complained of school, of life daily. It was just a teenager’s job, to complain, to whine. Naivete. That would be me. Why was I such a fool? The worst kind of fool. A conformist. I’m glad I have come to terms with myself now. It is a geniune happiness.

    If I would close my eyes right now, I wonder what I would write. Nocturne, a dear faithful melody. Soporific. I love the cello, I really do. So much emotion can be withheld in strings, so much soul could be put into music. Humans are quite amazing in many ways. I was staring at the earth the other day from the 9th floor of Municipal library. The cars resembled lady bugs, moving incessantly and slowly, but moving nonetheless. For a moment I was actually in awe, at cars. I wonder how much I really know of this world, because I truly do not appreciated as much as I should. There’s so much more left to do for Earth, for us. This is why I do not like fantasy stories, not because I lack imagination, but because they do not see that other worlds aren’t nearly as beautiful as earth, or have as much potential too. Perhaps, I am also a romanticist who cannot see beyond her own silly vision. That’s all right, it is better than those that cannot see beyond their conventional cages.

    **P.S.: Today is Teacher´s Day here in Brazil…

  •  


    What is it that I think I need?
    Is there love in me that wants to be freed?
    Or is it selfishness and ego
    we carry with us everywhere that we go?


    This feeling that life’s incomplete
    - do you feel that too?
    Do you want what I want?


    And if I should start to cry,
    and I can’t begin to tell you why,
    and I stumble when I begin,
    it’s cause I don’t understand anything.


    People say that we’re so close,
    how can there be something that I don’t know.
    Oh but even though I share your bed,
    baby, I don’t get inside your head.


    This feeling of some mystery
    - do you feel that too?
    Do you know what I mean?


    And if I should start to cry,
    and I can’t begin to tell you why,
    and I stumble when I begin,
    it’s cause I don’t understand anything.


    Watch me stumble, watch me slip
    My fingers loose their grip.
    Now I’m down on my knees,
    Is that what you wanted to see?


    What is it that I think I need?
    What is it that I think I need?


    And if I should start to cry,
    and I can’t begin to tell you why,
    and I stumble when I begin,
    it’s cause I don’t understand anything.


    You reach for me from miles away,
    you reach for me from miles away.


    TheWorld is a Garden


    Dry words lately, squeezed out of a parched mind, and yet I cannot stop. Dandelions are one of  my favorite flowers. They like to call it weeds, tear its root from their precious little lawns. Dandelions are beautiful. They are strong, dominating patches of the green earth without any nourishment except what is offered. Dandelions are free. They can fly to whereever they will by strides of wind. Dandelions…dandelions…wish I was a dandelion. Roses sit in their pretty little vases, when I touch them, the thorns prick my fingers. Roses are only good with their petals scattered at my feet…wish I wasn’t a rose…

    I miss writing without a purpose. I once saw a blog called Verbosity for the Antisocial, and while I do not recall its actual contents, I remember pondering upon the title. The recluse in myself never really admitted dominance, as I’ve never really been deprived of true friends. Days in and out I’ve preached of the brilliance of people, how I loved people, how I loved the smiles and the ignorant voices, slowly gaining comprehension. Nevertheless, loving people does not mean I cannot be locked within my own realm. The observer with cunning eyes, forever searching for that fitting moment. At times like these I feel old, like a sage sitting on top of the Tai mountain, gazing on the rest of the world with pacified eyes. Then there are the times for my inner child, the reckless girl drinking laughter and smiles for they were the source of her life. Old and young. Apathetic and sentimental. I want to fly a kite in the dark when it’s windless…I’ll make it go high high high…and it’ll drift…far far far…away.  I´m still a Lotus, though..


    "A Lone Dandelion" © SuperStock, Inc.


    A Lone Dandelion
    ©  SuperStock, Inc.
    From Flower Mix


    • Lotus

    Categories