It´s Carnival time here. I´m traveling, will spend some days away. I´m going to “Região dos Lagos“, in the north part of Rio de Janeiro seaside. You all take care. I´ll show the pictures later

Love,

Shy

…on Friends and Focus

I love the way in which bein with a group of friends can make everything else in the world insignificant for that period of time. The way they take your focus off of whatever else is going on and put it onto them for that time period, whether it be a day, an hour, a week or whatever. It’s very handy at times when you don’t want to even THINK about things. Not that ignoring problems is always good, but at times it can be very much worth it for a day. Or even when you don’t have problems, the drawing of your focus is still a cool thing, just slightly less useful. Friends in general are great.

But even better than a group of friends is spending time with just one friend. These times are usually very fruitful, and deep relationships become very rewarding. A simple conversation with a friend, one on one, can be life-changing even. This is a gift I highly treasure in some of my friends, their ability to change me with a single sentence without any intent or even knowledge of doing so.

How does one immobilise a fractured personality to prevent further injury and promote healing?

I discovered there’s this little girl inside me and she’s not too keen on being exposed. She is cold, lonely and frightened, but she doesn’t want to do anything about it. She’s happy being miserable, and she’s been forcing her way to the surface more than usual in the past month. She’s very noisy.

Fortunately for me, I also have an inner critic. He (yes, he) can be extremely sarcastic but he makes sense. He ridicules the little girl in a way that makes her sit up and think. The other day, the little girl was lamenting the difficulty I seemed to be having creatively and how I was starting to feel that it might not be worth all the work. All the critic said was “So quit then.” And the tired, scared, cold little girl stopped mid-sentence and suddenly sat down. From behind her stepped the slightly-shy-but-extremely-passionate tutor/student. She went in front of the group of students who were there to see her Literature presentation (on Emerson),  and did the best she could.  Without even thinking. And the critic was pleased.

I have my suspicions that the little girl isn’t gone, but I’ve managed to shut her up for the time being, which is good – she was really starting to get on my nerves.

Have a great week, all!

Swing Wine

I’m startin to get back into the swing of writing again! I’ve posted a few things on my other page. Feel free to check it out here. I always feel better after writing. I’m not talking about writing in here in my blog, but actually putting down on paper (or electronically as it is nowadays) the poems or stories that float around in my head. It’s kind of a cleansing process. I put on some music, light an insence, maybe get a glass of wine, and just let the craziness flow out of me. Of course a lot of it is driven from whatever chemical in unbalanced in my brain at the time, but it still feels good to express the feelings that are derived from that. I dunno why, but it just feels good.

Have a good weekend you all!

Getting strong today, a giant step each day.

Barely sleeping; ruminations on how disease follows its carrier to the ends of the earth.

Through the years, writing has been on many occasions an examination of pain. Perhaps by writing about it and attempting to break it down into its most base components, you have felt that you could ease it.

There is never an escape hatchet from it; it exists in the most basic of forms and actions throughout your day. When you look out the window or watch a cartoon, and you hear the joke, inducing a kind of laughter. The same type that occurs when you are hurt, as in falling out of a tree and your body is in such a state of shock and pain as you’ve never known, that you begin to giggle as if you’d lost your mind.

The struggle continues, even when there’s blood through your veins that spells out love.

Why wouldn’t it?

This has been the division between my old life and new. It’s been that kind of morning. Too early for anything but breakfast and words to help the madness. So I write. We’ve come full circle again

Temptation

I dipped my tongue
in the honeyed column
of your neck
thinking, why a swan’s composure
looks exquisite.

~Shy~

Current Listening to: His voice

My memories
like, empty reveries.
My soul consumed
by apparitions,
have dissapeared
over spacious time
while my heart
lies battered down.
What hopes I had
are left lying dead.
My eyes withhold
painful secrets.
permanent scars have
eaten away my faith…
time alone is enough
to break me.
Sweet love,
take shape of a dove.
And with my heart
sprout wings.
Leave me alone
and soar over painful heights
and rescue me
when you get the chance.

~Shy~

Wide Open

I will not write poems
about things that fade
nor will I visit the grave
where my dreams are buried
instead,
I will sow the field
where pieces
of me still flourish.

~Shy~

 
I made use of my museum membership and tooled around the museum today. I felt strange and alone in such a place, surrounded by massive paintings and hearing my boot steps across the wood floors interrupt the quiet. A guard who looked close to his seventies chatted me up in front of a Portinari, then tailed me to a Tarsila. I exited that part of the gallery quickly, and he found me again at the elevator. Thankfully, it arrived quickly and I stepped inside and bid my admirer goodbye.

I’ve been very lonely lately, particularly because I’m missing my friends who are now moving or working,and the faces that I saw on a daily basis. I miss the liveliness of the people.

I’m also wondering a lot of things, like if anything I’m doing counts. I can’t help feeling like an unfinished project. Sure, we are all unfinished projects, but I feel like one that is unfinished because it has been neglected too long. Sitting in a dark corner never to realize it’s full potential. I worry about getting older and becoming invisible, a compilation of unfinished projects and unrealized potential.

When I was growing up, I used to think that being depressed was part of being an artist, that my extra sensitive perception meant that I was going to be something special. I feel far from that. Yes, I’ve done a lot of cool things and lived a lot of cool places. But where has that gotten me? And where will that take me?

I’m obviously feeling uncertain right now. Sundays tend to do that, as they are the beginning of another week. Mini New Years every seven days that make me wonder what I’ve accomplished.

And what I’m missing.

 

“platonic” is wrong. i’ve decided that. platonic means ideal, perfect. and yet a platonic relationship does not involve sex. how the hell is that ideal? i’m pretty sure that most of the population would agree that saying a relationship is “platonic” is a little ironic.

i’ve decided i disagree with plato. so, as far as i understand it, this is what plato believes:

There is a perfect, abstract form of everything present in the “real” world. Human beings evolve to see that perfect form. This is reality. The ultimate evolution of humans will enable them to perceive the same thing. Reality is an abstraction. Thus, there is one, supreme, real definition of justice, beauty, etcetera; there is one true, perfect form for a stapler, shirt, etcetera.

now, the problem i see with this is, it denies a concrete reality, yet it simplifies abstractions into concreteness. it states that there is only ONE perfect form of anything. and, that the reason things are not perceived as this in our “real” world, is because of our perceptions and the differences we create in our minds. so, does this mean that every table is truly the same, and it is only our perceptions that differ? so, why do we all see approximately the same thing. one table has four legs, another has three. any person could tell you which was which. so does this mean that there are separate perfect forms for three- and four-legged tables? are all tables the same color, size, shape? i don’t buy it.

anyways, this is what i’ve decided i believe: there is an exact, independent reality. when humans perceive it, we interpret it differently, but as well as our senses can allow. since we are all the same species, so have the same sensory organs, and we have grown up in the same culture, we see approximately the same things. a poverty-stricken chinese kid would probably see a different thing than we would when he looked at a bowl of rice, or a woman, or a mountain. so, there is an independent, single reality. each person might interpret it differently. this reality is the absolute truth, and anything that exists within it, unaltered by our perspective, is the absolute truth. but, there is another truth that changes for each person, based on their experiences, ideas, perspective. this truth is not absolute, since there can only be one absolute truth. but it is still truth, and it is a truth that exists within the person. so, there are an infinite number of definitions of abstract concepts, that all exist for each person. so, two kinds of truth, a single absolute truth independent of our perspective, and a general truth that is individual to each person.

eh, that’s enough of my yammering. this is going to mess with my head, i can tell. it’s already gotten me thinking philosophically. no! stop before it’s too late! if i start using my brain regularly it’ll get used to thinking, and then where will i be?

Have a great week ahead, you all