fear

I actually like you.

you know... the way I shouldn't.

Its got out of proportion. I got sucked into this impossible reality, where you would actually care.

So much time has passed by. I feel just so mute. as in: ive got loads to say, but no sound comes out of my mouth.


I've been thinking about the lies you hold. the real reason for trying to be nice to me.
I guess I'm just waiting to be completely heartbroken.

It's happening so fast.

Conditions

Terms and conditions apply.

to my... condition.

It's not as simple as you might think. The autumn happening outside, and inside... well, inside I fear the danger of forgetting what winters are made of.

I feel rebellious when we engage in emotional attatchment. Like the pre moments of a storm, I feel the greyness and weight of being sober after so much warmth, so much so much. I often struggle with the idea of letting myself like you as much as I do now. It's a dead end.

Worse than having to put on your favorite shoes and forgetting how to dance.

worse than enjoying you in bed so bad and having to leave in the mornings.

I despise the fact I'm sober, that I can't control all the illusion and all reality that fades like fog.

I fear attatchment that gets stronger with time.

with the same intensity I know the only thing keeping me going is having you so close.

the unsaid, the unknow

the day...my guard will be down, my voice will be heard and all i will do is to throw away all ive been keeping. the day my hands will stop seeking the texture of your skin or the coldness of the keyboard on nights i had thought would turn out to be better.

not bitter, not meaningful either, just quite simply, better than what they are just now.

ive been giving up on trying to understand you and to be honest, i completely forget about every conversation we start. i try to ignore the situation but the scream, the frustration, the innevitable, the unknown... its all there.

right on your face.

Every now and again, I feel this need of writing about you.I find it hard though. It's almost as things work between us.. predictable, almost inevitable, but above all, innapropriate. we are wrongs of the same truth. we find comfort on each other's oddness. I secretly miss when you're not around. i panic when i realise that. i give silence a reason to exist.

...

the revolution outside...

I´ve started it from my bed.

mood swings

I just waited for a drunk text message.

or perhaps a confirmation that, yeah, I failed.

But no signal. no voice. silence echoes. so does heartbeats. I dont accelerate, I dont move. I just drag my expectations to the couch and sink into german cinema from the 80s.

My closest friend questioned the other day if anybody has ever knew me. the real me. I didnt even know what that meant. I had to think for a while.

I'm still thinking about it.

It's been 3 months.

So when I put myself out there, bland and calm, just as i should, I find a bunch of childish giggles filling the space between you and I. And your giggles are not a reflection, they're a criticism disguised as an understanding shake of head. My giggles might be childish and you might see through me when you watch me blush and struggle with words, but they're all genuine and honest. They're me: I'm fearless of sounding stupid, because deep inside I might just know it's useless to try to hide.

When my sillyness comes to rest, and my past settles in the cheesiest corner of my heart, I calm down and manage to go fishing for the deepest of thoughts. I'm too childish for grown up talks, but too old for stupid mind games.

I bring the bravery out of knowing I'm ok.

I'm just ok, kid.

where do i start?

Inevitably, the success to deliver a message comes from communicating properly. Which is a skill I don't possess.

I've tried, so far and in no particular order:

words,
images,
drawings,
doodles (oh wait, that WAS my attempt at drawing),
screaming,
singing,
mimics (very occasionally)
and some physical interaction (sometimes, when appropriate).

it doesn't help to have a thousand thoughts per minute. but hey.

Ok, maybe it is wrong. All interaction can be a distraction and you get a blurry view of your "oh-so-clear" intention, slowly blending in with the minors and majors of superficial and realistic ideas and yadda yadda.

My concern at the moment is my sanity. as it has always been.

paranoid... me?

And then, there's the fine line between just really being human and not accepting it. I wish I could ask a portrait of me painted by each one of my friends. Not a mirror, no. A mirror decieves, distracts. it's a trick.
A painting or anything created by people who knew me, a clear impression of what i might really come through as.

oooh, so dangerous. but might be satisfying. And with the pros and cons of savouring the truth and honesty of others, what would really come out of me?

Two woody allens and a night

Awkward could be the next new “forward”, or at least I’d like to believe so. Shy spells and thoughts left unsaid, more dreamy than apprehensive, no time left to spare, and still, there was a night. A night of pairing tastes, musical and cinema founds and prompt matches to significant proportions. The music was good and so was the company. I didn’t even care if there wasn’t going to be a good end. I just enjoyed the night as it was. Nothing wrong or bad could come out of it, apart from the thought it’d have to end at some point.

Two strangers getting caught in silent statements. I reckon now, when I tried to start a sentence, my heart would race my brain and the passionate speech would come out clumsy and vague, just as probably I looked like. Or acted like. Body language was disastrously trying to be camouflaged by my polite manners so I wouldn’t scare him. Still, swearing would come out every now and again and I’d regret later, but forget all about it, all together. As the race inside kept going and there was so much I wanted to say, it was easier to imagine I was doing it. Because imagining it can make things perfect, by doing it so, I didn’t even realise I was just playing probably a role he was also familiar with.

His smile and composure. His precise and charming statements and I don’t really remember paying much attention at times, but I was there, all that time, wishing he knew I was falling for that night. His idea for a film, a silent movie maybe, and I didn’t need a second thought: the film was rolling and we were still discovering exactly the right words to say to each other. Very little came out, but so much happened. Some tunes playing in the background and everything seemed to be practice to the silent movie that intended to be subtle and insightful, just like his moves. I guess I really didn’t care what his intentions were, as long as they involved making the night longer, and ignoring the fact that, the two of us and our slow approach, was actually happening. The chemical reaction at the final line, heart and brain getting closer to the end, when the body stretches a mile, and catches up on everything, I saw two of the same characters finally reaching the high pitch, where I knew the night was over, but so much more was about to begin from that. Slow burning connection and all that jazz. I guess there’s still hope for the ones who suffer the same shyness we share.

the farewells that always fail

and I won't lie.
this time, I was wrong.
whatever happened there, I saw it coming, but I stayed.

typical.

Commuting to work, listening to certain songs I'd never be listening to if i wasn't feeling so screwed. I close my eyes and I remember when our eyes clashed.

I like your smile. straight away I knew I wanted you.
and i dont mind your lies when i think of how much fun i had.

so badly mistaken, wish i could prove you wrong.

minutes after abrupt encounters, I'll hide in dark alleys, be bad with the boys, be nasty if they wish. then walk home as if nothing happened.

that night, no matter how dark, i still could see you with your number one.
classy. we never say hello, just because, a goodbye never happened.

construct/ obstruct / dissolute

For all the things I've forseen,

from all the memories I've been holding,

I don't deserve it. and there again, I've been wanting them. so bad.

the words come out of control. they also leave without a trace and god knows, they might be where they belong. whenever i open my mouth, I can only make noises. something really similar to what silence sounds like. I resented this once. or many times. Now I crave for it.

A couple of weeks ago, conversation that I should have had a couple of years ago.

you know what I was talking about. travelling time and not apologizing for the mistake i made. simply just wrapping it all up in a sigh of relief. you agreed with me. and i like to believe, you understood and respected me for it.

i miss you. the long talks, the nights of wandering. getting lost in town. the silly jokes between geeky silence, clumsy stories told.

our loop comes to an end. or have we just matured from all our uncontrolled begginings?

and if for once I feel all is cleared, I can't help but be curious of what will be like, time travelling to you, from a couple of years ago, right to next week, when we'll be awkwardly avoiding talking about what is left of all our blurry moments. the ones we've hidden from the world. from ourselves.

in memory

Here I am packing my bags again.

Well, not literally. but true.

I think it is time to let silence stand still, give it a go. enjoy a pause

on chaos,

on reality.

the past weeks have been a pour down of goodbyes. timid ones, abrupt goodbyes, careless, meaningfull, prospective ones. But none of them really effective if I must say.

It is weird to have to feel brave enough to just dial a number, to say what I've been really thinking. Not that it always comes out the way it should. I also think I'm a lot better, but you know, and I know, you just don't know how to deal with me. and you never will.

My body is a whole, moving from town to town. freaks and artists in and out. and all that feeling of being somewhere you don't belong, it's all there. fresh and permanent like the fading ink tattooed on the back of my neck.

not much resistance. not really sure where you've gone. Sadly your eyes won't be running on these words ever again. I dearly miss you friend, dearly dearly miss you. And all these years you've listened to, they are just gone with you. without you I'm just a nomad soul, restless and breaking down on transit. wish you were here.

night still

the night still resonates on my ears.

a special trick under the sleeves and I'm under the sheets, bare as the night.

or maybe under the night, bare as i could be, saying everything, anything really.

that is the sound of attraction.

and all the impression that can be made.

the secretive charm of just being natural. my understanding of what is natural is a big nothing, but i like enjoying it without even noticing it. realising it later, when it's too late.

12 minutes to my dreams of surreality, wishes made walking by a strange crowd, fake stars were lights and everything else could've been a big adventure.

the touch on the skin was actually a test of resistance i was ready to lose. another minute close to chaos, close to surrender, i'd become just skin, just tension, desire, no reason, no reason at all.

a good night still. playing on repeat now.

curse.

Feeling trapped in stills. Needing to get out there, a ghost passing through moving lights.

white noise made out of steel strings.

And one afternoon. just one afternoon, is enough to make me lock the door behind you. after you leave.

just me. and only me. and the impression you made.

irreversible effect, I stand still and cry a little because I know nobody will ever find out that I actually have no control anymore, over what I feel.

Just like that, fooling myself for so long. that's how I decide to leave.

I've come to agreement that I will never be ready to leave this town. So I might as well make it mine.

A hand under my skirt and I'll shut up.

and after the hunting is over, honey, I'm hungry almost all the time. No phenomenon. no explanation either. It will just happen. and never be repeated. not the same way that is.

I will open that door again to let you break me, caress me and make me cry.

I don't fear the casual. men. sex. war. games. reality.

but for the first time ever, I find myself fearing ever letting ou read through me.

that sounds ridiculous just to write. I don't want it for me.

it's a curse I want to be free of.

keep the fingers working. the mouth watering and I'll promise to keep sane.

and safe.

death to the camera

officially,

Im not taking pictures anymore.

I dont want to remember.

I dont want to register any of this.

I'm gonna miss you.

and I mean it. I have tears in my eyes to think about it. you made me hate the only thing i loved.

abstinence not making sense, absurdity and dreams

Layers and layers of attempts,

I am 6 feet deep in impressions.

illusions I created. now I want to consume.

And every name I pick from the hat, is a character I haven't written yet.

One that will name a new drink when I'm on my own trying to make a recipe work.

I've been dreaming the same dream for nearly a week now. And I mean it literally.

He comes. he takes his chances, he comes to stay. he doesn't want to let me go. I can't resist or say no. I stay. but then again, I feel like i shouldn't believe it. this is reality that never existed. Maybe I am trying to convince myself of a possibility that could never happen. I don't want to.

Bring back nightmares. Bring back my anger and my silence. suffocating desire inside of me. it is like dunking fingers in fresh hot coffee.

I don't understand you. I don't want to. and still, I feel the need of being around our nonsense. I have this impression of always been hunted by you. last time was so real. so nice, it even hurts to remember. the only time you wanted to stay and i wanted you to go. I can't do this anymore.