sábado, 30 de outubro de 2010


Listen to:

You didn't lie to me, but I lived the lie.
You were honest, but I was cheated.

We got stuck in the paradox of complete honesty that didn't make any sense and left me to think: where is the missing piece? In me? In you?

I tried to make some things real and tangible and that turned into complete merde, excuse my French.
To exit the paradox I had to leave our symbiotic you-me and check it with the world, the world you told me would never understand, the world that would be unforgiving, the world that did not understand pure love.

The world, it turns out, was very unforgiving and scoffed at the whole idea we so carefully constructed and rationalized.

You felt betrayed, but I was trying to unbetray myself.
You felt abandoned, but I was trying to regain my sanity.
I hurt you trying to undo the hurt you had caused me.
There are no victims, there are no perpatrators. I'm sorry for the both of us.

Nowadays you leave my memories alone more and more, yet there are a few moments when it all comes back full force. And I have to deal, just like you do.
Non si dimentica.

Ogni volta in cui ti penso mangio chili di marmellata, quella che mi nascondevi tu...l'ho trovata

All I want nowadays is for anything to make sense.
"Let's build a house together, let's run away, let's start afresh, let's conquer the world, let's stay here and be reasonable. " Please, please, please play along with me.

Like Alice said "So long as I get somewhere..."

I'm ok. I know it doesn't sound ok, but I am.

sexta-feira, 29 de outubro de 2010

Vou achar um caminho.

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?" 

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat. 

"I don't much care where—" said Alice. 

"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat. 

"As long as I get somewhere," Alice added as an explanation. 
"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."  
 - Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll

Dentro de mim chegou o momento de me movimentar e fazer algumas coisas acontecerem. 
Estive em um período de hibernação e de observação, ainda estou.
Nonostante, sento che qualcosa si muove e le cose che prima erano soltano sogni adesso possono essere possibile. 
Ecco le parole ed idee che fluttuano quà e là.

Ambasciata Italiana - Borse di Studi
Embaixadas que falam inglês - sites - Job Opportunities
Curso Tradução Simultânea ou Intérprete
Finire il corso Thomas in 2 mesi
Itamaraty - nível médio assistente...
étudier le français!
Go back to an English School to earn the extra buck or two
EAB T.A. job
Continuar projeto de tradução GT - Monografia?!


Estou aqui, observando, sonhando, acordando e acreditando que possivelmente possa ser possível e que não seja tudo parte de um incrível e complexo pesadelo. 

quarta-feira, 27 de outubro de 2010

Cup of Joe - Wednesday Edition

Monday and Wednesday morning routine is coming to a nice rythym, even though it's completely out of the rest of the week's rythym. Reminds me of better times. Reminds me so much of Europe, for some reason. The getting up early and feeling excited about it, feeling the rythym of the city in its early morning waking up.

Everything I desire is to live this feeling throughout every instance of the day

segunda-feira, 25 de outubro de 2010

Cup of Joe

Love my cup of joe to get me going, with all its warmth and incentive
It takes my panic and give me some minutes to breathe, breath of promise, it'll be alright.
Little me is running around the place like crazy, 8 year old with her bangs all crooked. She's confused and scared, as any 8 year old would be if faced with the adult world on her own.
People are telling her, you can do it, you're capable, you're fly! And she'll smile and say, well, yes, I know I am fly! So maybe they're right...
But all I see are adults in their scary little adult world.

domingo, 24 de outubro de 2010

A Bela Arte - One Art

Eis minha "tradução"/versão/inspiração baseada no poema do ultimo post...

A Bela Arte
Conquiste a bela arte de perder
Há tanto por se perder, querendo
 Desaparecer; desastre não pode ser

Perca todo dia. Deixe ir, deixe ser.
Deixe as chaves e horas que vão.
Conquiste a bela arte de perder

Vá além,  aceite se desfazer
De lugares, nomes e viagens
Com que sonhavas. Não eram pra ser

Veja só! O relógio de minha mãe
Foi-se;  o adorado lar também.
Conquiste a bela arte de perder.

Duas cidades, tive que aquiescer.
Reinos, rios e um continente.
Amor e vazio; assim é viver

-- E mesmo você (a voz e gestos amados),
não hei de mentir. Não foi um desastre
 (de fato!), mesmo se assim parecer
 Aprendi, sofri, a arte de perder

sábado, 23 de outubro de 2010

One Art

Desafio da semana: traduzir poesia! Por enquanto, apreciem o original...

One Art
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master. 

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
Elizabeth Bishop

quarta-feira, 20 de outubro de 2010

I am revising the first chapter of my tentative translation of a book and lord, I'm loving it.
Give me a little red pen and the written word and I will revise my heart out, relishing in grammar structures, verb-subject agreements, vocabulary choice and word order...

much of a nerd, I am...

domingo, 17 de outubro de 2010

Way Leads on to Way

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, 
And sorry I could not travel both 
And be one traveler, long I stood 
And looked down one as far as I could 
To where it bent in the undergrowth; 

Then took the other, as just as fair, 
And having perhaps the better claim 
Because it was grassy and wanted wear, 
Though as for that the passing there 
Had worn them really about the same, 

And both that morning equally lay 
In leaves no step had trodden black. 
Oh, I marked the first for another day! 
Yet knowing how way leads on to way 
I doubted if I should ever come back. 

I shall be telling this with a sigh 
Somewhere ages and ages hence: 
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, 
I took the one less traveled by, 
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

Sorry for the cliche, dear readers, but today is a good day for Robert Frost and his infamous "two roads diverged..." 
Besides being a good day, it is also esquisitely appropriate for what I need to say.
Reminds me of Belle and Sebastian's lines:
I wish I had two paths I could follow, I'd write the ending without any sorrow.

It is time for changes, it is time for decisions. Since actions speak louder than words, read this. I need to clear out my room of all things unneeded and toxic. I will clear out my room as if to clear out my head, giving myself a blank slate and taking a look around without the shelves and closets full of everything that has been and not necessarily is anymore. That's the whole deal, right there, I need to find out what IS, now, and the only way is to clean each book and each hanger, one by one.

Yet knowing how way leads onto way...
I love this particular line. Way leads onto way, and when you make a decision and think "well, i'll just come back to the other option later..." you know that most likely than not, that will not happen.
So, what am I opting for when I make my decisions? What am I leaving behind, what do I need to cherish?

I need to get some things straight, go back to the beginning. 
Lots of things have stopped making sense to me for a while now and I begin to see how my decisions have led up to this crisis. I have forgotten who I am, where I come from. I am trying to ignore what has made me be me over all this time and what has made me the happiest in my short life. It's like I'm trying to fit into this mold of what should be, but my life does not fit into these molds - does not fit into Brasilia's molds and does not fit into US molds. My home has always been in the middle, so what am I doing so far away from there? 

My home has always been a bit quirky and strange, but I love it. I'm stubborn on this point, but I have to be. So many opinions from so many places can be like strong gusts of wind ready to blow my little home away, so I need to be stubborn. 
I'm tired of mourning something that shouldn't be dead, or better yet, isn't dead! 
It's not too late. I have stood here for too long. 

Sorry I could not travel both and be one traveller...

quinta-feira, 14 de outubro de 2010

Girl and Box Story

there was this girl, you see, and she was quite the scared one, living in her box of fear and terror. Sheer terror. In her box of fantasies and make believe, away from the world that so very scared her.
then one day, someone noticed and said, hey, that's not really ok, is it? you need to talk it out, please take our help, it's ok.
she had trouble with that and was scared again for a while. Talk? Tell people? Share?
Well then, let's give it a go...
and slowly but surely, then all of a sudden fastly, she fell apart without her box. Completely lost it. Where were the boundaries that before were so clear?
Where am I naked in this world without my box and my respect for my fear?
They said it was for the best, and what do I know, right?

then she noticed, quite to her dissapointment, where there she was getting rid of boxes and thinking that was the bee's knees, other people had their own little boxes of fear and other such things and held tightly to theirs while telling her to get rid of hers.
Oh lord, what a cunundrum...what to do, what to do... stop the freakin sharing, please!

there was a girl, she had a box, the box fell apart, she went back after the pieces and the new box has become home, full of nostalgic smells and pillows.

terça-feira, 12 de outubro de 2010

Só nos falta a casa

Engraçado essa sensação de voltar para casa depois de dias em outras cidades. Coisa boa. Tanto ter saído quanto ter voltado.
A experiência de viajar com amigos -  com um namorado que é também um amigo, com uma melhor amiga de sempre e seu namorado que virou um novo amigo também. - reconfigurações.
Obrigada a vocês!
Me sinto cada vez menos sozinha e é algo impressionantemene confortante. Sinto cada vez mais que isso é pra valer e que não vai sumir de uma hora para a outra, que as pessoas não vão desaparecer ou se dissipar.

Nessas estradas e entre hotéis de São Paulo, solidificações.

quinta-feira, 7 de outubro de 2010

Adam Lives in Theory

Adam lives in theory
Trying to turn stone into bread
Masquerading like he got it figured out 
Cut off from the sunshine, only smart in his own head
Leaving his descendants to hope and doubt
Left to his devices, those worthless sacrifices
Praying to the alter of himself
Making pilgrimages, thinking he's religious
Like he's got all the light, and no one else

He takes the unsuspected
Cuz he knows they're not connected
And he shows them how to be just as he is
Virtually real, and commercially appeal
To the lust of all the people where he lives
Caught up in emotion
Burning up in her devotion
To the king of exploitation in the field
She handed him her virtue
Cuz he told her "I won't hurt you"
So she lay with him to see how good it feels
But much to their demise, poor decision closed their eyes
To the very antidote to their dilemma

Burning in their lust,
Both of them, adulterous
Destroying the original agenda
Praying to the sky, in order to maintain a lie
They exhausted every possible conclusion,
They can't even entertain 
the solution in a brain 
filled with vain information and pollution
Lauryn Hill - Adam Lives in Theory

Meu veneno está atiçado novamente.
Náusea e suor que me remetem - - - woosh!

Gostaria de re-editar minha história, quem sabe a dura realidade dos fatos virariam prosa e após ainda mais edição, quem sabe - poesia?

Now can you tell me what we're gonna do now, where we're gonna go now, what we're gonna say now?

Dedicado alle amiche Castelraimondenses

Esta semana, una amiga me hizo recordar los tan queridos versos de Antonio Machado sobre el caminante y el camino. Me hizo recordar otra amiga, la que un día, sentadas en su casa con un pequeño librito de poesias, me leyó esos versos por primera vez. Era el último día de mi visita y la nostalgia se hacia presente. Golpe a golpe, verso a verso. Ojalá pudiera escribir mejor en español y expresarme mejor!  No es APRILE, pero les dedico igual esta poesía a todas esas amigas que tocan el corazón con alegría, nostalgia y muchas lindas memorias, tal qual las huelas del tan famoso camino.  Apparteniamo ai mondi sotili une degli altri.
Baci amori miei!

Caminante no hay camino

Antonio Machado

Todo pasa y todo queda,
pero lo nuestro es pasar,
pasar haciendo caminos,
caminos sobre el mar.

Nunca perseguí la gloria,
ni dejar en la memoria
de los hombres mi canción;
yo amo los mundos sutiles,
ingrávidos y gentiles,
como pompas de jabón.

Me gusta verlos pintarse
de sol y grana, volar
bajo el cielo azul, temblar
súbitamente y quebrarse...

Nunca perseguí la gloria.

Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino y nada más;
caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.

Al andar se hace camino
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.

Caminante no hay camino
sino estelas en la mar...

Hace algún tiempo en ese lugar
donde hoy los bosques se visten de espinos
se oyó la voz de un poeta gritar
"Caminante no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar..."

Golpe a golpe, verso a verso...

Murió el poeta lejos del hogar.
Le cubre el polvo de un país vecino.
Al alejarse le vieron llorar.
"Caminante no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar..."

Golpe a golpe, verso a verso...

Cuando el jilguero no puede cantar.
Cuando el poeta es un peregrino,
cuando de nada nos sirve rezar.
"Caminante no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar..."

Golpe a golpe, verso a verso.

segunda-feira, 4 de outubro de 2010

I Can Afford Chemo Like I Can Afford a Limo

No thank you no thank you no thank you
I'm not about to go like this
I can afford chemo like I can afford a limo
and on any given day I'd rather ride a limousine
and besides this shit is making me tired is making me tired...

Por algum motivo, algum motivo que desconheço, os olhos abrem no meio da madrugada.
Acordo e percebo, aos poucos, que algo não vai bem. 
Me acordaram lá nos bastidores para me informar, há medo. 
Há medo não processado, que pelo estado adormecido passa direto para a soma e acordo sem entender, quem me atacou?

Tento ser gentil comigo nesses dias. Me paparicar, sem me mimar. Mas como é difícil me manter firme comigo mesma e dizer, levante-se dessa cama, pegue o carro, vai, se apresente. Que vontade de derreter e virar uma poça, água sem vasilha. 
Quero a segurança que estas paredes dão a esta poça. Nem precisam fazer nada, só me deixe ser poça até evaporar, aí eu volto ao normal. Exigir togetherness de mim é exigir o mundo. Mas...me exigo o mundo pois é assim que se vive no mundo.
Depois você pode tomar um sorvete, prometo. Depois você pode assistir House. Depois você dorme sem culpa...Depois, depois, mais um pouquinho de fôlego e vai! e vai e vai...

sexta-feira, 1 de outubro de 2010

Featuring Toothpaste for Dinner

So, it's Friday, we're all tired, nobody wants to read or write much!