quarta-feira, 11 de maio de 2011

The Experiment

"Something always brings me back to you, it never takes too long"

Not sure what will come forth tonight.

"Set me free, leave me be, I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity.
Here I am.
And I stand
so tall
just the way I'm supposed to be"

I have a proposition.
An experiment.
I shall write and am forbidden to erase anything, anything at all. So if I change my - there will be a dash - and the writing will continue - but I can't erase. Just spelling mistakes, ok? Is that allowed? I say ok, so there we go.

I chose the star image tonight for its greatness, nothing - It transmits something I want to transmit - that was redundant. Yes, for the greatness it inspired, the deepness of feeling and the bafflement before the size of me compared to the size of THAT. The size of us, all of us. Doesn't life just baffle you?

Sometimes I search for pieces of paper and pens laying around in order to write something down, because it will make things better. For as long as I have known me, I have been writing. When I learned to write, I wrote stories and illustrated storybooks. I always had the urge but it was never really well organized, I didn't finish much of the books, for the ideas rapidly became greater than my ability to write them down. Frustrated, I would abandon the project. I wanted to write like the authors of the books I devoured. I knew it was in me, but I didn't know how to get it out. I still don't, and I still feel it in me. 

I've been considering my bf's remark that maybe I lack some self-discipline in my worry processes. As in, I should get it together and no let myself worry about things that I can't do anything about. True that, I understand the concept. It's just - I'm not obsessing about the color of my dress and my purse, I am petrified, deep down and not so - and also at skin level, aura level, petrified that I am not going to be anything in this life. That my life will resume itself in an endless search of a phantasmagorical goal. I'm scared of never being able to stick it out in anything, of being my worst enemy and not allowing myself to "- no erasing, ok. Not really of being my worst enemy, that's not what I meant. I meant it in the sense that maybe ME, my entire person, is the problem in this kind of world. Maybe there isn't - maybe- it's too scary to write down, even. Scary also because I know someone will read it and will judge it. That's scary as well. 
Do you think Friday will ever get here? 
Do you think July will " " " " "?
I have a good feeling about a translation career. About jobs, about being good enough, about studying it.Part of me is - doesn't want to start because I'm afraid I'll be disappointed again and then the problem will really, really, in reality, be....me!

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