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...

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.

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.

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

...

Eve

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!
Flashbacks

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.

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...

Featuring Toothpaste for Dinner

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

Tcho!