Nowhere fast

An old song(or a part of it)...Probably part of the soundtrack of Streets of Fire... But the rain won't stop and I don' t really feel like writing right now...
 
Stalkin' in the shadows by the light of the moon
It's like a prison and the night is a cell
Goin' anywhere has gotta be heaven tonight
'Cause stayin' here has gotta be hell
Dyin' in the city like a fire on the water
Let's go runnin' on the back of the wind
There's gotta be some action on the face of the earth
And I've gotta see your face once again
 
And I don't know where I ever got the bright idea that I was cool
So alone and independent
But I'm depending on you now
And you'll always be the only thing that I just can't live without
And I'm out for you tonight
I'm comin' out for you tonight
 
Even if you don't have anywhere to go
You go down on the pedal and you're ready to roll
Even if you don't have anywhere to go
You go down on the pedal and you're ready to roll
And your speedIs all you'll ever need
All you'll ever need to know
Darlin', Darlin'
 
You and me we're goin' nowhere slowly
And we've gotta get away from the past
There's nothin' wrong with goin' nowhere, baby
But we should be goin' nowhere fast
 
Everybody's goin' nowhere slowly
They're only fighting for the chance to be last
There's nothin' wrong with goin' nowhere, baby
But we should be goin' nowhere fast
It's so much better goin' nowhere fast

I really miss being blond...lol 

Cold Tuesday

It's just another cold Tuesday. Is this really a new phase for me or just a feeling? I look around and I can't see things the same way cause I am not the same. I am definitely not a child or teenager anymore. All the excuses are gone. So now what? I haven't learned to enjoy life as an adult. I don't want to be always busy and gray. I want to run in the sun, faster than the other kids. I wanna laugh and be the first to bleed. And if I bleed too hard, I wanna hide in my room. With my poets, my candlelight, my songs, my locked door. But now the whole world has changed. I hear them call my name out loud. I am needed. And I have to be there. It is an honor. And a cross to bear. So now what?

This is my friend Carol. We've known each other since we were...3 or 4 years old... 

The Doors of Perception

I am disappointed. After years of waiting on a chance to read one of Huxley's books, The Doors of Perception, I feel sad that I finally got it done. It is in fact interesting, as a report of his experience with mescaline. But some of his conclusions seem to come from his own theories, which appear on the pages as if come from nowhere. No argumentation leads to his beliefs...They are just thrown over the text as it pleases him. As an example I could talk about his idea of the mind being a "filter" of our omniscience. You don't simply say something like that. If you dare to suspect it, go and do some serious research, for God's sake! Anyway, I still love the way he writes and Brave New World will always be one of my favorite books, but all the misty my mind insisted to keep around Huxley is gone. He is not my hero anymore...

But sometimes...While he described the sensations he had while he was high on peyote...They seemed so close to what I experienced when I had some anxieties attacks they use to call "panic attacks" ... Obviously, I don't see that as an experience of absolute freedom of mind, but...As a distortion of the reality which makes people slaves of this new vision of life. But not for one second I accept this new vision as something closest to the supernatural. Or something that leads us to the NEXT level. Or yet, anything that gives us hints of how things should be. I like being in control of my mind, so I can analyze and say that Huxley was no genius. He was an excellent writer, who did get high. And also...A dreamer.

Bad times poetry

I don't really believe in translating poetry...so here's one...in portuguese...written some years ago...in one of those nights we try to die...

Tanatos, porque nao te renuncio?
De vida, em mim nao ha instinto
Vontade é algo que nao sinto
E a morte, ja a anuncio

Ja nao existo e desse inferno vou-me cedo,
Digo, e se acaso tiver a sorte
De calma e placida me vir a morte
Afirmo: Nao tenho medo

Hades, hades em que vivo
Mesmo sabendo que Deus ha um, nao mais
Acaso sabes a quantos deuses sirvo?

E acaso sabes que mal me faz
Servir a dor que me tem cativo
Amar o sonho e o deixar para tras?

Yes...real bad times...but I won't pretend I've never cried. =)

Old times at Hard Rock's toilet...lol 

John

It's been a strange day. I don't want to see anyone. I don't feel like talking. Talking is too hard. I just look outside my window amd see so many other windows. I wonder if anyone else is feeling as low and introspective as me...in their rooms.
It's a strange city. I heard so much about violence and I trully fear it. Yet, it has never really threatened me drectly. I hear of loneliness and yet whenever I look in stranger's eyes, they seem all so busy and complete...
My neighbour opens his door and smiles at me. A smile that only exists cause of casuality. I would never ring his bell to small talk or simply smile, but I know how much that simple smile matters. It tells me somehow I fit in this world, I am accepted and as thirsty as I am for being part of something, I smile back, grateful. His name is John Paul something. I don't know much about his life, except that his wife used to be a teacher. At some point she quit, maybe to take better care of their three sons. Their older boy used to go to school with me but we never really got along well. High school boys can get really empty. But that man, John...there was something about him. Always taking care of his flowers. John Paul Whiteman, staring at those blood red roses. Making each and every one of them special by the strenght of his stare. John Paul Goldman, making me wish I were one of his humble flowers.
I leave my window open wide as I let my robe fall off my body and look discreetly out of the window. Yes, he is still looking up. John Paul Goodman looks at his house window. No sign of danger. He looks back right at me. At me. That's my reward. And sadly, probably the best part of my day. Yet, nothing is worse than being in the shaddows all your life. Now, I am in the spotlight as John Paul Freeman slowly touches his jeans. I keep pretending I didn't notice. And It all happens. And it happens so gently and discreetly. In such a subtle way, that it could all be denied so easily. All happens as if by accident, so that in the next morning I can pass by his door and innocently say - Hello, Mr Oldman.

Standing Outside the Fire

I know it is a bit too country...not my style...but still...wonderful lyrics.

Written by: Garth Brooks, Jenny Yates

"We call them cool
Those hearts that have no scars to show
The ones that never do let go
And risk the tables being turned

We call them fools
Who have to dance within the flame
Who chance the sorrow and the shame
That always comes with getting burned

But you've got to be tough when consumed by desire
'Cause it's not enough just to stand outside the fire

We call them strong
Those who can face this world alone
Who seem to get by on their own
Those who will never take the fall

We call them weak
Who are unable to resist
The slightest chance love might exist
And for that forsake it all

They're so hell-bent on giving ,walking a wire
Convinced it's not living if you stand outside the fire

Standing outside the fire
Standing outside the fire
Life is not tried, it is merely survived
If you're standing outside the fire

There's this love that is burning
Deep in my soul
Constantly yearning to get out of control
Wanting to fly higher and higher
I can't abide
Standing outside the fire

Standing outside the fire
Standing outside the fire
Life is not tried, it is merely survived
If you're standing outside the fire"