kelly's room

tonight...

2007-04-27T21:24:00.000-07:00

They took my fears away
They kissed my lips and forehead
It was night, I was dark
Wind was cold, cut my heart
Blood was thick, life is short
They came silently because
No one was supposed to know
They're the ones who drove me home
They'll be there for me, my friends...
Save me once and once again
Little white jagged and strange
Little ones, hide in my hand

heart beat
heart beat
my beggining and my end
my hystory

In a heart beat that won't follow the flow
In a heart beat out of time
I wait you
I know you
I hate you and I hold you

They come to rescue me
They place my head in a pillow
They kiss me goodnight and call me angel
They dry my tears and sorrow

You take my breath away, angel....

sometimes...

2007-04-04T12:12:00.000-07:00

Sopro

2006-05-17T13:16:00.000-07:00

Esta no vento, que brinca em meus cabelos
Teu sopro, intenso e ameno
Na brisa que provoca, que vacila
Teu toque, que insita, que sacia

No escuro, nao durmo, te vejo
Me olhas sorrindo, me deitas
Te sigo num sonho, me beijas
Me calas, me aqueces, me zelas

Nao sinto mais tantos aromas
Eh sempre, sempre teu cheiro
Que espero, que sinto, que quero
Que tenho em mim, que desejo

Se acordo, o faco por ti
Se sonho, o faco por ti
Se choro, o faco por ti
E assim me encontro, acho o meu lugar

Poseidon

2006-05-16T13:39:00.000-07:00

Poseidon, deus de mim,
Eu me sinto um oceano
Mar profano de incertezas
E as minhas tristezas
Não há Zeus que ponha fim

Poseidon, deus solitário
Teu palácio eh um santuário
Onde fui deusa de teu corpo
Afrodite quis assim

E se pensas que pode
Devolver-me a terra firme
Saiba que vou, mas não inteira
Fico em parte, sempre a beira

De tuas águas conturbadas
Em teu belo Mar Egeu
Ate que Hades clame
A posse que perdeu

Duality...

2005-12-09T05:42:00.000-08:00

There are good days...and bad days...
Sometimes I wish I was dead
Sometimes I fight to live.
There are good and bad days...
The night divides my sides.
A song is never sang the same
There are good days and bad days
I am everything and no one
I am Whitman and I'm Poe

There are good nights, and bad nights
I pray for health and kill myself
I survive and I fail to succumb
There are good nights and bad nights
my hate isn't always there
my love doesn't always end
There are good nights and bad nights
pain doesn't always cure me
and a kiss is not always poisoned.

THE HOLLOW CYCLE

2005-11-25T04:46:00.000-08:00

I blamed the system
I blamed the system
So I dove in hidden waters
I went to darker places
Made friends with the lost and hopeless
Made friends with fairies, devils
I shouted and cursed in wealthy places
Laughed of correctness, neglected bases
I hurt with knife the honored warriors
And kissed the lips of a thousand sailors
Danced in the spotlight free and naked
Built many smiles, untender, wicked
And still, there was no rest
Still I found no peace

Had to climb the highest mountain
To the top, where there’re no voices
Where the sun honestly burns
And no one begs for my return
Alone I was, as much as always
Just no crowd this time, no excuses
I found myself once, twice, three times
And read all in between my lines
Full understanding, full control
And knowledge came to give its glow
I saw the world as I looked down
No mysteries were left in town
But still, I cried, there was no rest
Still I found no peace at all

So I ran back to this uniform
Of lies and masks and fakeness
I kissed the preacher’s hands
I heard and said Amen
Jumped in holy water
Closed the door to squalor
A golden ring I wore
And said the words of love
Vows I made and not to break
In the pale moonlight at the lake
Dancing waltz with dad and smiling
Feeding little child and sailing
Away…cause there’s no rest
Still I found no peace

So I blamed the system
I blamed the system

gothic girl

2005-11-15T17:26:00.000-08:00

She was pale as a stone image in a cemitery. The small creature, tossing and turning helpless in bed woke up scared. Her tiny hands grabbed the black setin sheets in despair as she realised she was surrounded by death. It was a very cold night. Her eyes rolled a bit, searching for a escape, but all she saw was the purple walls of her bedroom. On the little table, a book of Poe's tales was resting, half read, half neglected. She stood up and left the bed. With strong steps she walked to the radio and turned it off. For some reason, that night she didn't care for music at all. No more loud guitars, no more crazy drums and wild screams...just not now! She looked herself in the mirror. Eyes still blackened by the shadow of last night's make up. A tear rolled down her soft face. She noticed it, surprised. It had been a while...

Then the cat, Lestat, her only real friend passed by her, and went to hide under the bed. It was when she felt her heart beating fast. An overpowering pain taking over her chest slowly, as if to enjoy her fear of it becoming stronger. And it did. She knew it! It was it. Her heart condition had finally surprised her with an unexpected intensity.

She looked at her wrists. She saw the marks. And the girl remembered of all the times she seeked death. She remembered how much she adored it and all the poems she had written as an ode to death came to her mind. Vows she made to demons. Sweet songs for a vampire. The constant invitation to a killer to walk in and finished with a life she thought unworthy, meaningless. It was tonight! Tonight...all of her dreams, finally were coming true.

She knew she should have felt happy and complete. But she did not.

She knelt on the floor, submited to the hope of the supernatural. Not to invoke the dark creatures that had always fascinated her. But for light. She dreamt of angels of light, coming with their white swords to rescue her. And goodness. And God.

"Please forgive me, Lord. I beg you. Please come and save me tonight, God, dear Father." - she cried.

She survived that night. In the morning, she washed her face. And started to look for who she was, honestly.

SLAVE TO SLAVERY

2005-11-08T08:35:00.000-08:00

I could kiss your ground
I could wash your feet
I could fool around
If you think bitter is sweet

I could dance for you
Be yours in the sand
you know that you rule
that my leash is in your hand

But the game is mine
I'm a slave to slavery
If I was really yours
you'd be able to deliver me

and don't deny, I know
you would love to see
how I'd let myself go
If I was for one night free

If I took the lead
If you knew my mind
Would you squirm and bleed
Or smile with pride?

Well, to hell with you!
I could be anyone's girl
I could be anyone's fool
as long as I BELONG TO

I WROTE THAT A GOOD WHILE AGO...BUT BACK THEN I'D NEVER HAVE THE COURAGE TO SHOW IT TO ANYONE... *SMILES*

So, a lil message to my dear friend Steven: When someone writes a poem, it doesn't mean they feel exactly that way... Usually they get inspiration on certain real feelings (their or of others, or even of the world around, colective impressions they have of the society) and they amplify it.
Hon, you're the best! =) Just don't take me tooooooo seriously.

and he said to me...

2005-06-06T07:49:00.000-07:00

'In the perfect society, women would be programable robots...turn on when you want....turn off when you're done....create a "cleaning the house" option.' - and he laughed

I could not pretend I did not understand his reasons. We, women can get really annoying at times. Women have many needs. Women play games. Women won't keep it simple. I thought for a while, and said

' Well, robots...very expensive. And not worth it when it's clear that a man who is wise enough can take a girl and turn her into whatever he wants her to be. What is the most annoying thing about women? Low self steem...insecurity. That is what produces the flaws men so often complain about. The constant wish to talk about feelings, the jealousy, the simple need to cuddle...all comes from the same self steem problem. And why is it most women won't have sex freely? They don't love themselves enough to understand it is ok to feel pleasure when it's not connected with love. It is much more complex then that but....all is around the same thing...self steem problems. So, a wise man who works on it, will have anything from a woman....she will submit herself and maybe without even knowing it. Cause it's natural....that's what we really want....our essences are that of helpers. And we will make the most of our submission if we understand a man is powerful and strong enough to lead us. If we feel this way...we dont even care about feeling good about ourselves. We only wish to make him feel good...for as long as he wants...his whole life... a year...one night...it doesnt matter. A wise man will turn a girl into an innocent mom and housewife....or a limitless slut...or both if he is really good. He wont need a 'clean the house' command...we'll do it without he even has to ask. We'll be whatever this intelligent and strong man wants us to be.

He thought for a while...as if analysing all I had said. After some moments, he put his hand on his chin and said

' Nah......robots!'

a lil more about me....

2005-06-05T11:53:00.000-07:00

In my darkest side
In my hardest night
I pray for shelter
I cry for light
I do the things
I never would
If I had something
to hold on to
I am part of the wind,
I go with the flow
I am the girl laughing hard
and the woman you know
but I act all the time
I want wild, I need slowly
I will never be alone
but I am always lonely

2005-06-02T06:45:00.000-07:00

I don' t like your poems
They break the bounds of poetry
Leave me helplessly sore
And I struggle not to read
I don't like your literature
That barely qualifies as it
But it's your wors I hate
Above all things

*dazed in a net of fire, I feel
wishing I would be the one You praise
defenseless and chained, I fight, I feel
and I write words to unease You*

To hell with the never ending stanza
My eyes grow tired and my heart grows sick
Unconscious, meaningless sentences
If someone else understands, to hell with

Never ending ego
You love yourself through your words
You love yourself through your loved ones
You set your own love traps

Dreams you created
Love you made up
I wanna scream
I hate your poems

The Classroom

2005-05-04T08:11:00.000-07:00

Vinny was her worst student. Yet, she knew he had potential. The 6 years old little boy had serious problems with obeying. Not that he had that common pleasure among students, to test their limits. This one simply didnt seem to understand there were rules. He was totally unaware of his bad behaviour. Eve had been a teacher for almost 7 years and during her experience she had faced many problematic students. She knew no one was simply bad, but there always was a reason why.

' We'll work on our mother's day card today, guys. So paint the big heart in red, carefully and let's all write I LOVE YOU right bellow. Remember, you're doint it for your mom. Make it special. If you need any help I'll be here, ok?'
The children started painting, gladly, showing their work, laughing and picking on each others, looking happy and content. Only little Vinny did not seem to be having fun. He was sitting on the chair looking down in anger.

'Vinny, why don't you start coloring yours?'
'My mom won't come to the celebration.'
'Why not, dear?' - she asked pading his straight blond her.
'She travels.'
'Uh...I see. Does it make you feel lonely, Vinny? Would you like to have her around more often?'
'NO!' - said the boy, jumping to his feet - 'I wanna play. I don't want to be beaten'.
'Does she beat you a lot? Isn't it cause you behave badly and she wants the best for you?'
'She doesn' t care. I am just a useless little prick'
Eve's eyes were dancing now around the class. All those happy little lips curving up in big smiles. She looked into Vinny's face and watched a tear slowly form and wet the little boy's cheek.
'Vinny, why do you say that? You're not a useless little prick. Who told you that?'
'She did. She does it all the time.'
'And your dad...what does he say?'
'He won't mind.' - The boy moved his shoulders up and down suddenly, in indiference - 'I dont care. They're never home. So they can't hurt me, right?'

As he said this last sentence, he ren to the little Bianca's desk. She was the one with the most well painted heart. Her face was all smiley and proud, but as she raised her work to show it to the class, Vinny grabbed it in the air, and laughing nervously, tore the pretty carefully colored heart in two. He proudly showed it to the other boys who looked very surprised, and threw it on the ground. Bibi dropped to the floor, trying desperately to put the parts together. As she found out that was impossible, all the class heard the noisy cry of the girl with a broken heart. Vinny, victoriously twirld around the class and started humming a terrible melody, making the teacher tremble. She grew desperate as she heard lil Vinny sing in a ferocious voice, this lovely tune:

'I love you. You love me. We're a happy family. With a great big hug, and a kiss from me to you. Won't you say you love me too?'

THE PLAY

2005-03-18T10:29:00.000-08:00

Sane, Safe, Consensual. These three words on the coat of arms were the only thing she could concentrate on. That and the cold silence of the Dungeon.
ONE - she heard him say as she felt his whip hurting her back for the first time that night. As her face was turned to the black walls, she could not see the weight of the stares of those who were watching. Greedy, Envious, Impatient, but never aloof.
TWO - he continued, as the back of his slave was hit at the exact same spot.
THREE, FOUR, FIVE - And the coldness of the place turned into a hot wave all over her body. Who she was, her past, her dreams...it was unimportant. Irrelevant was her beauty, her frailty. The white tone of her skin gave place to a desperate pink.
SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE - The sound of his whip kept driving her away from reality. She did not understand why but the pain had the power to take her in its arms and keep her safe. She closed her eyes.
TEN - She was falling. Were her hands not tied to the black cross she would have hit the ground. But she simply hung by her wrists for a while and soon recovered. She was back to her feet, as a good slave should.
ELEVEN, TWELVE,THIRTEEN, FOURTEEN - He was intrigued. He had been a Master for such a long time and he knew slaves dont usually go this far so passively. Had he lost his touch?
FIFTEEN - This one was harder to bear.
SIXTEEN, SEVENTEEN, EIGHTEEN - She moaned. She could not avoid it. Her skin had now been cut and it hurt like never before. It would not be so hard if he did not keep on hitting insistently the same spot. If only he could hit a different place...
NINETEEN, TWENTY, TWENTY-ONE, TWENTY-TWO - " No..." she moaned. She wanted it to stop but she couldn' t remember his name or hers, for several seconds.
TWENTY-THREE - "Dad? Dad, is that you?"
TWENTY-FOUR - "Don' t go away! I'll be good. If only you could.."
TWENTY-FIVE, TWENTY SIX, TWENTY SEVEN, TWENTY-EIGHT - " STOP CRYING SLAVE, DONT YOU TRUST YOUR MASTER???"
TWENTY NINE, THIRTY - " I trust you. I trust you. Please, please don' t leave me here. It's my birthday, you see..."
THIRTY-ONE, THIRTY-TWO - The blood dropped to her feet. She could see it and...she could not help but trying to get rid of the cords. After a while, she managed to free her hands and touched her pussy.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
" The blood...why am I bleeding?" - she cried
" YOU BLEED BECAUSE YOU ARE MINE! ARE YOU MINE?"
"I am yours."
"WHAT ARE YOU?"
" I am your slave girl. I am 9..."
THIRTY-THREE, THIRTY FOUR, THIRTY FIVE - She dropped to her knees like a helpless child. Her mind was going fast and she remembered one night, at the mountain house. So many years ago. She could almost hear her brother calling her name. He found her and took her hands. He was so tiny to have such troubled eyes...He took her to his closet and whispered " stay quiet...I won' t let anyone find you" How could she tell him there was nothing he could do?
She looked up at her Master. "Save me. You are strong. And powerful" - and she cried. She knew she had to find someone brave and able to kill the pain. She knew that the man who hurted her and he alone could make her feel better. He looked at his slave, surrendered on her knees. The game had gone too far. His feelings were all mixed up. He wanted so much to protect that flattering creature who cried at his feet. And he knew what he had to do.
THIRTY SIX, THIRTY SEVEN, THIRTY EIGHT, THIRTY NINE - Silence. The memories were gone. She was lying half-conscious on the cold floor. But she was not alone. He picked her up and took her to a beautiful room. When she woke up, there he was. She smiled and thanked him with tears in her eyes. She still could not remember her name.

a new way...

2005-02-08T19:12:00.000-08:00

He came again...in a new way. Not dressed like fire and ice. Not willing to play. He came silently and just stood beside me. Not many words were said this time. No promises were made. There was no need. No urgency. It was just a thrill. Just something to think about while I am tossing and turning sleepless in my bed. And it was enough...surprisingly enough. I am not empty. That is enough...for now.

Changes

2005-01-13T10:18:00.000-08:00

It was an old song that made me realise how much I've changed. I have no impossible dreams anymore. And I do think it is healthy, somehow. But in an attempt to escape and be free from the perfectionist dreamer I was I turned into an icebox, or some numb being. To be lost in a fantasy land is not good, but indiference can be even worse. It is hard for anyone to find the right way to care for the world and try to be significant without getting hurt. But sometimes we should just stop worrying about the pain. A certain amount of pain is required if you want to be somebody who makes a diference. It takes courage and some insanity to change things. Even the simple task od making yourself happy can' t be acomplished without pain. Learning and self improviment does not come for free. Satisfaction does not come without a price. Sometimes we need to do what' s dangerous. Am I ready? No. Does it matter? No. Cause life is now. I will not live forever, and I will not die every day.

Nowhere fast

2004-07-19T14:05:00.000-07:00

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

2004-07-13T16:14:00.000-07:00

I really miss being blond...lol

Cold Tuesday

2004-07-13T14:07:00.000-07:00

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?

2004-07-08T10:06:00.000-07:00

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

The Doors of Perception

2004-07-08T08:36:00.000-07:00

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

2004-07-07T09:40:00.000-07:00

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. =)

2004-07-07T09:35:00.000-07:00

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

John

2004-07-02T14:02:00.000-07:00

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

2004-07-01T09:23:00.000-07:00

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"

Enjoy it!

2004-06-30T15:42:00.000-07:00

As I was trying to create this blog, I had a serious problem...I realized how much I still try to control the impressions I may cause in people around. Should my father read this, what would he think if I talk about sex? Should my colegues find this blog, what would they say if I get a lil silly (and, God, I do get silly). I found myself staring at the walls, trying to decide how the hell I was going to be able to ever write anything here, if I was trying to please everyone, all the time. And this is the feeling that limitate people so often. Perfectionism. Because of it many people left no traces of their existence at all, cause they had never found the right words. Our minds are so complex, and our life experiences so rich. It is not right to allow our stories to be erased by time so easily. We all have things to share and a lot to teach. So why should we be so worried about finding the perfect way to express ourselves? One of the things I have learnt is that...there's no perfection in this world. But still, there is beauty. There is no way to control what people think about you. But still, there are ways to get in tune with some of them, ways to cause reflection, polemic, discussion. So, I'll feel free from now on, and...daddy, If you ever read my blog...well...just enjoy it!

ESCAPE

2004-06-28T19:52:00.000-07:00

If you enter my house, among the many things you will find is my music collection. Stones, The doors, Aerosmith, Led, Alanis, Meredith, Sheryl...oh, so many names. They have the power to really change my mood, so I respect all of them...in their styles. Mick brings me up, Jim gives me some tragedy (and we all need some of it every now and then), Robert tells me there's still hope, Alanis cries out loud "I UNDERSTAND YOU". But there are days when I just wanna feel there is sowhere I belong to, so I put on some aerosmith and Steven tells me stories about myself, my past, my crimes, my good deeds. And If those memories mess with my mind and bring me down, I try Oasis. Those guys will cry with me during one song, bring me up during the next, make me hate the world during the third one. But they remind me too much of the Beatles, so I try John, but ....oh...I hate john...so self assured. Paul is ok, but we just dont connect. Ringo makes me laugh for a while and I start to believe in life again. So George gets in and reminds me there's a supreme being who is always looking after me. I am safe. Calm. Warm in bed. But it is yet kind of lonely...Simply Red...Neil...I dont feel so empty anymore...I feel alright...just letting the song carry me...and then she comes....smiling and laughing...Miss Krall...walking over her piano...her feet touching the notes...my head touching the clouds...Diana...Diana

Welcome to my blog!

2004-06-26T18:44:00.000-07:00

Hi!

I'm Kelly. This is a space where I feel free to write anything I'd like to. The only rule is NO MASKS...