A Blow is Enough

Criativity

Creates Activity

It’s running a slow flux

a joint of sensations

the inhospitable complex of the soul

Believe it! There’s something around here

It bothers you, ready to explode

Materializing in images colors

words letters music notes

The defense against the unkown

makes you being contracted

and the soul drains under the heartache

pressed within the chest

Thick translucent slow

Misfit flux

falling on the skin,

burning the dismay,

being transported by signs.

Brains.

Interpreters of the soul.

Reluctant to form words.

Hate searching letters to the emotion.

Disagree to the chaos

generated by uninterpretable.

However, the flux continues,

what remains is transportating yourself

to the chaos of the discontented

and uninterpretable inspiration.

A blow is enough.

I, Eu, Ich, Yo, Je

Kill here insides what lives in my being. I am the daughter of whom, granddaughter of the grandfather, father and mother join together and do something that I am. Me. Damn, all this is very crazy! Again I picked me up watching the whole time like a flat thing. I see myself old, adult, married, without tooth, pregnant, I see the success, the defeat, the fear. Everything is so strong that in the end I don't understand what I am what I want what I love what makes me alive.

At the same time I would like to stop being so selfish.

The God who comforts me shows me the rest of the world, because the whole world has no time for questioning. The instinct for survival is much stronger than the vain philosophy.

Questions for themselves are vacuum. Perfect vacuum. Not an atom of the universe.

Stop. Breathe. It is what my conscience says.

I stop, breathe, cry. Because the tears are evidence of more sincere emotion when you're in a dark room alone without prospects. So I am: no prospects. Everything is so indifferent.

At the same time I would like to stop being so selfish.
I gave a real and eighty cents for the Big Bus Brazil today. Does that show that I am not so selfish like I thought?

Why living without notion about the future what to want what to love is so bad?
I swear that everything I do is so true, but not certain.

I d i d s o m u c h f o r t o d a y.

The best thing is when i have no words. I try to find them from tthe deep of my memmory. They fly over my brain and I can't. I force. I think. I stop. Where it is. I wanted to reffer anything with regard to sensations, but it's not that so, it's something beautiful but that's with regard to sensations. The strength is enormous, and my body forgets everything, I tremble, my fingers shake without my wish. And even now I can't.

I can't because what I really wanted to say with the words I didn't found perhaps were not more important than to find them.

At the moment in which I put myself disposed to find something that I forget, what i really forget is what i wanted to say. Because at one instant the words are more important than the sense, or the own message.

It's like all the people in the world wanted to say something, searching for the words to explain. But, it doesn't remain a drop of reality. There's only the image of what was said.

Walking by the streets, talking with friends, I don't retain myself in what is said.

What is said is banal. Unless that there are fewer word to see.

I wanted the world to stop now. So I stop and watch every detail, until the growing young little grass between the parallelepipeds of the city. Why no one sees?

To Look.
The breath of God also gave us eyes, 'cause dry eyes alone are only a huge empty incomplete with sensations.
The world doesn't stop, nothing stops never. I will not stop watching the little grass, or contemplate the vastness.
One is never too young to realize what is not realized.
One is never too old to ignore what has been understood.

The essence is very complete. No one need power to take it. Just leave. Go.

Thousand

Realizing that the world is here.

Because every time I have a different wish. Have I already said about the ribbons?
And my sang comes, that same music always:
"Tire seu sorriso do caminho, que eu quero passar com a minha dor."
There isn't so much pain as it says, but so many smiles. Smiles from the past present and even future.
I have already played and sang the melody with so many ways that I discover each time a world of possibilities, of ways, of selves.
And then I come to the old story that a human being is all human beings. The same human that is in me, is in the beggar on the street who I meet every day wishing her a good morning. Her "good morning" is better than mine, it happens because she found something that I don't find. And I confess that many people in my routine also don't find that.
I want to be a thousand. I want to be just one. For a while, I am just the murmur of people passing on the streets, I'm one that passes, the doorman, a neighbor, a beggar. I am them and they, a piece of me.

Recreating

What am I doing?
I look and see, and I re-invente me: with other attitudes, personality, decisions. As if every moment I could be new, not something that I can be. But that I can plane.
I see the paths in front of me, I see the traces left by the time that I'll make. And these traces go behind the paths and cross thenselves randomly, like ribboms of a gymnast.
Colored in time. In space.
This seems very real to me although I know that is not a little. Why?
It sounds so simple. "Go there and live." So simple that no one in the world understands the meaning of the facts, why living, living, and then, dust. Obviously there is something beyond, or not?
The murmur of the gods. Something that makes us open our eyes for intantes, and makes us alive. However, the time, the boredom of humans, makes us used with the fact of living, simply because everyone in the corner cans. Capitalism doesn't value.
So I stop and ask myself, what I'm doing. And I realize that I have felt into the trap of time, life was already so common that it lost its way.
I continue to rebuild, so I will find something that remakes me and get me out of this trap. Exist. Not in the dry sense of the word. Be completed at everytime. Only this works.

Performed

Need.

This is the correct word. Sometimes I get myself forgetting the words such as bifurcation. Which is a good word for the moment.
This is a way to liberate me from something that wants to happen.
I cannot yet identify.
I know it will happen, and I don't wanna feel this for a long time.
If someone ordered you, would you run toward a wall until you hit it?
I would run. I would beat it, but not hurt me.
Some moments it seems that the power is mine, and other moments the power is yours, as captain planet said .
I see things happen and don't do anything, and nobody does something. That's really freaked me out.
What I am trying to be? I know it is something that is not possible.
For a second I do a zoom out, and I see the whole earth and me so small here. It is quite strange. I can not think about it. I go mad.

Nice to meet you. This is me.
I'm sorry about the excess of flowing thoughts, it's a small demonstration of what is comming, and it's the best way to introduce myself.

See you soon!