One more time
Friday, 25 June 2010
15:16
I don't give a damn to dream, we know it. Mas, como já aconteceu outras vezes, alguns desses sonhos apertam os botões certos botões em mim. E bite me se os que se encaixam nessa categoria, não se encaixam porque são sempre coerentes e singulares. Corretos. Com um timing perfeito.

Então, no sonho, era ele lá. Justo, ontem.

O tipping point? Primeiro, ele estava idílico (bite me again, pun not intended), em um pedestal. Lindo, distante, frio, inumano. Tirando o último aspecto e a real conotação dos outros, ele estava como sempre. E o olhar dele, talvez um decibel I'm sorry Dr. Cooperr na escala Richter mais intenso.


Palavras-chave: motosserra, meu braço, filme de terror, dream, field/camp/pasto, Gustavo.

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Here is where I'm free. Free to write, free to think. I'm all by myself, all to myself. Only me.­­ ­I can shout my fucks and cry my Oh Gods. Look to my madness or say "who are you?" Today, I fell connected. Tomorrow, maybe not. Maybe I'm too worried with other things, someone is here with me. Maybe inspiration didn't hit me. My most important thoughts (to me) come to me when I'm far away from notepads and notebooks, but close to myself. That's what this is made of.
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About
We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and -- in spite of True Romance magazines -- we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely -- at least, not all the time -- but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness. — Hunter S. Thompson

the months passed by...

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