I sold my sleep to rock 'n roll.

Dark circles under my eyes.
My throat feels like I've been singing death metal. Well, not that I haven't.
Sluggishness in general and absolute lack of will to be productive.
In fact, the only will I have is to get the fuck outta here and fly away. Right now.

Any reasonable doctor would recommend that I stop listening to punk rock.

Rejoice

"Wouldn't it be so wonderful if everything were meaningless?
But everything is so meaningful.
And most everything turns to shit.
Rejoice."

I'm looking through you.

I am in love. I'm fascinated - and maybe even obsessed - in a way I haven't been in so long. I think of her, make plans with her, feel excited by the thought of having her follow side by side with me in the future. There are little hearts coming out of my eyes, but mostly I feel like I'm being myself more than ever.

But if I'm obsessed, dude, I don't know what word I can use to describe what you are. Oh, wait, there's a thesaurus online. You're bewitched.

You seem like you found your Yoko, someone who doesn't even need to give you orders. She only turns you into this fucking little boy, displaying her picture instead of your own, displaying her name instead of yours.

And just like Lennon, you're becoming one, killing each other in the process.

I still care for you, nothing is lost. But I'm saddened for not being on top of your priority list anymore. I used to think no matter what happened with our lives, we wouldn't be far apart.
I thought it didn't matter if you were playing things I didn't like, heck, that you don't like even, in places where I feel uncomfortable. Whenever I went and caught you by surprise, we wouldn't feel awkward, we'd still be accomplices.

You're not the same. I'm not the same either. But I still see you as a brother and feel frustrated for your absence.

640x480.

When things get fucked up, life gains a very low resolution.
Everything is pixelized, big dots that barely make sense beside each other.
Unless you're able to get some distance, nothing makes much sense.

The grey remains of a friendship scarred.

It's strange how these words, these sounds make me revive the ruin of what was supposed to be perfect and turned out to be... nothing.
Everything you write is so carefully studied, crafted, for so long, that it's hard to believe how they capture some moments, how you describe the things that were so hard for you and I to understand, to admit.
Our fears, our flaws, our incompatability.

It almost brings me to tears, because I'll never forget how it felt to die a little, when our hope was loss, when we realized it was all too late.

This blog has officially turned into a quotation book.

"I can hear the buzz of modulations of the universe
But you're the first to make me feel it
It's only joy I ache"

"The least important thing in life is that which is behind me"

It's like the past, being a giant octopus, stretching its tentacles and making you wonder if it'll try to grab you, suck you in.
And whether you'll let it.

what you do to me.

A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness.

eat your heart out, Machiavel.

I'm guided by goals.

Fucking shit.

It's just like my friend Leo says.
A band is much like a marriage, except a few times more complicated. Afterall, it's not just two people (unless you're the White Stripes or the Black Keys) trying to get along.
If it's two people, if they break up and one part decides to get back together, there are two possibilities: if the other one wants it too, they get back, otherwise, they don't.
With a band, there are four or five people's opinions, egos and interests involved.

Today I'm not in the mood for democracy. And I'm not getting myself in obvious trouble again. So my answer is no.

Mellow Doubt.

I shouldn't care this much to read something, as loose as that, from someone like you. But I did. It haunted my mind all day. Not remorse, neither uncertainty. Simply a ghost that I saw exorcised.

I want you to love someone, fully and deeply, like I do now. Someone able to complete you like I never could, simply because we don't match as much as we liked to think.

But it feels strange, to realize. It used to feel solid, constant, and became nothing, abruptly, absolutely. I can't imagine a human being that would get over this quickly and painlessly.

I feel we've cut our final connection, the last thread in my mind. I see now we're not just apart, we're going our own separate ways. And it's great, but it's just one of those bad feelings when you realize things.

The inevitable ache of loss.

I'm so lucky to be where I am today. I hope I have cried my last tears of mourning to this. We have to be free.

Redundant.

I'd rather risk being obvious than risk being misunderstood.
I love synthesis, but when it doesn't come to me, I prefer being redundant than say less than what I mean to say.
I'd also rather ask an obvious question than assume something wrong and get in trouble.

There are things to talk about.

Today we filled up our third archive of MSN history.
That's a good way to measure our mutual interest. Isn't it much more meaningful than celebrating anniversaries?

I know.

I'm going to post an ad. It will find me the perfect band. It will say:
"Seeking someone with Husker Du/Peter, Paul, and Mary influences"

Or maybe I won't.

Today at the CLA meeting.

Amidst irritating microphone noises, he clears his throat.
- Um, hello everyone, I'm glad to be here!
- HELLO!
- Er... my name is Fernando, and I am addicted to being late...
Everyone claps without excitement.
- Yes. Thanks... uh, I just take pleasure from being criticised and frowned upon, besides risking my job and people's trust, just for the taste of staying twenty more minutes in bed, or even for the fun of procrastinating when I should be hurrying.
More half-dead clapping, before the sentence was completed.
- I have been on time for two days. And I was on time today... but I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to mantain this... is there some sort of 12-step program for me?

(Soundtrack: Teenage Fanclub playing Chords Of Fame)

followed the ley lines
the faded out road signs
I need direction
to take me to you

(Soundtrack: Teenage Fanclub playing I Need Direction)

Tunnel vision.

I'm coming, I'm coming.
I have some things to prove myself and it seems easier to do hard things with a motivation.
Always worked for me, amazingly. I hate pressure just like the next guy, but if there's nothing pressing me, you can be sure I'll just relax too easily.
There's still a lot to be done but this is time-critical and we need to take one step after the other, knowing in us that it will pay off.

(Soundtrack: The Shins playing Turn A Square)

Folsom Prison Blues.

"sorry bout the little interruption there but I just wanted to tell you that this show is being recorded for an album released on Columbia Records and you can't say 'hell' or 'shit' or anything..."

Johnny was DA MAN.

(Soundtrack: Johnny Cash playing Dark As The Dungeon)

About Five Boys (S PRCSS).

This song does not remind me of open fields.
This song does not remind me of the beach.
This song does not remind me of skyscrapers.
This song does not remind me of the seventies.
This song does not remind me of an old girlfriend.
This song does not sound whiny.
This song does not sound emo.
This song does not cheer you up.
This song does not sound Dawson's Creek.
Maybe just a little.
This song does not make me want to cry.
This song does make me want to run.
From anyone. And everything.
This song is strong.
This song is heavy.
This song is not heavy metal.
This song is not acoustic.
This song is not incomplete.
This song is not so simple.
This song is not provoking/invoking/revoking.
This song sounds like somebody's knocking on my wall. Twice.
This song feels like scrapes into my left ear.
This song feels like bleeding.
This song feels like drinking a glass of acid.
This song feels like running scared.
This song is pure melody.
This song is over.

You dig.

Amazing how inspiration seems to pop right out of the soil. It's easier to write songs about bad experiences when they're in the past.

This is a new phase, "there are things to talk about," so much to consider. Our daily conversations make me think things over so much that I realized everything is so much deeper and more interesting than it seemed. Thinking is always good creative excercise. Well, duh.

I want this new band to work. No more self-sabotage, I feel closer to my guitar now. I know I can speak through music and that's what I'll do. She makes me so sure of this, not because of her compliments, but because she listens. She knows what I mean and I feel supported. I seriously didn't think I could expect that from anyone.

Pride and joy.

Last night I was proud and egomaniacal once again (I know, when will it stop...).
I was invited to present my graduation project for a classroom in college, from one of the professors who I liked very much.
It was fun, although I was pretty nervous. I didn't want anyone sleeping. I tried to direct the whole presentation towards them, since they are in the "creative" division, like I have been once, I know they'd get bored to tears if I started presenting every single marketing detail, graph and number. So me and Gushiken tried to be as informal and quick as possible.

There were some funny things along the way. I did an impression of the teacher who invited me to present, since it's one of my favorite things to do in life (it's irresistible, the guy is SUCH a character). Luckily he had enough sense of humour to laugh it off and not kick my ass... the other funny thing was to realize that I'm not there anymore, I don't owe any reverence to anyone there; not only do I not have to live with all those fucking yuppies around, I kept noticing how the classroom is divided into very defined sectors.

There are those who don't give a flying fuck, and have to show everyone else they don't care; there are those who are interested and quiet all the time, participate now and then; and there are those who are right up front, who want to show you how they understood every single word you pronounced. As the person in front of the blackboard, I can tell you those up front are the ones who make you feel the most relaxed, because they're your immediate termometer. Of course, you must pay attention to the rest and try to get them to respond too.

I mean, maybe this all sounds more like middle school than college, but that's the thing. Most colleges I know are like that, except for the big State Colleges, with all the respectable scholars. And with no money at all. Students likewise.

I've been invited to return which I will gladly do twice more. After that, I need to get paid, hehe.

Air this side of earth...

... is currently cold. God damned climatic phenomena. That's the great thing about São Paulo, you get used to the heat, it gets cold, and vice-versa.
The ideal thing to do here is to go out with those pants that you unzip the leg and they become shorts. But wait, that's unfashionable, so what you can do is cook yourself do death.
But I'm good, I'm glad. Today there's a tryout at the band, one of the boys from the studio where we practice (no, not the death-metal long-haired one, the other) is interested in joining the band. I'm unsure whether that will work, essentially because there are certain things about being in an independent band that must be considered.

One of them is you're doing it for the art, or else you'd let go of your independency and just obbey someone's marketing plan. You must know your public is in the underground, in places that smell like cigarettes (and occasionally, other things that are smoked), filled with tattoed ladies and boys with plenty of self-inflicted punctures in strange places.

And I'm very certain this buddy of mine has never been to an indie party before, if he even heard the word indie before. Is that bad? Maybe it's good to integrate someone in the band who comes from outside, but I've learned from earlier experience that it becomes tiresome trying to explain songs to people who don't quite get them. I'm hoping that the way he seems to enjoy my songs means he gets my point.

I've been thinking so much about this, and I don't really know what to do. Sometimes I feel that I needed someone from punk rock in my band, really. Especially playing drums. I hate complex drums, that stand out from the song. I think drums have to be just good enough to fit the melody, rythm is subservient to melody in my conception. But then, I don't want anyone who's a big hardcore fan, that's not punk for me.

Fuck, I just can't explain anything. Let's just see how it goes...

oh, you moron.

Oh, pazzo, pazzo, pazzo!
Figlio di puttana, sai che tu sei un pezzo di merda?
Crepa, pezzo di merda, e vai a sucare cazzi su un aereo!

boy scouts these days don't help old ladies cross the street.
they buy indie cds and support the bands.

Nightmare #1203985A-293

So there I was, wandering around in the middle of some hideous favela.
As I walked inside, petrified, everyone stared. Some salesman of something comes along and keeps repeating that I am Jesus Christ.
I suddenly become intrigued and go after the salesman, asking him why he was calling me that. He laughs in irony and runs to some corner, where two thugs talk. He says "hey, the dude there is asking why he's Jesus Christ." and the thugs come to the streets, gazing me.
I run for my life, realizing I'm lost in a place where everyone knows what I'm running from.
At some point, my mom enters the story and now I'm fearless, I'm afraid of what could happen to her but it's not the fright I was experiencing the scene before. When they see her, invincible and angry, they do nothing, just walk away.

(Soundtrack: Diesel playing Plastic Smile)

Dress for success.

I'm flattered. How could it be any different?
I don't deny I did sit down and try to prepare something worth reading on my mom's wedding, especially because I hate it when people do their speeches and:
a) they're drunk as hell, so they can barely speak, let alone say something useful for the situation;
b) they talk for hours and hours and
c) end up saying more than they should, sometimes revealing a bit more than anyone cares to know.
But I was so overwhelmed by the response that I didn't even know what to say. Everyone was weeping, and the people I respect the most were hugging me and giving me congratulations for what I said. Especially my mom and her husband.
Someone asked me whether it was all marketing, because I made some stupid comment like "oh, now just wait till I try to sell you some shampoos!" They asked jokingly, but I kind of think it does hold some truth.
The contents of the speech were very true, I couldn't write something like that without really meaning it. But the way you write something plays such a role on how people will identify or understand it. And I'm certain I've learned a lot studying and working with communication.

Yes, uncle McLuhan. The media is indeed the message.

I think I know what my goal in life is. I've been thinking about it a lot and this kind of situation make even more sure.

My goal in life is to communicate, as well as I am able to.

While that is vague, I think it's really something worth living for, in a world where people kill and die every day simply because they can't understand each othery, or don't even try to "translate" (sometimes even to the same language) what they really mean.

This one really did surprise me in the end.

Watching a bad movie fucks up my mood, just like seeing a good movie makes me love life a bit more.
But what fills me up with endless JOY is to see a movie that I expect to be bad, and it turns out to be just great.
"The Village", Shalayman's latest, is one of those flicks that surprised me so much it just made my day.
The acting is great, the photography is very interesting, featuring his (in)famous takes where just a nudge of the camera will scare the hell out of everyone.
The story is complex, full of twists, but as you watch, it reveals itself simple, poetic and humane. It's amazing how he moves the focus of the story so seamlessly from one character to the other.
It is also amazing to see how the writer and director has freed himself from the chains of supernormal-alien-pseudo-x-files fiction, and how he ironizes even that expectation that you and I have from him, with this plot. Yes, the ending is surprising, yet unlike "The 6th Sense", I want to watch this one again, regardless of knowing the end, just to try and notice more of the careful details hidden everywhere.
Now don't go see it expecting some art movie, of course it's still a 60 million dollar production, and still holds much appeal to the masses. Although I think most of it is believable, there are certain things that push the envelope a bit too far.
Still, poetry is what differs a good commercial movie from the rest. And "The Village" has plenty of it.

... oh yeah, and Bryce Dallas Howard, HOLY SHIT.

Dear diary,
I'm still not fully recovered, as I once believed.
If I had a health-o-meter, it would be marking around 88% right now.
There's the wedding tonight, isn't it weird to say "my mom's wedding?" I just feel strangeness in that. But I'm so glad for it to happen, something she wanted to much and that represents her happiness at the moment.
Which reminds me I had promised to do some sort of speech on the toast, I must get to writing that now! I feel so bad for not getting them anything, if it wasn't a holiday I could just go to the mall and buy something for the house, since everyone else seems to be doing so.
But that reminds me I'm also pennyless, aren't I?

In heaven.

... I'll have mine with pieces of dead animals, please.

Fake plastic food.

I was pretty bad. I'm much better now.
I strongly advise you: do not eat in places with dusty plastic horses at the door. That can't be a sign of cleanliness.

Happy with no teeth.

I'd rather starve than have to beg.
But I can never complain, or so they say. I owe you for all the cold, obliged money that you threw my way all these years without ever caring to ask me where it was going. The only thing constant you ever offered, besides that monthly fee that was your ball-and-chain, were your pointless demands.
I could sit here and talk about each time that you made me feel like a beggar, envious of your fortunes, but that would take way too long and wouldn't do any good.

Oh no, I'm not complaining. I've never been so satisfied to be broke.

Sick as a dog.

I pledge never to eat on that crappy buffet again. Nor will I ever eat a truckload of pizza when my stomach is upset.
My eating habits have become more and more reckless with time. I don't like to blame others for my mistakes, but I'm pretty certain my estranged companion has influenced me in the worst ways. I would never have considered eating a pack of cookies for lunch at 5pm before the whole adventure.
You'd expect that from someone who can't stand lettuce or anything that isn't made of sugar, flour or milk. Not from me, nope.
So here's what you get! I mean, not that I could ever complain about the day off at work, and sleeping till 1pm. Just all the aching and practically moving my room to the restroom isn't that great.

Deja Vu.

I go see a movie about erasing memories of past relationships from people's brains and spot an old flame who I'd rather forget about.

I don't hate her, or feel anything for her, I just despise fake smiles.

See, our relationship was divided in four distinct phases: love, hate, forgiveness and indifference.
First, everything was going great, I was in love. But she was too scared to commit, and not sure about being in love (or maybe afraid to admit?), so all of a sudden she stopped everything without really telling me about it. Then there was hate.
Then lots and lots of time went by. My hate is strong, but it does have an expiration date. I tried the good old white flag, and got indifference and plastic smiles in return. Indifference.

So why even say hello. Anything other than indifference for you has been deleted from my mind. "You look familiar. Deja vu!?"

It has begun.

Welcome to the game of life, ladies and gentlemen.
Every player is by themselves. The game is played by running and running, it sounds simple, but the paths change constantly their directions, which makes it a little harder.
Make your decisions fast, do not sit around or you'll be swallowed whole.
Do not try to find much sense, just follow along and move to wherever your GPS-heart tells you to.
The emergency exit is much frowned upon, but it's always easy to reach.

(Soundtrack: Gomez playing Bring it on)

I'll make it clear.

They think they know us
But they don't know us
Love there's nothing
That they can show us anymore
It's never been like this before

I'll make it clear
I love you dear

Just something simple
And unaffected
We're getting closer
Than we expected to be
It's me for you and you for me

I'll make it clear
I love you dear

Your life was darker
And I think you lost your way
Stumbled into your life
To brush the past away