When I'm gone.

"Will you say to me when I'm gone
Your face is faded but lingers on
'Cause light strikes a deal with each coming night"
Oh, oh, oh, oh, coming night"
Iron & Wine - Each Coming Night

Waiting for her makes everything slow, sluggish, numb. Days haven't even been that longer, but these weeks that were going by in a flash just a while ago, are now dragging. Now that I count each day before I finally open my eyes and sigh in relieve, because she'll be here and be mine.

I needed a soundtrack that followed that rythm.

I think I'm going through some sort of acoustic strings phase. Been listening way too much to Iron & Wine, Will Oldham (aka Bonnie Prince Billy), the final Elliott Smith and Owen.

I've listened to "I Can Make A Mess Like Nobody's Business" (band names are getting so big that soon they just won't fit the side of the CD), but it just doesn't cut it for me. Sounds like a big Dashboard Confessional fan basically echoing Further Seems Forever and what he did afterwards, by himself.

What I need isn't whiny, it's this sensation of floating and lost in some sort of emotional limbo.

The Ghost of What Should've Been

(Owen)

What else in this room reminds me of you?
The windowsill with a crucified pit of an avocado still sits in water.
What else in this room reminds me of the relationship I've ruined.
The tables I made strong enough to hold your magazines,
but not your tired legs.
One more week in this apartment,
one more week of being haunted by the ghost of what should have been.
What else in this fucking empty room reminds me of fucking you?
An orphaned couch where I spent some long nights
while you went out with our friends.
What I wouldn't do to be a ghost like you, to be somewhere new.
To leave everything,
the way you left everything that reminded you of me.
One more week in this apartment, one more week of being haunted.

Phaser

I don't even wonder if they're gonna put me under
cuz you're here now, and I'm on fire
got no recollection of his holy words' infection
throwin sparks now, cuz I'm on fire
I come down again, take you in again
there's nothing to regret now
breathe you in like a cigarette
now dream
everytime you fix me when the fascination hits me
and i'm trippin around your head
one more resurrection after living that rejection
didn't kill me, because I'm dead

Wear.

Time makes everything thin.
That's all I can see right now.

I don't care.

"I can't find what's on my mind
Feeling low my thoughts are slow
Monochrome til you get home
(...)
I don't care about where I'm going
Because I'll be there and so will you."

Flushed From The Bathroom Of Your Heart

From the back room of your life you swept me out dear
In the bredline of your dreams I lost my place
At the table of your love I got to brush off
At the Indianapolis of your heart I lost the race
I've been washed down the sink of your coscience up
In the theatre of your love I lost my part
And now you say you've got me out of your conscious
I've been flushed from the bathroom of your heart.

In the garbage disposal of your dreams I've been ground up dear
On the river of your plans I'm up the creek
Up the elevator of your future I've been shafted
On the calendar of your events I'm last week
I've been washed down the sink of your conscience
In the theatre of your love I've lost my part
And now you say you've got me out of your conscious
I've been flushed from the bathroom of your heart.

Envy is a bitch.

It's amazing how some people change sides as often as the wind changes direction.
I always have to remind myself not everyone is trustwothy.

I think I'm starting to realize my problem isn't really competing, because I don't need to do much to win this sort of shit. it's the feeling that someone's trying hard to fuck you over. It's more a matter of rising up the shields than attacking.

Young Americans

Gringos, gringos, vote against Bush.
It's not just your country's future, it's the world's (and consequently your own, duh). In case you haven't been reading the news for three or more years, Bush has not only destroyed your economy but also turned the world against you.

If you're in doubt, pay attention to which of the two says less absurd stupid ignorant things - that's usually a good way to measure who should be your president.

And if you're still in doubt, visit PUNKVOTER.COM.
Cause when ROCK itself is against something, then how could you not be!

Raw power.

And did I tell you today I finally got to listen to Beatles Anthology Vol. 3? Oh, and did I love it.

The third volume of the collection, of which the very first volume was the album that made me see the light, and join the holy church of Helter Skelter, once and for all.

Of course, I did listen to the beatles as I grew up, given my dad was such a freak for the fab five that he'd spend all his hard-earned dough buying every single LP they'd release - I bet if Brazil had the habit of producing 7" records, he'd have them all too; back in the day.

But to me, it didn't mean a lot more than that band that he loved, among with everyone else. That is, until my mom gave to me that collection of raw songs, alternate versions, some bitching and swearing - but most of all, the sense of union and security that those boys had, taking those songs and easily making them their own. Joking as if they didn't give a shit, slowly turning the century upside down.

Volume three is basically an acoustic set, ranging from the White Album until the sad, yet furious, final days of Let it Be. How can I describe my impressions... take the best, most relevant MTV unplugged album, like Nirvana's, and multiply it by ten.

Sure, the finishing isn't quite fine, and plain to see, many of the songs weren't ready (though not too far from it). But to witness the embryo of a beatles song is probably like seeing a three-month-old fetus fully formed and ready to leave the womb, except he prefers to stay for some fine tuning. It's that kind of thing that just leaves you stunned.

What will happen as soon as I get my hands on those damned Anthology DVDs? Should I bring extra underwear?

Why, oh why?

...why does soon take so damn long?

A restless night at Pintassilgo Street.

So nice to bathe where I used to, so many centuries ago. To hear the incessant sound of birds, hopping from branch to branch, with a tweet that truthfully sounds like "home! home!".

I lift the door a little bit when closing it, just like I did back when this was my room, not an office. I quickly remember all the different ways my different furniture was placed here throughout the years, how I slept beside the door, parallel, then perpendicular and then parallel again, to the hallway. How I was so afraid to keep the door open, how my small sheets held the power to protect me from any kind of threat, hide any kind of secret, fulfill any kind of dream.

As I sit on this computer that isn't mine, on this non-child-friendly glass desk, taller than any bed of mine has ever been, the breeze slides smooth through the window and splashes on my face, like those nights when I'd stay awake playing, just playing, no regrets and no desire for anything, or anyone else. Or maybe just a latent desire for something unidentified, unexisting, something that I made up in my mind and insisted was there, in all of those languid women I loved, and from whom I never managed to steal even one kiss, so afraid to be disappointed.

My bed here is temporary, but somewhere between the front door and the dining table, my deepest inner peace seems to reside.

... AND I HATE MY NEW OFFICE'S LOCATION.

Two days and I already lost about six hours of my precious and unique life stuck in traffic.
How come traffic in that side of town seems so much more dangerous and aggressive? Here even when there was traffic, I just had to raise the volume and chill.
It seems there are ten times as much beggars in every red light, which doesn't help a lot in breaking the tension. Plus, every single street seems to be packed, and no alternative seems to be good. Can someone take two hours a day stuck in that sort of traffic?
Plus, now I don't get to eat lunch with my mom, which is bugging me a lot.

Can't stop bitching about life today!

Swallow and choke.

I need some time. There's too much smoke over my head, too much to think of, too much to solve, too much to adapt to, all at once, fucking hurricanes all over again.

A mixture of anxiety, guilt, fear, love, passion, doubts and certainties. Lousy, like I usually get whenever I have big goals. Sometimes I think I'm fooling myself, that I'm too lazy to aim as high as I do, I start out with stamina and end up sluggish. I suck at competing, maybe because I start from the premise I'm always worse than everyone else. I can't compete very well, especially when my biggest rival is inside myself, stepping on my toes.

Life never stops, it's like climbing up a ladder that won't stop spinning round, in the dark. Every step up is a big step, has to be carefully examined. If you trip over, you might fall all the way down and die. If you don't fall, you're just one step above, big deal. You never know how far you are from the top, anyway. Sometimes it just seems easier to jump back. But I wouldn't do that.

I need some time for myself, to help myself, instead of kicking myself in the ass for every mistake I've ever made.
The guilty-pleasure-loving catholic in me. Sometimes it sleeps for weeks, months, but whenever it awakes, it swells, makes me sit on the corner with a big dunce hat.

There are regrets, unfortunately, as much as you try to keep going and face mistakes in a positive manner, sometimes the wish for undoing things is haunting. You hate your own guts sometimes. Especially when you keep exposing dear people to the worst side of you.

Maybe I just really need the time. Maybe I really just need her around.

I follow the way in which I really believe, not necessarely the easiest one.

Save a Secret for the Moon.

Oh yeah. And it's my birthday. Happy birthday to me!

Sleepwalking.

Amazing how I slept well last night. Only five hours that seemed to have lasted ten.

That, despite the bizarre thing that happened. In the middle of the night, I woke up wondering if you were in my house. I got up and opened my room's door, checked the living room and the other room and you weren't anywhere to be found, so I fell back on the bed and fainted.
Now there's living proof that my unconscious agrees with my rational mind on the subject.

I am a dying leaf desperately chasing the sun of your love.