30 de julho de 2010

olhei para o lado e vi a poligamia em serie. e não estou a falar do big love. estou assustado.

21 de julho de 2010

vesti a pele do cão e gastei os sonhos. peço desculpa por isso.

13 de julho de 2010

elogio da loucura.

as pessoas que vejo na Igreja não são aquelas que estão mais próximas da religião, são apenas as que se encontram no lugar mais frequentado.

12 de julho de 2010

"eu não queria que ninguém morresse."

by sean

11 de julho de 2010

a solidão mora comigo e não abre a porta a ninguém.

10 de julho de 2010

"agora oferece-me um passarinho morto que caçaste e tudo fica bem outra vez."

by keith

9 de julho de 2010

abri a caixa dos teus bilhetes. a tinta desapareceu. agora são só papéis em branco.

8 de julho de 2010

não me deixas dormir e, por isso, espero que tenhas insónias.

7 de julho de 2010

i'm too sleepy to say a word.

6 de julho de 2010

small window.

-não sei se é de mim, mas, nessa foto, o teu nariz parece-me uma pila.
-se parece uma pila, é uma pequenina.
-sim, claro. prometo não olhar para o teu nariz de uma forma sexual.
-percebeste toda a simbologia da foto.
-estamos a falar de narizes e não de pilas. isso tem de ficar claro.

1 de julho de 2010

everything is made in china, even love.

(...) after a small incursion in the archaic english, ted felt his writing was suddenly having a lot of difficulties on expressing itself. doubt was a usual guest in his dinners, while writing was often seen in the swing of solitude imagining a sagacious plot for two naked bodies with happily depressed souls breaking the clouds of ted's mind. this voluptuous view of indulgence, luxury and sensual pleasure muddied the understanding of the foolish and ridiculous show that was his life. however, it should be told and not forgotten in a deep silence. it was his second week out of st. petersburg's mental institution. his mind called him l'idiot and made it very clear, a long time ago, that she would never forgive him for what he wasn't able to do in that fateful day. (...) ulrika left him out in that boxing field asking for an imaginary forgiveness for his sins. there was nothing he could do about it. there wouldn't be enough astuteness to get him out of his hell. saints would only protect him if his life was similar to their lives, in every single detail. so, there was no escape. ted couldn't live in an open range, he had to return home to kiruna and to his old house near the river tornealven. when ted realized that he will never see lotta again, his thoughts turned to murder. as the days ensued, he stopped speaking. the sense of a tremendous tragedy came into notice from obscurity like a ghost emerging from the grave. ted felt he couldn't say a word because it would be for the wrong reasons and he must be able to look at the mirror and see he was a good man, or at least he was trying to be.