resolutions for a year undone

I read something interesting today on the internet:

You cannot live alone on the fantasies you feed to your mind, eventually you have to touch your life for real, assess and analyze your habits, understand your character, try not to hate yourself for your character as it was shaped when you were very young by circumstances outside of you, and begin learning how to cope with your character, how to build habits that work for you, finish small projects, finish big projects, expose yourself to more uncomfortable situations, assess why you want to leave that friendship before you leave it, raise your anxiety levels on purpose, so that you can grow, raise your work load on purpose, so that you can grow, so that you can build resilience, so that your life expands, and can be experienced by you in full and in reality.

the year is coming to an end and it feels like this is the shape of possibility. it's true that there's so much more inside the fantasy of my own creation that what I actually see in my own real life. and I've feel like I've been severely out of touch with it, without the breath of another person and what it means to take time to connect. I've tried, it's not that I haven't, I know the effort is there and has been made. but it's a lot harder to focus when you're not there. you're only there when you're being called out, called for, called in. called by someone else to do something or say something. the rest of the time, you're not certain you're present. it's a character-building opportunity to seize that attention and bring it back to your life.

it all boils down to the art I want to make. I used to be much more in touch with a part of me that was allowed to dream and be creative. now I live in fear that people will find out about my creativity. and now creativity is less of a scavenger hunt than it used to be. I feel like everyone listens to the same music and watches the same shows. when we didn't share so much we watched way different things. our top albums of the year weren't dictated by someone else. there was a sense of solitude in wondering about which we're constantly trying to grasp at, and failing.

so if I may try anything again in 2025 is just to be there. maybe to take some steps towards feeling less like absolute shit. I've taken a lot of steps and I do feel way better than I did two years ago, but I've come to understand it's a long term process. I can't heal as fast as I would like. it goes back to that same phrase I read this morning: I need to learn to cope with my character and how I was shaped. I need to analyze my habits and see why I'm the way I am, not who I am not. and I'll always want something different, but there's a reason I chose what I have. there has to be, somehow, happiness there. because I'm not in a position to complain: no chronic illness, no one is dying (or at least that shouldn't be), I have a good job, I have friends, a great and loving relationship. I have a strong body and a strong mind. I have all the tools and tricks to move forward and be better in my art and outside of my head. 

If I try anything, it will be getting curious. I used to love reading in the mornings and I've stopped. but I found that I've been waking up earlier than I used to now that I go to the gym regularly, so maybe I can start reading in the morning again. I can try to watch more movies and less TV shows. definitely less tik tok. I hope 2025 comes with ZERO tik tok (it's impossible). man I just wish things were a little bit freakier. that's all.

post christmas thoughts

i feel like i am out fuel. my brain is fried. i have slept like 12 hours in the past two days. i still don't feel like i'm rested enough. and the doom scrolling is not cutting it. i've been into watching films, but i feel like i am missing a piece of myself. like i left it in a drawer somewhere and forgot where i put it. it's been like that for weeks now. i don't know what it will take to get through it.

december 8, 7:49 P.M.

it's almost eight. I'm a little worried about the future. I've already spent a lot of money, but things come in pieces and I need to learn how to wait. and waiting is torture. when I can't wait I ask people and usually no one can give me an answer that calms me down. it feels like I can't ask the right questions myself. is that a problem? I don't know. the only time I don't get stressed out is when I am stuck in traffic because I know for certain when I am going to arrive. so regardless of how I feel I can't make a choice. I told my boyfriend about this reasoning and he said "that's such a you thing to think" and maybe, he's right. I didn't know there could be a pattern in the way I face impatience. maybe there's a different approach, like not crying on getting scared about it. I am unaware.

I'm going to new york. some time soon. some day. I will be back and I can already feel it. it feels like I'll finally get back home where actually home is just right here, and I am happy here. but new york holds an idea of an infinite universe of possibilities that nothing else in this world seems to have. and this place is true, and it's mine, and it's where I learnt to love and forgive, but it's finite. it's mortal. new york feels like a vampire to me, forever there, alive. 

it's cold. it shouldn't be this cold. it's going to me a fall-ish December, which is weird and beautiful. we don't deserve such a beautiful December after all the things we've been through, but it's okay. maybe there's a fault in my judgement when it come to who is right and who is wrong. all I can say is that I think I don't really know anything at all. I can live with that.

a weekend away.

what have I learned? nothing. this week? nothing. it's probably sitting in the back of my mind together with all the dog hairs from my brother's dog, and all of the little crumbs from my nephew's cookies, and filled with some of the sand that blew while we were there. there's some sun on my face which doesn't rub off, and the keys in this keyboard feel heavier than usual. I have been outside, learned nothing. I allowed myself not to. I didn't think for a split second that I could gain something from just suddenly being with my family. I didn't learn anything from the people I think I already know, but there's somewhere in this world where a family is gathering for dinner - an imperfect, unmatched dinner - where nobody shows love in the conventional way, rather, we show up, we listen, we make jokes. that's what we've learned - to love in the unconventional places.

thursday

is there a reason for me to be awake today?

i will find it,

in the silent moving of dead flowers

a stream a hardwater running down a pebbled road

an empty gas station with an abandoned mitsubishi delica

or the smell of someone's kitchen in the evening,

slowly creeping through the windows 

and flooding into these quiet streets;

i'll find it,

there might be no reason to be moving forward,

but to be awake, only awake and alive,

is a gift enough

a no longer friend

there's a person I know (I don't want to call her a friend anymore) that lives for the internet performance. she is consistently and knowingly filling her self up with bullshit. she tries to be as radical and liberal as she can be on her social media, but the moment you're not aligned to what seem to be her outward values she looks at you like you're trash. and I can see through that, too. she doesn't align with my values, either. I think she's too harsh on everyone else even if she says she's not, and most importantly, I don't really think her ulterior motives are good. I don't think she's radicalizing her thoughts because that's what she feels, it's because she knows that's the right way to be if you want people to never be mad at you. 

what stinks is that we've tried to be friends, consistently over the span of 20 years, and that's been impossible for me. I can't trust her even if I tried. I trusted her for a brief span of two years and I was really comfortable with her but suddenly she changed, and refused to tell me what was wrong. pretended everything was fine but continued her discourse towards me filled with jealousy and raised eyebrows, when in reality I was just trying to show her who I was. I guess we aren't compatible but my friend group is also tied to her, and I've chosen to step away. she can keep them. 

diary entry

I wish I could go back to school. With the money and the knowledge I have now. With the pre frontal cortex development I've acquired. I was just too young to be sitting there learning stuff while all I cared about were boys. Now I think I could focus more on the habit of learning, failing, producing, failing again.

back muscles

there are new muscles in my back,

I can feel it.

I feel different

but I'm too busy trying to look the part

and I don't.

people don't say I'm different—

maybe I'm not.

but my new back muscles are there,

I just don't feel like anybody's looking

and it hasn't been long enough.

two months is not enough.

I don't want to be recognized,

I want people to say,

"what's happened to you?"

and only smile.

today I cried but it still feels tender

today my sister would have been 27.

her last birthday, celebrated, was the 18th.

she died 4 days later.

this morning i cried when i remembered 

last night's dream:

i had a time machine,

and sweet and loving, tender me,

27-year-old me, went back then,

to my soon to be 18-year-old sister,

wriggling in bed from the pain,

and with the sweetness only time gives you

i took her suffering away.

a new chance at life, magically.

with a cup of coffee in hand i cried

out of frustration and hearbreak

at the impossibility of life,

the permanence of death,

the undying quality of love.

i cried hours ago but it still feels tender.

my eyes feel swollen and my head hurts.

i've been reading, trying to get poems out of my head,

sit down, maybe type something.

it's a beautiful day and the spring sun shines again

in my kitchen:

the birds sing in the distance,

the refrigerator slowly hums,

my boyfriend kisses my cheek and understands

how i will always hurt.

the undying qualities of love.

the railways

there's a city which sprawls in contempt
underneath our feet, even when we sleep,
it goes on and on rambling about the passing of time,
about the turmoil,
about long lost love and how the railways
are not what they used to be, even so, they are no longer
selling tickets in paper stubs or newspapers that you can fold
and tuck under your arm as the train
comes and goes.
so then you look at how the trees hurl and the wasps nest on the tin roof;
there's nothing there except for the invisible,
nature can never retain that sense of authenticity
we often look for in someone we love.

it's just what it is, you tell yourself,

as people jump turnstiles and run down the stairs to meet the new train,
the next train, that buzzes and zooms, that sings a polyphonic song.
unease runs through the velvet cushions that line the seats

and the train continues to ramble on into the darkness,

never contemplating death,

but never stopping to look at it.

you emerge into the light, no sunglasses,

what could you do with them? your hand as a hat,

your hands, your swollen knuckles,

they extend less and less with time. the city looks back at you

as you walk down, the little white squared tiles

that line the cathedral entrance, you break down

into tears thinking how the've torn it all down:

all the sense of belonging, all the music, all the magic.

there's a city which sprawls in contempt. there's a city

even when the wind tries to blow it all away.

no one can convince you of that, you'd have to see it to believe it,

you wouldn't dare to dream it

it's the city that holds the secret of what makes us,

what an individual is not, 

and what a person should be.

how to be more put together, when you're not put together, but you got a friend who is

so you've got a friend who always makes you look like an idiot in comparison. she's the one who always has the best new jacket and shoes, and for some reason she's always spending money on clothes but never seems to run out. is she rich? maybe. is she insane? also maybe. but you don't want to tell her that you feel like an idiot next to her, and you know she'll dress up for that sunday afternoon iced coffee, so maybe you should, but you don't know how. so here's a few tips:

• watch the closet editing system video by allison bornstein.
• get a pinterest account, stop being a baby about it.

now that we've covered the basics, here's a few other tips:

• wear make up. yes, I know, counter-intuitive. I'm not asking for a lot of make up, maybe a tinted moisturizer or a color correcting hydrating cream with some cream blush. not even mascara, just something that makes you look your age. and like you didn't just roll out of bed.
• get a fragrance other than your deodorant going on for you. it doesn't have to be expensive. when I was not the rich stylish friend I used to mix essential oils with water and alcohol and used that. it didn't stain my clothes or irritated my skin, but I wouldn't go around recommending this to everyone. what I mean is, it doesn't have to be a chanel eau de parfum. but get something else, don't rely on your cosmetics to do the job for you. maybe even a scented cream will do.
• can you stand jewellery? then try to keep a few pieces. I'd love to get a second and third hole in my ears to wear more earrings, mix and play. If not jewellery, a belt or a bag or sunglasses or even a cap will do the trick: make it look like you've made an effort.
• keep your shoes clean (hard, I know)
• don't always wear sneakers. birkenstocks, even. a boot? I don't know, a loafer? innovate!
• maybe that puffer jacket being your only outwear option is what's making you feel out of place. try another type of jacket, even mid-seasonal ones.
• go monochrome when in doubt.
• dress proportionally: big shirt small bottom, small shirt big bottom. think of how it makes you look.
• have an outfit formula that you fall back on. mine is levi's straight leg ribcage jeans, short sleeve black or white t shirt, a bomber jacket. chances that I am not appropriately dressed with that are slim for the type of activities I do. what are yours? think about it.
• buy better quality clothing. yes I know, it's expensive, but your weekend drugs and the alcohol and the weed are expensive too and I am not hearing you complain!

probably your well dressed friend has gone through many stages of personal style. experimental outfits gone wrong and such. so try it, make mistakes, learn a thing or two about yourself.

the kiss, kurt brown (2014)

that kiss I failed to give you.
how can you forgive me?
the kiss I would have spent on you is still
there, within me. it will probably die there.
but it will be the last of me to die.

a packet of camels

I want to be alone walking down the street
in the summer, somewhere where it is still summer,
light a cigarette, unattached to the consequences, and ponder.
maybe just for a fraction of a second I could be free.
nobody would see me and I would see no one.

I would wear only a white t-shirt, a pair of old washed denim, and sneakers.

a wristwatch, my hair down, untamed.

I'd look like everyone else, a faceless crowd, a nameless person.
this desire of being invisible, where does it come from?
would I feel closer to the almighty if I was no longer visible to the rest?
maybe the dead don't come back because there's something so enchanting
about the newfound eternity of freedom–
I could choose, of course. I could always choose to disappear.
what holds me back is exactly the same that doesn't let me
light the cigarette.

beacon

you know I love you, right?

there's too many things I hide from you to make it work–

like the person I am and the person I could be don't work together.

but I love you, and there's a third person when I'm with you, 

the one that sleeps through the night and wakes up and looks for your hand

the one that gets your clothes ready in the morning and packs your lunch

and I love you, dearly, and when I look at you

I love you even more;

do you look at me and think we're drifting apart?

do you look at me and understand?

do you look at me frustrated, clueless, lost?

am I a beacon, am I blinding, am I the light?

we can stare at each other,

there's sweetness in your greenish-brown eyes

there's sweetness in my icy cold hands.

hold me, we'll understand, somehow, someday.

a quiet stream of denial

I am tired of not being the beautiful self I know I could be,

so I've resorted to lying about my conditions,

denying my urges,

feeling my cravings disappear as I go

and I don't care.

people weren't built to understand the way

shame operates on me.

so as long as there's no shame,

just a quiet stream of denial,

it'll be fine.

I can continue lying until is not a lie anymore.

I know where I'm going,

I don't need anyone to follow.

the mother of mothers

the mother of mothers of mothers,

she's the eyes that see,

she's the pain that we feel

she is all of it,

all of it because nobody knows and does pain

like her.

there's such grace, a grace unknown to many,

she wakes up in the morning and combs her hair with violence,

does her make up with patience,

irons her clothes,

watches the time go back riding shotgun while I drive,

still never loses track of her performance.

she's got an idea of the world she lives in

yet she doesn't know where it is.

she thinks people think too little of her,

and too often —

nothing further from the truth.

she's the mother of all, with a warm hand,

a perfumed embrace,

a sweet goodbye.

a bland reminder

I guess I just always wanted you to be mad at me.

to cause some trouble, ruffle your feathers:

take something that wasn't mine,

toy with it, make you chase it;

for you to think of me, endlessly and into the night,

where unconsciousness felt like cheating

if only you could show me that anger

in your blood shot eyes

I think I would crumble to my knees if I ever felt powerful enough

to grab your attention

all your violence

and have it clustered up on me

I want to be part of something greater

a plot that hasn't been written, yet

my position is acquainted only

maybe a brush on the arm or

a friendly handshake

a bland reminder that I was never meant

to take the fantasy with me

naples, 1997

there's a single string,

just one, you can hang yourself there and

just slide

maybe there's a reason for it being just one,

i don't know where it goes, I haven't asked,

sometimes people come tumbling down

and they zoom by me,

like a balcony,

like a showcase,

a conveyor belt carrying soul samples

there's one string,

there's only ever been one

it goes back way before you and me were ever born,

don't be afraid

a wish

a life that feels like a secret

is the most austere thing i could wish for:

the unspoken holds, on the tip of our tongues,

the realization that the mystery is ours only,

and might trascend words and sunrises;

it'll come with us in our sleep,

fill up pages of the diary—

a life that takes up so much space

that no one else can live it for us.

a checklist

so tell me what would make you feel more alive:

a plunge deep into the early morning sea water,

a geniune cackle from someone you love, 

running up a hill,

a sunset?

all that lives

all that lives must die

and that is not sad but gut wrenching,

awfully dismantling of what it means to be alive;

even carving out the reasons why we even exist.

and to exist is to be able to experience joy and love and awe,

to experience it all, and nothing, to be able to choose it all.

and I choose you, even if some days I'd rather choose nothing

because nothingness it's what's familiar to me –

but it's love, it always will be,

what makes this pain worth bearing.

friday night

I can feel myself going insane. it's been a week, I haven't told anyone but I feel it again. I'm grasping at the seams here, I'm at the end of my good days. doom is upon me, I'm fighting it with all my might, but I think it'll break me. I feel like it can break me, you know. I don't know how strong I can be without letting anyone know.

lately

lately it seems like the cheapest form of therapy is screaming into the void. and by the void I mean this blog. it's like the feelings refuse to come out of me in a different way.

it feels helpless. I haven't had a good idea in ten years and I think I'm about to sell out on the ones I already had. writing feels like a dead end, relating to people feels like a chore. I am usually angry, I barely look at myself in the mirror anymore.

I feel like men are the issue. men are consistently undermining my authority because I am a young woman. as if that meant anything. I could fix my own car if I wanted to, I just paid you for the convencience and because you happen to be an idiot. I can pay for my own stuff. I could escalate my own issues but you're in my way to upper management, so what's the use. I don't know. I don't need them. and it annoys me so terribly.

I digress — this is not the point. the point is that I am angry and I don't know how the anger is gonna come out of me.

moving out

when I was 24 I moved out of my mother's house into a rented flat. I had always dreamed of that moment but of course, I had no idea of the mental toll moving out would entail. especially if you need to furnish the entire house and you live in a 60 year old apartment that had been empty for over a year.

my mom was against it. I get it, she thought me moving out was because I was unhappy, but I was just tired of not having my own place. I'm the child of two divorced parents who've made me have two separate houses since I was three. my dad on the other hand had pestered me for years on end, ever since I turned 18, to move out of my mother's house. he'd always find a moment alone with me and start asking when are you going to move out. I'd usually just answer I don't know, and he'd get into a psychotic rambling on how my mom was toying with my head and I was basically subdued to her power (what?) so I'd stop listening. so, you know, when I signed the contract I told him I had found my own place and felt very happy. I thought he'd be happy too, but I was just met with... nothing.

my mom helped with 90% of it. she was there for all my five panic attacks. she would carry bags back and forth from my car. she was there when I lost my keys and when I had to sign the lease. she washed each and every one of my new dishes and cups, helped me build my furniture and change the mirrors in the bathroom cabinet. she also cleaned out the kitchen, the bathroom, paid for the paint. her husband paid for the fridge and the delivery. 

moving out took weeks. there was radio silence for days on end from my dad. he wouldn't even call, and I was busy trying not to fall apart between work and moving houses. my car would also consistently break down, so it was difficult knowing whether or not it would make it to and from the apartment every time I set myself to load another batch of books and CDs in the trunk. obviously, I had no time to call him either. what good would it do? I would've appreciated the thought, a hand, something. words of encouragement. instead it was just empty space.

he did give me some furniture. from his house, I got my nightstand (which I love), the futon (which was really useful), a foldable wooden table (which was super handy for the kitchen), a salt lamp, a jewelry box, a few books. him and his girlfriend helped me get the futon back home, which was easy to pull apart and then put together once we made it. it was just a bunch of bits and pieces and luckily it all fit in the elevator. he came into the apartment and didn't even wait for me to pull up the blinds: he took a peak inside and said, nice! then said he was in a hurry and left.

I didn't hear from him again in days. I asked if he could help me fix some light fixtures but he didn't come. I asked if he could fix a leak in a pipe but he didn't come, either. I called a plumber, which ended up being better because I needed to fix all the taps, the shower head, unclog the drains and fix the leak with sealant in the kitchen sink. so that's fine, the plumber was what I actually needed.

I often wondered if there was a problem with him and me. I didn't ask. I didn't have the guts to tell him I was hurt, as I would usually do. I didn't like to bother him with my problems because he'd use it against me later down the road. so I'd just pretend I didn't care for as long as I could pull it off.

between all the coming and going it was my second anniversary with my boyfriend. on may 10th we went out for dinner and then we came back to my new apartment to watch a movie. it was incredibly cold inside the house and we had no heating. 

we settled on watching secretary, which kept me entertained for hours. my dad texted me during the movie, but I didn't answer (I didn't get to the phone). he called me later in the evening, and the first thing he asked was, are you alone? which sounded pretty violent. I always get uneasy when he starts the calls like that, and he always does a variation of it (is your mom there? is your boyfriend there? are you alone?). 

he wanted to complain about how I was a terrible daughter for not reaching out to him during those days. I had been moving from one apartment to the other, dealing with flooded kitchens, cockroaches, the coldest apartment ever, fitting a fridge in the smallest elevator ever, running back and forth with my old car (which ended up breaking down shortly after the move was over!) and most of all, dealing with the difficulties of leaving your childhood home. so I was suddenly a terrible daughter who didn't care about him, and he was the best father ever, and I never asked for help because I was selfish. I had no chance for rebuttal because he did what he always does: he screamed at me over the phone, pleading like an infant that I paid no attention to him, and hung up.

I just remembered all of this because I saw a poster for the movie secretary pop up on twitter. and the truth is I barely recall the movie but I remember everything about that fucking conversation. I feel like I've been stuck in his endless cycle of violence for years and it's wearing me out. he does this fucking thing all the fucking time. then he comes back and asks for forgiveness and me, being the idiot that I am, I always say yes. then he tries to buy my trust with money and when he doesn't get it, it starts over. it's always about him, he can't think outside the reality he's created for himself. never in a million years it would've occurred to him that I was in fact dealing with a lot of things, and I would've appreciated a loving and helpful parent, just like my mom was. no. it was about him, like it always is, and always has been. I'm just my mom's puppet and basically, an idiot. the idiot kid. 

letter boxed

I was doing my daily letter boxed run on the new york times this morning and I realised I could have spelled out your name with the letters I had. I tried to spell it out once and it didn't work, some of the letters where on the same side of the box. but I tried again and again, not thinking about ways to solve the puzzle but different ways in which I could simply say your name. it's funny how I saw all those words out of order and I could just see you. in an instant I knew your name was in there, like a gimmick, a wink. I just couldn't bring myself to say it.

I haven't been able to say your name in conversation in a while. I can't even whisper it. I don't know why I try, I don't know why I keep coming back to that empty space between my teeth and thinking I'll meet you there, like you have ever mentioned me. do you say my name? would I hear it, if you said it, would it reach me? there's no recognition here, I'm consuming myself inside something that has never been real. it's real to me, maybe, that should suffice. it's in the game, it's on my keyboard, in my dreams. it's everywhere.

my heart's incredibly broken; functioning is incredibly challenging at this time

He

As a boy my short linen pants reached

 right above my knees.

Mom set the table for five and I counted;

Stella, Marina, me, mom. Who else? He

 arrives earlier than expected and flings

 his briefcase over the couch.

I stand by in the corridor as motionless

 as a child in awe can intend to be.

He wiggles his tie down and removes his

 tartan sports coat,

 the button of his shirt sitting atop of his belly about to

 jump out of the seams.

He bellows, 'what's for lunch?' directed at the kitchen,

 but mom doesn't answer. I don't think He

 has seen me yet.

I still don't move, hoping this time,

 if I stay quiet long enough, the behemoth of a man that stands upon me 

 is kind, and maybe this time,

 just for once, I'll get a nice little wrapped up caramel that he might know I like,

 I mean if he was paying attention last Sunday when mom stopped by the corner shop after church.

But, why would He? I mean,

 why would anyone, in this world, reach down to look at a child's bare knees,

 no scrapes, unscathed,

 a well-behaved, invisible idea of a boy?

But this time, Goodness Gracious,

 this time I remembered what lunch would be –

 a trail of voice came out my mouth without a second thought

 so He looks down.

'Thank you' follows, a pat on the head, a brief smile.

I frolic in acceptance,

 about to gleefully kick my feet, I contain 

 any emotions that may come off as loving,

 for one does not love a father in the same way one loves a mother. Why would anyone?

As I set down the tray, steaming,

 I sit by his side. His only boy, there's a look back at me

 with soft brown eyes, inside the casket of a tough man, a face worn out by the summer days

 and the wind of a thousand sails,

 He extends his hand. Soft, warm, calloused. Mine feels like a little present. He

 holds my hand and we close our eyes to pray.

In my head, I say a prayer for me, for the day

 I claim my acceptance. The day that comes where it's my seat at the table,

 my pants reach my ankles and I own my ties, 

 the day where my wife awaits home for me, in an apron, smiling.

Nobody moves for a second. He says thank you, and with my eyes still closed,

 I bow my head down to kiss his hand.

Eyes shoot wide. Why would I do this? He doesn't understand,

 a bewildered look from around the table, the boy that now decides to kiss.

 How else can I show my love? I think, I don't know what I thought, 

 a tender kiss on His hand, just a reverence,

 but it doesn't elicit the response I expected. Instead, I get punished

 by his never ending silence, his disapproval, a shift in his eyes which I can't change.

China and silver click and clack,

 my hand breaks apart from his, limp,

 reminds me to go back to my place.

May, my dismay

my lips have turned yellow.
the inside of my mouth is pasty and lousy,
it feels like I ran sandpaper on it for fun.
there's a heaviness in my chest I can't shake.
I haven't written like this in year.
I'll wear my grandma's scarf, I'll wear a coat that doesn't fit me.
I don't think I have it in me.
I'll wear lipstick, I'll wear boots
I don't think I have it in me.
It feels like I'm writing a story I never begun,
I don't think I have it in me.

the nights get longer and I feel my eyelids struggle to close at night.

May, yes, my dismay,

never again, I thought the disdain was over a few years ago

but I guess it follows like a burden:

there's something that prevents me from going the right path.

what is it? what the fuck is it?

maybe I think maybe it's

laziness,

maybe I'm a little too sharp to be at the gym all day,

fear,

or that people will have something to say.

what does one need to do to shake off the fear?

it rattles and rattles and it shakes and it never wears off

then it sticks to my ribs and pokes a hole

my mouth is dry and my teeth got darker

my lips are chapped, my hair is thinner

I BELIEVE IN YOU AND ME

I'M COMING TO FIND YOU, IF IT TAKES ME ALL NIGHT

WRONG UNTIL YOU MAKE IT RIGHT

AND I WON'T FORGET YOU

AT LEAST I'LL TRY

AND RUN

AND RUN TONIGHT

EVERYTHING WILL BE ALRIGHT

saturday night plans

I'm gonna bail out on something I had to do on Saturday just so that I can work on my novel, eat sardines with tomato on toast, and drink beer. I'll be alone at home listening to some 1950s bossa nova and it's gonna be a BLAST. I can't wait. It really is something to look forward to.

yet very amusing

lately a day alone sounds like a blessing.

i've been crossing off appointments,

emptying my calendar.

maybe it was too much of a stretch

when I said I wanted to "keep my friends";

I didn't want me at all,

maybe,

they weren't wrong not to want me,

I mean my calendar's too full,

a lot of meetings,

a job nobody understands —

I might just hover above them, for all I care:

why show up anymore, right?

I feel welcome at home,

I really want to be laying on my couch,

writing,

drinking vermouth with indian tonic

and eating olives

while I listen to the same miles davis album on repeat.

see miles davis will not break my heart,

they will.

a difficult thing to think about

yet very amusing.

things to do if you wanna look more put together when you already are a person who is very put together

say you want to push forward the boundaries. become unreachable, unbreachable. maybe that's unattainable for some but it's something I'd strive for, if it wasn't because there's so much fucking rain in this city and it kills my merits. anyway, here's a list:

• write down all the birthdays of the people you care in your agenda or your calendar. if you can, have a separate gCal or iCal called "birthdays" and put them all there. don't rely on social media to let you know when their birthday is coming up.
• don't be on your phone when you're on one-on-one with your closest. resist the urge, even if you get bored. getting bored around the people you love helps to forge the relationships and the patience.
• on the topic of social media: choose to avoid the "close friends" or "close circles" entrapments. whatever you post should be adequate enough for all audiences. you can't rely on nobody leaking data. be careful about what you post, what you say, and about whom.
• try not to speak ill of others at work. even if you want to, don't. it's very difficult, I know.
• have a basic pouch with the following items at all times with you:
• thread and needle
• deodorant
• small perfume
• paracetamol
• toothbrush and paste
• band aids (a lot)
• a mirror
• a comb

to this list you can add more things depending on your weather/location (e.g., mosquito repellent, SPF, lip balm, make up, eye drops) but the basics are a requirement. you'll be surprised at how many times someone needs this, and you will be the one person to be ready. and you'll also always look and feel fresher.

• breathe through your nose. avoid mouth-breathing, if that's available to you. nose-breathing makes you feel better, makes your breath nicer, and also helps you fight illnesses.
• choose and keep signature jewellery.
• make gifts periodically. invite your friends out for dinner, pay for your colleague's coffee, remember someone's favorite soda when you're picking up their lunch. be mindful of inviting people.
• if someone is speaking and gets interrupted, make a note of what they were saying. try to politely go back to their point so they can finish it.
• don't tell everyone who your crushes are. even famous people. crushes are for personal daydreaming and night-time entertainment.
• brush up your spelling, grammar - read your emails before pressing send. avoid typos.
• if your audio message is longer than a minute and you haven't said anything, cancel it, think about what you want to say, and then record it.
• schedule less things per week.
• smoke only when you are alone.
• be contempt with the realistic version of what you can achieve.

the uncontainable

what if I wrote a love poem to you

and then pretended I didn't, for many years

until suddenly one day I decided

to burst it all out,

break the seams unknowingly;

after being unable to contain the wind

it suddenly escapes my entrails

and I'm born out in the open,

naked and wet,

screaming I have always loved you,

and I always will,

while your car drives away fast on the freeway

with your family and your wife

your kids, your dreams:

I'll be alone in this sentiment forever,

no void will be able to get it through.

coffee

I hope the morning after my death

we wake up and kiss,

you hug my hips and ask if I want some coffee,

then look out the window and see it has been raining.

In death I'd wish to see you every day:

this love, for the rest of our eternity,

is something to be enjoyed past this lifetime.

the days the balcony swayed

death is right around the corner,

a bad hip, a bad heart,

no longer trips to the supermarket

counting down the steps towards the void.

is she scared?

what does she think about dying,

about it being so obvious that you will be gone soon

what will she do?

will she get rid of her clothes,

earrings, jewelry,

will she stare out the window with more intensity?

will she notice she way her clothes smell,

enjoy ironing, turning on the fan,

will she call me and tell me it'll be alright?

will she bask in the sun,

since light rays can't hurt her any further,

does she have one last wish?

is she at peace?

is she at peace?

family drama

family issues are so weird because i never wanted to tell my friends. i see that now that i'm older. my step brother is being incredibly aggressive towards my mom and step dad and the only one who knows is my boyfriend. in the past when i was single, no one would know. and i tend to hide it, as someone who never hides anything, i hide what my dad did to me and now what my step brothers are up to. seems like talking about family is always the wrong choice to make.