What I am

I am the toys that I played with, the slang I used to say, I am the nerves skin deep for the college test, I am the secrets I kept with myself...
I am my  favorite beaches: Leblon, Barra, Jericoacoara... 
I am the reborn one who escaped after the assault... 
I am that stunned  love I have felt so hard... 
I am the serious conversation I had with my father one day...
I am what I remember...

I am the longing I feel for my late dad, my late husband...
I am the dream shattered when "whoever 4ever" vanished and the pain for our relationship not having worked , and for the words I told him and I regret... 
I am the childhood I remember...
I am what was amputated in my past...
I am the thrill of a page of a book...
I am the scene of a street that made me cry,  I am what I cry...

I am the unexpected hug... 
The support given to the friend who needed me... 
I am  my arms skin bristling for just thinking about you...
I am the sensitivity screaming, the affection that barters...
I am the spoken words that helps, the shouts unlocked from my throat, the pieces of myself that I have joined...
I am the orgasm, the laughter, the kiss, I am what I bare.

I am the anger for not having achieved what I wished...
I am the failure for not being able to change... 
I am the disregard for the others lies, the disappointment with the government, the hate I feel for all this... 
I am the one paddling all the time, but that never gives up even getting tired... 
I am the indignation when I see somebody throwing garbage in the streets from the window car... 
I am the sting of the revolt, I am what I burn...

I am what I claim, what I can generate through my truth and my struggle, I am the rights that I have, and the duties I undertake...
I am the road that I run after, where I snake, bypass, search... 

I am not only what I eat and what I wear... 
I am  what I require, what I rookie, what I scribble, what I swallow, what I enjoy, what I read... 
But actually I am...what nobody sees.

What will it be? (skin deep)

What will it be?
That fidgets within me... what happens to me?
That flows to my skin surface... what happens to me?
And that goes up my cheeks and makes me blush...
And is showed by my eyes, betraying me...
And that tightens my chest and makes me confess...
Which there's no way to hide...
And that is not right anybody to refuse...
And that makes me a mumper, makes me beg...
Which is not measured, nor ever will...
Which has no remedy, nor ever will...
And that has no prescription...

What will it be?
That happens inside me but should not...
That defies me, which is in default...
Which is like a brandy that never satisfies me...
Which is like being sick, after a revelry...
That not even the ten commandments will reconcile...
Not even all ointments will alleviate...
Not all the sorcery, not even all alchemy...
That not all the saints... what will it be?
Which has no rest, nor ever will...
Which has not fatigue, nor ever will...
That has no limitation...

What happens to me?
That burns me up inside, what will it be?...
That disturbs me to sleep, what will it be?...
That all my body tremors shake me...
That all the ardors come to stir me...
That all the sweats come to soak me...
That all my nerves are begging...
That all my organs are crying out...
And a dreadful affliction makes me beg deeply...
Which has no shame, and never will...
Which has no control, nor ever will...

What has no good behavior...

???


what will it be? (skin deep)

http://youtu.be/F74PXuRZbBw

Chico Buarque

The permanent and the temporary

Marriage is permanent... dating is temporary...
Love is permanent... passion is temporary...
A profession is permanent... a job is temporary...
An address is permanent...a stay is temporary...
The art is permanent...the trend is temporary...
Do you agree? Me neither.

A marriage that lasts 20 years but ends, is temporary. 
We are not repetitions of ourselves at every moment we are surprised by new thoughts that come to us through reading, cinema, meditation. 
What I was yesterday, the day before yesterday is already memory. Ladder won, step by step, but now what I am sure about is what matters, my decisions are worth for now, today is my day, no other.

Love forever... we cling to this illusion so hard!
But not even the love we feel for ourselves endures so long without revaluations. So we change, we have thirst to learn, to improve ourselves, to leave behind our immeasurable errors, our infirmities, our prejudices, everything we did thinking was right but that today we condemn. Love infiltrate inside us, but everything goes on in movement: you, the love of your life and what you feel. All pulsing independently and capable of straying from each other.

An address is not forever, a profession can be thrown out the window, friendship is very strong until it finds an even stronger disillusionment, art goes through cycles, and if all that is sovereign and has supreme value, it is because today we believe it. Today we are superior to the past and to the future, now is when our belief stabilizes, the need is manifested  the will is imposed... until the weather changes.

Today I make less plans and  I do not cultivate so many memories. I do not keep many papers and do not advance  much service. I move myself in a space whose size suits me, I reach its limits with my hands, that is where I install myself and live with the most possible integrity. I get less tired and enjoy myself much more. 

But I do not lose my faith by stating the obvious: Everything is temporary... specially ourselves.

Joy in Sorrow

We can be sorrowful, for may reasons, or for no apparent reason... 
Sadness can be by ourselves or by the pains of the world. May come from a word or a gesture, but it always comes up and we must be ready to receive it, because there is an unexpected joy in the sadness that comes from the fact that we can still feel it.
It may seem confusing but it is a breath... 

Look at your side: we are living in a time where people are killed in traffic fight, killing for a cap, killing for fun. Furthermore, people are broke. 
Who has a job safe it . Those with a love distrust even of their own shadow, since there is a lot of sex supply everywhere. 
And we run like crazy, slave to the clock, and can not even stay lying in a hammock, reading a book, listening to music. There is so much to do that there is little time to feel...

Therefore, any feeling is welcome, even if not euphoria, an enjoyment, or enthusiasm, but just a melancholy... 
To feel is a verb that is conjugated to inside us , unlike the verb to do, which is conjugated to outside us.

Feeling feeds, teaches, feeling quiets...  
Doing is very noisy...
Feeling is a retreat, doing is a party... 

The feeling can not be heard, only auscultated. 
Feel and do, both are needed, but only the "to do" surrenders money, contacts, diplomas, invitations, acquisitions. It even seems that "to feel" has no use to get ahead in life...

A sad person is prevented... Does not fit in the advertising world of toothpastes, parties, fashion... 
Sadness seems to be a plague, leprosy, infectious disease, a prohibited parking... 
Ok, sadness is not really good for health, but when we silence in introspection is a providential retreat, it's when we better talk to ourselves... 
And from this conversation comes out light, lessons, signs, and sadness  also ends up leaving, making room for a new and revitalized joy. 
After all, 
Sadness is  when we do not feel anything.

Martha Medeiros

Half

That the strength of the fear I have, does not prevent me from seeing what I wish.
That the death of everything I believe in, does not cover my ears and mouth.
Because half of me is what I scream,
But the other half is... silent

That the music I hear in the distance
Be beautiful yet sad.
That the man I love is forever loved however distant,
Because half of me is starting
But the other half is...  longing

That the words I speak
Do not be heard as a prayer or repeated with fervor.
Only respected as the only thing left to a woman awash in feelings,
Because half of me is what I hear,
But the other half is... what  I silence

That my desire to go away becomes the calm and peace that I deserve.
That the tension that gnaws me inside be rewarded one day,
Because half of me is what I think,
But the other half is... a volcano

That the fear of loneliness gets away, and socializing with myself becomes at least bearable.
That the mirror which reflects my face shows me  in a sweet smile, memories of my childhood.
Because half of me is a reminder of what is gone,
But the other half... I don't know

That it does not take more than a simple joy to make my soul quieter, and that your silence  talks to me all the time,
Because half of me is shelter,
But the other half is... tiredness

That the art of life points me an answer, even though she herself does not know.
And that nobody tries to complicate, because simplicity is need  to make it flourish,
Because half of me is... audience
But the other half is... a song

That my madness be forgiven,

Because half of me is love

But the other half is... as well...

http://youtu.be/Tn2hVE-EVVA

Oswaldo Montenegro

Sex... Love... here they come again...

Two women talking:

The first one, single and lyrical, says: 

- Sex and love are the samething ... 

The other one, married and practical, replies: 

- No! They are not the samething ... 

Yes, no, yes, no... a fresh controversy was born to the seaside... Love... sex... 

I began asking friends and friends, but nobody knows exactly. We just know that the two categories fuck, tending sometimes to hypocrisy or cynicism...

No one knows what came first: the chicken or the egg... 

I realize that the most subtle one defends love, as something "higher". For the most practical, sex is the only concrete thing. 

So, here you have my own opinion about this issue:

Love has a garden, a fence, a project... 

Sex invades all. Sex is against the law... 

Love depends on our desire, it is a building we have constructed... 

Sex does not depend on our desire... Our desire is that is taken by it. Nobody masturbates for love... Nobody suffers of horny... Sex is a wish to appease love. Love is a kind of retrospective gratitude for the pleasures of sex... 

Love comes after...  sex comes before... 

In love, we lose the head deliberately. 

In sex, our head loses us... 

Love needs thought... 

In sex, the thought disturbs... only the fantasies help. 

Love dreams of a great redemption... 

Sex thinks only about bans...

Love is a desire to achieve completeness, plenitude... 

Sex is a desire to get satisfaction with finitude...

Love lives of impossibility always sliding forward... 

Sex is a desire to end the impossibility... 

Love can hinder sex. But the contrary does not happen... 

There is love without sex, of course, but will never enjoy together... 

Love is ownership... 

Sex is possession... 

Love is home... 

Sex is home invasion for robbery... 

Love is narcissistic, even when it speaks about "donation"... 

Sex is more democratic, even living in selfishness... Love can be medicine or poison... Sex too - all depending on the positions adopted... 

Love is a text...

Sex is a sport... 

Love does not require the presence of the "other"...

Sex at least needs a "helping hand"... 

There are certain "loves" that not even  need a partner, can flourish alone, for loneliness and for madness... Sex, no - it's more realistic... 

In this sense, love is a pursuit of illusion... 

Sex is a brute will to truth... 

Love comes from within, sex comes from outside... Love comes to us and delays... 

Sex comes from others and goes away... 

Love is blues tunes... 

Sex is rock and roll...

We are not victims of love, just of sex... 

Love, if not eternal, it was not love... 

Love invented the soul, the eternity, the language, the morality...

Love has something of ridiculous, pathetic, especially in large passions... 

Sex is quieter, like a cowboy - when his bravery goes away, he comes and eats... 

People say: "Make love, not war", but sex wants

war!!!... 

Hate kills love, but hate can turn sex on... 

Love is selfish... Sex is selfless... 

Love wants to overcome death... 

In sex, death is there, ready to come ... 

Love speaks a lot, but softly, gently, and can not explain itself... 

Sex screams, groans, roars, but does not explain itself either... 

Sex has always existed - since the caves of paradise , up to the relax saunas for men. 

On the other hand, love was invented by provincial poets of the twelfth century and then revived by the American cinema... 

Love is prose...  Sex is poetry... 

Love is woman... Sex is man...  

Love seeks a certain "greatness." Sex dreams with the "lower" parts..

The danger of sex is that we can fall in love...

The danger of love is that it can turn into friendship... 

With condoms, safe sex there... 

But no condom for love. Love dreams of purity...

Sex needs sin... 

Love is the dream of single ones... Sex is the dream of married ones... 

Sex needs novelty, surprise... 

"The great love is felt only with jealousy" (Proust).

Sex and love are even trying together to get away from death... Or not... But... 

Does it matter?

parts of the chronic by:

Arnaldo Jabor

I raffle a heart

I raffle a nearly new heart... 
An idealistic heart. A heart like few others. 
An old-fashioned heart... 
A heart kid who insists on playing pranks on its user... 
I raffle a heart which in reality is a bit worn, a bit calloused, very hurt and that insists on feeding dreams and cultivate illusions... 
Somewhat inconsequential that never gives up believing in people... 
A skittish and precipitate heart that thinks Tim Maia(a brazilian singer) was right when he used to sing:"I do not want money, I want sincere love, that's what I hope" 
An idealist heart... A true dreamer heart... 
I raffle a heart that never learns. That does not harden, and always keeps alive the hope of being happy, being simple and natural. A foolish heart that drives rational, being crazy enough to fall in love... 
A  furious suicide that lives looking for relationships and real emotions... 
I raffle a heart that always insists on making the same mistakes, that fights, and is exposed all the time. That loses its mind completely on behalf of causes and passions. Exits serious and sometimes revise its positions, repentant words and gestures... This heart so often misunderstood. Often provoked. Often impulsive... 
I raffle this emotional unbalanced heart that opens smiles so wide that almost gives the ears to swallow, but that also kicks off tears and makes my face wither... 
A heart to be rented, or used by those who like strong emotions... 
A crazy organ suitable only for those who want to live intensely and contraindicated for those who simply want to go through life, killing time, defending themselves from emotions... 
I raffle such an innocent heart that shows no armor and lets its user deeply mad... 
When this heart stops beating it will hear  its user to say there in the sky on the time of reckoning: "You can check my Lord, I did everything right, I only did wrong when I put sentiment, when I heard this crazy and frolic heart  that insists on not harden and refuses to grow old. 
I raffle a heart, or even trade it with one that has a little more sense. A heart more faithful to its user. 
A heart that does not mistreat its host. 
A heart that is not so inconsequential... 
I raffle a blind, deaf and dumb heart, but that bothers a lot. 
A true hunter of adventures that has not yet been adopted, probably for refusing to cultivate wild airs or rational for not wanting to miss style... 
I raffle a bum heart, no race, no pedigree. A simple human heart... 
A heart of impulsive behavior, and  a bit exceeded,  a flawed model, even being out of the market, makes it a point not to modernize, and occasionally,constrains the body that dominates... 
I raffle an old heart that convinces its user to publish her secrets and her most sacred feelings...

Clarice Lispector