BLOCKED

I                       am                    blocked.

It is said that for you to write you must have feelings for something
And I guess that is my problem

I              can't  feel.

I can't even decide if what I am writing is poetry or prose or just a bunch of words that came out of nowhere and are just putting themselves together for the fun of it. I guess this last option is more likely to be happening.

So what, then?

Am I to be controlled by my words rather than them be controlled by me?

"I never said I was deep", sings Jarvis in my radio and I would have to agree with him. I mean, I am deep, I just can't write anything that is good enough to even be considered prose or poetry or whatever.

It's hot in here. The window is open, but the wind has left the building. I feel like I am gonna melt to death. Maybe even melt Death itself. That would be wrong and exciting at the same time, wouldn't it?

I don't even know what I am doing. For all I know, I could keep writing for the whole night long and that would still bothers me. Sometimes, sometimes, only sometimes I wish I had normal feelings. I am always on a verge of something and, Gosh, how difficult it is to relax. Relax.

I can't do this. The TV and the table lights are on, but I guess I AM OFF. Off the table, off the consideration, off life.

I better sunk into a nice dream and swallow my bitterness and my melancholy. They have always come and they will always come to ruin my days, together with my inner voices. If it is bad enough for each of us to have a voice in our heads saying what to do, what about a voice that inflates you to do something you might not be entirely ready to do it.










I AM LEARNING HOW TO FEEL AND HOW TO FEAR.

Whisky

Hoje eu acordei pensando que o céu deveria ser mesmo verde. Pensem bem (e não, isso não é o plural de um computadorzinho de um jogo de séculos atrás), não é muito mais lógico ele ser verde? Olhem para a quantidade de florestas que ainda existem no mundo. Comi um pedaço de sanduíche delicioso e sei lá a loucura é belíssima. Profissionalismo zero ainda, mas vivo em montanhas de livros e bebo Whisky. Gostaria de ver o céu verde, vou conversar com meus amigos físicos e ver se isso é possível. Sei lá se é, deve ser, quem sabe, quem sabe. O 007 e o MacGyver devem saber...