notas soltas

Este blog tornou-se uma espécie de fantasma. Já não sinto grande sentido ou urgência em vir aqui despejar os meus sentimentos, emoções, tristezas e as poucas alegrias dos dias presentes. Este espaço tornou-se um grito num vazio anónimo, onde só ouço o meu próprio eco... C de M

the little boy seemed so happy riding is bike. Even surrounded by the poverty of rabo de peixe in the Azores, a small town of fisherman forgotten by everyone.  An yet all that seemed to matter was having fun with his bike on that  rainy morning...i wish i could feel his joy now, just for a short lapse of time again. C de M

hoje sinto um aperto tão grande no peito...

     Nada.

feeling sad on a rainy Sunday Photo by Cde M

I am stronger then my words would led you to think. Much stronger. I have been to hell time and time again since my childwood, and yet survived without need for commiseration. I own my life and in doing so can decide what real choices life presents.  I am in the comand of my destiny.  I fear not death. I fear not life. I accept there is a thin line between both, and my destiny was written a long time ago, so i accept what the Gods have chosen for me. Let it be.

Burning from whitin I carry a ring of fire

Sunday feeling lonely out there. no where to run, no where to hide, no one to share this one soul

The wounds on your hands Never seem to heal I thought all I needed was to believe Here am I, a lifetime away from You The blood of Christ or the beat of my heart My love wears forbidden colours My life believes Senseless years thunder by Millions are willing to give their lives for You Does nothing live on? Learning to cope with feelings aroused in me My hands in the soil, buried inside of myself My love wears forbidden colours My life believes in You once again I'll go walking in circles While doubting the very ground beneath me Trying to show unquestioning faith in everything Here am I, a lifetime away from You The blood of Christ, or a change of heart My love wears forbidden colours My life believes My love wears forbidden colours My life believes in You once again

Regresso sempre à poesia do Ruy Belo, onde encontro um porto seguro nestes dias em que o chão me foge.

O estúdio está frio, olho e não reconheço objectos familiares. Apenas uma amálgama de coisas espalhadas sem nexo, com as quais não sinto afinidades. O meu oásis esfumou-se e pertence a um passado que teimo em agarrar.  Deixo o meu corpo canibalizar-se como um acto de punição, e nego os prazeres que agora me parecem sem sentido. Esses prazeres que me exaltavam os sentidos ficaram encerrados em caixas, à espera de um futuro que tarda. C de M

Não há lágrimas. Secaram no passado, mas a escuridão ainda lá está.

 As lágrimas vestidas de escuridão regressaram.