U.T.O.P.I.A

I'll permanently close this journal because I've just realised I don't have time to update properly anymore nor comment on you, people. Moreover, I've also realised I only write here when I'm fucking out of my mind, angry, upset or utterly bored. This has become a venting trashbin, basically. Therefore, the image you have of me does not correspond to the person I am at all. (But if you think I'm a conceited little bitch then congratulations, you're right.)


Ciao.

Get Hopper into this.
Ah, this century's massive urban delusion.




You know what? It sucks to be a bitch. It's not fun.

I regret having become this conceited piece of crap that despises everyone else and calls them worthless and boring. Well, most people are worthless and boring. But damn, I wish I had never realised that! I so wish I was an ignorant innocent asshole! Now I can't even look at most people without mentally making fun of their mental limits, lack of maturity and personality traits!

Question is: am I better than them? Answer is: no.
I wish I could belong in this place but after all I'm nothing but a society alien who craves for success but ends up as a pseudo-winner. Being good at this or that doesn't necessairly make me better than the others, it suck to say it but it's true. Paris Hilton is sure happier than Baudelaire was. Dogs live their loves in a far more lighthearted fashion than poets. So, in the end, happiness/peace of mind are the fulcral aspects of life.

Life is frustrating. That's all that emerges from this theory. The only people who come to be truly happy are mindless and hold no artistc interest. Twenty-year-old chicks who look like models and live in Hollywood surrounded by fifty year-old ex-celebrities who pay them a thousand-dollars diamond wedding ring & recognized artists who reached the spotlight in the end of their lives are other example. The rest are loosers.

Loosers who attract each other like magnet bars and who accept the life they are given without major disturbance. Come, go, live, die and leave the system untouched. They pat each other's back and show a nasty kind of soliedarity when they see the others fail. Nullité. The world is a giant blue ball inhabited by comunities of John Nullités and Jane Nezvanovas*.

My lack of contentment with the life I take makes me another ungrateful looser. I just wish I could get on with the average life I am meant to take. With the brainless idiots I am supposed to treat like people and make friends with. Or maybe not. Maybe shoving them away makes me less of a looser. But still a looser.

Fine. I fail.


______

*Nullité and Nezvanova are respectively the french and russian words for nobody. That was just my Dostoievsky-like piece of urple sarcasm.

O cadáver
de um ser ainda vivo
que se arrasta pela chuva
que deixa o sol queimar a frescura
que caminha desoladamente até à sepultura
É a essência do ser citadino
que trocou estrelas por halogéneo
que trocou o cheiro da terra por flores artificiais
que trocou a energia pela máquina dos sinais vitais
a sua essência pelo fedor homogéneo
de uma máquina metálica,
que funciona não a paixão, mas a gasóleo.

A beleza do caos convertida em organização,
a anarquia em governação,
a arte em método,
a natureza humana caída no decrépito
de um mundo em que a tinta estala,
os metais enferrujam,
as luzes fundem-se.

E pelo meio desta triste maquinização,
em que se trocaram as mãos de DaVinci
por sofisticadas máquinas de impressão,
encontro uma angustiada flor
que brota entre as pedras da calçada,
gritando ao cimento,
sobrevivendo ao relento,
explodindo cor na rua acinzentada.

É uma flor que nasce no deserto,
no meio de um gigantesco pedaço de Nada,
dançando ao sabor do vento incerto,
até que uma aterradora sola de borracha
esconda a luz e a deixe pisada.

É cruel esta cidade de metal,
este império mecanicista
que baniu a cor, a primavera, a pequena flor,
que pôs nas mãos do louco pianista
a absurda tarefa de compor
um acorde feito de silêncio.

It's strange the way people can write such luxurious essays on politics, literature, economics... and they never seem to take their time to write a little about something as beautiful and simple as the rain!

It's strange the way we have managed to put such complex fragrances into pretty perfume bottles, adorned with gold artifacts and glitter yet we have never managed to bottle up the true smell of the rain!

Some people say they don't like it when it rains. They even call it 'bad weather'. I don't think like that. I love the feel of cold water pouring upon me. I love the feeling of standing, walking, running in the rain... I love the feeling of raindrops soaking my hair, clothes, reaching my skin and falling down my face like tears of happiness. The touch of the rain reminds me that I'm alive... sometimes it's even more vivid than human touch.

I keep trying to capture the true essence of it. I tried photographing, painting, recording... now I'm trying to write about it. However, just like the truely passionate emotions we experience in this life, it's impossible to describe, impossible to capture in a photograph.

I always wanted to be on a stage. Even if I can't play a single note on guitar! Anyway, I just wanted to try the feeling of standing before a dazed crowd, the feeling of hearing their applause... even if I had done nothing to be applaused. Unfortunately, I lack the talent. Sometimes that makes me sad. Makes me sad the way I'll never feel what people like Freddy Mercury felt, when he sang Bohemian Rhapsody.
So that's also why I love the rain! When the rain drops hit the ground and splash onto poodles on the pavemnet, it's like the sound of an applause. Sometimes I close my eyes, sit by the window just to heard that applause. You see? Can you hear them? They're there! Clapping!


How curious... I could stay here and talk about the rain forever. Funny the way I can write so long on such a simple thing. But you know what? True beauty is not that of overworked rhymes or perfect combination of literary knowledge, or a big stain of make up. True beauty is the one you find in these simple things... these absurdly natural wonders that you sometimes even miss.

I guess what has always fascinated me the most is that beauty, that allegoric rose blooming in the desert, that hint of light shining through the nightsky.

But now I'm telling you... next time it rains, take a minute to admire its beauty!


Rain is an applause, rain is a feast, rain is a lady in tears.