Sometimes I feel so angry at you

Look at us micro kids with both of our hearts blocked.

Sometimes I feel so angry at you. You can impact in my mood, usually for worse. And then I feel so angry at me and the anger I feel at you doubles because I feel myself extremely ridiculous.

Ridiculous because I notice I am a mere Eros' puppet, that my limbic system is defective. I keep on making the same childish mistakes, being a slave of my selfish desires, allowing myself to be threw by someone who's just giving me a shit! It seems I never develop the necessary antibodies to stop being enchanted by those who step on me, but no, I'm an accident masochist.

I hate myself for being extremely lenient many times and insist on thinking that everybody is good, that some people just have a hard temper to deal with but, deeply, they are lovely. It even sounds arrogant of me to think I'll be the one who will change everything, that will transform a violent pit-bull into a graceful pink-colored poodle.

But that's alright. I have never had the talent to pretend to be someone I'm not, I have never had the talent to pretend I have the virtues I still don't. I find myself now in this embarrassing situation of not knowing how to behave and policing the way I show you my affect. If I'm kind, you may arrogantly understand it as I'm really suffering of love to you. If I control my words, I feel like suffocating myself with a pillow on my face. I wish that the tactic of the measured care was absolute and obvious. I run the risk of torturing me by seeing you dating another one in the end.

It's hard for me to say that, even there's some trace of possibility that we may have some future, it's remote. If you really liked me, you'd be more receptive to my praises instead of always throwing me cold water. If you really liked me, you wouldn't try all the time to show yourself off as someone as intelligent and understood about life as I am. It seems like you constantly try to make me feel inferior.

In the few moments you were kind, maybe you were experiencing a moment of weakness and I was the fool of the moment that would listen to you without criticizing. Or because your options were scarce. Or because you had seen something good in me, until the moment you woke up and saw me just like another insignificant person in your life. Have you ever give me a chance? Have you ever tried to see something special in me?

No! It seems I'll always be someone you just don't dispose at all because for you, I don't make any difference. I can't see too much of you because you create barriers around you as if I was unable to overstep them. I'd like to know you better, but you don't allow me. In this moment, I'd like to be sure you're really an asshole. Maybe then I can feel angry at you in peace and feel better with myself.

Ridiculous thoughts

I'm tired. I'm tired of being friend, of trying to be special for people who don't know how to value my gestures. Of being present for who is often absent. Of feeling guilty for doubting someone's friendship while this one was by my side when I really needed but... I don't know, I need much more than advices for hard times and that's it.

Don't misread me. I'm not in love, I don't want to be in love; this isn't the question, neither the solution. This text isn't for someone in special, but for some people, plural of person. I need presence, I need less words and good intentions and more gestures and attitudes.

Yes, I moved away. Invisibility doesn't please me. I was there, I was always there. It isn't healthy begging for attention and caring with someone who doesn't care, who treats me as a convenience because one day he might need me or then, he feels in debt about me because I was his friend in a moment a friend was all he needed. I'm tired of thinking of good metaphors, beauty euphemisms, nobody reads my blog anyway unless I force them to do it.

And well, would it work if I vomit and tell the truth of what's bothering me? People don't want to help or they can't, I already know the cliches. And even if they wanted to, they couldn't help, all they could do would be feeling embarrassed and feel ashamed of me and it doesn't help. It's disappointing!

This isn't a teenager disillusion, my body possessed by an emo spirit or a night crisis of foreveralonism. Or perhaps some mental problem, depression or misanthropy. Perhaps the problem isn't me but the group of blind people around me that I used to care about, to concern of, to listen to and to try to help. The human being is naturally selfish, he always want to be rewarded for something good he did even though his superego or the society moral rules say this is wrong. The human being is an animal trying to domesticate himself and getting rid of this nature. Well, I'm speaking for myself.

Anyway, perhaps I really shouldn't spend my time writing a text to play this role of seeming ridiculous or mentally disturbed, but I don't have the gift of pretending I'm not seeing, not feeling, suppressing me; not for so long. I guess I have no more patience to make the blinds to see what is right in front of their nose. I neither should take myself the trouble of writing a text with hints for a better understanding of the human psychology. I'm not talking about Freud: I'm talking about common sense, sensibility and lack of tact that people seems to have lost somewhere.

THE CRANBERRIES – Ridiculous Thoughts

Parachutes

The dream was the fulfillment of a desire, not clearly exposed, but recognized and suppressed by your mind.

It is perfectly possible to save some money if you are open minded. Because when your mind is closed, either you go to a specialist in the issue or you rely on common sense believing that you know enough about yourself, and it is mainly a mistake and that fallacy easily noticeable. Dreams are a link between the known and the unknown, the key that opens the doors to the unconscious. If you are really open minded and humble to recognize to yourself your own weaknesses, it will be possible self-analyzing better and understand the reason of your attitudes, fears and desires.

The dream was the fulfillment of a desire, not clearly exposed, but recognized and suppressed by your mind. Some time ago it would be something you could believe as viable, even though it could require too much mental energy. Today it is acceptable its remote state. Chances exist, but it is accepted that it would be wise not to cross the borders. It sounds Greek, but it is just a reflexion, an echo.

The gates were supposed to be closed, but the carelessness was the opportunity the teenager needed to practice the larceny. They imploded the whole place because it is not wanted, it is not desired the rebuilding. It is only desired that the trucks take the mountain of waste to somewhere far away. But it is wished to connect and disconnect for some time and then untie right after.

It is easy to deal with it when character is something one does not have, when a selfish, cold and indifferent behavior are features of one's personality. Let's be sincere and let's admit that the hugeness of the coeur plus the goodness and naivety are a problem, even they are not something disapproving.

It would be preferable to be together for some time, using each other with the consent of both. No promise, no dissimulation, no lie, hypocrisy, cowardice. Let the time to bring the oblivion and converts the energy of a tsunami into a inoffensive and graceful ripple. And if there is the wish, play the tie-break. But is wanted that there will not be falls and the closure comparable to the mysterious Korea DPR.

Silence the weapons with flowers

He had seen the good side of the heart of that man and, even he had sacrificed himself to save him.

[1] Silence...

The diplomat went out of his house, closed the door and left. He knew the consequences, but there was a hope that he could solve that distressing problem with a sincere and open-minded dialogue. When he arrived, he took a deep breath and knocked the door of the house of the man whose indifference was hurting him.

The man inside asked who was knocking. The diplomat introduced himself and was ignored. He knocked the door once again. No one replied.

He insisted to knock the door a third time after begging “please”. Someone went downstairs and answered it. The diplomat got scared about what he saw. Even though he could foresee a possible hostility, he never thought the things would end up that way.

The man then said what the diplomat was getting ready to hear and, as if he was not hearing what the diplomat was saying, he came in defensive and with weapons on his hand. And, with no mercy, he shot the diplomat twice that fell down on the ground having, as a last memory, the darkest side that those man allowed himself to show.

[2] ...the weapons...

In that gray and sad Friday the priest did the last homages to the murdered diplomat. He was a honest, kind, generous man that used to see the human side of people, and he did believe that this side could bring those who was in darkness back to the light.

While his family was crying his death, the murder was not feeling anything about the diplomat, actually, he was having fun with a prostitute. Barely she knew these were her last minutes of life too.

[3] ...with flowers.

The population and the press did not want to understand the forgiveness words of the diplomat's sons to the murderer of their father, even they did not have exchanged a single word with him. For them, he could express his hate and they would not hate him anyway. Their father had gone, there was nothing to do. They were considered “fools” for many people but they knew their father would be proud of the attitude they had. He did not want his children to compensate a mistake making other and that harboring hate would just poison their hearts.

Someone lied flowers over the diplomat's grave in the middle of the night. It was not his kids, but an old friend. He got down on his knees and started to cry, regretful of the harm he caused. He was not alone. The diplomat was by his side, in spirit. That night mission was finally accomplished. He had seen the good side of the heart of that man and, even he had sacrificed himself to save him, he had set that man free of what was killing him and everybody around.

ERIC CLAPTON & ROGER WATERS - Wish You Were Here by petersonflr

Iceberg floating on the Antarctic Ocean

A sailor saw it from afar and immediately rang the bell to alert all the crew to the imminent crash. A huge iceberg was in the route of the powerful superliner.

Summer afternoon. Blue sky with no clouds. The calm sea. An iceberg moving through the iced water waves of the Antarctic Ocean. A picture with different hues of blue. The gather of the three states of matter: the liquid of the water, the solid of the iceberg and the gas of the freezing wind. The element of life. What do you see: coldness or inertia?

There is the possibility of founding something very precious in the iceberg core. What might have inside is not certain, just like we do not know if it lasts or not. But whatever it is, it is something that everybody wishes for some period of time.

Break the ice someway, let's pioneer it, figure out what it hides, what is the Kinder Surprise. What about using a pickaxe? But is not it dangerous to damage it? Let's lick the ice. But is not it dangerous for our tongue to be glued on it? Let's perforate it with our fingernails, or dry with a towel. But do not we run the risk of gangrening our hands?

Hey, what about some heat? Yeah, safe and effective. However it requires patience, a lot of patience. Many times waiting the ice to melt tires us, so we leave to explore another iceberg – that will also take too long to melt. How to reach its nucleus? Sun is powerless here. The concentration of the heat of the sunray of a shy Sun through the lens of the magnifying glass does not help much. Global warming and the ozone layer hole have accelerated the melting process, but it causes destruction and chaos.

Almost a century ago, Titanic crashed against an iceberg in a late night on April 1912. The unsinkable ship sank. And together, sank the dreams of a new life in a new land. Was Titanic moving too fast or was it the inertia of the big block of ice floating on the sea that damaged it?

It is fascinating and instigate us to figure out its reward. We may explore it and find out nothing at all. There is the risk of the iceberg cracking and falling on us. It is like our lives rely on this prospecting. Mysterious, motionless and quiet. It sees itself being breaking and invaded, but it does not react. Need it to be broken? Hard, impenetrable, letardy and cold... it kills the treasures hunter, makes him angry, upset and disappointed.

Even with the penguins company, the iceberg can live both with their company and without it. Alone and independent. It looks transparent but nobody can see through it. The iceberg is surrounded by the water of the Antarctic Ocean, being carried away by the waves, either about to be explored or about to destroy the ships that come to its way.

VANGELIS - Antarctica by petersonflr

Fever

I can not think, I can not feel. I just know I am not well. I am in stand by, I am operating in automatic pilot. I am in lethargy state, I have a fever.

I hear the sound of the TV set coming from somewhere, but my ears are muffled and I can barely hear, besides I am even paying attention on what they say.

There are some black clouds in the sky. I do not know if it is hot or if the temperature is nive. The Sun is warm, its bright is not glittering and the colors are pale, as if I was inside a 1970's color TV.

I am sick in on my bed covered from my toes to my hairs by my blanket. My body is tired and even the more I remain laying down, I can not rest. I do not know who I am feeling. I am not in a good mood, but I am not in a bad mood. I am not happy, but I am not sad. I do not want a companion, but I do not want to be alone. I am not feeling like living, but I do not feel like dying.

I can not think, I can not feel. I just know I am not well. I am in stand by, I am operating in automatic pilot. I am in lethargy state, I have a fever.

BOLSHOI - Sunday Morning by petersonflr

Hit me, I love it

Heart is a muscle brain can not control.

And I, a person who though that was immune to silly infatuations and able to choose when I would like to fall in love, have gotten a strong charm flu. My heart started to beat faster, my eyes started shining and I got a dreaming face.

People warned me saying that you were not good for me, but my heart asked me to ignore them. It told me they were green of envy because I was in love and they would like me to join their Unhappy Lonely Convicted People Group.

Today I want you, only you and nobody else. You have the essence I always was looking for. But hey, please, look at me!

You have looked at me and I overestimated any foolishness able to melt my butter heart. Everything you asked me I did without hesitating, the last thing I wanted was disappointing you. And when I had done it, I was afraid of losing you due to rubbish and because I could not show how important you are for me. I know I would never find someone as interesting as you.

People warned me that I was blind and that you did not feel anything special for me saying I was just another one. I have wondered in many ways of pleasing you and I felt in the top of the world when you used to say “cool”. There were people interested in me that tried to please me for me to notice them, but I asked them to leave me alone because my heart had already a owner. “You must love people who love you”, used to say the “jealous” people around me. But…

Je suis folle
Je m'abandonne
Mea culpa

And is it easy to choose the one we will fall in love with? Heart is a spoiled muscle that does not give up, no matter how it hurts.

Angst, frustration and the eternal fear of being alone invaded my soul when I saw you did not care about me. No matter how I tried to please you, I got nothing else than indifference. My heart only woke up from the trance and set my shackled self-love free when you started enjoying in seeing me making everything you wanted without hesitating, just like a obedient pet.

And then I woke up to give up. A person who when is not indifferent to me, want me to be act as if I were a pet definitely is not good for me.

Heart is a stupid muscle and tends to choose what is worse for it. It is a muscle that depreciates good things and overestimates bad things. It is a muscle able to make us lose the sense of what is ridiculous. It is a muscle that enjoys being dragged through the roasting and dirty roads of Guinea-Bissau.

________________________________________
PS: Even though I wrote this post in 1st person, I am not living what I wrote.