I believe I’m horrible at texting. I just rather pick up the phone, talk for 1 min and solve simple shit, instead of having a two weeks thread that I have no bloody idea what the fuck we’re talking about anymore.
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I just got a desk.
A foldable one, It has more than 50 inches (size queen; jokes are welcome). It had to be large, regarding what I’m gonna do with it. Funny enough, she has no idea WTF she’s doing.
This desk implies structure, all together, not as much physical pain when drawing, painting, and writing while sitting on the floor; At the same time, she’s big enough to lay, basically, most of the ‘canvases’ she owns, definitely a lat top, into the bargain, some parallel art supplies.
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What do you give a shit about?
This sounds accusatory when it aims to be rhetorical. What do you really care about?
And if you can answer this question; I'm proud of you.
I actually have no clue what shits I give besides the well-being of beloved ones. Which, actually, takes me primarily out my own ‘interests’. I do have points to elaborate on that argument, especially, when I’m normally the first one to call out people and mention that they should always take care of themselves first.
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My ego hurts. Today it was lacerated and its hemorrhage is overcasting my mind.
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Having a panic attack is not easy; Trust me. Specially when you’re mentally harming yourself and loved ones. Two days ago I stampede, shattered and ripped 90% or more of my artistic portfolio. It consisted of more than seven years of work. Reasons to do so are so complex and entwine that It’d extremely difficult cover it all.
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A text to the ones that want to make peace with their own demons,
Nothing better than knowing you’re one of it all, but you can change anything you want.
You’re your own master.
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How can I compensate all this time apart with you in one word: whatever.
Looking at big companies and their multi personalities dealing with their pathetic lives, you: even if there is just one reader: Might understand my wrath.
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So here I am writing about my new beginning, how I’m doing it and what followed me.
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Recently I’ve been reading a book called Mindset by Carol Dweck. Furthermore, I’m reading Inferno by Dante. They make a very interesting mix in my head, let’s shuffle this two babes.
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I cry, I cry, I cry
The meaningless reality
Filled with all the garbage
The unfortunate fatality that is society
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Today went well, I went to the gym, did my errands and went for dinner with a friend. That is ignoring the fact I woke up 5am and couldn’t go back to sleep. Insomnia nights are very frequent to me since last year. But that’s not the focus, the focus is one statement. My friend and I were having dinner and he mentioned one of his experiences at work today:
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All that we have got is now. This moment.
But what happens when you don’t want this moment; that is not that you have failed. You just fell numb, you feel imprisoned in your own mind.
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The other day I read: “Earth need an alien invasion so we can all come together”. That was rather interesting. The necessity of a threaten of mass extermination from other species seems to be the only thing that would bring people together at last in this chaotic world.
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In this week several people I know passed away. None close friends, some friends of friends and some personalities. In addition, some are sick. I am trying to feel compelled to be sad about this dreadfulness surrounding me. However, I’m finding it really rough to do so. Before I can even think of myself as a callous person, I take a good look at myself and calm down.
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dismembered
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On meeting the queen of the’ cocada preta’
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The time you’re realize that nothing matters, when technology absorbs you. The parts you leave behind; sticking to the infinite of your existence. Don’t trick your enemies, leave them close, but don’t make them control your own weaknesses.
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It’s cold, it’s warm. I don’t know what to feel but overwhelmed. On the haven of America; All the sorrows and prayers of a tearful country find themselves on this swamp. This morass of creativity, talent, refugee and regret fill itself with a Roman pleasure. Such a bohemic space that one cannot contain itself.
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A unfinished note to myself this Wednesday, November, 28th. There is no finish to the river tears that this text could be. ‘T̶Crying is a good exercise’
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Wondering through a bar with a friend one month ago, I cross pass with this gentleman. We exchange names and the most “new yorker” questions of all ‘what do you do for a living?’
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