Mais uma luz
Uma luz a mais na cidade
Penso em voce
Sonho maior da realidade
Se vivo sozinho
E pra seguir meu proprio caminho
Tente entender quem sou
Tao desigual em tudo
Que voce quer que eu seja
Mais uma luz.

One more light
One light more in the city
I think about you
A dream greater than reality
If I live alone
It’s to follow my ways
Try to understand who I am
I’m always the opposite of your expectations
One more light.

Life is a coagulation of complex strategies. It becomes that way after a while, after about.. say, twenty years. When choices are no longer limited to doing or not doing, saying or not saying. It’s always too late to turn back and too early for drastic changes. There’s always a cause for the cause and a consequence for the consequence.
Hit me and I’ll bruise, stab me and I’ll bleed, but perhaps I won’t die.
Perhaps she would love the pain that spreads and exaggerates itself like a venom,
stinging her and awakening her to the fact that she is still alive.
She picks herself up, dusts herself off and starts all over again.
And in between she feels, FEELS ! the splendour and pleasure of feeling,
if only to feel pain, rather than become a numb white futuristic doll,
perfect beyond sanity.
She digs her own graves, cries her own drowning pools,
and laughs at the funny irony of life, and love,
and laughter itself.
Kiss me, and I will bloom for you, glow for you.
Slowly unravel, and reveal layers.. and layers.. and layers of coagulated complexities, individually simple, and absurdly frail.
She would challenge you, knowing you would not dare.
She would not challenge you, knowing you may not be worth it if you do not dare.
She would scorn you, and hate you, and love you.
Then she would laugh, brokenly, at the funny irony of life, and love.
And she would go to sleep with you on her mind, acting as if she cared about the world

Saturday night clubhopping. I mean literally.
We started from Centro, moved to Embassy after making a pitstop at Banana Café, and finished off at Club Monaco.
Only because my sophisticated friends managed to get freepasses to all 3 clubs. Only because it was a girls night out.
A month ago I wouldn’t have imagined myself clubhopping. But there you go, life is strange.
All places are identical, really. They may boast different atmospeheres, different music, different dj’s, but when you’re in a club, you’re in a club. You’re in a place that’s dark with blinking laser lights that allow you to see in blinks, with cigarette smoke densely formulating in the atmosphere. With music that thumps and sends vibrations to your chest until you can no longer distinguish your heart beat and the beat of the music. With people, moving and doing their thing in their respective narrow spaces in the crowd, some oblivious to all except the music, some rather awkward and self-consciously. The dancing, the drinking, the release from inhibition. The occasional guy who gives you 'the look' and starts dancing his way towards you, moving along to your rhythm and finally leaning over to shout a pick-up line in your ear.

Left the club at 3, slept late into the morning. Washed out, unsuccessfully, the smell of smoke out of my hair. Sat in the morning sunlight eating peanut butter toast, listening to the brazillian jazz sounds of Eliane Elias.
I’d trade all the freepasses in the world for a moment like this.