I’m pink

I can’t tell a green field from a cold steel rail
I’m leading a role in a cage

I’m always ticking away the moments that make up my dull day
I fritter and waste my hours in an offhand way
I’m always looking or waiting for someone to show me the way

I’m young and life is long
and I think there’s time to kill today

but then one day I found that
ten years have got behind
and I’ve missed the starting gun

I’ve realized that sun is the same in a relative way
but I’m older, shorter of breath and one day closer to death

every year is getting shorter
and I never seem to find the time do to what I want
my plans always come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines

the time is gone
the song is over
and I thought I’d something more to say
but I’m just hanging on quiet desperation

tolling: tocar do sino
offhand: ungraciously or offensively nonchalant or cool in manner
fritter: waste time, money, or energy on trifling matters
trifling: unimportant or trivial
naught: nothing, zero
veil: véu
scribbled: write or draw (something) carelessly or hurriedly

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das antiga

eu via o email como familia
como amigos
como social

eu nao saia da minha casa
eu nao socializava com os vizinhos

eu ficava trancado ouvindo musica
lendo livro
tocando violao
vendo dvd
vendo anime
depois series
tv
tv
tv
tv
tv
tv
tv
programa de culinaria

I’m reacting to myself being myself on the
redes sociaisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

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Slavoj Žižek

A still very attractive lady,
sexually,
late 30s,
who told me of a strange thing that happened to her.
She told me that when her last lover saw her naked before making love that he told her if you were just to lose three,
four pounds,
your body would have been perfect.

And I told her just don’t lost three or four pounds.
Because,
you know,
like if she were effectively to lose three or four pounds she wouldn’t be perfect.

She would just be plain.
The illusion of perfection is created precisely by this excess.
It’s too much, but then you imagine or without this it would have been perfect.
If you say — if you take away this excess you don’t get perfect, you know.

This is what in psychoanalytic theory we call object cause of desire.
Not object of desire,
object of desire I think in this case is a woman or a man or whatever.
But the cause of desire in the sense of what makes you fall in love is always a sign of imperfection.

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eu

eu sou viciado em socializar
eu sou viciado no social
eu sou viciado em outras pessoas

termino o filme
quero falar pra alguém

abro o whatsapp
checo o facebook

nada

vou para a rua
visito a casa dos amigos
vou à praça
aperto mãos
tantas que minha mão fica marcada

não aguento ficar sozinho
yet
estou

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petyr baelish

fight every battle
everywhere
always in your mind
everyone is your enemy
everyone is your friend
every possible series of events is happening
all at once
live that way
and nothing will surprise you
everything that happens will be something that you’ve seen before

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