terça-feira, abril 16, 2019

Predador

Meu corpo de trabalho é constituído em sua maioria por pinturas acrílicas e aguadas em papel. Por ser figurativo, creio que deva ser analisado como parte de um processo intimamente ligado ao desenvolvimento das dinâmicas entre meu “aparato emocional” e os elementos estéticos introjetados que definem minha identidade pessoal, através das imagéticas perpetuadas por eles em meu subconsciente. Por ambos estarem em constante transição, de acordo com novas experiências vividas e informações assimiladas, a melhor forma de escrutinar este processo e estabelecer uma interpretação objetiva dos valores resultantes, seria através da identificação de padrões e motivos constantes no decorrer de minha vida.
Assim como muitas crianças, uma vez que havia atingido certo grau de domínio sobre minha coordenação, desenvolvi um gosto por desenhar idealizações de pessoas e criaturas as quais aspirava ser ou ter, bem como representação de coisas que me atraiam estética e sexualmente (apesar de só entender ao certo essas relações mais adiante). O aparente simplismo desta formula segue comigo até os dias de hoje, mesmo durante épocas em que vieses de cunho profissional acabaram por condicionar minha técnica e estética de forma a atenderem determinados propósitos.
Hoje, porém, este não é mais um empecilho, e a liberdade para desenvolver uma identidade artística em ressonância com minha identidade pessoal, revelou uma busca pelas aparentes dicotomias entre símbolos culturalmente reconhecidos como representações de poder e virilidade, em suas formas mais primitivas e vulneráveis às suas limitações físicas. Tenho um desejo latente, desde pequena, por tudo que expressa poder, em uma situação de passividade. Desde os maquinários ferroviários aposentados expostos em museus que visitei em minha juventude; carcaças de construções desativadas evidenciando suas vigas maciças e seus esqueletos de ferro torcido; até ossadas de animais gigantescos já extintos; os touros, cães e cavalos, na fazenda de meus avós, obrigados a serem contidos e presos, por serem incapazes de se controlarem quando as fêmeas entravam no cio, ou até mesmo a impotência diante do abate. O desejo contraditório de consolar e apaziguar e o de possuir e controlar a potência representada por estas entidades, de viver estas dinâmicas de troca de poder, levou-me a projetá-las em minhas relações pessoais, principalmente as de âmbito sexual, romântico e afetivo. E retomando a lógica da fórmula citada anteriormente, minha arte é substancialmente envolvida na idealização e representação destes desejos e seus objetos de gatilho.
O processo de desconstrução da representação imagética subconsciente de cada objeto a ser retratado, por sua vez, descreve a intencionalidade do ato da pintura em si através da dinâmica gestual. Na mesma curva de energia descrita por um predador ao dar o bote em sua presa; ou por amantes ao satisfazerem seus desejos pungentes, a execução de um trabalho ocorrerá espontaneamente dentro de um momento contínuo, inspirada pela intensidade de um sentimento que anseia possuir a criatura que ainda está aprisionada em minha mente, até o instante do ápice, em que sou finalmente saciada e a arte concretizada. Por esta relação temporária com a obra ter um cunho quase obsessivo, elementos de ambientação e contextualização se perdem numa cegueira relativa em prol de um ideal estético representado por estas figuras em evidência.

Minha arte nada mais é que uma expressão pictórica de minha condição humana, sob a influência daquilo que, dentro de meus critérios, creio amar.

segunda-feira, março 11, 2019

Accidental flesh wounds


The room drowned in bluish grey light. His physicality soon conditioned me to reconsidere the hierarchy of senses. Tree bark! Like peroba-rosa or jequitiba. He smelled like tree bark after rain. Lean and vibrantly bodied as a palomino foal. He endeared my insticts. But the hankering to act visceraly towards the creature suddenly bounced off as an uncontrolable urge to merge. Soft coating and tight leatherish skin against my legs, tingling along my outlines whenever he spoke. He left me powerless, feeding an anthropophagic fantasy, striped from any romantical or sexual attachment. How could this be, when somebody seemed to touch so close to home?

Morning striked in its dreary pale shades as his silver lining chatter about whimsical gastronomical indulgences encouraged my mind to muse upon his frame, hoping to ever be around in case of any "unfortunate accident".

Fuck, I'm hungry.

terça-feira, fevereiro 12, 2019

The weightless indulgence



Not everybody I know has the moral freedom to separate lust from love, let alone from friendship. Lust seems to be held in such strict connection with emotional entanglements, that it can only be so confortably indulged once veiled underneath the cloths of "decency" or "secrecy". Well I don't have such pacience. How could I? My body is a bestial deity, demanding sacrifice on the spot. My brain is nothing but a vicious power house ran by billions of its minions. There is no solace after rebelion. Not for me.
Sex is as crucial of an impulse as the first breath after a deep dive.
Yet... It's anything but vulgar.

As I walked around the bar, in complete anxiety, trumpets anounced glory comming from afar.
And for the love of all that's sacred... She was dressed in red.

sábado, janeiro 26, 2019

17 de abril de 2018


30 anos na cara e uma cerveja na mão. São Paulo parece que me engole aos poucos, inteira. Uma jiboia do tamanho de uma cidade. E agora, mais que nunca, eu preciso ser humano, mas humano filho da puta. Munido até os dentes. Malandro e com os colhões na mão. Cansei de prestar atenção no que eu não posso (ainda). Cansei de mendigar o que deveria ser meu por direito. 30 anos, e nem uma página preenchida na minha carteira de trabalho. Transtorno de déficit de atenção e hiperatividade é o que aprendi que eu tenho. Desde pirralha. Minha mente é uma maria-fumaça queimando estímulo e informação, rápido de mais pra fazer alguma coisa com elas antes de virarem pó. É a cólica, as contas, o namorado, o aluguel, a pressão, dor de cabeça, cigarro, dente quebrado, olheiras, grana, é-que-o-niilismo-sabe, cabeça a mil. Tudo a mil. A ex a mil, a economia no buraco, mas os ricos à mil. O mercado da arte tá favorável. Onde tem grana, tá favorável. Tudo. Mas eu tô com medo. Medo do não. É o perfeccionismo. A tinta que eu uso é ruim. A vida. A sina caralho! Meu cú. Arregaçado pela jiboia. Foda-se é o que eu digo.
Cansei, tá ligado? C-a-n-s-e-i.
Amanhã é sempre a mesma coisa. E hoje é sempre a mesma história. Tô afim de me dar bem, é o que eu digo. Tô afim de ter grana pra gastar. De dar um lanche pro tio do papelão sem pensar na minha barriga semana que vêm. De comprar um tênis novo porque o meu entra água quando chove. De pagar fisio pro meu gato. De encher a cara com Stella Artrois à 15 pila. De ver o mundo por cima, mas não deixar o nariz por lá. Eu quero me dar bem sem que o mundo saiba se eu sou loira ou morena. Meu trabalho com poder de venda sem ninguém ao certo saber quem eu sou no meio do vernissage.
Eu vou ser foda. Eu vou ser foda. Eu vou ser a pica dessa jiboia. Minha cidade natal vai ser lembrada porque eu sou de lá. Minha mãe vai dizer que tá orgulhosa e vai ser eu quem vai pagar a próxima viagem. Todo mundo pra praia, porque Europa já tá saturada. Europa é óbvia de mais pra gente como eu. Praia dentro da tenda. Praia com churrasquinho na grelha de latão. Trilha longa e bronzeado de óculos e camiseta em todo mundo. Eu vou ser foda. E vou dar pra minha vó aquelas coisas que ela já nem pensa mais em correr atrás. Eu vou dar tudo que eu puder e deixar um pouco pra mim. O suficiente pra ser sozinha. Sozinha quando eu quero, por quanto tempo eu quiser.
MARK MY WORDS: EU VOU SER FODA!
NÃO... EU VOU MOSTRAR AO MUNDO COMO EU SOU FODA!

segunda-feira, novembro 12, 2018

Some eyes have mirrors in them

It’s tempting to let ourselves entertain bias that support our self-importance, making us believe our experiences are always stronger and more meaningful than those of others. That our perspectives are a higher asset to humanity’s potential as a species and that others should adapt to the almighty poetry of our mindsets and not the other way around. But very little of us know any better. As a matter of fact, we can only so well learn about the world in our own terms and limited mirror neurons stock. And for as long as we are fortunate enough to live around those who are more or less likeminded, posing as no threat to our opinions and causing very little tension in order to push us further beyond the pre-determined bubbles that make up for the base of our individuality, chances are that we will remain in mental homeostasis if we decide we are fine as it is.
Changes only happen when there is a disruption on the energetic balance of a system, and they are usually driven towards ways that can reestablish this balance with the least amount of energy loss. This is why some stars collapse, others explode, and animals who are more suitable to adapt to changes will lead the course of evolution. But when it comes to creatures who seem to have lost track of how complex the balance of their systems have become, such as us, it is only natural to expect a constant sense of chaos trying to keep track of all the possible disruptions and which one to give priority in order to what specific finality. And believe me: my brain is constantly trying to block heuristics and draw new patterns that can give clues of what would be the best answers to this problem, in every slightly different situation I’m facing. This means I’m far behind on the spectrum line of optimized energy use and my contribution to the world will most likely be ephemeral and cultural rather than… well, genetic.
Obviously, this text is all about me and my perspective on the subject, giving the first paragraph more of an apologetic tone instead of a proper neutral introduction to the subject. Subject being: YES! I am stuck in a new relationship that is driving me nuts in the same ratio it is making me happy. And before you ask yourself, these are not contradictory statements, I’m not saying I’m evenly happy and mad, I’m saying I’m around 50% happy and 50% going insane in the brain.
And considering that in other times of my life, I would have turned my ice queen shoulder or simply lost interest for i.e. whoever dared disagree with my taste in music, the fact I’m literary banging my head against the wall and chewing the inside of my mouth as I try to physically compensate the mental stress to which I’m exposed as I try to crack the solutions to the problems between us, is enough statement as it is.

'This relationship has a tremendous personal appeal to me'.

I feel like the tensions being produced here can provide opportunities for great changes. Not the ones that are beneficial only to the relationship itself, but to a mutual personal growth. If I… no… If ‘we’ manage to find the points of balance that allow our energies to flow dynamically through productive channels, we can really potentialize ourselves. Unfortunately, our tensions tend to either be based on differences that are actually motivated by similar personality traits, or insecurity and traumatic triggers for either one of us, that cause us to assume a self-protective posture, and a little too often we face a dead end where instead of preparing a ground for fruitful discussion, it turns into a battle of hurt egos that wouldn’t dare giving up their pride in the name of a greater good.
And that’s where my notion of self-importance takes place in this scenario. I haven’t yet decided if my judgement is really clear or if I’m just trying to affirm myself in an otherwise useless endeavor. How much should I give in out of love, before it breaks the boundary of my own love? How could I stablish a balanced exchange of energy with somebody who is making me optimize my mental processes and improve certain cognitive pathways, but expresses a great resistance whenever I present anything that might stand as a possible criticism to any of his traits whatsoever?
It lacks timing, intelligence and memory in me to present proves of what seems to be a sort of backfire effect bias in him. But as far as I am concerned, I’m willing to show myself vulnerable and harmless in order to make him feel as comfortable as possible around me. Both our perspectives should be equaly relevant in this relationship. I am not afraid to be wrong nor to be corrected… I’m only afraid to be silenced and have my literal cry for empathy dinyed as if I was a threat.

I wont glamourize colapsing stars anymore.

quarta-feira, setembro 05, 2018

"Consider this a love crime"

10:34pm. My messed up room translates a mind in search of solace as it recalls earlier events.

Your place feels just like you. A mess trying to disguise itself with a superficial tidying up. Neglected by what you will always considere to be of higher priority. You're professional aptitude and potential are not to be doubt. This has to do with your heart; with you becoming fulfiled and happy without the undertone of your competitive nature. But I tried to "fix" it. Hell, I tried to fix anything I could around you so I could figure you deeper withing, where the passions flourish and the real soar scratches everytime you are confronted. It's not welcoming anymore. I'm an intruder in your place.

The limits were drawn by you, and I stubbornly tried to expand them against your will. Only when I realised how powerless I was, everytime I'd reach a wall it would hurt. Over and over, until I noticed myself bruised all over my body... all over my soul. Opened wounds that you expected me to cover up so you could pretend they were not there when I smiled, tearing my flesh further down the bones. Helpless and violent as a cornered up beast, I would attack.

It was neither fault.
Just a simple divergence and lack of desires.
I can't ressonate in you if you don't open up "the lit".

I was overtaken by the feeling we were loose, as our vulgarized proposals pilled up on the right corner of your couch. I longed for a common ground in which we could grow together, yet all the great times we had did not reverberate beyond themselves. When I'd go back home, I had nothing to hold on to besides the yearning of a next call and the rescue of abandoned promisses in a couple of dusty shells. No projects, no plans, no discussing our future toguether. Nothing but waiting until you'd tell me when you'd be available again. I craved for a connection that only seemed to exist when we were phsically close.

"By now i know when you'll freak out... It's becoming theatrical" you said. If you knew it, it means you understandood, at least a little... or just enough. Yes, I'd probably "freak out" on each and every new situation you would decide not to include me as part of your family... And hurricane's sixth birthday was a poking and twisting knife between my ribs, which you rathered keep pushing, calling my outbursts bullshit.

"STOP THE BULLSHIT"!

I couldn't stand being around her anymore, knowing you would remain stagnant behind the paradox of your uneasyness to expose her to our relationship until you decided we were "solid enough", and the fact your "adjournments" would only increase our distance by the day... week... month... Gee Adam, I spent the whole freaking year waiting for great news. For a commitment that showed how much you wanted to be with me... That I would not be alone giving all I had.

And no. NO! She doesn't deserve to be exposed to our confrontations, just like she never was in any moment. But she deserves to learn about the real world. She needs to be exposed to the unconveniences and frustrations of life... To your real emotions. I don't mean for her to carry the responsability of your wellbeing on her tinny shoulders, but to learn her dad has feelings that she should respect and naturally care for - she already has such a caring nature. Nurture it! Guide her towards external awarness, colective growth and empathy. Teach her how to help others develope too, not yell at them when they don't meet her expectations. I promisse you she will be able to handle greater frustrations with conviction, instead of falling and expecting others to fix it. Inspire her to have the courage and confidence to climb a tree; to ask for help when needed; to feel protected, not dependent; to not fear possible falls, neither expose herself to unecessary dangers, nor hide her wounds and insecurities in fear of repression. Damn it. Just how complex is it to rise a kid? And this was only a hypotetical climb of a freaking tree! You know I would have been a great influence to your kid. You know I would never want to expose her to our discussions if they would not add up to her development. You've only been hiding your fears in these excuses you've been giving me. I wonder if you are afraid to expose yourself to a new family core and navigate through her other family half, or if you don't want me specifically to be it.

You became exhausted of my obsessive attempts to figure out your relationship with your ex, yet you never gave me satisfying answers. Finally, on the phone, you told me it was not like there was nothing, rather it's just that you didn't want to talk about it. Yet I'd still feel this meaningful episode in your life reverberate. But hold on there! I'm not questioning your present feelings but you act like your passt influences you only through conscious thoughts and it's not fair that you also project this foolish understanding onto me. It's so hard to navigate through this unrealistic practicability. This straightforward enjoyment and idea that my emotional responses are bullshit if you can not understand them in these shallow guidelines, in the same time you are rarely opened to understand them when I give the time to explain them again and again. I struggled because I was never truely understood, but only expected to believe I was, and be happy without longing for more than you already had to offer - the "more" that I needed. So I had to give up on it. Stop worrying. And it seemed like this would have to be the case with everything else. I would have to stop worrying about you so we could be a practical happy couple when you had the time. All I wanted was empathy from you, so you would help me navigate calmly in my lower curves, reminding me it would all get better.

I never used my pms, nor the adhd and the medication as an excuse. They would only ever amplify the side effects of the neglected responsabilities that you were not ready to comply. Chemical curves that would allow for things to shake up and ressurface like flying rays from the water. I never said it was not me.

You would constantly say things in order to convince yourself that I was wrong for exposing you to my problems, making me feel ashamed of them; that you didn't have to adapt for the sake of our mutual development; and that you were always right to be mad at me - even if you rightfully were at times. Afterall, you were giving me all you could in terms of time, money and energy. But don't think I didn't cherish these efforts less. As a matter of fact, they would inspire me to help you with things I could offer, like keeping your place clean and organized. And it was from the heart until the psychological chalanges started to take too much energy out of me. I mean, you have all the right to be mad and angry as much as you please. Catharsis is necessary, but things should be discussed and adaptations should be made in both ways so development can take place.

You have a terrible habit of getting bad moments and generalising them as part of my nature. Psychological flaws are not like work place mistakes. Falling on their traps is not a sign of stupidity but a sign of struggle against problems that haven't yet been overcomed. I lost track of what is great in me. All these things weaken me to the limit. Which is a terrible thing. Because I didn't want us to end up like this. Gosh Adam, I didn't want to.
I wanted to feel protected just as much as I wanted to protect you as a whole. But I couldn't.

I know. It's a passional gut spilling, and I'm shattered, but I don't want to judge you based on my personal ideals at all. You are not less of a person for not fulfilling my expectations. You don't ever have to change beyond what you believe is necessary - and only you can tell what's necessary in your life! I'm only trying to expose my reasons and perhaps discribe what could have been a better scenario for us to work our diferences. But I'm hopeful (not presumptuous) that the best for you is to be close to a person just as "practical" as you wished I was, along with all that you assumed to be good in me. A person that is not so patologically curious and willing to push your limits before you're ready. Who wont insist on getting to know you deeper than what is necessary to have this practical relationship, where the two have separate lifes yet are able to enjoy your spare time toguether as greatly as possible - without knwoing both your pasts in details, your obscure childhood experiences, the stories behind the scar on your lips, the charming moles hidden on your scalps. It's not a matter of time. Perhaps you are not hard wired to be interested in a more psychologicaly intimate relationship. Perhaps you just don't need all this to be happy. This is neither better nor worse, it's just diferent. I just couldn't accept it because my nature demands uttermost intensity, and I hoped you'd want to join me in this endeavour because I love you. But I did not manage to inspire you. I got weak beforehand and started to attack you, when all I wanted was to viciously drag you into a metaphorical pool of melting souls where we could be part of each other.

Funny how we ended up.

Now your presence is imprinted all over my mind. It will be a hard task to stop watering these seeds. Fucking hell, the good things were all so beautiful, so powerful and unique... But not enough to keep the weigh of the mismatches to fall over our heads.

In your house, I realised I was not ready to let go. I acted upon an ongoing barganing stage of grief. So I held on to everything that was a symbol of my love to you, hoping I would trigger a passionate reaction out of your ressignified posture towards me. I hoped for you to go crazy and show up on my door so we could work on this bargain toguether. Maybe break a couple of glasses before fucking our brains out on the kitchen sink. But you only attacked me and made me feel like I did it in bad faith to hurt you. Again: didn't go as planned. And I'm sorry for my impulsive selfish behaviour... I really am. I even payed top money to hire a driver on demand, no questions asked - gettaway style, before you could come back home... I thought my colorful note would grant it a cinematographic charm. Hard cheese. It only enraged you and made you feel violated. Gosh, I should know better between movies and reality. I did not want this... Oh creature, you can have your letters, drawings and portrait back.

You can have all that's left.

And no: There will be nobody 'like me' around. Neither like you.
There will be nobody so eager to get under your skin and so passionatly drawed by every inch of it as I am. So willing to get to know you... so willing to give in. Other people would probably not have walked the extra mile under the same circumstances, or would just idealise you to their taste and let you go when the external shine of the relationship finally sucumbed to time, without ever getting in touch with the ravishing complexity of your personality. Neither will there be somebody who inspires me to all this again. After learning so much about you, and pouring so much of myself into you, I became vulnerable... I was unprepared. You were never willing to embrace me in my insecurity because you were also insecure. It's understandable and I'm very sorry for it too. Damn it, I am.

I wished so much that you would want to have me plenty.
That our love was greater than our uncertainties, not part of them!
But it was not the case. Even after two years, I was still overshadowed by your concern with your ex and who knows what else.

While I could be "everything you wanted", you did not want "everything I wish to be".
I can't ressonate in you.
So I'm taking myself back, but I'm taking you with me. The part that can never be replaced, along with all the memories that shaped me to the person I've become.

You are part of me.

My eyes feel like stung by wasps. I can't conceive this city without you. There is so much pouring to do. So many feelings that now become aimless... I need a new recepient... A bigger one... I need to be transplanted into a forest where I can grow freely and have my roots diving as deep as they can.

I'm devastated that you were not the one. At least not at this time of our lifes.
But we were the ones for each other when we met, and for as long as we were able to uplift eachother's spirits in such a hostile environment as São Paulo.

I'm so happy to know you Adam. I'm so happy that we lived all that we lived.
And if you can still find in you the strenght to keep me in your life, I will always be here. Cheering for you. Longing that time might bring us more wisdom and perhaps one day...


You are loved Adam.
And so am I.


quinta-feira, junho 07, 2018

The croocked beauty withing honesty and self conscious love

Soon it will be two years. Not that I'm ortodox about dates, nor compulsively romantic, but it's just easier to keep track of life when you get those markers in check. The times of uncompromised pour outs and mindless passion is gone, enabling matured and empiric data based guidelines. Eventhough the acertiveness of it still resembles that of a blindfolded toddler, rather than an actual computer, it's been saving us from raging storms and deep waters. We are finally sailling back to warm weather. Back to safety. Back to a common ground.
Yeah... I know it sounds kinda dull, and most of us are just erotically inclined to wiggle up the orbits of our social systems to check on our influence power and to let our thoughts be disrupted at will by self-protective reflexes, on the tinniest sign of doubt or confrontation. We learn to expect constant reasurance and yearn to feel just right in the eyes of our peers as we truely are - once adaptations require energy that is barely ever at hand these days. These self-absorbed tacticts of preservation are great ways to make any relationship feel like a crappy summer camp tug of war, made out of pure tangible mental stress, hoping to be the first to fall in the mud pool in order to pitch in that long rehersed passive agressive move. Even the most generous expressions of altruism will very likely become empty if they fail to proove something to our magnificent secretly shivering in fetal position selves. I know this because I've been there.
I held onto so much pride, it took me a long time to spot the falacies in many of my refrigerated logical arguments. Love was held with a british condescending scorn.  I shamed the voluntary commodification of dating apps (and pretty much everything else after binging on Žižek memes). Engaging on a stable relationship felt like giving away a part of my freedom and identity in order to satisfy somebody elses demands. BUT... It's not like I had the option to resist those geek chic glasses and untamed forelocks framing his ridiculous marble carved bone structure. He knocked down my breaks and once more I dipped bare face into fresh cement pavement, denying my situation as my body gradually stuck for good in a block of metaphorical cement. "If anything, I also need protection in this fucking unpredictable city, right?". Always a trick under the sleeve to keep me from reavaluating my self criticism.
He is stubborn too, almost simmetricaly to me. He keeps his vulnerabilities protected with nails and teeth so fiercely, when caugh off guard, I can sometimes imagine him chewing off his own leg if that could release him from a verbal hostage situation. He learned it from his passt experiences. We all learn it to a certain extent. Nothing more than social animals who seeks out for more controlled environments to feel safe. But he has this energy inside of him, craving for something greater, that bursts out of nowhere and fills me with urgent desires. He longs for freedom too, and yet he naturally fears the consequences of it. "Furthermore, he fears some people's opinions more than he fears loosing his freedom", I would think, "so he wants to reintroduce himself among a very selective flock as some sort of sheep dog - leading his own path and inspiring respect from the guiltylessly opulent intelectuals, who pin their achievements with categoric prooves of success". I assumed he feared the pressure and shame of not getting it, because anything less would mean mediocrity. But I realised this was usually just 'me' trying to project my mind onto his, so I'd feel less pressured to change my posture as I judged him with very little property. I just secretly wish him to lead the way, because I see so much of me in him, and yet I'm so underachieved in comparison, that it's easier to undermine his personal reasons in order to put my own in their place.
Ok, I know, my smarts turn against me constantly under emotional bias. It's a hard journey towards self improovement, and I might be part of "humanity's greatest flunk towards common evolution" just as much as those people I try to despise due to my obstinate fear of failure. The pleasure of feeling better than others has been hard wired in our brains afterall, back at the time our ancestors, who managed to outrun their slower peers, experienced a sweet rush of pleasure and relieve, passing that marker onto generations to come. Being better means being able to tailor humanity's future. Spread the genes of success and savor a tinny taste of being larger than your life span. Success means a slice of deity with lots of impunity perks.
I used to be terrified about this idea. Haunted by the constant pressure of prooving myself worth of a place in nature's hall of fame, only through the scope of what humanity has become: an overly processed and obscure version of our "primitive" selves.
Oh well. He was married to a woman who is a prime exemples of success. That, ladies and gents, kept me very close to my insecurities throughout most of our relationship. Bittering my heart after every strategical social distance and crippling any further attempt of empathy for both sides. "He yearns it. He wants it. He needs it! How can somebody allow itself to be constantly castrated if it doesn't desire it more than anything? Even more than freedom?" I mean, come ON! Plenty of values and responsabilities are strong enough to bend us against our primal desires. Parenthood; carreer; social and economical stability; the whole Maslow shit if you so desire. It's the fucking base of civilized society Pâmela do céu!
Aloof the evident platitude, it jacked my reasoning mind, because I didn't want to give him credit! I lost my mojo and gave up my true nature in order to be something as close to my idea of success as I could, in my very limited ressources. Sounds familiar, right? I did this before. I did this under my own flawed scrutiny of the social context I was exploring. It took me so long to respect and apreciate his past as an essencial part of him and stop expecting emotional neglect for it. Gosh, I could never do this myself! I am pround and greatful for the best and worse in my past, and I want him to feel the same. I've grown tired of this no brainer insecurity. Fucking hell. I'm tired just to think of it.
He is so full of life. Nothing pays off the taste of freedom I get when it's all about us. I don't care about social validation, talking fancy nor being prised by public faces who know little about themselves besides their careers or whatever fits their fragmented concepts of the human psyche, served in verses full of flourishes and self indulgence along consumption patterns... Maybe a therapist who leads them towards the right ones.
Ok. I'm drunk... And condescending... And I just had some speed tablets. But it's consciously imposed. There is no need for compensation. No need for justifications. Just bliss. 
We are cooler than trendy glammour.
We are wiser than status.
We have the intensity and simplicity of starving predators, who want nothing but pleasure, under the least effort demanding means.
Fear us!
We are proudly wild underneath our civilized garments!
Being toguether doesn't imply drastic changes, as we learn to masterize divergent poles and balance whopping contrasts. Our sense of freedom navigates our choices beyond phylosophical implications. And listening to my guts, as they almost obsessively hunger for his company, is enough to convince me that he is part of me because I value who he is and so does he.
I am happy for it. Lionhearted to openly experience and improve my potential through his perspective and vice versa. I don't care what might come next, because right now I'm happily in love with this mind blowing lad - who's also into old school hip hop and "casual black leather".

(The familiar shiver running down your spine when your eyes are pierced by an imponent presence among the crowd, followed by the rush of excitement when you know he is comming towards you)