sábado, dezembro 02, 2023

No pain, no game

Once upon a time, two jokers met. They fell in love with themselves, thinking they were each other, but none of them was in fact who they thought they were. And they ressented each other for not being that who they thought they loved, without realising that what they loved was the idea of being loved by what they thought they were, but none of them was in fact who they wanted to be, neither who the other wanted them to be...

That's the thing about jokers... They are what the game tells them to be, and no game would require a joker to play a joker. So if two jokers happen to meet in real life, they will behave like two mirrors reflecting each other until they go mad.

All a joker has is a collection of the games it played before, yet nobody can tell who or what it is, unless they are playing along.

quinta-feira, novembro 09, 2023

To my new fans

Welly welly well, isn’t life deliciously full of surprises?
Especially mine, I must say.

After almost a year, I am reminded of this memory graveyard, not because of new readers eager to connect with me through my years of processes and changes presented in my journaling, but apparently because it is being used as evidence of someone else’s “character”.

Houston, do you copy?

The subjective interpretation I had of a man, over an year ago, was subjectively interpreted by someone else, and the fragmented and highly biased conclusion was then crafted into a narrative patchwork, to prove yet another person’s subjective experience with that man, as a case against him. The funniest thing here is: I was not informed about it. I was not formally contacted by any of these people, not now, not even long before when I was open and willing to do so.

Now my words are being used >>>against my consent <<< as evidence to a case I am not even aware of. I’m sorry, but if this situation puts in evidence the character flaws of anybody, this would be the treacherous character of the person behind this sneaky little rhetorical maneuver.

And since I am a person who holds JUSTICE as her highest value, I would like to help everybody’s work by presenting my voluntary testimonial in this case.

*cleans throat*

Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Pamela Martini. I am 35 years old, and if I ever dare to box myself in the name of convenient practicality, I would say I am a Brazilian independent researcher and ephemeral artist. Sounds pretty captivating, right?

So it should…

I am here to testify in the name of my good friend Herr W. I was first introduced to Herr W in December 2019, at Futergarden, by my former partner and common friend, Herr S. The only reason Herr S introduced me to Herr W, was because my partner told me he was an art enthusiast who was willing to help artists career, and would even consider sponsoring scholarships if he thought they had potential. That night we talked for quite some time, and we both felt a natural ease around each other. If I dare speak for the both of us: I would say we both automatically saw a potential friendship that could attend our most intellectual and philosophical demands, we were both starving for. Meeting him felt like reuniting with a long forgotten soul family member.

We met another couple of times at Herr S house, until I went back to Brasil, in February 2020. He analyzed my art work, to which he said was good, but still raw. In Herr W’s eyes, I had potential to develop, yet he was more interested in my verbal expression and authentic view of the world, which somehow outshined his will to help me in my artistic pursuits. He tested my research abilities and intellect, hopping I could be an ally in his personal endeavors. Yet the distance and the erratic communication via whatsapp, made it quite hard to ever pin point a clear north for us. So we remained in contact, very sporadically.

I spend a sabbatical year with my parents, working on myself and reconnecting with my spirituality. We would share some of our common grounds, along our own processes, and I was always very excited to talk to him and share my new interests, authors and theories, because I knew I would have a trustworthy vessel to unravel my understandings with the help of his perspective on the given subjects. I really grew fond of him. To a woman like me, it is very hard to meet people (especially men) who are willing to see me more as the brain, instead of the looks, even if I do take pride in my looks. You know how it goes.

But he was going through his own problems. He didn’t say much about his personal life. But if I am allowed to develop on my own perception, based on what he told me, and on my empathetic analysis of his behavioral fluctuations, I would say he was going through a harsh process of grief denial. He was in-between trying everything he possibly could (within his own psychological capability and his understanding of his role as provider and husband) to save his relationship, and the feeling of never being good enough to his spouse; as if he was doing his best to meet her needs, yet always being blamed for not understanding those needs that always seemed to change after a solution was provided. 

Unfortunately I only have my one sided understanding of the situation. More on that later.

So life went on, from 2020 to 2022. I had some sporadic romances, I went back to Sao Paulo to work as a voice actor and model, and would struggle to go beyond mere survival. I loved when he would have time to talk to me, because it felt like taking a trip to somewhere blindfolded. It is easy for a person like me to idealize inconsistency as adventure, and uncertainty as excitement. So that’s what happened. I interpreted a lot of things according to my own desires and worked around that. I knew he was not into me, even if there was flirtation at times, it was shallow and uncommitted, but for as long as the uncertainty was a present element, there was a possibility of change.

I was not cheering against his relationship. I am very pragmatic with these things. If he chose to be with her, I would do everything to support him (I wouldn’t fight for a person who doesn’t chose me mutually), yet if he would decide to separate, I wanted to make sure he knew I was around.

So when I asked him if he could help me find a job in Vienna, he was more than willing. When I arrived, I was surprised at how nice he was. He really cared for me, even though I couldn’t read him nor if he had any other intention beyond helping a friend he truly cared for. We somehow knew we both liked each other enough to want to be around. But it was not easy to define that so early on. What I can tell for sure is that he was not over his spouse, and he was definitely not interested in another romantic relationship. He was still struggling, and he was emotionally vulnerable, so it is no surprise he tried to keep control by suppressing it and being distant and casual at times and then suddenly super sweet and open, when he didn’t feel so vulnerable.

Not a nice thing to experience, I must say, but not a capital sin. Plus, I chose to stick around. I chose to take a leap of faith and see if this would eventually turn into something. I liked him, and I wanted him around. But neither of us knew how to interpret the completely new and visceral myriad of emotions we felt for each other. Maybe it was love, but not romantic love. Maybe we were both victims of conventions, trying to only experience things through a familiar filter.

So yes, it was hard for me. Big woops. But I was not the victim of a manipulative ass. I was responsible for making a decision to accept the risks with a man who was going through a lot, or to focus on myself. Nobody forced me.

Laater we decided I would go back in early February 2023, and only then we would give a chance for romance.

...

I’m sorry, but I can’t even grasp how grotesque it would be the attempt to compare what I had with him in 2022, with what a long term partner with a family would have experienced with him. This seems like the work of a person with the emotional ability of a saucer. How can you expect somebody to know you so well when you can’t do a fraction of it in return?

Even if some experiences can feel similar due to his personality, we must take under account the differences between the two people who experienced and the whole circumstance and time and external forces at play.

So... To further my humble analysis of this case.

*Letting silence sink in*

Based on my personal experiences with him, I can affirm he is extremely well intended, determined and committed, yet he does have his limitations in regards to emotional availability. Which is not necessarily a flaw; it is only a practical expression of his personal priorities. He is a man that builds and aims at long term future projects, and he might miss on the small things that make the fabric of the day to day household, sure. More than ever, if you are a woman who wants an horizontal relationship, with equal share of equal responsibilities, meaning both should contribute equally with the expenses and the household and the children, which I believe wasn’t what Herr W’s spouse was aiming for at all. Apologize if I am mistaken.

So who is to blame?

A man like him aims at a traditional household, with well defined roles, and I am more than sure he wouldn’t have a problem to give all that his spouse would desire and all the help and structure she would need to thrive as a house wife. But if the woman, who is primarily a house wife, decides now she wants to aim at her professional career, she must work around the responsibilities she was given at first. This is not sexist, this is not unfair, this is simply a healthy transaction of responsibilities in a relationship. It wouldn’t change if the woman was the provider and the man was the home maker. Either way, if she is in charge of the household, she must be responsible to find solutions to this problem, if she wants more time to work outside. If the man is the main provider, he must provide resources for her to restructure and solve these problems, which I am fairly sure was the case. I don’t see a problem in this scenario.

The problem comes when one spouse demands the other spouse to take on both share of responsibilities, and blame him/her if he/she refuses to do so!

When one spouse refuses to accept their share of the responsibility for their own choices leading to unhappiness, or even their own incompetence, they are very likely to blame the other spouse, even if they get to the point of cheating. So it also comes as no surprise when a dysfunctional dynamic rises from one spouse’s inability to be responsible for their own desires. But in the given case, and as far as I am concerned, Herr W also provided extensive psychological and therapeutic help for his partner.

I am confident Herr W was all he could be to me as a partner, during our short relationship, and the fact there were expectations from me that were not met, has nothing to do with his lack of support and willingness to be with me. It was simply a dissonance and incompatibility in what both wanted for and from that relationship. I have no problems saying that this might just have been the same case with his previous relationship.

If you don’t like how coffee tastes, there is only so much sugar, cream, frosting and syrup you can mix it with, before you compromise the essence of the damn coffee so it is finally palatable to you… What I am trying to say here is: sometimes we are just too deep in the sugar and frosting that it becomes hard to admit that we just don't like coffee. I mean, there is no shame or blame in realizing the incompatibility between spouses. It certainly becomes hard to tell apart, let alone separate what was you, what was the other and what was both, when you are so deep in a clearly uncompatible relationship, even after years of counseling and therapy have proven uneffective.

Come on - we are talking about two grown up individuals, who should be mature enough to understand and accept the situation in order to find a new configuration where both can stand each other (even if distant and seldom), with the best interest in their family (by that I mean the development of their kids in a healthy environment), not their egotistic interests, pride or spite of either one or the other.

When the worst that happened was "too much bickering and low intensity warfare", you should not focus on who did more wrongs and who did more rights. You should both realize that you have learned a lot about yourselves along the way, and that these new realizations have opened space for new desires that are not compatible and can no longer work together without causing more disruption than progress.

But sure, unfortunatly this is not always possible... Like when a wife consistently victimizes herself because she is unable to take responsability over her own life; refuses to cooperate on every attempt of peaceful divorce agreement, regardless how generous; and can't seem to keep a consistent narrative to endorse her case, because aparently she doesn't actually want to divorce from the man she relentlesly portrays as a controlling and unsuportive shitty husband (who was actually just tired of her increasing demands to fulfill her every need, while also being held accountable for her frustrations and failures). Yeah... I understand this must be hard, but it sounds to me like she either suffers from Stockholm syndrome, or she is gatekeeping to ensure benefits she knows she wouldn't get unless she could blame the husband, because of a certain prenuptial agreement. But what do I know?

In any case...

Grow up!

Seriously.

And be well!

Find what you really love and be happy!

Sincerely

Pamela

quinta-feira, setembro 08, 2022

A never-ending goodbye

Fucking hell. What the fuck have I put myself into? 34 years old and if you ask me, I have no idea who the fuck am I. But where? Oh that I know for sure! I’m in freaking hell, carved with a spoon through decades, inside the genetical monolith harbouring a foreign nature I can’t even begin to grasp. I tried everything: psychology, art, tarot, feminism, pills, drugs, relationships, jobs… Nothing. Nothing but the hasty realization I've never dared to face the anguish of being responsible for my own existence.


The unmanageable lightness of my hydraulic steering wheel, operated by an unskilled drunk driver

I’m so hurt, yet my skin never seems to get thicker. It’s always at the verge of breaking, bleeding, and gutting me away at any sign of connection. I tried everything... but commitment. I was the drunk driver all along. I’m responsible for this hell. I’m the shitty dumb boss of me. Can’t even keep consistency of my metaphors. Should at least have bought insurance.


The bitter aftertaste of his presence and the sight of a rolling boulder

But I’m here now. In a big apartment as empty as my stomach, smelling of sandal wood and cigarette butts. He got it for me up until the 27th. He brough me here and got it for me. I blaze in awe when he’s around. My heart lights a fire and jumps in, to be served on a silver tray. He refuses it every time, as he oscillates from casual detachment to predacious eroticism.

That little bitch has a manipulative way of making things about himself. It doesn’t mean he is uncapable of genuine affection and support, but it’s clear when he taps in or out of his control freak set up. He often voices his approval or disapproval, likes or dislikes (usually unasked for) on certain things I do or say, as if they were aiming for his opinion rather than expressing my individuality. This shit can slowly strip anyone off their agency in a relationship. At the same time he wants to be the centre of his love interests' lives, he doesn’t like them becoming emotionally dependent on him, but if they become too independent, he feels insecure in his lack of power. He loves talking about him and the ladies. "I wished to share", but he always gets bored, annoyed or talks down at Pâmela when she decides to "share" about the gentlemen.

_ Yes. I can feel the wind coming from the west as I reach the peak.


A familiar lurking voice invades my brain

“Pâmela… Pâmela, Pâmela, Pâmela (with a party hat). You must respect his process! He doesn’t know what his new self wants. So be quiet and let him use you at will whenever he feels like it. Respect him, for he is the one sponsoring this big short.”

Sure. Let me be his training field and let’s call it a deeper kind of relationship. So light I can't even name it. What is the difference of that what we can't name and what we can nott properly address?

I get it.

Playing the victim is always the easy way out. But no. Not anymore. You got this Pâmela. Put on your prescription glasses and froun at the air.
He is insecure and traumatized - who knows for how long. Dark feelings leaping out unannounced, onto the blinding spotlight of consciousness, living him bare skinned as the little sticky frog he buried underneath his big-cock-pissing-cash-alpha-king persona.

Please, tell me: how could I not be touched by his own realizations when they meet at the corner of my own?

The material and immaterial needs. The complementary nature of unfathomed ontology. The destructive power of twin flames needed to bring the sentimental old structures down at once, to give space for new vital foundations.

The pain is almost unbearable because it shows exactly where we are resisting change. His process complements mine. I need to learn to be responsible for my body. He needs to be responsible for his soul.

He lacks where I bleed, he bleeds where I lack.

Now I understand why people like us never stay together. The boulder is always doomed to fall once it reaches the peak. It’s not supposed to stop. Ever. But my part of the deal is clear, written on my underwear. I have thick skull, I’m a big romantic sucker for life. I can’t be caught up in the tangle of his process. I can’t let him define who I am and how I am. I don’t want to distance myself, nor force an inconsistency to play along his hard-wired power dynamics. I must remain strong where I know I am strong instead of blaming him for not having a hammer, when I know damn well I am the one with the hammer, and he is the one with the nail!

I want us to be each other’s safe harbours, and for that, I must take responsibility to define who I am, instead of waiting for his behaviour to dictate my reactions. I must learn to set clear boundaries without fearing rejection if I want respect. He must learn to be comfortable with boundaries without feeling like they are a sign of rejection if he wants to work on his anal-retentive need for control.

I must be what I must be so that this mind-boggling cathartic interception is milked down to its full potential, without consuming us in self-reference, uncertainties, unspoken words, and bittersweet encounters that echo goodbyes louder than hellos.

For it to be light (or bearable), we must accept what it is: tough love; ugly love; 'looking deep in the eyes of the fire breathing beasts within ourselves' love... But it is love. And it doesn't mean we have to be toguether 'this or that way' to honor it, we just have to embrace it and fight along with it, not against it! For this love is not the type of love that brings dead flowers in a water vase. This love aims at death and destruction! But it kills the bad weeds we've mistaken for flowers for so long, so real ones can thrive on their own. Flowers we didn't even know could grow from us.

...

But that's just me. That's my narrative.


Suddenly I feel like hell has been misunderstood for way too long.

Suddenly I feel peace again.

sexta-feira, dezembro 17, 2021

 Eu amo a expressão "lindo de morrer". 

Quem sente o belo assim tão forte merece meu respeito.

quarta-feira, dezembro 08, 2021

O resgate


Eu sinto tanta falta disso aqui. Sinto falta da intimidade e da intencionalidade que habitam o universo pessoal de um diário.
Mas não queria soar antiquada.
Queria apenas sentir o teclado sob meus dedos me transportando para uma época em que autenticidade era capital de troca.
Queria focar na delícia de ser, ao invés do insuportável peso do ter. Ter-que. Tudo. Não aguento.

Tudo me foge.

O desejo parece pequeno frente as expectativas externas.
Ser não é o suficiente.
Mas eu tenho idealismo de sobra.
Eu sobreviverei a liberdade do desejo.
Nem que eu morra sob o peso de minha própria carcaça.

Mas nós sabemos muito bem, eu e você, que isso jamais vai acontecer.

segunda-feira, abril 19, 2021

"Triste eu não faço nada, só dou pinote"


Disseram que eu tenho sorte, pois as dores da perda me foram limitadas aos desamores e a alguns animais de estimação. Mas acho bobagem pensar assim. Não acredito que só Cristo na cruz tenha o direito de sofrer. Perder bicho dói pra caralho quando ele é amado - mais que perder parente sazonal. Coração partido dói mais que braço quebrado, e dor de dente até que me lembra remorço. Questão é que, independente do motivo, ninguém ta pronto pra sentir dor, muito menos abraçar a bandida que esconde dentro de si um espelho de chão a teto, apontado direto pra nós... Ninguém quer ser responsável pela dor que sente afinal. E eu não fui diferente.

Foi num dia de fevereiro que ele me chamou de sopetão, enquanto eu terminava minha leitura na lage. “Loucura vai ser tu dirigir 2 mil km pra dar pão pros pato na lagoa aqui em Goiania. Porque não pede um delivery?” “Nuh, não to com fome”, “Pra mim ir até ai cabeção!” Não quis pensar muito. Ele comprou a passagem, eu fui. E esse ‘ir‘ virou marchinha, que logo virou um correr desenfreado campo afora, rodando a camisa no alto - É GOOOOL! Não haviam precedentes pro que eu tava vivendo. O caba era mais intenso que manguereada de bombeiro na cara. E aí eu queria me entregar, olhar pros olhos dele e dizer ‘Eu te amo desgraça’ depois de passar a noite tomando MD, dançando e falando merda; depois de um role de bike naquela tarde suada na cama; de um caldo duplo no meio do mar, ou toda vez que ele dizia “eu gosto de ti”. Mas não dava, porque como é que tu vai dizer isso pra alguém que tu mal conhece? “A gente mal se conhece” virou jargão entre nós dois quando haviam desavenças, mas de onde vinha tanto sentimento bom se a gente deveras “mal se conhecia”?

Não sei até onde foi projeção, mas sei que muito foi insegurança. O sentir de mais foi barrado pelos traumas do passado. “Olha lá Pâmela, tudo que é bom dura pouco! Tristeza não tem fim, felicidade sim”, né? Todo sentimento bom passou a ser examinado com ceticismo e as desavenças ou problemas eram amplificados pra que eu pudesse justificar minha insegurança. Barrei! Barrei tudo! Barrei ele com um chicote e o desgraçado ricocheteou pra cima de mim. No final quem ficou ouvindo Cartola no repeat foi eu.

Queria ter redescoberto esse espirito de aventura dele que eu perdi com os homens neuróticos que eu jurava serem “meu tipo”... me entregado sem medo, sem ver o tempo, aceitado o que eu tava sentindo e foda-se. Mas não deu. Não deu porque eu também não me expressei. Acusei ele de tudo que eu fazia, inclusive da relutância em reconhecer os meus defeitos... Inclusive A PORRA DO VITIMISMO, SENHOOOOR! Queria que ele fosse responsável por tudo, não só a parte dele. E agora a culpa segura este espelho imenso em minha frente, e tudo que eu posso fazer é aceitar o que vejo e botá-lo de lado pra poder finalmente ver ele como ele realmente é, não como eu acho que ele deveria ser, muito menos como seria mais conveniente pra mim. Meu problema nunca foi louça suja ou delay online, per se. Nunca foi sobre aceitar ‘ele‘ tanto quanto foi ‘me‘ aceitar. Só que porra véi, em tão pouco tempo???

Tá, tá bom. Foda-se. Emoção é tipo uma roleta russa quando se recusa olhar pra dentro de si. Mas foda-se, mil vezes, de joelhos nas areias do Guarujá! Dessa vez eu não vou deixar um amor escapar por erro meu. Foda-se se a gente não vai mais ser o que foi antes. Foda-se se ele achou o amor da vida dele e já planejou casa na praia, casamento com tema Crepúsculo e fantasia de carnaval conjunta pros próximos dez anos - dois dias depois que eu fui embora da casa dele. Dessa vez vou assumir meus erros, sem apontar dedos, meter um durepoxi no coração e já eras. 

Ninguém deve nada pra mim, e como eu disse pra ele outra vez: “Não temos controle sobre o que nasce fora de nós”. Então engole o choro bravinha e te recompõe. Chama ele e olha nos olhos e diz que tu foi varza e diz que foi mal... Afe não. “Mal” de cú é rola!!! Diz pra ele que tu sente MUITO! Sente tudo inclusive! Transbordando por todos os poros feito pavor de palco. Diz pra ele que tu foi orgulhosa e que ta disposta a ser uma pessoa melhor, mais paciente e definitivamente, disposta a conhecer, aceitar e abraçar ele por quem ele realmente é. O resto a gente corre atrás.

Diz pra ele que tu sente um carinho por ele do tamanho de dois Guizmos, e que tu quer mais do que qualquer outra coisa, neste momento da vida, ficar de boa com ele. Independente de quem ele ame romanticamente. Diz pra ele que tu quer ele na tua vida como amigo, como irmão, que tu nunca sentiu isso desse jeito por ninguém, mesmo com tanta ideia errada.

É ISSO. Eu to aberta pra vida. To pronta pra agarrar a danada pelas crina e cavalgar a bicha do Leme ao Pontal. Sem medo no coração. O que for será. Quero por o que ele me ensinou em prática. Quero crescer na vida um pouco mais parecida com ele, e muito mais segura de mim.

Cê tem em mim uma amiga que te admira de alma. E admiração é a prova de fogo, viu.

Obrigada Roni.

segunda-feira, junho 29, 2020

What is left of me


My heart is about to burst, like the eyes of a bulldog out of its sockets. It aches. And all I can think of is reasons to make it feel special, like it aches better than anybody else's pain. But it doesn't. This is commonplace! Humdrum.
Curse of an artist. The soul! My voice! My anything, really.
I´m just so afraid of feeling lost again.

I need passion.
I thought I lost it years ago.
Consumed in withdrawl and absence.
And I couldn`t write anymore.

A replacement.
A prostetic limb.
A vessel. 
A nicer mirror than the ones I have home.

Either too much or barely nothing.
Viciously coersing for excitement.

Most men bore me to death.
I can't get horny without hearts at stake.
Wished my dildos had personalities.

My fingers hurt though.

I was self absorbed inside my tight skirt and high heels, entertaining a helpless missmatch - smiling his pride away. 
And THEN comes this bed haired motherfucker who feels like angelic voices singing the promisses of better days. Who somehow made my legs cross, my brain boil and my heart race until blood dissolved on my skin...
Since the god damn first...
No!
You are better than this Pamela.
You made your birth chart. You are meditatng. Your self love is stronger than ever.
You know better than this.
Too much confidence and repressed feelings.
A gimmick of a man.
You. Know. Better.

There's this enerving suspicion and emotional lurking in him. Like he's only ever confortable after you have fallen for him. 
I can't even complain! That's exactly what I've done my whole life.

I hate hunting the hunter.
I hate the underlying responsability of anowledging his anxieties in my own.
Lowering my bow and arrow and giving in to the ambivalence of a man too afraid to loose control.

Feels... endearing...
Yet terrifying!

He fetishizes vulnerability. Curing in this beautiful woman what he can't cure in himself.
How can one be so determined without being happy?

He has too much on his plate right now.
But what about me?
What about my "how are you today?"

I wished anything was more than just an eventual reminder of my inadequacy.
This "safe-zoned" conversations and flimsy flirtations that don't hold up to the next day.

Not even a kiss!
Is this how people felt in the past?

I can't fall for the appeal of challenge again.

No.
I want love burning me back like iron.
The aching of being so close you merge.
Desire flowing from the tears and scars.
Bond beyond social determinism and dialetic materialism.
A man who knows exactly why he wants me.

Fucking me.

Feasting on me.
Consuming me.
Reducing me to lust.
Pulsating through an open channel of trust and confidence.

He won't cut it. 

This...
This feels heavy.
Slow in a bad way.

"Too much on his plate right now".
Men like these live up to their own ideals.
But damn, maybe I do too.

Let us friend zone each other, until friendship dies out smothered by the weight of "practical".


Untill my eyes pierce your flesh again.

Bitch.

sábado, setembro 28, 2019

Warm nights


Smitten by the whimsical flair of a common hunter in sheep's clothing, he marked each step towards the barrel as a product of pure chance. Feverish skin and blood infused eyes, once playing along the norms, shattered me in a split second. Stripped of contex, removed from mankind as a whole. The unapologetic indulgence of reptilian brains, now gorging on each others' flesh, safe by the deviant lineage of shared needs inside a sharp edged toilette under the stairs. Free, for as long as we possibly could, untill our timelines split.

You see, my friend, boredom is a mighty tool. It keeps us craving, lurking for the unknown. And I am comming back to refill the life you loathed in selfish pourpose, with a handful of reasons to unload your gun.

sexta-feira, abril 26, 2019

"Pyt"


In a single movement, a fox pounces through the snow, snatching the unaware rodent from its burrow. My body onto his, as we both fall on the pavement floor. Sitting on his belly, I rise both my hands held tight and punch his face repeatedly. He doesn't react... He doesn't even flintch. Completely indiferent to my dispair, I now pull his collar up and down and hold his head against me, stroking the hair of a dead man. I've gone mad. Our story has finally reached the end, and I've gone completely mad.
Not now. Let me have it one last time.
I have so much to tell you.
I've been working so hard for it.
But you just wont see it.
I've been working so hard for it.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
But it's just a dream.
It's just a dream.

Now my eyes feel swollen. It's earlier than I expected, and I'm pale as the walls. Nobody's around, so I leave the room, drenched in pastel morning lights, wearing nothing but black wool socks. The mirror forcasts today's mood. Seven months and the feeling still relapses, as acid as a heartburn. He's forgotten about us... for good. C'est la fucking vie, but it's not the end for me. All this effort has not been in vain. Oh no, I'm only getting started. Baby, I'm only warming up the engines, and this time life will be beautiful! You will hear from me again. And next time we see each other, I promisse you sweetness, stars will colapse inside your heart.


Thank you so much.

Good bye Adam.

segunda-feira, março 11, 2019

Accidental flesh wounds


Wrapped around a washed out cloth, frosted with glittering make up, we stared at the ceiling, laying on the mattress of his single room apartment. The waxing moon drenched its empty walls in a bluish twilight mist, broken by the dim outlines of the window frame. The air felt dense around us. 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, like a palomino foal. He endeared my insticts... But the hankering to act visceraly towards him 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 attachment. How could this be, when he felt so close to home?

Morning striked in 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".

God, he makes me hungry.

terça-feira, fevereiro 12, 2019

The weightless indulgence



Not everyone 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 the patience. 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 an impulse as vital as the striking first breath after a deep dive.
Yet... It's anything but vulgar.

As I walked around the bar, bursting with 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. The room translates a mind in search of solace.

Your place feels just like you. A mess trying to disguise itself under a fancy rug. Neglected by what you will always considere to be of higher priority. Your 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)