The Office

Keep climbing, the mountain.

I did not think I would ever like metal as much as I do now (at least as many songs). I mean genuinely like it - another piece of the world I hadn't known before. You keep holding my hand and leading me to new things, things that touch something in me, something real and buried deep. Maybe that is why I refuse so stubbornly to leave.

I still haven't found

Tentei encontrar uma image, um meme, uma canção que fosse o sumário perfeito das últimas duas semanas. Como de costume, quero deixar uma pista de por onde tenho andado, migalhas que só eu consigo decifrar para seguir o trilho um dia mais tarde. Mas desta vez não consegui encontrar a coisa perfeita, só pequenas imperfeições - interessantes, mas ainda assim...

Porque é que até no mais privado de mim mesma, do que me traz prazer e não é uma obrigação (ou se o é, é auto-imposta), sinto esta necessidade da perfeição tal como eu a concebo? E porque é que tu tens isto também, tão parecido comigo que às vezes não pareces real? 

Não sabia que podia existir alguém como tu. E agora sinto-me desamparada, por vezes, ao invés de esperançosa - porque já encontrei o meu lar mas a porta nem sempre está aberta, e paira a pergunta: Deveria encontrar outro poiso? Um imperfeito (porque não és tu), mas constante.

---

“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” Steinbeck

I also love intertextuality.

And I hate breaking other people's hearts, or have mine broken. Life is complicated. And oh, so wonderful.

And I know deep down

"Said I never believed in the mates of soul

So I never once claimed that I know

That you're the only, only one for me"

Skin in the Game

 "So let me finish this book with a (long) maxim, via negativa style:

No muscles without strength,
friendship without trust,
opinion without consequence,
change without aesthetics,
age without values,
life without effort,
water without thirst,
food without nourishment,
love without sacrifice,
power without fairness,
facts without rigor,
statistics without logic,
mathematics without proof,
teaching without experience,
politeness without warmth,
values without embodiment,
degrees without erudition,
militarism without fortitude,
progress without civilization,
friendship without investment,
virtue without risk,
probability without ergodicity,
wealth without exposure,
complication without depth,
fluency without content,
decision without symmetry,
science without skepticism,
religion without tolerance,

and, most of all:

nothing without skin in the game."

Nassim Nicholas Taleb

On the vertical axis, High Fantasy vs Low Fantasy. High would be set in a fictional world with magic and supernatural beings in it, possibly going as far as to involve the gods. Low fantasy would be more grounded in reality, and magic or supernatural thing in it would be more rare.

On the horizontal axis, Heroic vs Dark. Heroic fantasy would be typically focused on the journeys of protagonists fighting clear moral battles for the greater good. In Dark fantasy, however, the line between good and evil is blurred, and fear or survival outweighs heroic triumph, in grim settings.

Yes, this was very fun.

But I like it anyways

 

'Cause I think I'm getting closer to you every day

I know you'll come around

Want somebody holding me through the night

"Many say they'll love me,

but nobody's ever treated me right"

Damn.

You're too sweet for me

I aim low

I aim true, and the ground's where I go

 

Fight Club

Save a horse

 Find yourself a Walter boy.

(And keep living and learning! Let's see, I should probably list this:

1. Clearly I still need to learn to be less judgmental. Can't wait to keep growing, keep trying.

2. I am learning to separate parts of my feelings, separate experiences. A different me, one that is always authentic though. What a trip!

3. Being asked if I was a player, plus the other stuff, that was a new high. Time to go back to the bucket list and check some stuff off...

4. I hope I am being careful enough, but I think so. Something I know about me now is that I never want to hurt anyone, if I can avoid it. And there is such a thing as my heart not being mine to give...)

So I'm gonna love you

 

Like I'm gonna lose you.

"L'amour c'est l'infini mis à la portée des caniches et j'ai ma dignité moi!"

Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Voyage au bout de la nuit

Waste my time

 

"Hold on to me

Like we're the only ones that see

The sky above us falling down (...)

I have wasted most of my life

Playing games that I knew I'd lose

Let me sing to you

Just sit here, don’t move

I just want to waste some time with you

So take my hand

I don't understand (...)

Forcing back the tears

Over all the years

Boarding up the door (...)

And I still don't believe

That you want to waste your time with me"

Laying in bed at night when S. sent me this song, which just happened to be the perfect description of the bench afternoon I just had with M. The feeling I must be doing something right in this life, for once, spreading some good to the people around me, like I always wanted to do. Living and loving, smiling and crying, understanding me and the world. What a journey.

This yearning.

"And then to want and not to have - to want and want - how that wrung the heart, and wrung it again and again!"

Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

I know not who you are, nor how I came to find you

What do you do when the Disney prince is just too charming too resist?

Alone

Each lover has a theory of his own
About the difference between the ache
Of being with his love, and being alone:

Why what, when dreaming, is dear flesh and bone
That really stirs the senses, when awake,
Appears a simulacrum of his own.

Narcissus disbelieves in the unknown;
He cannot join his image in the lake
So long as he assumes he is alone.

The child, the waterfall, the fire, the stone,
Are always up to miscief, though, and take
The universe for granted as their own.

The elderly, like Proust, are always prone
To think of love as a subjective fake;
The more they love, the more they feel alone.

Whatever view we hold, it must be shown
Why every lover has a wish to make
Some other kind of otherness his own:
Perhaps, in fact, we never are alone.

W. H. Auden