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You called me “Dono da Verdade”, brazilian portuguese expression for someone who can’t accept anyone else to be right. Well, i am. You are, too. “Truth” is a simplistic word for personal perspective, so being a person entails having your own truth.

That i’m straightforward about it is not a problem. Your blindness to your own biases is no virtue either — and it might cause problems.

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(for C.Sch.)

i do not believe
all of this
all of that shit
all the pointless running
     and strife
and all the hurt
     of you trying to own me
even though i would like to be owned
     (some of them want to be abused
     you know?)
i would like to be owned by you
but you
you just didn’t know how to
     own me

if you’re my owner
i don’t have to explain to you
my displeased faces
the cattle does not explain to the shepherd
     their freudian dilemmas
and owning
     is having such strength that you override
     the personhood of the other]

so: i wanted to give myself to you
(and let’s be clear: you was not the only one,
just the latest one, and maybe even
just ’cause my expectations have plunged so low)
but you
couldn’t face the fact
that owning someone is a violence

what do you want me to say?

your life
and your maturity
are not my responsibility
i can’t have anything to do with them
before you
take responsibility for your relationship with me
as an adult

(everyone else does the other way, i know
but those are not relationships
they’re just bumping into each other)

and now i accept your gift
of hopelessness
of knowing that even those
     who say they’re looking for meaning
     are just bumping into each other
knowing that there is no perfect

i accept your gift of pain

2 more years
13 more years
70 maybe
nothing to account for them

being a failure
in everything i always felt important
’cause only you is important to me,
only people
only each and every person i ever met
     (to steal someone else’s words)
and people are only gonna make me suffer

even now that i expect nothing from them
(part of my pain was that you couldn’t really
hurt me
you said all the hurtful things
but so childishly it was like you really just wanted
to disappoint me)

i accept your gift
of yet again
i’m by myself
and that it hurts
and it means i am alive
numbed by your blind brutishness
but alive
still fighting
the blind brutishness of the world

It seems there is a lot of puzzlement in the scientific community about the reasons for sleep. ¿Why do we have to sleep? It seems to be a question without an answer.

There are a few things that seem to happen faster when we are asleep, but none of them makes any sense with everything else we know about ourselves. In other words, we know what goes wrong when we miss sleep, but we don’t know why or how.

But maybe the real question, or in other words the one that would give us interesting perspectives, is actually ¿Why do we have to wake up? Read More »

Havia um país imaginário em que todos odiavam ser as pessoas que eram, todos faziam socialmente elaboradas poses que iam brutalmente contra suas realidades viscerais. Mantinha-se assim uma mentira universal, constante, cruel, inescapável — mas, ao final, banal. Neste país, por algum infeliz acaso, nasceu um menino que gostava de ser quem era. Não era bem orgulhoso (orgulho aliás era o que não faltava naquele país). Ele só estava satisfeito consigo. E, assim, porque todos mentiam e ele era sincero, ninguém nunca via o que estava por trás de suas palavras e por isso todos dele desconfiavam. Ele era extremamente solitário e lhe acusavam de inatingível. Ele prestava uma absurda atenção nas pessoas e lhe acusavam de estar sempre julgando. Ele não esperava nada de ninguém e lhe acusavam de ser exigente demais. Enfim ele se foi e ficaram todos perguntando qual o porque.


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