Bleh

Thomaz is a whore

2008-08-08T07:23:00.001-07:00

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Hey, y'all! Sing along!

There was an old farmer, who sat on a rock
Stroking his whiskers and shaking his

Fist at his neighbors, who sat on their wricks
Teaching their children, to player with their

Kite strings and marbles in the old days of yore
Along came a lady who looked like

A descent young lady and walked like a duck
Said she discovered, a new way to

Bring up the children to sew and to knit
The boys in the stables where shoveling up

Contents of stables left after the hunt
The car man was feeing a nice piece of

Straw from the stables, cleaning the walls
In came the dear maid to play with his

Dog in the dairy where she did belong
If you think this is dirty well your fuckin well wrong...

I don't want to go there

2008-05-22T13:33:00.000-07:00

I don't want to face that graveyard.

I don't want to have to locate that specific spot on the ground where right now you're being eaten by worms (correction - your now probably rotten carcass is being eaten by worms).

I don't want to pretend I believe it makes any difference whatsoever if I'm closer to or further from the place where we threw a few shovefuls of dirt under your midly decomposing body a year ago.

I don't want to pretend I believe you've 'gone to a better place' or that 'you're looking upon us right now from somewhere else'.

I don't want to live under this suffocation illusion of constant scrutiny, and I don't want to pretend that you're there, all the time, caring for me.

You've spent your entire adult life caring for me, and turning me into who I am.

That is enough.

I don't want to keep telling myself that it was the right time, or that there was any kind of force agent guiding whatever happenings happened. The truth is that you lived in sadness, struglled against sadness, lost most of your battles, and died a sad man. And there is no god in this. There is no major force in this. There's luck, and chance, and randomness, and hard work. But there is no god in this. No god at all. And you have no idea how thankful for that I am.

That is the one thing that gives me any comfort at all. Your whole life you ranted about god and how sarcastically sado-masochistic he was (no, I won't capitalize nouns and pronouns to emphasize a fallacy). Your whole life you talked about heaven and hell, and how ridiculous you thought the concepts were, and all you got was frowned upon.

Not from me, dad.

I miss you unbearably much, and there is a million billion reasons why I wish you were, but right now the chief one was that I just wanted you to hear from me that I agree with you. God is a bastard BDSM junkie and I'm unbelievably glad he doesn't exist.

Wish you were here. Thanks for existing.

Perspectiva

2007-05-28T08:10:00.000-07:00

Eu demorei pra postar qualquer coisa sobre a morte do meu pai aqui pq pra ser honesto, eu to de saco cheio de contar a história. De dar os fatos, de verbalizar minhas reações, de assegurar as pessoas de que eu estou bem, de tirar aquele medo padrão que sempre rola de que alguém vá se matar, cair na merda e nunca mais sair, este tipo de coisa. Não é de forma alguma uma reclamação com relação ao apoio que me deram, eu acho que estou superando isso de forma muito mais tranquila do que eu jamais sonhei que ia superar, mas o fato é que mesmo as histórias mais importantes da sua vida perdem força se vc as conta o tempo todo.

O que eu quero falar sobre aqui é perspectiva. É óbvio que também é um clichê animal, mas perder meu pai mudou muito minha perspectiva com relação às coisas. E disso eu tenho falado pouco, mesmo pq é algo muito pessoal, não é algo que as pessoas vão geralmente ter muito o que dizer a respeito.

Você vai morrer, cara. Nas palavras de Tyler Durden, sua vida está acabando, um minuto de cada vez. E olhando pra trás, eu percebo que, na maioria do tempo, desde que as coisas na minha vida passaram a estar mais sob meu controle do q de qq outra pessoa, eu tenho andado a passo de caranguejo.

De um lado pro outro. Do outro pro um. E raramente, muito raramente, pra frente.

Eu preciso encarar os fatos. Eu sou preguiçoso demais, eu sou lerdo demais, eu sou pró-passivo demais.

Eu sou inteligente, e eu sei que eu tenho potencial, e eu estou jogando meu potencial no incinerador. POR PREGUIÇA. Não é medo de cagar tudo, não é falta de espírito, não é falta de confiança na minha habilidade. É PREGUIÇA. Eu tenho PREGUIÇA de fazer algo de útil da minha vida.

A minha aparência física me incomoda. Ser gordo finalmente começou a me incomodar, pesado. Pela primeira vez na vida eu senti que apareceram pessoas que podiam ser parceiras super legais na minha vida e que poderiam me dar muita alegria como namoradas, mas que jamais pensaram na possibilidade de ser minhas namoradas porque quando me conheceram mais a fundo eu já era prefeito da friend zone, e eu tenho consciência de que isso aconteceu pq eu causo uma péssima primeira impressão nesse sentido, e a minha aparência é responsável por isso. E eu tenho preguiça de mudar. Eu tenho PREGUIÇA de ir a um médico, de fazer dieta, de ir pra academia, de me cuidar regularmente. Eu tenho PREGUIÇA.

Eu tenho PREGUIÇA de ser uma pessoa melhor.

Shoot me. Sue me. Kill me. Eu tenho PREGUIÇA.

PREGUIÇA.

2007-03-29T22:03:00.000-07:00

Somebody teach me

2007-03-16T07:37:00.001-07:00

How to care less.
I need to care less.

I'm just

2007-03-05T20:19:00.000-08:00

sad. Outright, downright, utterly sad. And not only sad, but guilty. Guilty for being sad, guilty for a billion unimportant work reasons, guilty for a million other things I probably don't know of.
And I wished I would start this paragraph with something like 'the fact of the matter is' but the fact of the matter is that I don't know what the fact of the matter is. And I need to know.
I need to know what I have to do. I need to have the slightest idea of where I'm going. I need to feel like more than the big bag of shit I feel like right now.
I need to have someone to whom I can talk about this. I need someone to say 'hey, it's not that bad dude, it's not that bad.' The truth I used to think I had people in my life I could call at 1am to talk, but the truth is I don't.
I don't
Fuck, I don't.

Self-loathing

2007-02-04T17:40:00.000-08:00

Dear reader,

Thank you for not existing, because every word I write here brings out the purest, meanest, dirtiest sense of self-loathing in me you would have possibly imagined.

You would see me rummaging about my deepest and best-hidden secrets, the secrets I hide best not because I fear them, but because they make me ashamed of myself.

I am weak.

I succumb to any conspiracy theory that would make it seem like things are much worse than they actually are.

If a billion people tell me a good thing about you but that green little almost invisible thing in the dark tells me they're wrong, that's one lucky green little almost invisible bastard I'll believe.

Cause that's who I am, OK?

No, not OK.
Never, ever OK.

I'm a Desperate Housesomething

2007-01-26T20:30:00.000-08:00

The mouse cursor wanders aimlessly across the computer screen, just as clueless of where it is going as the hand moving it through. I'm filing for taking my driver's license first thing in the morning. There is that thing from people in Rio I need to get started. There's that essay I need to hand in around two months ago. The appointment with the orthopedist I forgot to take. And the dentist I didn't schedule.
Oh yeah, gym.
Nutritionist.
Pedicure. Pedicure. Yeah, pedicure.
Money.
Sister.
Watch.
Coke.
Bread.
Ham.
Did I pay my bills? Dunno, hence don't think so.

And you, unexistent reader, probably web-stuck into the same fucking semi-existing petty issues you never saw coming, do you ever ask yourself why?

Cause I'm asking. Of course I'm worried sick about the stuff I shouldn' t be worried about.

But I'm asking.

I'm fucking Bree Van de Kamp

I don't know

2006-04-16T07:38:00.000-07:00

I don't care, I don't see, I don't feel, I don't want, I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.

Just wanted to say something

2006-02-28T18:18:00.000-08:00

My dad told me more than once that I, and him, and everyone else for the matter was utterly alone. That we had no one to really help us but ourselves. That we should not count on other people's help, that they would eventually fail on us.

Had he known the tons of people who helped me so far, he would see he was dead wrong.

Because no matter what, I've had lots and lots of help with going through what I'm going through, and from people who had basically no forcing reason or motive or obligation to do so. Thank you all, no exceptions made. I would quote names, but not many of them would read this, so I'd be just throwing words to nothing (but isn't it what I'm doing here all the time?)

Anyways, I just feel strange being the way I am now. It's like I'm on the other side of the road, you know? (by 'you' I mean random reader that finds out that my blog exists even though I don't have it written anywhere) I never used to be the one who needed consolation, I was always the one who gave it. I was never the one to be sad, I used to be the one who cheered people up.

The other side is really not so cool. I don't wanna be on it. I don't wanna be patted on the back anymore. I don't wanna be cheered up.

But the way things are now, I see no way out. I don't see myself getting out of where I am now, and I don't see myself going (or wanting to go) anywhere else either.

It just sucks. The whole thing. It just sucks big cocks big time, and it won't change. Not so soon. I hate having to suffer, I hate having to heal, I hate having to forget. I hate having to forget. I hate having to forget.

Because I don't know if I can.

Interessante

2006-02-25T14:36:00.000-08:00

Vou começar a dizer pras pessoas que esse blog existe
quem sabe elas começam a acessar menos =P

Seconds thoughts

2006-02-20T20:21:00.000-08:00

I know not what I'm doing here anymore. I don't know if I'm helping, I don't know if I'm making things worse, I don't know if I'm making no difference at all.
But does she have to make me feel like I'm not there every now and then? Will she only do something about my existence when I'm desperate? And if she does, will that really show she cares and not show just a fucking guilty reaction?
I have no idea abbout how to describe myself to myself or to anyone else. I don't feel like working, or loving, or living. But then when I'm around other people I'm able to act reasonably, and what sense is there in that? Is it a sign that I'm moving on? Don't think so. Is it a sign that I can deal with it? Don't think so either. Am I lying to myself?
Necessarily.

She's gotta leave the shelf

2006-02-06T21:32:00.000-08:00

She just has to. Now. And everything that has happened to her recently just seems to keep her away from doing it, and she's losing hope again, and I'm just running out of ideas. I want to help her, I feel like I should help her, I think I need to help her, not because she is in need of help but because I think that if I don`t help her I'll just explode.

But I don't fucking know what to fucking do. And it just kills me and rips me apart and tears me down to pieces, little by little, day by day, second by second. Somebody tell me what to do. And don't tell me not to do anything, that it's not my job not do anything, that there's nothing I can do, that it's not up to me to do anything. It is fucking up to me to do something, there is something I can do, it is my fucking job to do something.

Somebody tell me what. Because just staying by her side and listening to her and helping her with the small day things is not even nearly enough.

2006-01-20T19:04:00.000-08:00

Their clothes were ridiculous, their tone of voice was horrend, their talking subjects were disgusting, their concepts were laughable, their prejudice was abominable. Their lives had absolutely nothing I could possibly want for myself.
Except they had someone to kiss.
God I must really be on an all-time-low
=(

Thank you

2005-12-30T18:43:00.000-08:00

I was never very gifted with words. I keep fooling myself, saying I'm really really smart and that my mind is one of those blessed ones that can say exactly what they want to say and be understood accordingly, but more often than not something happens and slaps me back to my senses so fast that I hurt myself during the fall. I am not. I know exactly what I think of things, but hardly ever am I able to make people see things the way I see them. And it's not their fault, it's mine and mine alone. I keep saying the wrong things, at the wrong times, in the most inappropriate occasions and situations you can think of. I try to explain, I try to say that this is just an impression people have of me, that I'm not really that much, but they don't seem to get it. They'd rather put me up saying I'm all those things they think I am, trying to make me feel good about myself. Everyone tries to convince me that I'm something I'm trying to convince people that I'm not.

Everyone except you. You made me see things the way they are. You made me see that I'm not really that much, and you didn't do it in a bad way. You didn't slap me back to my senses, you kissed me and hugged me and loved me back to my senses, and I love you for it. For that and for a million other reasons, I love you. More than you could possibly imagine. Thank you.

And unbelievably enough, I feel better now. Probably because when I finally realized how much I'm really capable of, and how much I've really done for me and for others, I don't look half as bad as I thought I did. I'm not so far from living up to others' expecations (and mainly to my own) as I thought I was. And it made my life totally different, and totally new, for one single final conclusion: I can get there. The distance between the real me and the other me people see when they look at me is not astronomical. It's feasible, it's treadable, it's walkable.

Thank you. Thanks a million, thanks a bunch, thanks for everything. And I mean the 'everything' part.

pffff

2005-10-31T17:54:00.000-08:00

This blog shows a person much more sullen than I actually am, which just proves I'm a lousy writer, but whatever, this was not meant to be read.

I wanna hit my head on a wall. Really. And I shouldn't want it, should I?

What's wrong with me?

2005-10-19T19:16:00.000-07:00

I was supposed to be feeling fine. Everything is going the right way, I suppose. Things are getting better and better, and every now and then I get a sign that the trend is to keep moving. My life is finally settling, and I can finally see a project of an adult, fairly independent me calling all the shots on his own life.

Yet, I feel miserable. I don't like the idea of looking at myself in the mirror, I don't wanna talk to anybody, I don't wanna see anybody, and yet I don't wanna be alone, I don't wanna sleep alone, I don't wanna live alone.

I want somebody to hear me, but I don't want to hear from anybody. I feel like I'm trapped in a ridiculous vicious circle I personally set up and of which I have no idea of the exit at all.

wtf?

Why do I have to feel this way? Why can't I get these awful thoughts out of my head and stop making up terrible hypothetical situations that are so unlikely to be true? Why do I always see the fucking worst on myself? Why can't I get a fucking grip?

All this seems much more serious now that I've written it down, but I still don't feel it's not true. I feel should just bang my head against a wall and wait till it gets back on its senses so that I can think straight again.

Nah, that won't happen anyway.

A Better Version of Me

2005-07-05T19:59:00.000-07:00

I would have kissed you, as if it was the very last time a human being could do it. Every time, every day.
I would sit you on my lap, and hold you, and speak nicely to you till you fell asleep.
I would call you every night, just to make sure you were going to sleep tight.
I would call you every morning, just to check if you needed the smallest thing. Or the biggest.
I would help you whenever you needed, with whatever I had, however I could.
I would make you feel safe, and protected, and secure. And you would be.
I would make you sure I will be there. Always. And I would be
I would make you feel loved like you've never been.
I would love you like you've never been.

But you'd rather daydream. You'd rather fantasize with him, and think of him as someone he is not. You'd rather cling to the childish illusion that he would make you happy, but deep inside you know he wouldn't be able to do so half as well as I can. You'd rather cry and scream and yell and mourn and grieve. But you won't accept your life to be any different than what the stupid movies tell you, will you?. Even if I can give you three times that. Even if I could give you twenty times that.

Knock
yourself
out.

I may not be the best, but I'm damn good. If you wanna feel like a mutt, go ahead. If you wanna beg for crams, go ahead. If you wanna pity your reflex in the mirror every day, go ahead.
I'm sure that eventually you'll realize how beautiful you are, and how better you should be treated. When you do, by all means, drop by. I'll be waiting, I guess.

2005-01-30T21:02:00.000-08:00

Eu te digo como eu me sinto, mas você não dá a míninma
Eu digo me fala a verdade, mas você não ousa
Você diz que o amor é um inferno que você não consegue aguentar
Então eu digo me dá o meu de volta e por mim dá o fora
Eu tenho meus pés no chão e não vou ficar sonhando
Você tá com a cabeça nas nuvens e não chega nem perto de ser o que parece
Essa mente, esse corpo e essas voz não podem ser sufocados pela sua devassidão
Então não esquece o que eu te disse, não chega perto, eu tenho meu próprio inferno pra fazer.

Não, eu não quero mandar isso como mensagem pra ninguém. Sem joguinhos e intriguinhas infelizes, please;

O que me impressionou nas letras dela é como diabos a Fiona Apple consegue dizer tanto e cantar o que diz com tanta força.

A música é Sleep to Dream, do álbum Tidal. Tanto este álbum quanto o When the Pawn... estão fartamente distribuídos no seu cliente p2p. Recomendo ambos.

good prospects

2005-01-26T19:11:00.000-08:00

Preparatório pro CPE de graça.
Gente esperta.
Alunos bons.
Chance de virar professor.

Me ligaram hoje pra dizer que esqueceram de ligar pra dizer o q?
Que eu sou monitor da Cultura Inglesa!

Pode falar oq c quiser, que professor é bosta, bla bla bla bla.
Eu sei é que eu me divirto pra caralho dando aula.

E vc passa metade da sua vida reclamando de seu chefe.

Rarrá.

2005-01-15T14:25:00.001-08:00

A Ariadne disse o que ela acha de mim ali embaixo.
A Raquel ratificou.
O Leandro concordou.
O Eurípedes esculachou.
Eu fiz continha. Se cada uma dessas opiniões tiver no máximo, vá lá, 25% de chance de estar certa, a chance de pelo menos uma dessas pessoas estar certa é algo em torno de...
de...

...

Ouch.

2005-01-13T18:57:00.000-08:00

A Ariadne me disse que eu discordo de tudo e acho que eu estou certo e sempre desconsidero o argumento dos outros.
Eu, humildemente, disse que o argumento dela não tinha a menor base. E discordei dela.

Yay

2004-12-16T20:08:00.000-08:00

When people agree with me I always feel that I must be wrong.

Muita gente vai dizer que essa frase do Wells é a personificação do Bobbe.
E aí é que eu digo: é verdade.

Causality my dear

2004-12-12T16:52:00.000-08:00

Agora a janela de comentários abre num pop-upzinho como eu queria.
Os comentários que já tinham sido feitos, no entanto, conheceram a frugal e interessante companhia de um vórtice temporal.
Pros que tinham comentado antes e viram a cria sumir, minhas condolências.

2004-11-18T18:30:00.000-08:00

E porque o meu blog não abre um pop-upzinho discreto e admirável que nem todos os blogs das pessoas legais fazem quando alguém quer comentar alguma coisa nele. Sim amado leitor, já resisti mais de uma vez à tentação sartriana de comentar ridiculamente em meu próprio blog, mas suponho que satan goss é realmente um bom demoninho de desenho japonês, sempre me salvando do perigo mortal de ser...
idiota.
...
Wellllll, quase sempre né

Te amo Jesus, agora apaga a luz...

2004-11-18T18:14:00.000-08:00

- Estamos aqui hoje reunidos como um só, apesar de pertencermos à facções diferentes, em nome de Moisés único. Nos apresentemos agora, dizendo nossos nomes e as facções a que pertencemos...
- Sou Hakim, da facção Ortodoxa.
- Sou Abraão, da seita Hashita.
- Sou Moisés, da facção anti-semita.
...
...
- Uh, eu não acho que tenha ouvido falar de uma seita anti-semita...
- É, somos novos.

South Park é o que há

PS: all references to people, places and figures in this feature are irrealistic. That is mainly due to the author's complete unawareness of real jewish names.

2004-11-17T18:14:00.000-08:00

Paulo Villafañe diz:
eae
Bobbe diz:
blzinha cara?
Paulo Villafañe diz:
blz, e tu?
Bobbe diz:
tranquilasso
Paulo Villafañe diz:
na verdade, tow lotado de coisa da unb
Paulo Villafañe diz:
tow comaçando a ficar stressado
Bobbe diz:
somos dois
Bobbe diz:
tae um dilema
Bobbe diz:
pq a gente sempre diz que tá bem?

Respostas além daquelas tipo "hábito" ou "porquê não achamos necessário dar tantos detalhes da nossa vida" are more than welcome.
;)

Roberto Benigni é a mãe

2004-11-16T03:32:00.000-08:00

Acabo de passar uma estimulante hora dentro de um 522 entupido até o teto. Meus joelhos devem estar inchados, minhas pernas tão doendo, meu ombro tá doendo, tinha uma criança desgraçada no colo da mãe chutando a minha calça (que eu vou ter que usar pra trabalhar), cheguei na UnB 15 minutos atrasados pra fazer uma prova para qual eu não tinha me preparado direito (ou qq coisa que chegue perto de 'direito'), só pra me dar conta de que eu fiquei exausto na primeira hora das outras trinta e tantas horas que eu ainda vou ter que aguentar de ônibus, estudo e trabalho essa semana.
Vida bela é o cacete da sua mãe que ela guarda na gaveta. Desgraçado

Contos da Cripta

2004-11-15T23:10:00.000-08:00

O Seu Gregório, brilhante e sagaz porteiro do prédio da minha namorada, costuma mandar um carro de som pra ele mesmo no dia do aniversário.
Olha bem dentro do seu ser, puxa a força e a auto-ciência de lá de dentro e responde: cê não se caga todo de medo de ficar assim de vez em quando?
Porque eu me cago. Do cinto à bainha.

Só hoje com 50% de desconto

2004-11-13T20:44:00.000-08:00

É isso aí.
Fecha a porta que o ar-condicionado tá ligado, senta no Puff, escuta Radiohead e pensa na vida pq tá inaugurado o Quem Tem Medo De Satan Goss.

Pq os nossos demônios de saia são melhores que os outros.