Saltar para: Posts [1], Pesquisa [2]

• My Life As Myself •

The creator of this blog is currently trying to be a proper adult. Here, they try to figure out life through photography, writing, music and the occasional existential crisis. Enjoy.

• My Life As Myself •

The creator of this blog is currently trying to be a proper adult. Here, they try to figure out life through photography, writing, music and the occasional existential crisis. Enjoy.


Estou sem ideias. Melhor dizendo, tenho montes de ideias mas estou bloqueada.

Ia finalmente começar a explorar a 7ª arte até os meus planos parecerem medíocres e inatingíveis. Queria documentar a minha vida mas todos os dias são iguais. Não ter qualquer tipo de rotina é a minha rotina. E como pessoa que supostamente ia trabalhar para poder tirar um curso... Ainda nada mudou desde que planeei desempenhar esse papel; não me sinto suficientemente inspirada para filmar este tipo de nada. Até agora só tenho vídeos de árvores a moverem no vento e animais sendo animais.

Há um ou dois vídeos que me intrigam. São vídeos de nada; mas um tipo especial de nada – adolescentes sendo adolescentes. O que se aproxima bastante da minha ideia de documentar a nossa vida. Mas é difícil perceber se o conteúdo é realmente relevante ou se sou eu que simplesmente me sinto nostálgica porque estava lá enquanto a ação de desenrolava.

Vou continuar a filmar alguns desses nadas. Sinceramente não sei já onde vou parar, não quero ser daquelas pessoas que guarda obsessivamente exabytes de vídeo sem lhes tocar mais. Eventualmente quero começar a editar; gostava de poder ter alguma coisa, uma curta a sério.

Que os deuses da cinematografia estejam do meu lado.


an honest and unedited rant

Sometimes I think I’ll always be fucked-up, you, know in the head; like all the shit that happened to me started a lifelong war. I can never get away from it, not really. I struggle everyday – some battles I win, a lot of them I loose.

I wish I didn’t feel things so intensely, and so many all at once. But people don’t seem to notice; most of them actually think I’m this super relaxed or even cold and distant person -it can be both a blessing and a curse. I don’t like to come off as a heartless jerk every time I hold my tears back, but on the other hand, some people don’t deserve the satisfaction of seeing me break down.

All and all, I’m just afraid to be vulnerable. I’ve been stabbed in the back, fucked over and shit on by a lot of people… life itself did most of it. I developed this force field around me to hide everything, put distance between people so I could heal. But these awful scars will never be mended. They are so visible to me I don’t know if the force field covers them. Probably not, this is why I have a hard time letting people in.

I used to trust people so much and so soon. Then, life happened; it just sucker-punched me right in the gut.

I still don’t get it. I still ask “why me”. It’s like I was given this weird gift (if I can even call it that) out of nowhere; totally unprecedented. Maybe not, maybe there’s someone in the massive list of the relatives I never even knew the names of. Maybe there’s another poor little bastard going around with a million thoughts revolving around their mind, so fast they cannot stop to even see them clearly.

Fuck self pity. I've always hated it but I can’t avoid it. I’m just stuck here every day with myself. That’s the worst kind of hell – getting all the time in the world to be alone with the shittiest, cringe worthiest memories. It’s a huge step back, I’ll tell you that. But I’m too proud to start from the beginning; I have this need to only fight on my own. So I’m not sure if I’m still recovering or relapsing again.

Writing stuff down always seems to make it better. It’s like putting things away in a box so you don’t have to think about them right away. And doing it in another language somehow makes it easier – things flow more naturally. Lately my inner monologues have been so intense I’m afraid I’ll start to forget my native language even before I have the chance to leave.

That’s another one of my dilemmas. I want to go away so badly, to be somewhere else where no one knows my name or my story; a place where being different is not something to be ashamed of. But I love this place, my house has always been a safe harbor and nature seems infinite. I don’t know if I’ll get to sit outside at 5am in complete silence, focusing on the night sky when a panic attack hits. I don’t know if the new place I want to run away too so badly is going to be too busy when I need to close my eyes for a second.

I want to be there and right here simultaneously. As if I were going to solve my problems by running off and when I realized that I can’t avoid them I’d run back the warmth of my room; and let the vicious cycle go on and on.

I honestly don’t have a clue about anything these days.





Pale Blue Dot

Great people dying;

Non-conformers being prosecuted.

Wars started and restarted;

governments failing.


It feels like a  great





The spying,

the end

of true privacy.

The enprisonment

of the last few freethinkers.


But we, as

a great big anonymous

group are too

busy thinking about

pointless matters

much like the colors

of a barely worthy piece of fabric.


All I can think is "what the fuck?"

Look at the imense power

we could have;

look at what we are blissfully wasting.


Now let me mourne all our losses;

for tomorrow I'll be Change.