Ultraviolence Era !!!

the fact that i'm not in some alternate universe where i go to this school wearing pretty clothes, i'm creeping down it's hallways on a rainy day and me and my friends are dancing in circles as fellow students sing pretentious poetry and this pretty stranger is falling in love with me because i'm constantly saying strange and unpleasant things (which are a part of my charm) is so fucked up.

i'm so obsessed with the idea of living in a big city where i can choose to be invisible and disappear between the crowds and live for myself and have my favorite little corner in a cafe and go to musea and galleries and appreciate art and architecture for hours uninterrupted and go to all the places where literary figures got inspiration for their poetry and their works and stroll down the streets by myself and look at people who pass by and invent little stories for them in my head and live in a small apartment where i can write by my open window until really late at night and sometimes stop and listen to the bustle of life on the streets below and i can also choose to be part of that bustle myself and part of a circle of artists who share a studio and support each other and go to social gatherings where i meet people who are as passionate about art and poetry as i am and exchange ideas and be inspired and have specific corners and monuments and cafes where we gather, and hold symposia stuffed in someone's tiny apartment and in general live as an active part of the urban creative scene ??? just ,,, living in a city where i get to see the entire assembled past and present existence of humanity ???

"O meu mundo inteiro está bem aqui, neste quarto. Se eu não tiver mais nada, já terei tudo"

I can't let go of people, I can't move on. I attach myself so strongly to the people who come into my life that the thought of them leaving horrifies me. I plant roots so profoundly that every time someone pulls out theirs', it creates a deep chasm in my heart, leaving it hollow inside. I wish they could stay with me forever but they leave, abandoning me with a deserted heart.

sorry to disappoint you, but i’d rather stare out of the window, listen to music and create fake scenarios in my head than do those worthless mortal tasks

i’ll attempt to go to the city on my own and order a couple books on cosmology tomorrow. i’m really into that stuff. the theories of general relativity and quantum mechanics and the search of a combination of those are so interesting! also I just read how Dr. Norma Sanchez has published a theory on that in january. i really have to do some further reading on her theory!

last night as i was falling asleep i was thinking about the beauty of loving someone in any form and just wanting things with them without any ulterior motives or any other goal. like wanting to be around someone because you love them and want them in your life, not because they can do something for you, wanting to make someone food or make things for them in general not because you expect something in return but because you want them to eat well and to be happy. wanting to hold someone just because you want them close and want to make them feel safe and warm. wanting to wash someones hair because you love them and want to take care of them. anyway i think its really sweet and beautiful how a lot of times when we love someone we do things like this

i don't think there's anything more human than annotating a book. you have a physical copy of thousands upon thousands of words- words that are meaningless, unless put together in the perfect way- and within those meaningless words, you find the meaning. you find what you're meant to find, and you make note of it. you make note of it so, when you come back, you're filled with that emotion. that lovely feeling, that heartbreak, that pain and sadness and anger and laughter and suddenly it isn't just a physical copy of thousands upon thousands of words. it's more like home.

and don't get me started on how it feels to see other people's annotations. seeing the thoughts and feelings of other people, splayed right there on the page; it's a window, isn't it? it's a way to see what they're processing. what sticks out to them, what makes them feel, what makes them tick. is there anything more human than that, seeing a person's heart and soul with your own eyes, among a physical copy of thousands upon thousands of words? they take in these words and, in return, give the physical copy something of themselves. and i think that's absolutely breathtaking.

i’m obsessed with clarice lispector I think she’s one of the most fascinating figures ever I can’t stop thinking about the time she attended a panel where they were discussing the philosophy/theory of her own works and she left early because she didn’t understand a word of what they were saying and it made her so hungry that she had to go home and eat an entire chicken

The worst about it is that I’m proud