tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56351172011-07-08T07:54:53.621-03:00Welcome to: the precipice between groundlessness and flight.Madchesternoreply@blogger.comBlogger131100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635117.post-74446057031638140432010-10-07T13:03:00.002-03:002010-10-07T13:15:01.098-03:00

Desde pequenina sempre soube que não cabia no mundo.Virava pra lá, virava pra cá, virava do avesso.Desde então estou asssim, ao contrário.

Madchesternoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635117.post-28134853104693159622010-09-23T13:48:00.002-03:002010-09-23T13:53:03.912-03:00

"Talvez eu esteja mesmo enlouquecendo; por outro lado talvez eu esteja simplesmente confusa e infeliz; por um terceiro lado, talvez eu saiba exatamente o que eu quero, mas naõ tenha coragem de ir em frente por causa da imensa dor que isso causaria, e a tensão entre esses dois estados de alma me faça ter vontade de explodir."[Nick Hornby]

Madchesternoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635117.post-90028227399803546962010-09-22T00:42:00.006-03:002010-09-22T01:57:29.295-03:00

Sæglópur, á lífiKominn heimSæglópur, á lífiKominn heimþaõ kemur kafariKomin heimþaõ kemur kafariKomin heim ... sometimes you realize that isn't anger that will set you free, it's kindness.That the change that you wanted to see is not outside. If there is one thing that has to be changed it's you.You realize that you have to let people take responsibility for what they wish even if you loose some

Madchesternoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635117.post-73020256054111116432009-07-14T22:30:00.000-03:002009-07-14T22:31:14.291-03:00

i am not a pretty girlthat is not what i doi ain't no damsel in distressand i don't need to be rescuedso put me down punkmaybe you'd prefer a maiden fairisn't there a kitten stuck up a tree somewherei am not an angry girlbut it seems like i've got everyone fooledevery time i say something they find hard to hearthey chalk it up to my angerand never to their own fearand imagine you're a girljust

Madchesternoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635117.post-41388952075337426172009-05-26T12:52:00.004-03:002009-05-26T13:12:33.257-03:00

She knew she was able to fly,Because when she came down,She had dust on her hands from the sky,She felt so high, the dust made her cry.She knew she could fly like a bird,But when she said 'please raise the roof higher' nobody heard,They never noticed a word,The light bulbs burn, her fingers will learn.Why should it feel like a crime?If I want to be with you all the time.Why is it measured in

Madchesternoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635117.post-50507318733497234182009-05-25T09:33:00.003-03:002009-05-25T10:02:22.485-03:00

She's star, starcrazy, electric-shock-bog-brush-hair,Flat on her back in the 80's, in the 90's going nowhere,Star, starcrazy, got a kicking transistor inside,A heavy metal stutter that brains me,and an electric love in her eyes,Oh, she don't want education,She got nothing to say,She got no imagination (so they say)Why does she feel this way?Cos she's star, starcrazy, getting stupid on the streets

Madchesternoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635117.post-91042668888746897602009-05-19T16:14:00.000-03:002009-05-19T16:19:05.730-03:00

On me dit que nos vies ne valent pas grand chose,Elles passent en un instant comme fanent les roses.On me dit que le temps qui glisse est un salaudQue de nos chagrins il s'en fait des manteauxRefrain:Pourtant quelqu'un m'a ditQue tu m'aimais encore,C'est quelqu'un qui m'a dit que tu m'aimais encore.Serais ce possible alors ?On dit que le destin se moque bien de nousQu'il ne nous donne rien et

Madchesternoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635117.post-78990034581662494252009-05-14T15:12:00.001-03:002009-05-15T10:39:09.242-03:00

Be careful of words,even the miraculous ones.For the miraculous we do our best,sometimes they swarm like insectsand leave not a sting but a kiss.They can be as good as fingers.They can be as trusty as the rockyou stick your bottom on.But they can be both daisies and bruises. Yet I am in love with words.They are doves falling out of the ceiling.They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap.They are

Madchesternoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635117.post-56744625694499920652009-05-12T10:21:00.005-03:002009-05-12T10:57:09.269-03:00

All my little plans and schemesLost like some forgotten dreamSeems like all i really was doingWas waiting for youJust like little girls and boysPlaying with their little toysSeems like all they really were doingWas waiting for youDon't need to be aloneNo need to be aloneIt's real loveIt's real, yes it's real loveIt's realFrom this moment on i knowExactly where my life will goSeems that all i

Madchesternoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635117.post-40853660501113529482009-05-11T17:01:00.001-03:002009-05-12T10:54:35.968-03:00

My mouth blooms like a cut.I've been wronged all year, tediousnights, nothing but rough elbows in themand delicate boxes of Kleenex calling crybabycrybaby , you fool ! Before today my body was useless.Now it's tearing at its square corners.It's tearing old Mary's garments off, knot by knotand see — Now it's shot full of these electric bolts.Zing! A resurrection!Once it was a boat, quite woodenand

Madchesternoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635117.post-30193326677759944252009-04-28T12:04:00.001-03:002009-05-12T10:58:04.371-03:00

you said Isthere anything whichis dead or alive more beautifulthan my body,to have in your fingers(trembling ever so little)? Looking intoyour eyes Nothing,i said,except theair of spring smelling of never and forever.....and through the lattice which moved asif a hand is touched by ahand(whichmoved as thoughfingers touch a girl'sbreast,lightly) Do you believe in always,the

Madchesternoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635117.post-68209010889889422932008-03-25T02:02:00.005-03:002009-05-12T10:59:38.083-03:00

Sossega, minha Dor, não desesperes não.Reclamavas da luz; já se vai; finda o dia.A cidade mergulha na escuridãoque alguns atormenta e outros alivia.Enquanto dos mortais a reles multidão,escrava do Prazer, carrasco sem perdão,vai colhendo remorsos na mísera orgia,aceita, minha Dor, esta mão que te guiapra longe deles. Vê como os Anos finadosnos olham lá do céu com seus velhos brocados;no fundo

Madchesternoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635117.post-1095729704929472422004-09-20T22:21:00.000-03:002004-09-20T22:21:44.930-03:00

It's good to be back.

Madchesternoreply@blogger.com1