"Cassandra passa a ser considerada como louca ao tentar comunicar à população troiana as suas inúmeras previsões de catástrofe e desgraça"
Deus e eu nunca nos demos muito bem. Tampouco eu consegui acreditar quando me diziam que o destino era algo traçado e imutável.
Se existe algo que me é natural, é o ato de profetizar o meu futuro de maneira autorrealizável e a vida alheia de maneira intuitiva e paradigmática.
Re-leio históricos de conversa, traço metas, objetivos, batizo a todos com pseudônimos de corpos celestes para que tudo se torne mais romanticamente calculista.
Analiso detalhes das personalidades, defino um começo, um meio e um fim à participação da maioria das pessoas na minha vida e, por vezes, mesmo entre as vidas delas.
Penso conhecer muito da maioria das pessoas no momento em que as vejo ao vivo, às vezes não preciso nem ao menos vê-las ao vivo para conhecê-las muito mais que gostaria um dia.
Quase tudo é previsto e premeditado. Existe, contudo, certa espontaneidade no meio; mas o que não é espontâneo costuma ser omitido a fim de evitar julgamentos e garantir o sucesso do que foi planejado.
Ademais, costumo sempre saber muito mais sobre as pessoas que o que elas sabem sobre mim. Isso (nem) sempre é omisso.
É muito difícil algo ser-me surpreendentemente imprevisível. Contudo, não quero soar arrogante ou pré-potente; escutai-me quando eu vos disser que estou (quase) sempre errante e errando.
A labyrinth of ideas, tales, histories, culture and words. "To find yourself, you have to lose yourself, let go of you".
Welcome to Daedalus' Labyrinth
This blog has been created with the intention of posting online some ideas, points of view, histories, stories, tales and anything else that its creators want to write about.
The posts will be signed as from "Daedalus" or from "Uranus", therefore, differenciation will be easily noticed.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
L'attente
Chaque instant de ma vie ici me parait un instant gâché.
Je n'ai plus de cours, je n'ai aucune envie de fêter, je ne veux plus sortir sinon de cet enfer. Mon état va de pire en pire. Malgré en pleine santé physique, je me sens tout abimé dédains, tout est rassi...
Du matin jusqu'à ce que je me couche, je ne cesse pas de penser aux jours lointains, car une semaine dans l'enfer me parait un siècle.
.Je n'ai d'autre raison d'être que celle dont je dois partir ailleurs immédiatement, bientôt, un jour...
Ce soir, je suis en train de boire du whisky tout seul, fermé dans ma chambre, isolé des autres. Je ne l'avais jamais fait avant.
Pourtant, c'était le moyen le plus facile pour écarter mes pensées de ma propre fin.
Quant à ma famille, je ne veux qu'être libre, et très très très très loin d'eux, un océan de distance. Je suis le fils problème, l'étrange, l'étranger, celui qui ne jamais satisfait du tout. L'égoïste, le rêveur fou qui n'a pas ses pieds sur terre. Celui qui tout ratera.
Ils disent qu'ils m'aiment, mais je n'ai pas besoin de ce genre d'amour, j'ai besoin de liberté, d'être loin de cette terre foutue de merde.
Suis-je ingrate? Suis-je ingrate si le destin qui j'ai choisi pour moi est tellement différent de l'éternel ennui dont ils se sont mis? Pourquoi ne suis-je pas comme eux?
À la fin, c'est une "win-win situation" pour eux. Je pars, puis je serai loin d'eux et ils seront loin de moi, loin de mes problèmes, loin de ma tristesse, de ma mélancolie, de ma façon "freak" d'être. Et un jour, je leur payerai tout ce que je leur dois et enfin. Rien ne sera à moi que la liberté et, si j'aurai de la change, le bonheur.
Ma mère n'a pas raison quand elle dit que je ne serai jamais heureux, je sais que je vaincrai et j'oublierai tous ces chagrins, tous ces méchancetés, ces jours infernaux, car je serai trop noyé dans ma félicité pour me souvenir des jours où j'étais surchargé par ma propre existence.
Et je jure, oui, je le jure, je jure que personne sur terre ne fera de mon paradis un enfer. Car après souffrir autant que j'ai souffert, même la mort ne me fait plus peur.
Je n'ai plus de cours, je n'ai aucune envie de fêter, je ne veux plus sortir sinon de cet enfer. Mon état va de pire en pire. Malgré en pleine santé physique, je me sens tout abimé dédains, tout est rassi...
Du matin jusqu'à ce que je me couche, je ne cesse pas de penser aux jours lointains, car une semaine dans l'enfer me parait un siècle.
.Je n'ai d'autre raison d'être que celle dont je dois partir ailleurs immédiatement, bientôt, un jour...
Ce soir, je suis en train de boire du whisky tout seul, fermé dans ma chambre, isolé des autres. Je ne l'avais jamais fait avant.
Pourtant, c'était le moyen le plus facile pour écarter mes pensées de ma propre fin.
Quant à ma famille, je ne veux qu'être libre, et très très très très loin d'eux, un océan de distance. Je suis le fils problème, l'étrange, l'étranger, celui qui ne jamais satisfait du tout. L'égoïste, le rêveur fou qui n'a pas ses pieds sur terre. Celui qui tout ratera.
Ils disent qu'ils m'aiment, mais je n'ai pas besoin de ce genre d'amour, j'ai besoin de liberté, d'être loin de cette terre foutue de merde.
Suis-je ingrate? Suis-je ingrate si le destin qui j'ai choisi pour moi est tellement différent de l'éternel ennui dont ils se sont mis? Pourquoi ne suis-je pas comme eux?
À la fin, c'est une "win-win situation" pour eux. Je pars, puis je serai loin d'eux et ils seront loin de moi, loin de mes problèmes, loin de ma tristesse, de ma mélancolie, de ma façon "freak" d'être. Et un jour, je leur payerai tout ce que je leur dois et enfin. Rien ne sera à moi que la liberté et, si j'aurai de la change, le bonheur.
Ma mère n'a pas raison quand elle dit que je ne serai jamais heureux, je sais que je vaincrai et j'oublierai tous ces chagrins, tous ces méchancetés, ces jours infernaux, car je serai trop noyé dans ma félicité pour me souvenir des jours où j'étais surchargé par ma propre existence.
Et je jure, oui, je le jure, je jure que personne sur terre ne fera de mon paradis un enfer. Car après souffrir autant que j'ai souffert, même la mort ne me fait plus peur.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place. I don't like this place. Please, take me away from this living hell.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
I don't like this place.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Incubo
It is a damn cold and disturbing morning. The dawn is breaking outside and I couldn't find any sleep yet.
What is life ? Why does everything feel so predictable ? Is there a way out of this prison ? My jail is my skin and I seem unable to find a way to breathe.
For how long will I keep numbing myself away from reality ? What is reality ?
It seems to be this weird 1st person informationally overloaded constant vision.
This whole thing is such a weird scenario, who are all these people ? Why do they exist ? Why do I exist ? Why am I here ? Why do I have to be here ? Why do I think so much ? Is thought the only bound between me and this life thing ?
I feel so utterly tired of listening to my own voice, I'm surrounded by all kinds of people and yet I feel overwhelmed by my own constant and annoying company.
Am I just as nnoying to others as I am to myself ? I don't want to sleep, I don't want to face the lack of meaning of my existence... I don't want to rehearse death..
I hear noises of them waking up. How can they live without being haunted by the very same questions that keep on and on resonating inside of me ?
Am I God ? Would that be the reason why I am myself and why I am living this whole life ?
I feel so isolated in this hideous town where absolutely everyone seems to be empty of selfconsciousness ! I don't want to keep dissecting reality, I just needed to share this point of view.
It feels dangerous and unworth it to deconstruct every concept of existence... yet I wish people could just stop all their omnious deeds for a brief second and then ask themselves "WHY ?"
I looked into the skies for the answers... but all that I've found was silence and dirty ground.
...I feel much better now... per il momento, trovai una uscita fuori da questo incubo.
What is life ? Why does everything feel so predictable ? Is there a way out of this prison ? My jail is my skin and I seem unable to find a way to breathe.
For how long will I keep numbing myself away from reality ? What is reality ?
It seems to be this weird 1st person informationally overloaded constant vision.
This whole thing is such a weird scenario, who are all these people ? Why do they exist ? Why do I exist ? Why am I here ? Why do I have to be here ? Why do I think so much ? Is thought the only bound between me and this life thing ?
I feel so utterly tired of listening to my own voice, I'm surrounded by all kinds of people and yet I feel overwhelmed by my own constant and annoying company.
Am I just as nnoying to others as I am to myself ? I don't want to sleep, I don't want to face the lack of meaning of my existence... I don't want to rehearse death..
I hear noises of them waking up. How can they live without being haunted by the very same questions that keep on and on resonating inside of me ?
Am I God ? Would that be the reason why I am myself and why I am living this whole life ?
I feel so isolated in this hideous town where absolutely everyone seems to be empty of selfconsciousness ! I don't want to keep dissecting reality, I just needed to share this point of view.
It feels dangerous and unworth it to deconstruct every concept of existence... yet I wish people could just stop all their omnious deeds for a brief second and then ask themselves "WHY ?"
I looked into the skies for the answers... but all that I've found was silence and dirty ground.
...I feel much better now... per il momento, trovai una uscita fuori da questo incubo.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Oh, Susanna ! Don't you cry for me
Ela não gostaria de ir dormir sozinha, mas diz a si mesma "Antes só que mal acompanhada" . Ela dorme semi-nua e toda enrolada no seu edredon de veludo azul claro. Ela detesta azul claro. Segundo Susanna, o veludo possui uma textura muito agradável e que lhe proporciona um suave prazer em contato com a sua pele. Não é um caso amoroso, mas pelo menos não é indigesto ao seu orgulho.
Susanna cansa de borrar o botão F5 do seu teclado e abre a sua playlist no aleatório. A primeira música a ser executada é "OH SUSANNA - Johny Cash & James Taylor" . Susanna acha isso muito irônico e se pergunta se existe algum motivo por trás de tal coincidência. Ela se pergunta se está tão sozinha quanto pensa ou se aquilo era um sinal. Susanna era meio romântica, percebe-se.
Quando a música termina, ela se conforma com a inutilidade em procurar alguma mensagem subliminar divina endereçada a ela dentro da letra de uma música com 3 vezes a sua idade. Susanna não é uma pessoa conformada, vocês não pensem isso dela ! Ela só está perigosamente entediada e cansada da sensação de estar perdendo tempo.
Com o refrão da música ecoando pela sua mente, Susanna vai ao banheiro, entediada, olhar-se no espelho. Jovem, até que bonitinha, exceto sob esse e aquele ângulos; Susanna idolatra o próprio nariz e até deixaria que o usassem para a criação de moldes rinoplásticos. O espelho é meio velho e a luz amarela do banheiro espaçoso e abafado um tanto 50s favorece o seu tom de pele. Se ela pudesse definí-lo, seria de forma pretensiosa para que soasse exótica.
Susanna, então, volta ao seu quarto e conta três passos da porta à sua cama. O cheiro do seu próprio shampoo nos travesseiros lhe é confortante e o edredon aveludado ajuda Susanna a ser absorvida por uma filosofia barata somada ao falacioso cálculo de possibilidades do dia seguinte que ela faz toda noite antes de deitar-se. Boba.
Os minutos passam rápidos como a vida de uma varejeira e o sono começa a consolar os olhos de Susanna. Ela concentra os seus pensamentos na intenção de sonhar com algo que lhe seja inspirador. Ela se sente desinspirada. Ela se acha sincera consigo mesma, mas é um grande nocebo. Oh, Susanna, não é tão mal assim. Oh, Susanna, quando você vai aprender que você não é capaz de enxergar o amanhã com a mesma precisão e nitidez que os seus olhos emétropes percebem o hoje ?
Susanna dorme... e esquece.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Rebeldia Indolente
Subestimo o meu talento
Saboto o meu avanço
Contudo, não me canso
Do meu mau comportamento
Olho-me no espelho
Trégua de uma semana
Tampouco o meu cabelo
Tira-me a confiança
Nem a semelhança de ser um clone
Permite que a tristeza me encontre
Tal qual o sono mais sereno
Que me deixa à vigília e ao fosfeno
No meu tédio frente ao tempo
O relógio pouco avança
Como quem não se cansa
Do meu mau comportamento
Saboto o meu avanço
Contudo, não me canso
Do meu mau comportamento
Olho-me no espelho
Trégua de uma semana
Tampouco o meu cabelo
Tira-me a confiança
Nem a semelhança de ser um clone
Permite que a tristeza me encontre
Tal qual o sono mais sereno
Que me deixa à vigília e ao fosfeno
No meu tédio frente ao tempo
O relógio pouco avança
Como quem não se cansa
Do meu mau comportamento
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Depersonalization-derealization
Information overload
System about to reset
No fucks for me to give
All settings unset
Don't dissect reality
Don't dissect personality
Don't dissect mankind
Don't dissect my mind
Life and dream the same
people are tools
feelings not true
All a fiction so strange
Don't overthink morality
Don't expect amnesia
'Cause for my pain
There is no anestesia
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