Titles Are Always Too Big Or Too Small / This is MY delirium - Is this real?

NONSENSE TEXT/RAMBLING.

you think you must purify your thoughts when they are needy. or should i say - greedy? i need your approval, i need your scream and shout, i need all the photographs and collectable memories - and i need to get rid of it all.

i'm not good with words. words are a bless. i'm not sincere with myself, if sincere means being logic. i'm the most truthful creature you'll ever dare to wish to know though.

when i have the urge to say the right things i'm just a mute steril television. empty gazes, it's so painful. i can't talk to you as deeply as i wish to, but i can talk to dear nothingness with a doubtful brilliance - words to be swallowed by the wind, it seems ok to my brain. what a sick mechanism.

it's always cold inside. skin drops sweat but it's an artificial automatic reaction. all this organism bullshit. mind goes beyond. thoughts, wishes, desires, instincts, a handful of broken memorabilia. tiny devilish box inside you - setting control of you - like men to silly things like washing machines. but the washing machines can break when they don't want any of this reciclying circle anymore. you'll have to pay to fix it. minds can break and you probably will have to pay to fix them as well, but will we have enough time to keep it all working well? will we have enough money at the right moment? was it all spent with consumist relics? What is "right" and "wrong" anyway? Is it really worth fixing?
it sounds more appealing to fix my ipod rather than my mind... most of the times.

still, i want salvation. i want you to stay. you think you're here, you think we belong together because we're set as 'committed'. what brings us together is one word swallowed by the wind? we are far away beyond being far away; i could be close to one who's simply far away... well, you can't get this.
come on, be there for me. touch me with your hands, and with your mind, and with your eyes, with every micro thing that makes you be yourself; reach my fears and the horrible 'me's' inside of me and love my ugliness not only what's smooth and clean inside me.
hey let's talk about the universe, about imaginary things; let's kiss while the music plays, i deny dancing and i deny talking about pubs, the Queen and the s****y weather. let's not talk about reality. not today. i survived the great war of being born in brazil and i try to speak and understand english because i want to go through the whole damn world chasing for real souls. let's do it all with me. let's chase baloons and sunny afternoons.
...i'm not surprised no one will do it.
i don't know the future, i just insist on thinking 'what is it gonna be like?', which is torture, i know how's it like to manufacturate fairytale's expectatives and face a 'game over' outdoor written with red-blood bloody ink. over and over again.
but still, salvation, i want you. contradict me big time, because i've contradicted myself but it was never amusing or amazing. it's a lonely road but sometimes the silence is dear, even though God only knows how I love wise voices whispering music and sweet nothings...

i'll be waiting, eternity.

Author's Note

Nonsense text/rambling. But all is art, isn't it?

Reviews

[Aidz]

I enjoyed it kewl write.

Art depends who is reading/writing it :P

[Seshat Nidaba]

You can call me Eternity, anytime ;-) You do have a lot of vivid-ness, I think that's your gift.

[Bejn Jonathon Edwards]

It's pretty cool :) a bit comical in places but sometimes art is. Good job :)