Music's back

Music's back to my forgotten thoughts
to the long lost words in my empty heart
it's the wind that blows
this mystic song
about floating hearts
about liquid nights
about my flying words
in your distant eyes



_i promise

go and be happy for awhile
if you know what to be happy is
(for you)

go and do your thing
if you think you really need it
cause you don't
(and you know it)

go and come back later
when your conscience
turns off again
it's going to happen
you know

(for sure)

go and see for yourself
that nothing is enough
not anymore
not in this life..no
not from now on


_cold turkey

it's killing me
i'm suddenly lost
it's like I've always had you
and now your voice is missing

i need your smile at my window
i need your laugh in my ears
i need your eyes
it's urgent
it's necessary
it's hurting inside

i need you back to my window
my eyes
my love
my secret bee



_writing, by bukowski

Precious advices for writers. I can't help myself from posting it.

_air and light and time and space

"–you know, I’ve either had a family, a job,

something has always been in the


but now

I’ve sold my house, I’ve found this

place, a large studio, you should see the space and

the light.

for the first time in my life I’m going to have

a place and the time to


no baby, if you’re going to create

you’re going to create whether you work

16 hours a day in a coal mine


you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children

while you’re on


you’re going to create with part of your mind and your body blown


you’re going to create blind



you’re going to create with a cat crawling up your

back while

the whole city trembles in earthquake, bombardment,

flood and fire.

baby, air and light and time and space

have nothing to do with it

and don’t create anything

except maybe a longer life to find

new excuses


© Charles Bukowski, Black Sparrow Press


"if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it for money or
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
if you’re trying to write like somebody
forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was."

Charles Bukowski answers the question “so you want to be a writer?"


I'm here - a love story

I'm here. The short film directed by Spike Jonze is an incredible experience.
A love story between two robots shows that love is giving way more than one could ever dream.
Go to the site, confirm your birth date, cross the street, go to the cashier and watch the film.

Just let yourself go.
It's worth it.



It was a concert
I was in the audience
you were the drummer
I was missing you
you saw me there
you left the stage
you came to me
you touched my face
you smelled my hair
you stole my heart
Oh no
your hug again
your arms again
your voice again
I had to leave
you said "stay"
don't ask me that
not this time
you know my secret
you know I'm easy
your hug again
please don't
please don't
your voice again
I woke up missing you
my heart was broken
I felt the tears
oh no...
not now...
not you again.



I have secrets. I have a collection of sins.
Half of me is generosity, the other half is dark, enclosed, veiled.
I don’t know if it’s a half or only layers: that, that the surface shows, is not what the surface covers - or it’s the thread of an ancient velum. A fabric trimmed by the ancestors, interlacing good and bad, turning into fine silk what once was rustic jute.

I’d be a psychopath if I were religious.
I’d be a witch if I were not lazy.
I’d be a scientist in order to keep some sanity.
I have answers but I’m bored by the questions.

Inside of me dark beings dance along with creatures full of light.
Around me...angels live. Angels and the balance I provide to others.
The balance I invent to myself.
The balance I project on this big screen called life.

I know things - and I was born knowing them - which I cannot tell, unless in sparse chapters, scattered sentences or sporadic thoughts.
Trust me: it’s easier to be a sinner when you know hell’s exact address. It’s easier to forgive when you know precisely where heaven lives.
I know who I am... I’m not special. I’m not rare. I’m ancient.
Philosophy tires me. Theology bores me. Theories about the new age exhaust me. They all sound like old stories...old news.
For I’ve heard the thoughts of the universal mind before the world even existed.
Sometimes the universe is a museum of misspelled unoriginal ideas...
All I can say is I wish I could know the euphoria of discovering.
originally written in Portuguese.
probably a bad translation.



i once considered calling your name
but i'm pretty sure i'd meet the echo of your emptiness
that's why I stop by the door everyday
i cover my mouth with one hand and save the other for wiping the inevitable tears

i ponder the reasons why i don't step inside
i give you space...i give you time
i know you can hear my thoughts from there
i know you see me closing my eyes to daydream


i once considered calling your name
but i'm afraid i'd meet the echo of my loneliness.


_the king's tower at the queen's heart

The wind was blowing outside. Not a hot night. Not a cold one either.
I could feel my heart beating in my throat, the stomach trying not to jump off, 9:30...9:45...red lights...green lights... 9:50...can I be late? Should I make him wait? 9:55...red lights again.

"Good. I don't want to get there before him. I want to get there. I wish I were there already. I want it so badly!"

Red lights again...Oh my heart! Deep breath...it's here. Are you sure? 10:08. Yeah good, I'm already late!

I walk into this strange restaurant, a Caribean-ish place, but darker...I remember it was green. Was it green or is it just the color of my fear? (Let me tell you kids, I was freaking out but looking good.) I look right...I look left...everybody looks at me...

"I am looking for..."

Oh my god! There he is...big nervous smile, big blue eyes, big old hands, big. Big love of my life.
How long until I forget his look?
How many years should I live to forget his voice?
How many days, hours, nights, tears, laughs, moments should I live until I stop thinking of him? It's been so many years I don't even know...It's like three days or a week now that he is here, sitting at this table, with his bottle of wine, his Marlboro and his eyes, waiting for me.
Life should freeze right now.

"FREEZE LIFE! Let me take a picture and save for the next 20 years. "

Note: this is the moment I've waited in complete disbelief for so many years. -- Deep breathe. Back off and start telling the story...

Dinner? Who dares to eat? Wine? Needed.
I'm nervous. Are you? Well, welcome to the gang then...
Two tourists -- this is pretty much what we are - two tourists looking mesmerized at the monument they were willing to see. Each new wrinkle on his face, each new gesture or trace on his voice, every movement...it's so hard to tell how I felt. I can try though: I was in heaven.
And why? Tell me why? I never really understood what happened. I cannot say I've really had something non platonic with him. No. Never.
But god what is this feeling?
I could jump on his lap right now and tell him how I love him, how I've waited, how I've missed him...but no. "The Serenity Queen" just looks at his shinny blue eyes with a candid smile, turns her head a little and says:

"How good it is to see you again..."
How good it is...how beautiful he still is...And so sweet, so sexy, so funny!
He grabs my hand and kisses it deeply, looks into my eyes and says:

"I'm so nervous, you know? Look at you! You're beautiful..."

I don't know how to repeat all the beautiful words I've heard that night. All of them were sweet and revealing. They showed me I was never wrong about this man: he's dreamy.
My prince happened to turn into a beautiful strong king. And so real!
That was the most special night of the last hundred years.

King's Tower - Past midnight.
At the King's tower, we talked, we kissed, and we loved each other. We were tense, intense, nervous...and in love. I felt at home and in heaven.
His mouth, his tongue, his hands and fingers, his legs and himself all over me. My mouth, my tongue, my hands and my hair, my legs and myself all over him... stars and lights dancing above our bodies and the ocean refusing to move, in respect for the biggest love on earth.

3 a.m.
Time to leave the tower and go back to reality, if reality fits somewhere in here.
The King and his Queen walk by the beach as they once dreamed. From step to step he stops her, touches her face with both hands, touches her hair and kisses her again. From step to step she hugs him while Santa Ana wind blows her hair and the ocean spies on them in silence.

There's no place on earth like the King's hug.
There's no love on earth like the Queen's love.

Nothing would ever compare to this.



Los Angeles - 1996... where I became Mgmyself.

And now... where I am Mgmyself



i've found this little hole in my brain.
no, not physically, just a ghostly little hole at the third curve on the left, near that dead place you don't want to enter.
it's like a ghost town, only darker.
there hides the feeling i don't talk about.
there is where the locked boxes were supposed to be.
i can smell them.
i can sense their heat...

the hole...it's all there is: the hole.
i can't see anything but this enormous haunting silence coming from it's direction.
and this breeze.
it feels freezing but still warm and i feel like crying.
the silence is so immense it's like outer space.

i am adrift, floating in slow motion...
astronaut of my fears.


_ ...

I cheated on you last night
while you were here again

you and your huge presence


burning my eyes
like a jealous wolf
destroying my heart
like a furious storm

telling me you won't set me free

when I closed my eyes
he thought it was pleasure
but it was pain

the pain from your eyes
playing inside of mine


_the kidnapping

She stops the car and says:
“come in”.
He does what she says as if it was normal that she’d show up like this, no call, nothing. He kisses her face, turns the cd player on, asks if she wants a mint.
She says no, with a smile.

He: Where are we going?
She: Don’t know…Think I want to drive.
He: Why didn’t you tell me you'd come over?
She: What for? For you not to be here?
He: No. I could be here earlier so we could hang out for longer.
She: We have plenty of time.
He: Not that much. I have a birthday party I have to go to.

She turns the music up, in a clear sign that she doesn’t want to talk and lights up a smoke.
He: Don’t smoke…
She: Sorry, I need it.

And they're gone – one, naive. The other, desperate.
She knows that what she is doing is beyond wrong, but she doesn’t care, not this time around. She is positive about solving this story that had been stuck down her throat for longer than it should by now.

While the music plays loudly, and he's browsing through the 55 CD’s in the glove compartment, she sees him by her side… distracted boy… He doesn’t notice her thoughts, doesn’t see what she feels, doesn’t understand what she can possibly feel for a guy like him. Truth is, she is the one who can’t really understand. Too many differences! Her life experience and his innocence. Her knowledge and the simplicity of his thoughts. Her heart – all full of stories – and his – a blank page willing to be filled. But it’s like he’s already part of her, since forever. He says that he really wants it sometimes…she gets sad because he doesn’t truly want it. She tries to make him jealous…he says he’s not jealous of her. She feels like asking him: “Hey! Say that you adore me! Say that you hate me! Please feel something!”

He loves her presence but doesn’t make a move…She says she knows a story by it's first line, but not this time. This time she only has the impression that both of them are missing something way too good and beautiful, but she has no control of it. Or didn’t have any …until now.

They get to a small house far away from the city, near a lake, and as they arrive they step out the car.
“Who lives here?”
“We do.”
He smiles and climbs the steps that lead to the house’s door, turns around staring at the lake, takes a deep breath, looking happy.
“This is beautiful!”
She opens the door, throws the purse on the couch, and turns on the music: “And so It is…just like you said it would be…”

She walks to the kitchen, asks him if he wants some wine. Of course he does.
“This house reminds me of Bridges of Madison County. Have you seen it?”
No…of course not. He’s just a boy.

The day passes by in peace. Easy talks becoming easier minute by minute because of the wine, delicious laughs, and the almost magical sight of that boy sometimes... that man other times, the weak light of the sunset in the lake, the sparks of admiration in the eyes…contemplation…

“Do you want something to eat?”
“No, I need to go.”
“Call them and say that you’re not going. Say that your friend’s car has broken, you’re waiting for help with him, there’s not a way you’re going home now…you already missed the party, so you’re going to go out with your friend, sleep over his house, you’ll be back home the day after tomorrow.”

He laughs and grabs his jacket.
And what comes next is complicated.

Without the slightest smile, she shows him she is telling the truth: he could not go home. The car keys were hidden since the moment they entered the house, and a horrible argument comes along.
Nervous, he asks for the car keys, but she refuses to give it to him. He then speaks out loud, opens her purse searching for the keys, she's angry, he's aggressive trying to not lose his temper, she loses her cool and starts to cry, tells him she can't take the rejection coming from him anymore, that she can't understand it; he punches the door and demands for the key, she tells him to leave on foot, he gets the cell phone and tells her that he's calling a cab, she gets the car keys under a pillow and throws it at him, he says he's leaving without her, she gets up and throws herself against him to get the key, but he reacts quickly and firmly holds her arms until she stops...
A movie scene: they stare at each others' eyes, she cries, he looks mad, she leans her head against his chest, he holds her in his arms bringing her face up until their lips meet...
There! Finally!
And they kiss until she stops crying, he wipes her tears, she apologizes, tells him that she will never imprison him like that again..he is free to go. He tells her that he doesn't want to leave anymore, and they kiss again...
It's already dark, a heavenly silence takes over: not a bird outside, the music is over, only the sound of their mouths and their kisses... Only the sound of her tears drying, only the sound of clothes being thrown all over the floor, only the sound of their breathing...
The sound of his heart being filled... the sound of her heart writing him a beautiful story.
Two days and a half.
Two days and a half in a house by the lake. Lunches and dinners made by four hands, breakfasts in bed... Movie watching under the blankets, lots of wine and laughter, many kisses, plenty of love making, falling asleep while kissing, waking up in each others' arms.
Time passes and no one notices. The clock - their only witness - is not capable of revealing the time.
No one remembers about car keys. No one remembers the arguments that would stop all of this from happening. No one understands what made them avoid this for so long.

On their way back to the city, there they go: they are now a girl and a man. Their eyes are wet, their hands stuck together, silence.

He turns the radio on: “And so it is... just like you said it would be...life goes easy on me... most of the time”

And so it is.


_birthday wishlist

a song
a serenade
a lullaby
an unicorn
a secret key
a magic butterfly
a lovely smile
a dream come true
the smell of you
just for a bit
a minute



why do gods throw flowers all around me?
maybe they wanna hurt my eyes,
maybe just cure my heart.

i've just found a strange kind of flower:
the one that comes in treasure boxes.
have you ever seen one of them?
so rare, so beautiful, so bright,

so dangerous...

i keep looking at this closed box and I fear.
should I open it?
should I keep it?
should I just pretend I don't care, and walk away?

it fills my heart with joy.
it fills my mind with wonders.
it just fills my...self.


_dark eyes

I remember your eyes in the dark
and the smell of my fear.
I remember the gate and the butterflies
the smile and the sound of my heart

I remember your reasons
I remember my thoughts
I remember the madness and the sweet taste of sin


_the other story

It’s been so long since his name was last heard...

Since everything has changed and started to seem dark. All of a sudden, everything that was beautiful fell in pieces into time’s sharp claws.

Day by day her memories got scarce… And she knew that it all ended up like that because of him. He was always so afraid of getting hurt again. Always repeating the same old question every time they met: “Are you staying?” No, she was not staying and wouldn’t be back either unless he would use every single word to say, letter by letter, what she was willing to hear: “Don’t go. Stay with me.” She’s always thought that he didn’t want it, but he also couldn’t understand why she never called, why she never said anything? But she did: she wrote, every day, stories about kings in distant kingdoms, loved by their queens like no one before. She told their story more times then he could possibly read. But he didn’t understand it.

There was a time when she simply couldn’t avoid him to be her first thought in the morning and the last before closing her eyes at night. He was everywhere: in every meal, every movie, and every book. Even being so far away, his absence was a tangible presence.

Life has passed by, years were gone, but even having their names forgotten somewhere in the past, both of them had each other kept in some corner of their minds. It was a name to be thought of when the sky was red. It was a story to remember when the fluid would leak out of the zippo’s sponge greasing their hands. It was something to be remembered in full moon nights, alone in the beach, alone in the dark, alone… Just a memory.

She used to come back - she was always the one to come back. He needed time and she gave it to him, as a gift…. But time was gone with no warning.

Silver hair fell over her face in that cold morning, while she warmed her hands in the coffee mug turning the computer on so she could write. In days like these your fingers hurt if they’re not warmed up to key. This cold weather freezes the back of her feet. This cold weather freezes her hands making her feel each tendon when she tries to reach the keyboard. Pajamas, scarf, wool socks, coffee, cigarettes and her zippo, that was all she needed to spend winter writing.

The addiction that had become reading her e-mails, interrupted her fifteenth attempt to start a story. She opened her work emails first, then some discussions groups and countless junkmails coming from the most absurd products, and she didn’t have any urge to read anything, except for a name that caught her eye, a name that was seen before.

You probably don’t know who I am, but I know who you are. I need to talk to you about my dad. He’s an old friend of yours, and I think it’s time for you to know what is happening to him. Please, reply this e-mail with your phone number, and I’ll call you today.
I really need to talk, so please don’t ignore me.


She read it and read it again, trying not to be taken by any lost memory. Who else could that be? Was that a joke? No… no one would ever joke about such a serious issue. How old could that kid be? Twenty three? Twenty four years old?

He protected this kid from her as if she would harm him. Neurotic! He’d never allowed her to meet the boy, ever. Not to let his kid get hurt had become his life and he knew that she was so lovely and the boy would certainly feel safe in her presence, but as she was not staying, the boy would miss her as much as he would.

If he only knew the pain he caused…

Mariana was open, given, cheerful, and transparent! He received everything she was willing to give to him, and got drunk with this love so violently, but after all, he’d keep every little crumb of love she had left behind from a gesture, a piece of clothing or a gift she’d brought him. And nothing left to her. She has always left her heart behind, taking only the greatest dream of all: to hear him saying “STAY!”

With no second thought she answered the email and couldn’t write any other line. She wouldn’t exist until the phone rings once, but it would only happen in the next day, when her cell phone finally vibrated. She picked it up.

- Hello

- Mariana?

- Yes, who’s this?

- Tarik Ross.

- ...

- You don’t know me… I’m Daren’s…

- I know who you’re Tarik. I just wanted to be sure.

- Mariana, I don’t even know how to begin.

- How’s your father doing?

- Well, he’s not that fine.

- What happened?

- He’s ill, Mariana. He’s dying.

- What? What’s the problem, Tarik?

- He’s not sick or anything. He just lets this huge depression take him over. He doesn’t have any physical symptoms, but when he does it’s all about his depression taking its toll. He’s giving me a lot of work because he won’t eat, won’t go out of bed, he won’t get out of the house. He’s underweight and sometimes I have to take him to the hospital so he’ll be nurtured. It’s too damn hard.

- My God, Tarik, but…

- I’m sorry I’m calling you, but I’ve been looking up his stuff. I read things you’ve written to each other, I thought I had to find you.

- You’re saying he still have the things I wrote him?

- Everything. It’s been a long time I’ve been hearing your name, Mariana. Since I got a bit older he started talking about you. Last year was when he most mentioned your name, told me stories, showed me your pictures.

- He really did it?

- Yes. I’ve seen a picture of yours that has been in his bedroom since forever. He used to say that that was the most gordious girl he had ever met.

- He has a picture of me in his bedroom?

- You have no idea of the things he has… And I… I don’t know how to say that...

- Speak up, Tarik.

- Mariana, I’m afraid he’ll die without seeing you once again.

Mariana’s eyes were wet since she first heard Tarik pronounce her name, but now the weight of the old promises done barefoot on the sand fell on her shoulders, bringing back a river of tears.

- What about you, Mariana? Are you okay?

- Oh Tarik... I’m the same. Sitting here looking to these twenty six letters in my keyboard, wet eyes, trying to find out if I'll explode in joy for knowing I’ve always been present to your father’s life, or if I'll die for I’ve lost him for such a long time. Today, like twenty years ago, nothing has changed.

- But... do you have somebody?

- No. I’m a widow for ten years now. What do you want from me, Tarik, be clear.

- I want you to invite you to come over and stay close to him, Mariana. I think you can save my father.

It was such a whirlwind of memories coming back, fears, joy, tears, everything at the same time. What is this life that makes people wait twenty years to find each other and actually only do it shortly before death?

Mariana cried that day, more then the last five years, remembering all the nights she lied in her bed asking to dream of him. In her dreams, his hugs were real. He, the king of all embraces… There was no hug like his, not even in ten thousand love stories.


The sea was calm as every other day at the canal. White sails and boat engines drawing white traces in the water, warning us the day had begun. Little by little the windows opened to let the summer sun come in with the tide breeze and seagulls playful noises. That’s how it was every single morning at the Ross’ house.

The whole place was filled with weird feminine details if you considere that it was a house of two men. There was this bucolic tone given by shelves surrounding the room, exposing delicate pottery from the depression era.

Through the opened window we can see the city’s endless blue sky, the canal and the sea, the seagulls and the lifeguard’s tower that kept the secrets of Mariana and Darren Ross’ story.

- Dad, would you come down for breakfast?

Tarik sets the table putting a cereal box on it.

- Dad! Come down!

With no answer, impatiently he goes upstairs and opens his father’s bedroom door.

- Dad, breakfast’s ready!

- Go ahead and eat it.

Daren is lying in his bed looking impossibly skinny. He was once a strong healthy man, handsome with his golden skin and shinny eyes that were now dull for his constant sorrow.

- I’m not eating without you, dad. By the way, what a great idea! If you don’t eat I don’t eat. Then you’ll have to get out of that bed to take care of me.

- Oh, kid... Don’t do that to me. Leave me here and go for your life.

- Dad... There’s no “my life” with you lying there.

The telephone rang at the head table interrupting the conversation – which seemed to make Daren happy, since he had gained a few more minutes of peace.

Tarik answers the phone:

- Hello? ... Hi. Where are you? ... Good! No, not at all, I insist.

Tarik turned his backs and spoke softer to avoid being heard by his father.

- No, I invited you, come home.

He hangs up and goes back to his father:

- Dad, come on, get up.

Daren asks sitting on the bed.

- Who was that?

- Nobody.

- Who is “coming home”?

- Life! Life’s knocking on the door! If I were you I’d get all dressed up to have breakfast, because “Life” itself will find you wearing these terrible pajamas!

Daren got up complaining and walked towards the bathroom.

- Life! ...Ha! Life has taken me down. Now it wants to ruin my breakfast!

Tarik threw a towel at his dad.

- Go ahead and take a shower, you look like dirt!

- Ah!

Daren shut the door whining and babling from inside the bathroom.

- If I knew you’d grow up to boss me around, I’d leave you wih your mom, to become a fucking nerd!

- No way, old man! I’d be here anyhow.

Daren opens the door again:

- Is that your mother who’s coming down?

- No dad, relax! No one’s coming down.

- Oh, good! That would be a killer!

Tarik went downstairs laughing, happy for his father was up and more talkative than usual. Complaints are all he has to say, but still, it’s better than when he seems not to be in this world.

Later on, the bell rang. Tarik opened the door to find Mariana, with her silver hair messed by the wind, staring at the sea, backs to the door. She had a big red suitcase; a handbag and a lost look into the sea.

- Mariana?

She stood still, and with a sigh she turned her head to him.

- When you gave me the address, I couldn’t imagine this was the house.

- Have you been here before?

- I’ve been here once, many years ago. Does the tower still exist on the beach?

- My father’s tower? Sure. At the same spot.

Mariana smiled to Tarik.

- Welcome to my house.

- Thanks Tarik. You look just like your father…

- Can’t deny. And you...looks like time’s a friend of yours.

- I wish! Let’s do it? Face the beast?

Tarik got her suitcase and made room for Mariana to go in first.

- He doesn’t know you’re here.

- What? But he should know!

- I couldn’t tell him. Trust me...It will be fine.

They both got inside the house quietly. Mariana could only hear the loud heart beat inside her chest, like it’d come out of her mouth any time soon, but her face couldn’t hide the smile.

Tarik took Mariana by her shoulders looking straight into her eyes:

-Thank you for coming. You don’t know what it means to me.

Mariana pulled Tarik close to her and held him for a long time.

-You don’t know what it means to ME… You know what? I always wanted to hold you like this?

He led Mariana to the kitchen and went up the stairs:

- Dad?

- Who was that?

- Mail! There’s a package for you.

- Oh! I thought it was “Life”! Leave it there. It’s probably nothing.

- I think it is something.

Daren appeared at the top of the stairway.

- Why so?

- Because it’s from Brazil.

- From Brazil?

Daren went down the stairs faster than he actually could and slower than an average person

- Where is it?

- Don’t run like that, dad.

- Oh… I’m old but not dead. Where’s the package?

He walked around the living room looking for the package without finding it. Mariana got at the kitchen’s door, leaning over it calmly:

- Here.

Tarik would not move waiting to know what would be his father’s reaction. Daren, who was agitated, froze… Turned around slowly, still in disbelief of the voice he had just heard. At the door, Mariana had an open smile on her face, her black eyes were shining like it used to years before. During a few seconds – almost eternity – this is what happened: Daren was paralyzed by Mariana’s bright eyes, she was smiling at the door staring again at the only face her tricky mind would not allow her to forget, Tarik slowly sat on the steps while the silence remained. Only the seagulls dared to move outside…

But Mariana’s voice broke the silence:

- In my story, this is your cue to hold me.

Daren couldn’t move, but something in his eyes has changed. An old spark seemed to be suddenly born again, bringing a discrete smile, but a happy one.

- In my story, this is your cue to walk towards me.

Without a word, Mariana went out of her spot and walked to the living room getting closer to Daren. As she got close enough, she moved her face slightly barely moving her lips, asking what else should she do.

A few more seconds of these shinning eyes and eloquent silence…their eyes speaking louder than tongues ever could in all the years that passed. Daren and Mariana were just standing there, straightening out the reasons that brought them apart for such a long time, watching that sad movie inside each other’s eyes, while emotional Tarik just saw it all happening. Not a single word spoken.

Daren took his hand to Mariana’s face. She closed her eyelids and leaned her head against the big hand she had written about so many times. He moved his fingers around her eyes, her lips, pushed the silver hair strands out of her face and smiled. Mariana had tears in her eyes again, just like many times before, just like always. Daren have always had the power to move her just for being him. Daren’s look has always been her weakness, and his presence always her surrender.

Daren leaned his forehead against hers and said:

- What took so long…?

They both hugged crying.


Should I continue?


_jack & monica

"the long and winding road that leads to your door,

will never disappear, I've seen that road before
it always leads me here, lead me to your door."
Lennon & McCartney

Then you tell me, how can this be? How can these things happen to her, like this, out of the blue and end up like that? If I tell you, it'll sound like I’m lying. If it was with me they'd laugh and would lock me up in the mental home (not that she didn't feel like going in by herself). The fact is: things like this don't happen outside of a movie screen! Unless she's around...

It was a whole year of insanity: she was working hard to be normal, but suffering in silence to deal with the obsession. She didn't tell anyone about it, aside from her therapist, who never found a convincing enough answer for her, a prospect, nothing. It would be easy to say she was crazy, if all of this hadn't started regardless of her intentions, from a dream that she never asked to dream. This was exactly what arose the therapist's curiosity and, instead of actually treating her, she decided she would sit back and watch where that was going to end up. And that's why this was a lonesome distress. Everyday she would wake up and go to bed with the same idea buzzing her very thoughts, the same image rammed in her brains, but she would face her routine as if that was only a pin inside her shoe or a slightly tight pair of jeans: “it's bad, but I can take it”.

From all people she talked to, only one would bring her any peace. It was Naele – a friend that she met on Facebook, an older woman, writer, living overseas, with whom she had long daily conversations that would relieve the heavy weight of her obsession. Naele never even dreamed of her friend's anguish, they'd talk about politics, books, movies, screenplays till late at night, until the fatigue would get great enough to guarantee her a night without any dreams.

She pressed Skype's green button and waited, but no one answered. Maybe Naele was already in bed... She tried again. After three or four rings, someone answered it. It wasn't Naele.

- Hi
- Hi, who's this?
- Jack. I just got here and I heard the Skype ringing...um…I’m nosy.
- Ah... hey... how are you? Where's your mother?
- Good question... hold up.

After a while, Jack came back to the computer.

- I think she was abducted!
- hahahaha!
- There's nobody in the house. It's only you and me.
-That's fine. I'll talk to her tomorrow... thank you Jack.
- Are you going to bed?
- No, but I'm hanging up.
- What about me?
- What about?
- Is it that bad to talk to me?

That night, Jack undertook the task of helping her to get tired enough to sleep as if he had been delegated to this mission. He heard his mother tell him many stories about her friend, and somehow he already cherished the same admiration. That was how the first friendship's fruits had flourished with Naelle: the conversations with Jack had begun to be constant. Many times Naelle was in the office and Jack in his bedroom, both talking to her, and when Naelle was away, it was Jack who filled her nights with caring and laughter.

Anyway, Jack and Naelle were a palliative... a pain killer... a little Tylenol pill. Days still had twenty four hours, and the three or four hours spent with them were nothing in comparison to the other ones, when the obsession would strike mercilessly. Every pause at work, a Google search to check on the news or gossips on her obsession's target... every look in the mirror an imaginary conversation; every mile driven an impassioned scene, a kiss on the lips, a killer line, a wish to lock herself up so she would undergo a sleeping therapy until the world was gone.
When she lost a dear person, the pain pushed her to let her obsession aside so she could breath for a while. Once again, the relief of the pain lived in Naelle's voice and in the presence of Jack in her cell phone, her e-mails, her nights.

Jack was perfect, if it wasn't for his main three problems:
1. being the son of a dear friend
2. being immensely-hopelessly younger than her
3. not being that person who inhabited her mirror every day

Anyway, there were nights that turning off the computer was the only way she would escape temptation. There were moments that Jack stepped away from her, and she even started feeling jealous as she mixed longing and anger for being far away from him – in every way. There were days that a new suffering would add up to the usual, and its name was Jack.

What about the therapist? Nothing! The therapist was thanking the lord when Jack stepped into the scene. At least he was real. “Real? He's more than unreal! He is inconceivable! He doesn't exist, period!”
During these days, to open the Google page and occupy her mind with the image of Mr. Obsession, was the best remedy.
Time passed and little changed. Jack would come and go, as if sometimes he needed to stay away and sometimes he couldn't live without knowing of her existence. The old obsession kept taking her sleep away splitting her days between hours of lucidity and hours of insanity.

It was November when Naele invited her to spend the Thanksgiving week at her place in the mountains. The end of the year was always a time of little work and great sadness, that's why she accepted the invitation, even thinking about the possibility of finding work around there so she'd go on with her stay. “Who knows if the problems might get interdicted in the immigration and finally left behind?”


November 20th.

Monica, her notebook and her suitcase got to the door at Naele's house, in Mammoth Mountain. The cold felt obviously sharp-edged in the ski station this time of the year. All wrapped up in scarfs, gloves and hood Monica stretched her arm out of the car, and rang the bell right next to the gate.

- Hello?
- Hi, it's Monica.

The big iron gate opened up as if it was the Playboy Mansion, while she double-checked the address in the crimped up email she reached out from the bottom of her purse. In one year of conversation with Naele, she never knew that her friend lived in such a house. “If this is the winter house, I wonder what must her home look like?” She went up the long driveway till she got up to the entrance of the house, where a security guard received her. He opened the car door and asked her if she had any luggage.

- Inside the trunk...

- I'll take care of that.

Surreal…very surreal. She always imagined Naele like a simple woman, with her computer on in an improvised office next to the kitchen, the dishwasher on full speed while they spoke with each other... And Jack? She pictured Jack as a handsome but poorly dressed man, who would drink beer watching the game with his friends sitting on the green faded velvet couch. And why did she imagine all that? I wouldn’t know!

The guard opened the front door and told her to make herself comfortable. Before she could ask anything the door was shut down behind her and there she was all by herself in this huge, rustic living room, with a fireplace almost as tall as she was.

-Hello? Anybody there?

She started out by taking her gloves and coat off, started to unwrap the huge scarf when she heard the sound of a slamming door in another room. She left her things on a couch and followed the sound, walking around the house.

- Hello...?

The kitchen’s revolving doors flapped up open and Monica saw what would turn out to be a ghost: Barefoot, white t-shirt and jeans, messy hair, there he was: Mister Obsession himself with his ultragious blue eyes, his tanned skin, his amazing smile...

-Hi? - he said with a curiosity flair to his tone.

She took an eternity to be able to answer, so he tried again.

-Is everything OK?

-Err...hi. I…I think I'm in the wrong house…I have the address here, but I think I...

More surreal! It could only happen with her, I told you so! She traveled for eighteen hours, got a rented car and drove up the mountain, and the jet leg was not helping her understand herself. What was that creature doing in that address? Was he friends with Jack? Was he a ghost? Was she dreaming again and would finally wake up and find herself back in the plane anytime soon?

She could barely move.

- Are you alright?
- No. I mean... I don't know.

She walked up to the living room where she had left her stuff behind, got the paper from the purse as he got near to read it.

- Give it to me...This is the right address. It's here.

But he frowned when he read the name printed on the paper, unfolded it nervously, read the whole email.

- Monica? You're not Monica!

Even more confused than before, she answered yes…she was Monica, what made him react not that well.

- You're kidding right?
- No... why would I? I AM Monica! But how would you know?
- I live here. Jack. Me.

Hello? The world fell apart!
Jack and Mr. Obsession were the same person? During a whole year she was splitting her attention between Jack and Jack without knowing so? During a whole year she made Jack and Jack switch places to relieve the passion in her heart from one of them and the obsession for... himself?
But Mr. Obsession's mother's name was not Naele! No... it was Meredith N. Lindermann. Oh…Meredith NAELE Lindermann, mother of Jack Lindermann, born Jared Nilsen Lindermann –- Hollywood hunk, superstar, top of the list, one of the most desired single men in the showbiz.
And what about the therapist? Fuck the therapist! Now everything was even more confusing...or not.

- Jack? It can't be...
She laughed and got closer to him but he stepped back.
- You're not Monica. Monica's old.
- I am old.
- No you're not. Monica is my mother's age.
- No. Your mother is sixty-two, I'm forty-five.
- You just can't be serious.
- What?
- Look at you. I spent a year thinking you looked just like my mother, and you show up here like that...?
- Like what?
- Like that! –- he pointed to her, looking up and down –- look at your face! Look at your body! Look at your... everything...why didn't you...

Growling in anger, he pressed his lips and punched the sideboard next to the couch scaring Monica.
- Jack...calm down... why so angry?
- I am so very much angry. I'm hating you, Monica. You have no idea. NO idea...

She couldn't even recover from her first blow and now she was trying to make sense of one more part of this crazy story. He got even louder:

- Do you know how many nights I wanted to smash my own head against the wall until I stop thinking of you? Do you know how many times I almost got into a plane to tell you that “fuck it if you are a hundred and ten years old and you're rotting away, because it's you I want to stay with? Do you have any idea of the things I had to go through? Of how much I drank myself? I went to a schrink, for fuck sake!
- Jack...

He got close to her face, with a heavy hatred expression printed all over it:

- Do you know how many stupid women I went out with, knowing it would take forty years for them to get even close to the person you are? Do you know how many women I've fucked to try to like somebody? And now you show up, twenty years younger...
- Twenty years older than you.
- It's seventeen. And fuck it!
- And a friend of your mother's.
- Screw that as well... for fuck's sake, Monica, I turned into garbage! Why do you think I went through many periods when I wouldn't show up online? Because I had. to let. you go. you see? I had to try to find something else to do, cause anything would be better than torture myself. But you know what? There isn't anything!

She smiled as she shook her head...
- And now, looking at you there, all beautiful, makes me even angrier to think that you had that stupid crush on that guy you wouldn't tell me who he was! Before it was okay... you're my mother's age and he must be old as hell, so, it's your problem! But it's not like that, is it? Who is he, Monica?
- Jack, I just arrived...
- Who is he, Monica?
- I'm tired, on jet leg, just saw your face for the first time, I haven't even pulled myself together, and you're throwing the most absurd jealousy fit I've ever seen!
- Absurd my ass, Monica! I'm mad! I'm feeling like an idiot, a fool, betrayed to the bone!
- Jack...
- What bunch of BS! Betrayed by you and Mrs. Meredith who deserves to die!
- Jack...come here.

She got closer to him, tried to give him a hug, and
he got away abruptly, pushing her arms away.

- I don't need any hug from you! Get away!

Without a word, she turned away grabbing her purse and coat.

- Where are you going?
- Where's your mother Jack?
- She'll only be here at night.
She kept walking.
- So tell her that I'll be back when she gets here.
- Where are you going?
She walked up to the door and answered without looking back.
- Just tell her!


November 21st

- Mom, where's Monica?
Without taking her eyes away from the computer, a way too calm Meredith (oops! Naele) answers:
- I don't know... You tell me.
- Hasn't she come back?
- Have you seen her around?
- Mom, I don't believe she hasn't even called you. Speak!

Naele spun her chair around slowly towards him, got her cigarette case, offering it to him.
- Smoke?
- No mother, I want to know where Monica is, that's it.
- Did you try her cell phone?
- She won't answer. Did you talk to her?

She lit her cigarette, had a few puffs breathing the smoke out slowly.

- If it was you, would you answer it, Jack?
- Mom, she's alone somewhere. She SLEPT alone somewhere. Tell me you know where she is.
- I know where she is, Jack, but I won't tell you and you won't go after her.
- I need to.
- No. SHE needs some time. You lay on her all of your little speech and wouldn't let her speak. You screamed and got fierce because you think you suffered so much, son... but she went through a lot of worse things. She didn't have a speech but could have had a heart attack the second she saw you.
- What do you mean? Why?

Scanning through the words she was going to say, Naelle told Jack what the friend told her, crying at a Cafe downtown. The entire obsession tale, since the very first dream, till the moment Monica noticed she was in love with Jack and tried to avoid it. All the conflicts that she had to live during that whole year for she thought she was crazy, in the beginning she was in love with a picture, then she was infatuated with her friend's son, twenty years younger...

- And what do you think of all this mom?

- I think you two lost a lot of time. You could have asked me to see a picture of Monica; I have access to millions of them. You could have told me what was going on, I would have made you two meet each other before. She could have told about one of those passions of hers and I would have helped – with any one of you two...

- You could have thought it was a bad thing that she was your friend, and the age difference, could have been mad at me, I don't know.

- Jack... you're my beloved son. She's my beloved friend, and if she wasn't, I wouldn't tell her to come over in the first place. I want to see the both of you happy.

Jack gave his mother a kiss as she held him in her arms for a long time.

- How dumb can you be, Jack Lindermann...
- What do I do now, mom?
- Go take a shower and look your best.
- But mom...
- I'm telling you...do as I say! go!

As soon as he left the office, Naele went out. As she got inside the car, she spoke to the guard:

- My friend Monica will arrive soon. Put her bags in Jack's bedroom's living area without letting her know, and tell them that I'll be back on the 24th to receive the guests.

When Monica arrived, the house was empty and silent. She walked around the rooms and didn't find anybody... Walked into the kitchen, went through many rooms, walked up the hallway. There was some music coming from one of the bedrooms. She then went up to the door, turned the door nob around slowly, the sound was getting closer. It was a small living room with a couch, TV, pictures of Jack on the shelves... and another door that she tried to open but was locked. She knocked.

- Jack?
No answer.
- Jack? Open. It's me.

She knocked again. Cleck. The door was unlocked. The door nob spun around slowly. The door was open ajar.
With his hair all wet, no shirt, a “half Jack” showed up.

- Hi.
- Hi... I need to tell you something that you don't know.
- Hum... I'm afraid of the things I don't know.

Both were leaning over the door, half of Monica inside, half Jack outside, pausing words, short phrases, both of them speaking softly, almost in a whispering tone, very close to each other. Jack pretending to not care much about what she was saying. Monica lowered her head to speak.

- That guy I told you about...
- Hum...
- … that I fell in love with hopelessly...no return...?
- Yes...?
She looked up to his face.
- He has incredible eyes...
- Really?
- Yeah... and a smile.
- Hum.
- ... it's almost a proof of God’s existence...

Jack smiled with his sparkling eyes and teased her:

- What else...?
- His body...
- What about it?

She leaned over her forehead and touched it against his chest:

- It's too much for me... Jack.
- No it's not... - holding her – …tell me more.
- His hands?
- What about them?
- It seems that if I give him my hand... if my hand fits inside of his... and it does, I can go on forever and I’d never be afraid of anything again.

Jack held her hand, covered it with his own, and entwined his finger with hers. She smiled, and with the other hand she grabbed his jeans’ waist band and pulled him close to her.

- But even if he didn't look like that, I...
- You...?
- ...I’d be crazy about him anyway...
- Come here, old lady...

He pulled Monica inside the bedroom.


There are things that don't happen outside of a movie screen, but I swear: they happen to her!

Now you tell me: Is it life that imitates art, or art that listens to the livings' dreams?

This is a work of fiction, any similarity or likeness to any events or persons or Hollywood hunks living or dead is purely coincidental.

©Mercedes Gameiro - October 6th 2008
Translation by @AliceSalles with a tiny tiny colaboration of @mgmyself


...interesting times

“Excuse me.”

She had her iPod playing, headphones on, and didn't notice his presence.

“Excuse me!...”

He insisted as he tapped on her shoulder, and pointed to the chair right next to hers. She pulled one of the headphones out as if she was in a hurry, a bit clumsy, paused the song that was playing and fixed herself trying to give him more room.

“Sorry, I didn't see you...”

“It's alright!”

He tried to walk through accidentally rubbing himself against her legs and the chair before them and, even with all that space the first class offers, he had so many things in his hands she had to squeeze herself against her chair so he could go through. She then raised one hand:

“Wait. I think it's easier if...”

He stepped back, bungled up with his things – a backpack, a notebook case, a bag with books, a leather jacket -, she turned the music off, leaving the iPhone on the chair's armrest, got her purse that was on the floor placing it on the cushion, got up and let him pass.
As soon as he sat down, he saw her picture on the iPhone's screen, frowned and lifted his head to get a better look at her. She grabbed her purse again and placed it on the floor close to her chair so she'd sit right back down. After fixing all of his mess, he opened the window and looked to the sky trying to foresee how the flight would end up being like. She put the headphones back on and took a deep breath, sensing the perfume that came from her travel companion.

“... gosh he smells good! ”

She thought smiling, still not looking at the fellow's face by her side. Every time she walked into a plane she remembered the bus trips from her teenage years; when some man would sit by her side she'd close her eyes and imagine how would it feel to be in a plane, in the first class, with people that smelled good and looked nice. She always knew that her place in this world was a bit higher. And it was.

The flight attendant offered them a glass of champagne and when she lifted her eyes to thank her, she noticed the beautiful brunette's hypnotized look, melting away like butter on a hot bun. She smiled her amazing smile and looked at him. He turned his face down, hiding behind his arm as he messed with his hair, shying away. She pulled one of her headphones out.

“Did you see that?”

“I think so...”

He frowned looking in her eyes and gave her a very timid smile. Then, showing some uncertainty, he said:

“I swear this is not a pick up line…but… I think I know you.”

She knew who he was -- everybody knew who he was -- but she wasn't really sure HE would know her.

“I don't think so...”

“Hmmm... are you sure?”

“I might look like someone.”

Not happy with the answer he said:


She looked to that familiar face one more time, trying to see the traits that she knew but not from such a small distance, checked his strange green eyes once again, lowered her head and put the headphones back on. He kept his eyes on her for a bit longer, got his phone and seemed to type something. Trying to disguise the embarrassment, she also got her phone to Tweet one last time before taking off. There was a mention to her name:

LivesNowhere: @HeloiZZ someone stole your iPhone.

She answered:

HeloiZZ: @LivesNowhere what do you mean?

This is the dialogue that came afterwards:

LivesNowhere: @HeloiZZ I swear, there's a person right next to me using your picture as wallpaper!

HeloiZZ: @LivesNowhere Really? So pay attention: If you snore tonight, I'll kill you!

LivesNowhere: @HeloiZZ If you don't turn around and face me right now, I won't let you sleep.

She laughed out loud... put her phone down and turned around offering him her right hand.

“Nice meeting you, Heloisa.”

He held her hand smiling back.

“My Pleasure...I thought you were going to pretend you didn't know me.”

She smiled

“I was going to... if you did!”

He lowered his head and typed again on his phone. She then, full of curiosity, got back to her twitter to check it out.

“To whom it may concern: @HeloiZZ is a lot prettier in person.”

She smiled without moving her eyes and wrote:

“Girls, @LivesNowhere smells delicious!”

The flight attendant's voice rang from the speakers: “Ladies and Gentlemen, please turn off any electronic gear.”

They turned their phones off, looked at each other smiling, and got to know one another using a lot more than 140 characters.


**This is a translation for THIS , thanks to @alicesalles, my personal translator when I'm lazy.



sometimes i think there is another woman inside of me
and she suffers.
all the happiness and plenitude in my life mean nothing to her.
she suffers and she cries for she needs to find her love.

she tells me he suffers as well.
she says he claims and prays and cries out our names so maybe we follow the sound...

yes i know! i know how he smells like and the sound of his voice
i know his eyes and his hands
but his face is unclear.

she makes me wait for him at the door with the heaviest weight on my shoulders.
it's like he is running towards me and i can even hear his steps.

we are both lost in this sharp emptiness.

and we are here.
i am here
stuck at this door
tears in my eyes
wondering where?
wondering why?
why does she need me to cry her tears?




So there you are...
I listen to your words but not to your voice
I can see your surroundings

I see your days
I dream your nights
I know you are
and I am...not

You're still my ghost


For the record

I know you're miserable.


haunted heart

there's no peace in the night if you come to me
but it's hell when you are not here

you smile (in my dreams) and I feel safe
but there's no calm when you're gone

I keep longing for your words
for I need something to say

you only stare

your eyes warm me
your stare scares me
your silence kills me

your absence is death

oh please...

haunt me




- I’ve been thinking… aren’t you afraid of this relationship? I mean, you being older than him, don’t you think it is a risk? Like, he can leave you for a younger woman some day or something?

"Listen…we are born prepared for “ENDINGS”. We need to leave our mom’s breasts, the bottle, the pacifier, we need to leave home to go to school some day…we spend our lives experiencing different kinds of pain. So the answer is: no, I'm not afraid of that.
Besides…every love story ends up some day, love may last, but love stories end up sooner or later, and there’s no way out: they end up in tears. One of them leaves, or one of them dies…
I’m not afraid of that. You know what scares me to death? Alzheimer! Alzheimer scares me…because I can’t even think about the possibility of forgetting his smile. I can’t. Forget the way he looks at me? or what he smells like? the sound of his voice? God forbid.
Maybe he leaves me some day, you know, it’s possible. But the time we spent together will live with me. Not to recognize the man I loved most in my entire life? THIS is scary. "


_dreams of darkness

"golden slumbers fill your eyes,
smiles awake you when you rise.
sleep pretty baby do not cry,
and I will sing a lullaby."

lennon & mccartney

What if he wakes up after dreaming of this woman, and he can't understand what she meant?

- "Don't forget my face...look again...don't forget my face."

As if it's possible to forget.
What if he can't remember, and he woke up, he put on his shorts, t-shirt, sneakers and went jogging? What if his cell phone rang ten times, and he thought he'd hear some important news about someone he doesn't know? What if the coffee he ordered tasted like something new, and he was not able to know what it was? What if every time he looked at the chair in front of him he thought someone would sit and talk to him?
- Hey, don't forget my face.
- What?
- Don't forget...

What if he woke up after ten, and never went jogging? What if breakfast was bad and the day seemed to be horrible from the start? What if he saw the picture on the wall and found it strange? What if he wants to replace it now, for some other colors...as if he knew the face that should be painted instead, but could not find it?

What if at this point he thinks he's got a strange day? What if he thinks there's something missing? And if he feels the emptiness that was not there yesterday, and everywhere he looks there is a blank he cannot fill in?

And what if SHE lays down again, as soon as the night gets colder, and she closes her eyes with a heart ache? What if a tear comes out along with a tiny smile, as if she knew why she's crying or what's the new reason for her to be happy? What if she falls asleep, and her conscience flies to a place she can not reach? What if his face comes out this deep immense darkness, and the voice [she knows] enters her brain saying: "Don't forget my face.." ?

What if encounters were possible outside the darkness?