terça-feira, 1 de julho de 2014

Saudade de quando o principal problema do meu cabelo eram as pontas duplas, o drama do estômago era só uma aziazinha depois de um patê de alho, a cólica era só na TPM e a TPM era só na TPM.


Hoje sonhei com você, 
mas não acordei feliz.
Nem no sonho você me quis.


segunda-feira, 12 de maio de 2014


He'll find a way. It may be at work, at the gym, at the cooking course. You are minding your own business and he comes out of nowhere, only to raffle off your peace and delete the tranquility of your life. Forget the doldrums. He'll get to shake you structures. He'll insist, poke, tease and set up the net (on and offline) to catch you, mermaid. And you'll think he's all yours, woman! This is how he will make you feel like: a woman. He will turn you inside out and leave you glowing, smiling at the world and laughing at the universe, after all, he is the shit. Your skin will look good and you will make up for the lost time, as your aunt would say.

It works really well if you are in a half assed relationship, with no prospect of wild nights in unusual places or even that good old missionary in the middle of the night. This is the right man to spice up your mac and cheese. That quick cheating that makes you remember how it is to be desired, worshiped, adored and hail your marriage. You will give your super busy hubby some time off as you go crazy with the Facebook man. But if you are free, unencumbered, ready for all and something more, be careful: the thing is addictive and you'll want to check it out all the time. And that is only allowed from Monday to Friday during business hours. The Facebook Man is temporarily unavailable right on weekends.

We are facing a man who is pure pleasure. It's like after like, after like! It's joy, it's Facebook. You don't show him much of yourself. Actually, you show almost nothing but your best parts, which to him are your private parts. After all, that's all he knows about you. Wait for the hottest sexting of your life. "In box" messages in the middle of the board meeting that will have you turning blue, dying of heat to the point of having to ask for a glass of ice water and another. But if you get sick, for instance, or need some advice, run to the 'husband', never to him. He hates complaints. His business is to listen to whispers and moans. Whining? Only in bed, begging for more!

He does not want to hear about your interview, your dog, your boss or your cake. He wants you all, but not whole. He wants you lying, naked, open legs and closed mouth. It could even be considered a twitter man: few characters and no character. But no, he never lied. It was you that never asked. You should have seen it before adding him to your life. He is the Facebook man: he's supposed to be liked and shared.


The Glass Slipper Syndrome.

This is a new thing that has become regular among women in their 30's: abandoning the prince after the ball. Disappearing, vanishing, scampering away suddenly after the big dance. The girl affected by this evil hops into the carriage, turns the runaway mode on and flees the scene. She does not give the prince an opportunity for a "good night, Cinderella" let alone a "good morning, Princess." Do not be a fool; this is not a fairy tale. It could turn out to be one but the poor girl would never know. After all, she suffers from the Glass Slipper Syndrome.
As far as I know - not that I’m an expert - the disorder resembles a widespread panic attack that causes the carrier of the syndrome to flee before going back to be Cinderella and much longer before the prince turns back into a frog. After that, there is no bountiful fairy god-fucking-mother able to break the disenchantment! The bad girl gets dressed and starts running away without any fear of losing her knickers or a shoe along the way. She does not mind she might be missing a great opportunity to be happy, at least until the second page of this story, but the nut job disappears in the middle of the first page. That makes things even harder.
I have heard of extreme cases in which the girl simply gives up going to the ball because of pure lack of interest. There is no evil stepmother or jealous sister to hide the invitation. She will not go to the ball because she knows the waltz will be too good to be true and she has already broken many heels while dancing for nothing.
But why do such things happen? Asking a few friends and friends of friends, I found out that in this phase of disenchantment, although no one believes in such wasted fables, fragments of several of them act on our (oops!) unconscious in a way they may trigger the syndrome. They are:

1 - Mirror, mirror - the girl does not want to be seen in daylight, with running makeup and melted heart;
2 - Sleeping beauty-she snores and is ashamed of the embarrassment;
3 - Alice's Madness – the most frequent reason - sick and tired of trying to play the princess she has never been but already is, she wonders what will come after that first dance. It is involuntary, she simply imagines that other dances may come, or not. She may get involved, or not. She may fall in love or not. And there may be a huge mismatch and she does not want that ever again in her life. She decides to make the story short and after that "quickie", she quickly flees. It’s like she keeps on hearing the White Rabbit saying: "It's late! It's late!”  

Whatever the reason, the syndrome is so harsh that, at the slightest sign of enchantment, the girl embodies Julia Roberts. I’m not saying Julia in Pretty Woman but in Runaway Bride, afraid of everything going wrong, or going too right! Runaway dumb, very dumb, because then she suffers more, wondering what could have been. The magic ends and a story that does not begin cannot have a happy ending.


Take up the cudgels for somebody, but do it in moderation. 

I confess: I'm addicted to that crap. At first, you feel more generous, sociable, safe and all. You take one gulp, stick the chest out and go for it!. You raise your voice and clash with anyone. You cannot hold back, it is unstoppable! Your blood boils and then you realize, it's done, already out there. Once again you interfered, meddled, helped someone you supposed needed your help ... and got screwed up again.

Have you ever noticed that it happens most of the times we take the cudgels for somebody? Think of a situation in which someone is being clearly overwhelmed. We go there, wear ourselves out, get stressed out and find ourselves exposed to defend the "poor one". We get deeply angry at the oppressor, promise to never look at the asshole's face again and when you start to calm yourself down, thinking that at least , your good deed for the day is done, then you see oppressed and oppressor laughing together, happily. “What about me?” you ask indignantly. You are just the one who went postal for nothing. Err... Does this only happen to me?
When you decide to play the defender-of-weak-and-oppressed without anyone asking, you may not end up being the hero of the story. Instead, you are just the jerk who is labeled "Joe Bloggs" people who are fully capable of defending themselves and just don't do it because they do not want to (or because they have another way of dealing with the situation, or they are simply waiting for the right moment to pounce).

People are not as fragile as they seem to be and when you stand up for someone who is not in need, you are judging yourself better, stronger and more important than this person. That means: it is just your ego acting once again. This has nothing to do with generosity, we must admit.

Besides this whole thing being highly addictive, it is very difficult to perceive. Because no one will dare to warn you, be sure of that. This is something you have to figure out and find a way to work on it on your own. Having identified this flaw (which is not always genetic), the first step to get out of this situation is to accept the fact that you are powerless when it comes to other people’s issues. There is nothing you can do to make the oppressed ones feel better. It is quite on the contrary actually. But what is the next step? How to keep calm in the face of tremendous injustice to someone! We can only join a support group to help ourselves. As this group has not yet been established, I only see one solution: get away from it! Stand down!

Okay, you can protect elders, children and pets. But for all of other situations involving "species at risk", I suggest an exercise in self-control, one day at a time. Things work out on their own. You do not need to share your opinion on everything, make a statement on all matters or interfere with anyone. Whenever somebody does something you do not agree with, leave the room. Give the oppressed one the opportunity of self-defense and if he or she does nothing about it, wait until someone else stands up for the cause. Experience, for once, the sweet taste of not being involved in confusion. You will see that everything will fall into the right place and you will not need to clash with anyone. It is ridiculously liberating. You should give it a try.

Sexism is the New Racism

He was a friend of a friend. We had met at a few parties and when it came to my attention, we were up all night caught in pleasant chatting featuring virtual toasts with real beer! Lots of pub philosophy in bed (each in their own) and laughter. Soon, we were texting, then it evolved to phone calls (wow!) and then to accepting a dinner invitation which was just a matter of time.

You know that person who is full of experience? So many trips, experiences and interesting stories to tell, I never imagined that he would snatch defeat in the jaws of victory with such a raw comment. Force of habit? Traces of a fundamentally sexist creation? Just an innocent slip, just kidding? I don't know. All I know is that when I heard him saying "Don't you tell me you wash, iron and you are good at cooking. You will be the perfect woman. Then I'll marry you! " It was like there was this "BUZZZZ!" ringing inside of me, talent show style. "WRONG ANSWER". There was no way'. Although the remark came with the best of intentions, it was an instantaneous turn off for me. Hearing something like that from an intelligent, thoughtful and handsome grown man was a total disappointment. He meant that I was "marriage material", considering that this was a super compliment, but that commonplace comment made me lose my interest.

I cannot say for sure what discouraged me the most: if it was the "then I'll marry you" or if it was the thing of wanting a perfect housewife to call his own. I'm not against marriage, but "Free the bride!" – by Simone de Beauvoir - echoed in my mind at that moment. Without swallowing my pride but as gently as possible, I tried to explain to him how much that comment had let me down and gave him my reasons. My overreaction may have come from a sum of several factors: a small trauma from an 'almost-marriage', influence of my past readings of Regina Navarro, a good deal of intolerance or all of that mixed together. The thing is, from that moment on, the conversation - which had been fantastic for a few weeks - turned into endless sexist discussions sexist (he insisted on justifying himself saying that "man this", "woman that") exterminating any resemblance of horniness (mutually, I guess). We let it go. Not the chat but the thrill. I wish we had used our time to talk about sex, or even to do it without major philosophical clashes.
I remembered this story because I read that for the first time in Brazil, someone had been granted with the right of paternity leave of 6 months. Unfortunately, it was an isolated case and it was only possible because the child's mother had died. Still, I was very happy with the news. I think that the future win of that right is the beginning of a true revolution in the quest for equal rights for men and women in Brazil.

We still confuse the maternal instinct with an obligation to care for the offspring on our own. I think this "skill" that women have with kids comes from pure necessity. Who said we are more acquainted with poo? This is something learned with time as well as wielding a drill and making a hole in the wall is also a matter of practice. I imagine an alternate leave (the first 3 months for the mother, the other 3 to the father) would grant more contact between father and son and, in addition, it would finally put women and men on an equal footing, both in the work market, and in the division of household chores. This already happens in a similar way in some European countries, such as Sweden and Germany. Take a look at it. It would be the rise of a new generation of more present parents and therefore, more participant husbands. Only on these terms would I consider the term "marriage material" as a compliment What do you think about this?

Don’t abuse the snooze

Have you ever wondered why you extend sleep and postpone life in infinite loops?

It's midnight and she is wearing the same clothes she had on in the morning. Lying by her side, her faithful companion, the always on and available laptop computer. She thinks about work, talks to someone on Facebook chat, thousands of other windows open at the same time. The door, closed. After going up and down the timeline frantically, she realizes that she is reviewing posts continuously and gives up. She hits the shower.
She'll only have a few hours of dreamless sleep, 7 or 8 snoozes on a cell phone that tries in vain to wake her up and a big fat 'no' echoing in her mind, until an "okay, then" pushes her slowly out of bed and drags her to the next shower. After that the choice of clothing, coffee, some vitamin pills, makeup in the car, trying to change the way every day to have the feeling that she is doing something different. Same songs trying to bring some excitement and nothing new on the way to post on Instagram and make life seem more interesting.

Good morning to the valet. Good morning to the receptionist. Good afternoon to the boss, because even though it's still morning, according to the manual of good corporate etiquette that's what you say when you arrive after the "big boss". Then many work hours will go on until she sees herself again with the same outfit she had on in the morning, in bed, next to the laptop to piss someone off. It’s just a matter of hours until she’s hitting the snooze button again.

If you relate to the sad routine of the nap girl or have ever gone through a similar phase, you know what it is like. Sometimes it seems that we press the snooze button in life. Leaving this state requires a deep willingness to say "okay, then", even if you are grumpy and crawl toward the light to come back to loving it. So, I created the Snooze Index of Love to Life. If you are putting off waking up a lot, something needs to be done: taking up a sport, dancing, meditating, traveling, a new job, a new love, anything that gives you joy. That little nap to keep on dreaming a good dream once in a while, besides being welcome, is extremely important, but we cannot leave life for later. Time is short. Wake up. Just live.

sexta-feira, 20 de setembro de 2013

Waze. Amor eterno. Amor verdadeiro.

Praça da Sé, hoje, 9h da manhã. Jamais cogitaria esse caminho. Estava ok.

Ele me leva a lugares em que nunca sonhei estar (não a essa hora da manhã). Quando estou em dúvida, aponta uma direção e, cada vez que discordamos, ele me abre um novo leque de caminhos a seguir. 

Ele respeita o tempo alheio e essa é uma das minhas principais exigências em qualquer tipo de relacionamento. A cada dia, uma surpresa. Waze é um fanfarrão que até me faz dar umas voltinhas à toa de vez em quando, só pra me fazer rir (talvez de ódio, mas na paixão tudo vale). Acho graça quando ele chama os viadutos de 'viádutos'. Sotaquezinho gringo, sabe? Fofo.  

Ele é atencioso, parece ler minha mente. Mal entro no carro e ele já pergunta: “Vai ao trabalho? Tudo pronto? Vamos!”. Ele me domina. Faço quase tudo o que ele pede com aquele jeitinho e sabe por quê? Porque ele sempre, sempre, sempre me faz chegar lá. 

Se você ainda não tem o Waze no seu smartphone, não perca tempo. O aplicativo é indispensável para quem vive em São Paulo e faz longos percursos.
Existe, sim, amor em SP, Criolo.
Eu <3 Waze.

terça-feira, 20 de agosto de 2013

A vida não pode ser só isso

É meia-noite e ela está com a mesma roupa que colocou de manhã. Deitado ao seu lado, fiel companheiro, o sempre aceso e disponível notebook. Pensa em trabalho, conversa com alguém no chat(o) do facebook, mil janelas paralelas abertas. A porta, fechada. Depois de um sobe e desce frenético na timeline, percebe que está revendo posts em looping e desiste. Vai para o banho.

Foto: Alessandra Tolc- www.photolc.com.br

Leia e curta no blog da Revista: http://epoca.globo.com/colunas-e-blogs/ruth-de-aquino/noticia/2013/08/abusar-do-snooze-e-prejudicial-vida.html

Ou continue lendo por aqui aqui:

Serão apenas algumas horas de um sono sem sonhos, 7 ou 8 snoozes em um celular que tenta, em vão, despertá-la e um 'não' bem grande ecoando em sua mente, até que um "tá bom, vai" a empurre lentamente para fora da cama e a arraste até o próximo banho, seguido pela escolha da roupa, o café, algumas pílulas de vitamina, a maquiagem no carro, o caminho que tenta mudar todos os dias pra ter a sensação de que está fazendo algo diferente, as mesmas músicas tentando cavar alguma animação e nenhuma novidade no caminho pra instagramar e fazer a vida parecer mais interessante.
Bom dia ao manobrista. Bom dia à recepcionista. Boa tarde ao chefe, porque é de manhã, mas diz o manual da boa coxinhice corporativa que é isso que se diz quando se chega depois do “patrão”. Daí, vão se seguir muitas horas de trabalho até que ela se veja novamente com a mesma roupa da manhã, na cama, ao lado do notebook para chatear (com) alguém. Poucas horas até o primeiro snooze do dia.
Se você se identificou com a triste rotina da moça da soneca ou já passou por uma fase parecida alguma vez, sabe como é. Às vezes, parece que a gente dá snooze na vida. Sair dessa onda requer uma profunda vontade de falar um “tá bom, vai”, mesmo que mal humorado, e rastejar na direção da luz pra voltar a amar muito tudo isso.
Por isso, criei o Índice Snooze de Amor à Vida. Se você está adiando muito o seu despertar, algo precisa ser feito: a prática de um esporte, uma dança, meditação, curso, um novo trabalho, um novo amor, qualquer coisa que lhe dê alegria. Aquela sonequinha pra continuar um bom sonho de vez em quando, além de bem-vinda é extremamente importante, mas não dá pra deixar a vida pra depois. O tempo urge. Acorde. Viva.

por Renata Gervatauskas

terça-feira, 10 de abril de 2012

The Man I Love

Someday he’ll come along The man I love And he’ll be big and strong The man I love And when he comes my way I’ll do my best to make him stay He’ll look at me and smile I’ll understand And in a little while He’ll take my hand And though it seems absurd I know we both won’t say a word Maybe I shall meet him Sunday Maybe Monday, maybe not Still I’m sure to meet him one day Maybe Tuesday will be my good news day He’ll build a little home Just meant for two From which I’ll never roam Who would, would you? And so, all else above, I’m waiting for the man I love

Hindi Zahra, again.

domingo, 1 de abril de 2012

Carta de amor no Oásis de Bethânia

Não mexe comigo
que eu não ando só
eu não ando só
que eu não ando só

Eu tenho zumbi, besouro, chefe dos tupis. Sou tupinambá. Tenho os erês, caboclo boiadeiro, mãos de cura, morubixabas, cocares, arco-íris, zarabatanas, curare, flechas e altares. A velocidade da luz no escuro da mata escura, o breu, silêncio, a espera… Eu tenho Jesus, Maria e José. Todos os pajés em minha companhia. O menino Deus brinca e dorme nos meus sonhos. O poeta me contou.

Não misturo, não me dobro. A rainha do mar anda de mãos dadas comigo. Ensina o baile das ondas e canta, canta, canta pra mim. É do ouro de Oxum que é feita a armadura que guarda meu corpo, garante meu sangue e minha garganta. O veneno do mal não acha passagem. Em meu coração Maria acende sua luz e me aponta o caminho.

Me sumo no vento, cavalgo no raio de Iansã. Giro o mundo, viro, reviro. Tô no recôncavo, quem fez. Voo entre as estrelas, brinco de ser uma. Traço o Cruzeiro do Sul com a tocha da fogueira de João menino. Rezo com as 3 Marias. Vou além. Me recolho no esplendor das nebulosas, descanso nos vales, montanhas. Durmo na forja de algum. Mergulho no calor da lava dos vulcões, corpo vivo de Xangô.

Não ando no breu…
Nem ando na treva…
É por onde eu vou
que o santo me leva
Não ando no breu…
Nem ando na treva…
É por onde eu vou
que o santo me leva

Medo não me alcança, no deserto me acho. Faço cobra morder o rabo, escorpião virar pirilampo. Meus pés recebem bálsamos: Unguentos suave das mãos de Maria, irmã de Marta e Lázaro, no oásis de Bethânia. Pensou que ando só? Atente ao tempo. Não começa nem termina, é nunca, é sempre. É tempo de reparar na balança de nobre cobre que o rei equilibra. Fulmina-me justo. Deixa nua a justica.

Eu não provo do teu fel
Eu não piso no teu chão
E pra onde você for
Não leva meu nome não
E pra onde você for
Não leva meu nome não
Eu não provo do teu fel
Eu não piso no teu chão
Pra onde você for
Não leva meu nome não
E pra onde você for
Não leva meu nome não

Onde vai valente? Você secou. Seus olhos insones secaram. Não veem brotar a relva que cresce livre e verde, longe da tua cegueira. Seus ouvidos se fecharam a qualquer música, a qualquer som. Nem o bem nem o mal pensam em ti. Ninguem te escolhe. Você pisa na terra, mas nao a sente, apenas pisa. Apenas vaga sobre o planeta. E já nem ouve as teclas do teu piano. Você está tão mirrado que nem o diabo te ambiciona. Não tem alma. Você é o oco do oco do oco do sem-fim do mundo.

O que é teu já tá guardado
Não sou eu que vou lhe dar,
não sou eu que vou lhe dar,
não sou eu que vou lhe dar.
O que é teu já tá guardado
Não sou eu que vou lhe dar,
não sou eu que vou lhe dar,
não sou eu…

Eu posso engolir você, só pra cuspir depois. Minha fome é matéria que você não alcança. Desde o leite do peito de minha mãe até o sem-fim dos versos, versos, versos, que brotam no poeta em toda poesia sob a luz da lua que deita na palma da inspiração de Caymmi. Se choro, quando choro, minha lágrima cai é pra regar o capim que alimenta a vida. Chorando eu refaço as nascentes que você secou. Se desejo, o meu desejo faz subir marés de sal e sortilégio.

Vivo de cara pro vento, na chuva. E quero me molhar. O terço de Fátima e o cordão de Ghandi cruzam meu peito: sou como a haste fina, que qualquer brisa verga, mas nenhuma espada corta.

Não mexe comigo
que eu não ando só
eu não ando só
que eu não ando só
Não mexe não
Não mexe comigo
que eu não ando só
eu não ando só
que eu não ando só

Não mexe comigo…


segunda-feira, 12 de março de 2012

At the same time

Here comes the time
For my heart to heal the past
From now and then
There will be the good and the best
Oh when your eyes and mine
Can see the same
Our love could last
Should I follow you?

Yes I remember flowers
Sent in blue skies
And you with your sweet smile
With your sweet smile
Holding me tight

You told me give your self away
And i would buy yourself
Knowing that your touch could heal my heart
I should die
I should die in your arms right now
And give it all
Give it all to you

You're my precious memory
I'm getting down on my knees
All that i've got is love for you
I should die
I should die in your arms
Oh, love is so beautiful and cruel at the same time
At the same time, at the same time
Oh your love is beautiful and cruel at the same time good at the same time