eterna matéria in contradição

Enfim, às vezes dói bastante mas depois melhora..

eu não sei oq fazer, sei q não to bem. mas tbm, pq não estaria? isolada do mundo, numa tela presa, sem motivação, caminhando parada. e a direção antes clara e atraente, me desespera, e se eu falar piora. a ausência minha de mim mesma, falta felicidade, mas o inferno são os outros, falou um escritor, se fala tanto nos meus pensamentos, q parece q tem uma multidão ao meu redor, não preciso nem pensar. a vida. quando já é hora de ir embora? eu sei, "como", mas o "quando" pode ser mais além até pq algo no meu ser diz mais um dia, e essa é unica explicação q eu chego, pra entender o dormir e o acordar. pq eu preciso acordar? quando minha mente já conclui que não quer. então, algo inacessivel na minha mente, ou simplesmente nem mente tem, algo aqui, de matéria, ainda quer manter se viva. ah, até quando?

“You are sad,” the Knight said in an anxious tone: “let me sing you a song to

comfort you.”

“Is it very long” Alice asked, for she had heard a good deal of poetry that day.

“It’s long,” said the Knight, “but it’s very, very beautiful. Everybody that hears

me sing it—either it brings the tears into their eyes, or else—”

“Or else what?” said Alice, for the Knight had made a sudden pause.

“Or else it doesn’t, you know. The name of the song is called ‘Haddocks’ Eyes.’ “

“Oh, that’s the name of the song, is it?” Alice asked, trying to feel interested.

“No, you don’t understand,” the Knight said, looking a little vexed. “That’s

what the name is called.

The name really is ‘The Aged Aged Man.’ “

“Then I ought to have said ‘That’s what the song is called’?” Alice corrected

herself.

“No, you oughtn’t: that’s quite another thing! The song is called ‘Ways and

Means’: but that’s only what it’s called, you know!”“Well, what is the song, then?” said Alice, who was by this time completely

bewildered.

“I was coming to that,” the Knight said. “The song really is ‘A-sitting on a

Gate’: and the tune’s my own invention.”

—LEWIS CARROLL, Through the Looking-Glass

A reminder by Radiohead

If I get old, I will not give in
But if I do, remind me of this
Remind me that
Once I was free
Once I was cool
Once I was me

And if I sit down and cross my arms
Hold me up to this song

Knock me out, smash out my brains
If I take a chair and start to talk shit

If I get old, remind me of this
That night we kissed and I really meant it
Whatever happens, if we're still speaking
Pick up the phone, play me this song

...

To a Hopeless Gardener

Bluebell, Lions-heart, Love-in-a-myst
When I die, please bury me deep.
I don't want to be saved; I just want to sleep.
Nothing I care for actually cares for me,
On miserable times like these.

Let me go, I scream to your face.
Forget-me-not—there are ditch-lilies on the fence.
Your estrangement spreads winter’s breath,
Chilling every seed of hope.
I wish I could let you know
How much, the idea of you, has meant to me.

Morning glories
Creep through the cracks,
Wither stem, leaves falling free.
Daisies gathering dust at dusk,
A secret garden you’ll never see—
But the transgressor sunbeam trespassing.