Quando escrevo um livro, vejo que é só um desabafo. Quando escrevo um desabafo, vejo uma peça de teatro se passando em minha frente. Nela eu sou o personagem principal mas eu não estou atuando, sou o assunto principal mas sou privado de conversas, e quando acho que aceitei ser o diretor dessa peça, percebo que não tenho controle algum dela. Eu não posso fazer nada. Sou um fantoche, um fantasma. Uma memória solitária olhando sua própria vida passar.
Aqui todas as jóias são quebradas, todos os tesouros são sem valor e todas as presenças, grandes ou pequenas, são memórias.
I wrote a pretty text in portuguese but english is way simpler so I’ll just tell you what I am doing with a blog. First of all, I was a bored teenager and I realized I feel a lot more comfortable talking about stuff typing in a keyboard in front of a white screen, being a complete random from internet in a blog, than actually talking about my problems with a psychologist that isn’t even my friend or someone I’ve known for long.
Then, there were some things I just HAD to talk about, but I also felt like no one would want to listen or to know about, so I began writing and posting them. This way I can vent out my thoughts and ideas without bothering anyone with my bullshit or being judged on my decisions based on someone else’s thoughts and opinions. This is my place where I put my ideas, if it’s not what you relate with, just don’t read it! Pretty simple.
And at the same time, I just like writing. I don’t know, I like to know there’s somewhere I can just write my brains out and have it saved so I can read it later. Most of the times I don’t even feel like I was the one who wrote it, even though I’m the only one with access to this blog… It’s amusing.
But for short, this is a very explicative phrase: