As a change of pace, the Times are Changing

A place to post whatever I write, both in English and in Portuguese / Pfp is by the author Shaun Tan

[changecomesinlikealion]

AI - The Dementia (A wikipedia poem by me)

[changecomesinlikealion]

Untitled #4

Yes, I concede that most times you go through hell and then you get to heaven.

But what if not?

Sometimes you go through hell and you never get to heaven.

Sometimes, most times, all the time, we can’t stay in the moment forever.

Sometimes you go through hell and you never get to heaven.

Sometimes forever truly is forever. Your forever.

Sometimes you go through hell and you never get to heaven.

Sometimes forever means a lifetime of agony.

Sometimes forever means that you go through hell and you’ll never go through heaven.

Sometimes forever is just that. Forever.

I get it now, truly

Hahahaha. I do. I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do I do  I do  I do  I do  I do  I do  I do  I do  I do  I do  I do  I do  I do  I do  I do   I do   I do   I do       I do         I do               I do                   I do                                                                                                                                                                                                                   I                                                                                              

                                                                                      do 

[changecomesinlikealion]

Untitled #3

Am I a monster or is this what it means to be me? Is it both? I fear I have lost myself in the tides of my self illusion. Self grandeur or self deprecation? Oh god it’s both, I am both. I am death. I am infected. I am infected. I am infected. I am and have been trapped in this eternal cycle of losing myself to what I am. Sorry, I mean, to what I think I am. These days it feels like I’m saying sorry too much, sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry don’t be mad at me. Please. I’ll swallow myself to please you. A chronic exaggerator, masterful lier, expert pleaser, I’m a pitiful human existence. It’s always I guess and I guesses and I think and likes with me. I know I’m annoying. I get sentences and words stuck and my mind stuck too often. Sorry that’s a lie. (I am a walking plague). They don’t get stuck, they dominate me, drown me, and then I repeat. And repeat. And repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat repeat repeat repeat  repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat. FUCKKKKK GET ME OUT OF THIS HELL OF MINE THAT IS NEITHER MINE NOR OTHERS / / / / /The "Untitled #x" series is something very dear to me, and also something that I hold with contempt. They're poems written in one short session of intense, often fleeting, emotion. And often after I've written them I sit there with no resolution to this *thing* I've just created that was the cause of so much emotion

They're also poems I'm reluctant to reread and change after the emotion has passed, because I have the urge to hug my past self and modify the poem to give it a more gentle ending, I'm feeling that right now. But the emotion stood strong for a moment there, and while I did write a gentle ending at the time I did choose to not include it and I shall stand by that decision. In other poems I'd pay no mind to modifying them after they're done, but not here, not with this series.

[changecomesinlikealion]

Untitled #2

If the desired person of mine arrives,

(Or should I say when?)

Don’t know if more from there than from here

Maybe I’ll be happy! I really hope I’ll be

Maybe I’ll say “Hello, my dehidrated!

My skinny love that won’t last a month

My starving, desperate, humiliated,

Sorry the words seem to play hide and seek with me today

(Or maybe everyday? These days it has been hard to tell)

Back again,

My starving, desperate, humiliated,

Love? Friend?

Will there ever be a difference?

Maybe I was all wrong from the start”

You see, it has become increasingly obvious that I was born molten

Melting gender and anxiety and a predisposition to saying sorry too much and something else that I don’t quite understand yet but that spews toxic fumes from my broken down skin, polluting the sky around me and making me not see the sun

I am warming the globe

Lighting the society fuse

But I have forsaken my own existence

For the opportunity to maybe,

Just maybe

Kiss again

[changecomesinlikealion]

"Why some days of the week feel like others"

Some days of the week feel like others because they are others. If there’s a holiday on monday, tuesday is gonna be a monday, and that feels horrible, but then thursday is gonna be a wednesday or, if you think about it too much then you get confused and get to the conclusion that if yesterday was not the day you mistook it for, then maybe today is actually tomorrow. Friday is only tomorrow, but tomorrow is gonna feel like a thursday right up until you get home and realize you can stay up late and then it’s a friday all over again.

Some days of the week feel like others because when you small talk with your friends just to fill the void of the conversation you say that the weather is kinda weird today and you wonder if it’s gonna rain, and the last time it was like this was a month ago because it barely rains in this god forsaken city and you remember it was a tuesday because that’s the only day your physics class ends at 6pm and now it’s happening all over again except it's neither thursday nor did you have physics today.

Some days of the week feel like others because you live alone and get really lonely on the weekends, so you’d wish that it was the middle of the week and you’re watching classes and wishing it was the weekend so you could play some games with your friends, but it is indeed the weekend and your friends are all busy and you just feel like a slump and friday night feels like sunday and sunday feels like saturday and then and then and then time doesn’t pass so you spend 12 hours a day sleeping and do nothing all day.

Some days of the week feel like others because you come back to your family when you’re on vacation and the days all mesh onto each other and when you least expect it you realize you’re suffering like it’s a busy monday but it’s actually wednesday and you are alone alone alone and also unbearably accompanied by those that love you but whom you can’t stand

Some days of the week feel like others because you feel like an other. Just as monday is expecting friday and sunday is aborting the week and bleeding all over the bed and dying a gross and gruesome death, you are pregnant with expectation that one day you’re gonna be able to be yourself. Just like the rain can’t help but make it feel like it’s 6pm on a tuesday after your physics class, and a holiday on monday makes thursday feel like a day beyond the times, you can’t help but feel like are everything except a boy or a man, but your manhood feels like a girlhood and your girlhood feels like something else that will never quite fit in. But maybe that’s ok and next week the days will feel normal again