Too lazy for a fucking title...

... And for a fucking post too.

Turn On Your Light (Judas Priest)

Why do I have to wait so long
Before you come into my life again
Seems as though forever until
I can be here by your side till then

I think you feel the same way too
You know you make my dreams come true
If you'll just turn on your light
Let me see it shining through the night

When I'm far away from here
I'll hold all the memories so clear
If I only have the choice
I would stay so let me hear your voice

I think you feel the same way too
You know you make my dreams come true
If you'll just turn on your light
Let me see it shining through the night

Tristes

Durante 5 dias úteis vocês são o pau mandado de alguém que voz diz o que fazer e a quem vocês lambem as botas como se não houvesse amanhã. No fim do dia, chegam a casa, fecham as cortinas, escondem-se por trás da vossa mobília do IKEA para não verem o mundo cruel que vos rodeia e fingem que nada aconteceu. Batem punhetas enquanto vêm os Ídolos ou as novelas da TVI como forma de se refugiarem da vossa triste vida e fingirem que são felizes. Por dentro sabem que não o são, então descarregam a vossa infelicidade nos demais. Mandam bocas, falam mal nas costas. E pessoas como eu acabam por ser "vitimas". Já percebi, vocês não gostam de pessoas como eu. E porquê? Porque nós somos livres... livres de todas as maneiras que vocês não são. Posso ser tudo o que vocês dizem, mas ao menos não sou como vocês, mesquinhos e filhos da puta. Não ando todo o dia com um pau enfiado no cu com pessoas a dizer-me o que fazer. Tudo depende da maneira como a vida é perspectivada por nós. Tristes de merda.

E com este desabafo concluo o meu post nº 100, com um agradecimento a que todos me apoiaram desde o início dele.

A Boy Named Sue

Well my daddy left home when I was three
And he didn't leave much to ma and me
Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.
Now, I don't blame him cause he run and hid
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me "Sue."

Well, he must o' thought that is quite a joke
And it got a lot of laughs from a' lots of folk,
It seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I'd get red
And some guy'd laugh and I'd bust his head,
I tell ya, life ain't easy for a boy named "Sue."

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean,
My fist got hard and my wits got keen,
I'd roam from town to town to hide my shame.
But I made a vow to the moon and stars
That I'd search the honky-tonks and bars
And kill that man who gave me that awful name.

Well, it was Gatlinburg in mid-July
And I just hit town and my throat was dry,
I thought I'd stop and have myself a brew.
At an old saloon on a street of mud,
There at a table, dealing stud,
Sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me "Sue."

Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
From a worn-out picture that my mother'd had,
And I knew that scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old,
And I looked at him and my blood ran cold
And I said: "My name is 'Sue!' How do you do!
Now your gonna die!!"

Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes
And he went down, but to my surprise,
He come up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear.
But I busted a chair right across his teeth
And we crashed through the wall and into the street
Kicking and a' gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer.

I tell ya, I've fought tougher men
But I really can't remember when,
He kicked like a mule and he bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss,
He went for his gun and I pulled mine first,
He stood there lookin' at me and I saw him smile.

And he said: "Son, this world is rough
And if a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough
And I knew I wouldn't be there to help ya along.
So I give ya that name and I said goodbye
I knew you'd have to get tough or die
And it's the name that helped to make you strong."

He said: "Now you just fought one hell of a fight
And I know you hate me, and you got the right
To kill me now, and I wouldn't blame you if you do.
But ya ought to thank me, before I die,
For the gravel in ya guts and the spit in ya eye
Cause I'm the son-of-a-bitch that named you "Sue.'"

I got all choked up and I threw down my gun
And I called him my pa, and he called me his son,
And I came away with a different point of view.
And I think about him, now and then,
Every time I try and every time I win,
And if I ever have a son, I think I'm gonna name him
Bill or George! Anything but Sue! I still hate that name!

Os Ventos de Mudança

No meio da rua, com as mãos nos bolsos, contemplo o que se encontra à minha volta. Tento sentir tudo, até o mais pequeno pormenor. Fecho os olhos. Ouço o barulho dos pneus dos carros a andarem pelo asfalto, as buzinas, as vozes de dezenas de pessoas, todas misturadas. Sinto as pingas de chuva a baterem-me no pescoço e o vento a bater na minha cara e a despentear-me o cabelo. O vento frio e desconfortável. Há muito tempo que me sinto incomodado por este vento. Num rápido flash, tenho uma percepção da minha vida. Existem coisas que têm de ser mudadas com o tempo. Apesar de muita coisa já ter mudado, apesar da minha garra e determinação que antes me caracterizavam terem voltado e apesar de ter deixado para trás muitas coisas que só me prejudicavam a vida, sinto que ainda há algumas mudanças a ser feitas. Nessas mudanças eu não posso interferir, senão já o teria feito, com certeza. Só há uma existência (ainda que abstracta) que pode fazer essas mudanças acontecer: o tempo. E com o tempo, algumas coisas irão mudar... para melhor. Os ventos de mudança vão começar a soprar.

Symptoms

1 - You sweat like a motherfuckin' animal
2 - You shake like it was the coldest day on earth
3 - Your heart's confused
4 - Your mind's fucked up
5 - You dream a lot...

Yeah, just keep dreamin'...

Pro Wrestling is REAL, people are FAKE!

Lembro-me do dia em que tudo começou. O primeiro lock-up, o primeiro irish whip, o primeiro headlock, o primeiro pin. Lembro-me daquela tarde de quarta-feira, a primeira de muitas quartas-feiras daquelas. O início da ENW. No início era só o Venom e o Kandertaker X. Trabalhando todos os dias para preparar aquela a tarde de quarta-feira seguinte. A pouco e pouco, o culto aumentou. Ficámos a conhecer o Martini Man e o Matos Xtreme, as novas aquisições no nosso plantel. Agora éramos quatro. Gastámos horas da nossa vida, cansámo-nos e arriscámo-nos pelo wrestling. Ainda hoje tenho marcas de uma dessas tardes. Dois dentes rachados contam a história de um sleeper hold, as minhas costas contam a história de uma senton bomb, e a minha mente conta a história de 3 anos de wrestling. A chama que ardia dentro de nós era suficiente para incendiar uma floresta. Aquilo não era um hobby, era uma paixão. Até que um dia, tudo acabou. Por motivos de força maior, fomos obrigados a deixar a ENW para trás. Mas a chama nunca se apagou. Continua aqui, dentro de mim e, espero bem, dentro deles também. Isto é dedicado a todos os que contribuíram para que a ENW acontecesse.

André Matos (Matos Xtreme)
Miguel Guerreiro (Kandertaker X)
Pedro Monteiro (Martini Man)

MUITO OBRIGADO!

Miserable

You leave home every day, go through the same path to go to school or work... every day. You do it so many times you don't even think about it. You don't ask yourself "which was am I gonna go today?", you just do it, that's it. But you go through different people every day. I know it because it also happens to me. Sometimes, you leave home really angry, you're having some problems and/or you had a rough night, rolling over in your bed all night long, facing the annoying inability to sleep. Insomnia, that's what the general public calls it. As I was saying, you have insomnias, leave home angry and see all the people smiling, demonstrating confidence and happiness. You just wanna snap those fucking little necks and ruin those (already) miserable, routine lives. You feel bad because you can't. If you did it, you would ruin your own life too, you would feel more miserable than you already are and worse, you would get ass-fucked by a bunch of 7-foot faggots in prison. Is that really the life you want? No, it is not, so you let go and continue angry. You go to your school/job, and, you know it, there's always someone you want to assassinate in a brutal, violent, almost psychotic way. As you read this, you're probably denying all I said. Well, you just can go fuck yourself, because you know all I said it's true. Continuing, you find this person you want to kill, he/she pisses you off. And there's nothing you can fucking do about it. So, once again, you do nothing, because you fear all I said above. Yeah, 7-foot ass-raping motherfuckers. And you let go. You let the hate that lives inside you emerge. In the end of the day, you ho home. Your mom says "hello", you say "fuck off!" all lock yourself in your bedroom. You lay on your bed, get really depressed and angry, break down, and finally, start to cry. You feel so empty. You realize your life is so miserable that you no longer have fun, even when you do. You're just angry, 24/7. So you want to forget this feeling that is making you sad. You pick up your wallet and keys, leave home again. You go to the supermarket and buy, let's say... a bottle of vodka. You sit on the ground, you drink it, and you cry. Oh yeah, you're drunk, bitch. But you still can't eliminate that annoying, stupid feeling that you have inside. You slowly get up, go back to the supermarket, buy another bottle. You sit on the ground, you drink it, and you pass out. Oh yeah, you got REALLY drunk. You wake up in the next morning, completely naked, feeling heavy and hungover. Oh, and you got sunburns all over your naked torso. You look kinda orange. Your head aches, so does your entire body. You touch it and you feel that excruciating burn. You scream. Your body is burning so much you don't even dare to move. So you can't get up. And there you are, completely naked, exposed to the world, with orange skin and two bottles of vodka beside you. Some people laugh at you, some just close their eyes, they don't wanna see you, you look... fucking bad. As the time passes, you're still there, the sun is still burning your skin, and guess what? You feel even more empty and angry. All because of a fucking insomnia. You're a fucking miserable piece of shit.

40 anos depois...

Faz hoje 40 anos que faleceu um dos mais emblemáticos guitarristas de sempre. Falo, claro, do homem que é descrito por muitos como o melhor guitarrista do mundo, Jimi Hendrix.

R.I.P

Não me apeteceu pôr um título nisto, mas é romântico.

She's the only colour I can see, the only flavor I can taste
She's the only voice I hear when I'm feeling left to waste
She took over my mind, occupied my lonely heart
When she is not with me I feel strung out and torn apart

She brings me happiness and peace, puts a smile in my face
She is my beautiful angel, that girl is fallen from grace
She changed my life forever, I wish she was right here
I'm addicted to that girl, without her I live in fear