cfrd00 - Tumblr blog

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the unsuspected hero

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dont judge me, i just follow the metal

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no, i didnt tell my story to anyone else, no one knew exatly how to listen to it: the initial comments made me feel shy or misunderstood and i needed to cut it odd earlier than planned, disappointed.

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she would give anything to know the secret, to know why on day 7 exactly 7 things showed on the head of seven people, why since the first day they knew exactly what to say, why a brown butterfly appeared on his shoulder when she come. but she was left on the silence of the hollow stones - nothing was to be said further - the secret was not to be revealed no matter how many times asked, pretended not to ask and therefore ignored, asked again, now standing on your knees and supplicating. so all the signs were to unironically be followed as if the powerful clue that would explain the why of such a coincidence. -why did the butterfly came if she had nothing to say,,- and she followed them with the curiosity of an apprentice yet to be dulled out by his own knowledge. and what an insolence - to be shaken to the spine every time the number seven appeared! to be left on her knees every time her dreams showed her what she wanted to see. --- The number seven continued to appear, becoming each time more unsatisfying and each time more irritating, producing a deep ambiguity on the puddly spirit, for whom the answer did not come.

[cfrd00]

THE PERFECT SOFA

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maria had black shiny hair thick as an helmet, wavy and short. her face was beautiful, the skin of a rock smiling under the sun. she wore skirts, olive green skirts and dark amber sneakers. maria did not wear pockets, maria did not wear barretes, nor other jewelery besides for simple studs on the bottom of her ears.

She wished it to be a song, yes a song. she wished that things simply were, in a world were bad decisions never brought bad consequences, as in to say, in a world were bad decisions were not different from good decisions. they were just that, decisions, a lil path that could be carved to the wishes of a hand and without bad conscience.

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Just a number

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for me to understand one day for whom these flowers bloom, for whom these mothers weep

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“‘Having a coke with you is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne,’ declared poet Frank O’Hara. He knew that what we eat together is worth a thousand big epiphanies or Michelin-starred solo meals or grand voyages. Here are some other things that are magical: picking the last of the season’s fat, only blackberries with you; eating toast in bed with you and arguing about the crumbs; reaching into the Minstrels packet at the same time as you and our hands grazing; unwrapping a cheeseburger with you; crying into cut onions with you; flipping pancakes with you and giving you the ones that aren’t crumpled; walking home with a pocketful of Maltesers with you; cracking open the lid of the pan with you, and having the steam and the scent of dinner hit us both in the face; sharing my spoon with you; you.”

— Ruby Tandoh, from Eat Up: Food, Appetite and Eating What You Want (via firstfullmoon)

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À Meia-Noite Levarei Sua Alma (José Mojica Marins, 1964)

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i am like this for one. the angelitude of my wings, the diameter of my arms, the flames behind my eyes. im like tis for no one. that is how fairies are born.

[cfrd00]

Jill Johnston,  Agnes Martin: surrender and solitude

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Everything is real, even the invisible (what no one sees)

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a table and an outfit. an horizontal outfit (pajamas). horizontality raising very little. keeping horizontal. up and down:no. stay in the middle. move very slowly. move rather normal fast. be very big.