11:50
Not one pitch of sleep
Instead, I'm up reading old messages, e-mails
Reliving the past
or
A trip down memory lane
I dont know why, but whenever I'm feeling sleepless I open up these messages.
And they go a long way back,
months, maybe years,
and I just love to read how the conversations evolved.
How friends became best of friends or
how the friendship just suddenly
evaporated into thin air.
How love was brought up in the tiniest of moments
and how it was shut down in the slightest of words
How hatred resolves itself in the thin space of the text
How I made decisions I'll regret
How I'll regret having these regrets
And so forth..
I read about the things I said about Boston
and how I still use the same words to describe it.
How theres an endless need for me to get back there,
one way
or another...
I read my conversations with ex girlfriends
How did those happen? (...)
I read the stress in hurried statements
about that giant project I had
no idea
was due the next morning.
I read about others
I read about school gossip
I read about myself
And how I've changed
And how I've stayed the same
And how I've been evolving
For the better?
Worse?
Who's judging?
I pay attention to the details
How quickly I'd answer some people
How delayed some were
How I was glued to this one girl
How she was never that into me
How I sent my first lyrics
And anxiously told her that it wasnt the best I've done
How I always seeked acceptance
How my hair was awkward when I was 12
But what I dont read
Or what I havent talked about
Is how I'm still sitting here
Every night
Every week
Every month
Contemplating the reasons why I do this
Why I read what I wrote
What others wrote
What other didnt write
Or maybe why I read what has happened already
Or maybe
What hasnt happened yet
quinta-feira, 31 de outubro de 2013
Why?
You know
I dont usually let people tell me I cant be a musician
I actually take their doubt as a sort of fuel
It makes me want to do it even more so one day I can turn to them and rub it in their faces
But heres something most people dont see in people like me
In people that want to make it so bad that they alread sacrifice a large portion of their lives just trying to get there somehow... one way or another
There comes a time where you smarten up for one day
Thats all it takes... 24 little hours and your mind goes from set to scrambled
Regular week, school as usual, Friday is coming up and I'm anxious to start recording the first song for the album "We Might As Well..."
The day goes by normally, nothing different happens: I'm still writing my lyrics during break, still working on the recording software during lunch time,
Until the last period swings by, and you start to hear the talks of "I'm going to a great college in Texas, the best in technology" or something along the lines of "I'm pretty sure, with these grades, MIT will be an easy win".
And I'm just sitting there thinking "hell... all these people around know what they want to do and it's all 'real' jobs". And before you know it, I'm hit with a full 50 meter wave of doubt and stress because when I analyze the possible outcomes of my life it all draws down to two very distinct options; I make it, live comfortably doing exactly what I've always wanted to do. Or... I dont make it, and am left scraping by, with little time left to give in to defeat.
Now that's just a scary thought, you have to admit. I dont have a professional career I'm pursuing. I'm not dreaming of making it into a giant university where everyone wears ties and speaks perfect Latin. I was made for the world of entertainment, more specifically, music. There's nothing Id rather do more than be able to play a song on stage and watch that one guy at the corner of the room actually connect with what I'm singing. It has happened ONCE, and there was enough in his expression to grant me the patience and the will-power to work HARD towards being able to see that look again.
No college can teach you that.
No textbook can outline that connection.
It just happens.
I remember my five weeks back at Berklee College of Music. First night there and I get the word that there will be this super-improvised little gig at the 939 café across the street. The basic concept was to grab yourself a band and perform, no rehearsal, just get up there and make some music. Being the curious guy that I am, I loaded up my guitar case and off I went.
It was the best night of my life.
There was no pressure, no rules, no schedule, no lyrics to remember, no chords to memorize. All I did was get up on stage and be exactly who I was, with the people I wanted to be with. And thats where I noticed I wouldnt mind the hardships, the let downs, the pressure, the expectations, the alienation, the lack of support.
Because in the end that's the fuel I need
I have to learn to live with that certain kind of sadness to keep me hungry for more
And to get better
And to get bigger
And to get there
And one day I will
Oh hell,
I will...
I dont usually let people tell me I cant be a musician
I actually take their doubt as a sort of fuel
It makes me want to do it even more so one day I can turn to them and rub it in their faces
But heres something most people dont see in people like me
In people that want to make it so bad that they alread sacrifice a large portion of their lives just trying to get there somehow... one way or another
There comes a time where you smarten up for one day
Thats all it takes... 24 little hours and your mind goes from set to scrambled
Regular week, school as usual, Friday is coming up and I'm anxious to start recording the first song for the album "We Might As Well..."
The day goes by normally, nothing different happens: I'm still writing my lyrics during break, still working on the recording software during lunch time,
Until the last period swings by, and you start to hear the talks of "I'm going to a great college in Texas, the best in technology" or something along the lines of "I'm pretty sure, with these grades, MIT will be an easy win".
And I'm just sitting there thinking "hell... all these people around know what they want to do and it's all 'real' jobs". And before you know it, I'm hit with a full 50 meter wave of doubt and stress because when I analyze the possible outcomes of my life it all draws down to two very distinct options; I make it, live comfortably doing exactly what I've always wanted to do. Or... I dont make it, and am left scraping by, with little time left to give in to defeat.
Now that's just a scary thought, you have to admit. I dont have a professional career I'm pursuing. I'm not dreaming of making it into a giant university where everyone wears ties and speaks perfect Latin. I was made for the world of entertainment, more specifically, music. There's nothing Id rather do more than be able to play a song on stage and watch that one guy at the corner of the room actually connect with what I'm singing. It has happened ONCE, and there was enough in his expression to grant me the patience and the will-power to work HARD towards being able to see that look again.
No college can teach you that.
No textbook can outline that connection.
It just happens.
I remember my five weeks back at Berklee College of Music. First night there and I get the word that there will be this super-improvised little gig at the 939 café across the street. The basic concept was to grab yourself a band and perform, no rehearsal, just get up there and make some music. Being the curious guy that I am, I loaded up my guitar case and off I went.
It was the best night of my life.
There was no pressure, no rules, no schedule, no lyrics to remember, no chords to memorize. All I did was get up on stage and be exactly who I was, with the people I wanted to be with. And thats where I noticed I wouldnt mind the hardships, the let downs, the pressure, the expectations, the alienation, the lack of support.
Because in the end that's the fuel I need
I have to learn to live with that certain kind of sadness to keep me hungry for more
And to get better
And to get bigger
And to get there
And one day I will
Oh hell,
I will...
quarta-feira, 30 de outubro de 2013
Hoax Phone Call
It is now 1:48 am and not an ounce of sleep has tempted me.
In fact, this whole week has been sleepless, and the one before. But I dont mind. It seems to me that this insomnia grants me time to be inspired and write, be it music or ... these reflections.
Today, I woke up feeling horrible. An acute, pinching back pain followed by one hell of a headache rid me from my sleep. What a wonderful way to wake up on a glorious Tuesday. And it doesnt end there, PSAT exam from 8am to 11. Just my luck...
I've had quite the good amount of infuriating days these past couple of weeks and I'm starting to notice the reason why.
Lately, I've been in constant stress. I'm afraid to go out at night, I hide my cellphone by placing it in my shoe and covering the screen with the edge of my jeans when I'm in my car. I make sure to have extra money out of my wallet inside my sock just in case of emergencies. I'm starting to work too hard to be safe, and that worries me to an unconceivable extent.
And yet, as one would expect, coming back home would probably soothe my nerves. Wrong. Being home means I have time to worry about my brother or my parents. I keep the phone next to me, I keep track of where they are. I fear for their safety just as mine as I do for my own.
And to make matters worse, I received a suspicious phone call yesterday. I was relaxing on my couch when my phone rang, and an awkward number appeared on the screen. I am always skeptical about these random calls, but I cant just let it go. I picked up, and a woman informs me that an e-mail has been sent to the wrong contact and requires me to give my email to her again.
Again. That was the word she used. I never gave my email to anyone, specifically not anyone over the phone. So, immedietly I knew this was a hoax, an attempt to use my personal data to produce some harm.
But living in this god-forsaken city, you learn to be cruel to the cruel ones. I played along.
Asked her where she worked, she made up a name. Asked her for the time and date of when the email was sent and to whom it was sent to. Another invention. She starts to get impacient, and the lack of formality in her speech and constant usage of slang just proves my point right; she was up to no good.
After trying to dig up information, she hangs up. Three minutes pass and the same number calls my home phone. I pick up, and, with no regret to this day, I tell her to shove that email up her...
You get the point.
Now, at the time, it may have seemed like a stupid prank call. But in this city, you cant treat those hoaxes as jokes, because you never who might be the crazy one behind it all. What a person here can do with your life when they get their filthy hands on your information is devastating. However, I always find joy in messing with them, because they shouldnt get away with messing with my family.
In fact, this whole week has been sleepless, and the one before. But I dont mind. It seems to me that this insomnia grants me time to be inspired and write, be it music or ... these reflections.
Today, I woke up feeling horrible. An acute, pinching back pain followed by one hell of a headache rid me from my sleep. What a wonderful way to wake up on a glorious Tuesday. And it doesnt end there, PSAT exam from 8am to 11. Just my luck...
I've had quite the good amount of infuriating days these past couple of weeks and I'm starting to notice the reason why.
Lately, I've been in constant stress. I'm afraid to go out at night, I hide my cellphone by placing it in my shoe and covering the screen with the edge of my jeans when I'm in my car. I make sure to have extra money out of my wallet inside my sock just in case of emergencies. I'm starting to work too hard to be safe, and that worries me to an unconceivable extent.
And yet, as one would expect, coming back home would probably soothe my nerves. Wrong. Being home means I have time to worry about my brother or my parents. I keep the phone next to me, I keep track of where they are. I fear for their safety just as mine as I do for my own.
And to make matters worse, I received a suspicious phone call yesterday. I was relaxing on my couch when my phone rang, and an awkward number appeared on the screen. I am always skeptical about these random calls, but I cant just let it go. I picked up, and a woman informs me that an e-mail has been sent to the wrong contact and requires me to give my email to her again.
Again. That was the word she used. I never gave my email to anyone, specifically not anyone over the phone. So, immedietly I knew this was a hoax, an attempt to use my personal data to produce some harm.
But living in this god-forsaken city, you learn to be cruel to the cruel ones. I played along.
Asked her where she worked, she made up a name. Asked her for the time and date of when the email was sent and to whom it was sent to. Another invention. She starts to get impacient, and the lack of formality in her speech and constant usage of slang just proves my point right; she was up to no good.
After trying to dig up information, she hangs up. Three minutes pass and the same number calls my home phone. I pick up, and, with no regret to this day, I tell her to shove that email up her...
You get the point.
Now, at the time, it may have seemed like a stupid prank call. But in this city, you cant treat those hoaxes as jokes, because you never who might be the crazy one behind it all. What a person here can do with your life when they get their filthy hands on your information is devastating. However, I always find joy in messing with them, because they shouldnt get away with messing with my family.
Sad But True...
It hurts to say I've lost you. And what remains is not but a memory, not even the shadow that solemnly seeps through my door, but rather the thought that once upon a time, we had it all. And due credit to fact, we were happy once. We were truly, utterly happy. And the complications of our love were existent, yes, however they were never close to breaking the fine line that held us together; we were inseparable.
Yet who would’ve known that the one and only force that would break the tide was you? I didn’t see it coming, that's for sure. Whatever happened that day came out of the blue, and it hit me by surprise. It was your last week there, so granted I do appreciate your courage to put a halt to our adventure, but the method of your execution was enthralling. Cold. Dead.
I'd pull myself together after you left, because what use was it to run after you after all? Our inseparable and uncontrollable love had evaporated at the instant I kneeled down to speak to you. Now all that was left was my reconstruction, from the dirt up, and what a rocky ride that was.
To know that what I had was simple discontinued right there and then was a thought unconceivable to my being. It was over. Fast forward a couple of years. We seem to have finally broken loose of our past traumatic experience and carried on with our lives. Well, that same cannot be said of me.
I tend to have relapses, accidentally allow that one moment to shove itself from the catacombs of my consciousness, and present itself headfirst. The issue of that matter lies not on the manifestation of that concept of our love to live again, but the fact that I allow myself to think in such a way.
I am the cause of my own pain, and as much as I should blame you for it, the guilt calls only to my name.
Yet who would’ve known that the one and only force that would break the tide was you? I didn’t see it coming, that's for sure. Whatever happened that day came out of the blue, and it hit me by surprise. It was your last week there, so granted I do appreciate your courage to put a halt to our adventure, but the method of your execution was enthralling. Cold. Dead.
I'd pull myself together after you left, because what use was it to run after you after all? Our inseparable and uncontrollable love had evaporated at the instant I kneeled down to speak to you. Now all that was left was my reconstruction, from the dirt up, and what a rocky ride that was.
To know that what I had was simple discontinued right there and then was a thought unconceivable to my being. It was over. Fast forward a couple of years. We seem to have finally broken loose of our past traumatic experience and carried on with our lives. Well, that same cannot be said of me.
I tend to have relapses, accidentally allow that one moment to shove itself from the catacombs of my consciousness, and present itself headfirst. The issue of that matter lies not on the manifestation of that concept of our love to live again, but the fact that I allow myself to think in such a way.
I am the cause of my own pain, and as much as I should blame you for it, the guilt calls only to my name.
Late Night Music Making
I usually dont post my lyrics on social media in fear of it being stolen (happens a lot these days with all these crazy programs)
But I figured this is what I want to do with my life so I should be fearless of expressing my thoughts
I wrote this song because of recent developments with a girl I thought I'd be able to fight for
But somethings just take an unexpected turn for the worst
And what can we do to stop it?
Who knows...
"I Should've Known" By Gio Turra
I know there was no way
But baby I had faith
That one day we’d work it out
That one day we’d work it out
Now all our trains have stopped
As we shifted our cards
I know you grew it out
I know you grew it out …
I closed the blinds and babe I waited in the dark
I sealed my dreams and plant my feet to the floor
I told myself to visualize truth
But you don’t need me
As I need you
And I cant blame you at all
Distance has proven its stall
Yet I hoped you’d wait it out
I hope you’d wait it out
I closed the blinds and babe I waited in the dark
I sealed my dreams and plant my feet to the floor
I told myself to visualize truth
But you don’t need me
As I need you...
"I Should've Known" By Gio Turra
I know there was no way
But baby I had faith
That one day we’d work it out
That one day we’d work it out
Now all our trains have stopped
As we shifted our cards
I know you grew it out
I know you grew it out …
I closed the blinds and babe I waited in the dark
I sealed my dreams and plant my feet to the floor
I told myself to visualize truth
But you don’t need me
As I need you
And I cant blame you at all
Distance has proven its stall
Yet I hoped you’d wait it out
I hope you’d wait it out
I closed the blinds and babe I waited in the dark
I sealed my dreams and plant my feet to the floor
I told myself to visualize truth
But you don’t need me
As I need you...
sexta-feira, 4 de outubro de 2013
Why am I doing this?
Let's face it. We all love talking. Sharing ideas, exploring each others minds. I, undoubtedly, am a talker. It's such a pleasure to formulate your own ideas right there, on the spot, with the light shining on you. Mistakes? They dont exist. Error becomes a mere detail which goes by unnoticed. And that's the beauty of it; whats wrong is right, because wrong is inexistent.
But that doesnt happen now does it?
As much as we love talking, we love "snobbing"; we are the kings of our own kingdoms. So our conversations only go so far, because we are too different to accept the views of somebody else.
Thats why I'm writing here.
There's no trouble to be coped with when you're really writing for yourself!
Now I'll leave you with a chunk of the best speech I've ever heard:
"To those who can hear me, I say - do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed - the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish. .....
Soldiers! don’t give yourselves to brutes - men who despise you - enslave you - who regiment your lives - tell you what to do - what to think and what to feel! Who drill you - diet you - treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder. Don’t give yourselves to these unnatural men - machine men with machine minds and machine hearts! You are not machines! You are not cattle! You are men! You have the love of humanity in your hearts! You don’t hate! Only the unloved hate - the unloved and the unnatural! Soldiers! Don’t fight for slavery! Fight for liberty!"
- The Great Dictator, Charles Chaplin
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