pandora's box

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Why do we have to define things? What is love? What's happiness, what's love?
How important is semiotics?
I go home tired.
I know, don't tell me, you are right! Life is an absurd wound. (Catulo Castillo)
Translation: Yo se, no me digas, tienes razon! La vida es una herida absurda. (Catulo Castillo)
I often wonder if he would like the lyrics of the songs we listen to while dancing. I find that men are more interested in the melody of songs. Women, on the other hand, tend to like the lyrics more. I can't help but add meaning to the sad verses we listen to. I start analyzing every single verse. I get more excited when I dance to a song that I love.
I am reading your past posts. I wish I could learn English. I wish I could use intricate words and create complex sentences that touch people. Our daily lives disturb us.
I was listening to The Story the other day. A radio show on National Public Radio, which tells the story of people. People of all kinds. I was driving my modest and functional car to a supermarket in the town I work, which is very wealthy and I was listening to the story of a transgender person who lost his job and had to face winter in Michigan. There I was - still a foreigner, leaving my American job, going to the supermarket to buy Brazilian groceries. I often wonder: what rights do I have? Am I taking other people's jobs? Why is my life better than his?
I also experience the pleasure of doing something really mean. I can assure you, even if you don't believe me, that it was the first time that I really got a kick out of doing something bad to someone else. Does he deserve it? I think he does. Is that an excuse? No, it isn't. Am I going to do that again? __________.
What's the difference between what is in fact and its representations?
I can't effectively answer my own questions.
I remember our first date. My blue dress. No, I was wearing some red and black dress. Winter holding me from head to toe. Strong coffee, please. We talked about photography and architecture and you'd smile that sweet smile I learned to love. I tried not to flirt with you. I was dead tired, but I was with you and you represented a city that I hadn't been to. Some sort of universe. A cosmos. So, I left that evening, sleepy and tired, and I went to see you. I can never forget the feeling of you and me. I am sure I will forget all of that. But, now. Now I can't.
We are just now the lyrics of an old tango. I am not even sure we hold that much beauty. I am sure about the pain.
I give myself to each song I dance. I don't dance well yet. I am learning how to trust the embrace of men I don't know. For a few minutes, I trust. I fall in love with the songs, I dream of something that feels like flying. Each men teaches me something. Tango is so similar to life and love.
I haven't told you yet where I am going. Maybe I will stay. I am not sure. I feel that life has its moments, but I am so tired. A friend of mine is on Zoloft and happy about it. I refuse to use those drugs. Pride? Maybe. Life is going to be what it has to be. Can I make something better out of my life? Hope, hope. Am I not loud enough?
Let's go home. I will be happy under your sheltering sky.

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