All entries are from 25-08-2025.

“Lonesome father of unmercy, cry a river I do
For a flame inside does not light the path I’m walking through
Mermaid servant, chamberwork the eyes you cast at me
If your flame decides to heat a mind with cold and lonely dreams
Dissolve the same in silence, divide the most you care
To solve a sin you’re hiding lagging lightly ‘cross the air
Thy mist is forcing sincere thought to be laid as your seed
For words are stones to soften gardens, water that you bring
To feed, the body breathes; to breathe, the body loves
To me you are a sentence God could never come above
To feed, the body leaves; to breathe, the body waits
To me you are a sentence God quite often loves to say”

About the text: I was reading a type of sonnet — I think they’re called “Blason” —, it was one of Spenser’s, as I was listening to this lecture on poetry, and for some reason I felt motivated to write something. It’s possibly very rudimentary, but I’m not worried. I think things like these are so fun to write, so I don’t bother; it’s more important to have fun while writing than trying to do something deeper than you are and just looking like a goofus.

I get confused most times I write these poems and texts on love; the process is very dizzying. At the risk of sounding even more pretentious, it is like a trance where the sound and the meaning appear out of the fog of my mind. I don’t feel I have a lot of control over the process, to be honest. Does that sound weird? And as for its face; it’s even more confusing. I write them faceless, but a face always appears from the bushes of the wild forest of the thought, just like meaning sneaks its way into a phrase that sounds musical to me in my poems and songs. However, I would prefer in cases such as these, any person would have the respect of not attaching themselves to words they wish to not be theirs, as no one deserves a sentiment that is not directed to them, just like an arrow not aimed towards you will miss you. And they do not wish because they do not wish to be here. Dreaming, to me, only seems to hurt the soul. And I do not want them to be hurt.

EU TERMINEI MEU PRIMEIRO CUBO MÁGICO!!!!

Porra, que negócio fodido. Minha irmã por alguma razão desconhecida me comprou um desses uns dias atrás e eu consegui fazer ele mais cedo. Eu gostei porque tem uma lógica meio confusa mas que segue regras, que nem os sudokus que eu amo (percebi que ainda não falei muito sobre sudokus no diário, fica pra um outro dia). Acho que é o tipo de coisa que parece complicada, mas se você passa um tempo com ela tudo é um pouco intuitivo, então se torna uma boa coisa pra quando eu estou ouvindo algo e preciso ocupar minhas mãos.

Acho que não falei ainda por aqui, mas queria muito saber crochê. Esses dias eu e minha vó vamos na casa da irmã dela pegar alguns materiais — ela tem umas agulhas de muitos tamanhos e muitos tecidos também —, mas já posso tentar fazer algo com o que tenho aqui. Quero muito aprender porque minha vó quer aprender também, então eu poderia ensinar ela. Queria muito poder fazer alguma coisinha pra ela, talvez uma meia, uma bolsinha. Amo muito ela.

21:00 — Before you leave…

21:00 — I would like to say I have a Substack now! I think for the time being I’ll post in both places, I don’t mind. But I love to read texts over there so I made one, also because all of this feels more like a Substack thing than a WordPress thing. I think texts and poems are so much more beautiful over there!

I don’t plan on doing anything like subscriber-only content over there, but if you wish to you can buy me a coffee with the ko-fi link here and on the bottom of every post over there. It would actually help a lot (especially because 5 dollars is like 200 brazillian reais at the moment) and would motivate me to know this is being appreciated in such a way.

Click here and it will take you to my profile over there. Otherwise, it’s on the linktree and it’s also the same name as this site.

Credits for the headers:
art for the cover of the post — Winslow Homer – The Fog Warning, 1885
1. John Weguelin — The sleeping mermaid, 1911 (One of my favorites, really).
2. Jan Asselijn, The Threatened Swan (c. 1650).
3. My father Bruce Campbell portraying Ash Williams on the best movie ever “Evil Dead“