The End / O Fim

There is no point in keeping this blog any longer. For a long time, this has been a discreet diary, filled with irrelevant posts about things reported by newspapers, and as the quote by this guy called Henry Channon says: "What is more dull than a discreet diary? One might as well have a discreet soul."

There is a lot going on in my life, much of it I would rather not discuss in public because, unfortunately, I'm not mature enough not to care about what other people think. At this moment, and for the past few years, I don't have the courage to describe openly my daily bureocratic problems and even less my emotional issues, which is obviously my main source of interest - rather than what is going on with every one else (unless they have similar stories to mine).

Last night, I've realised I have a lot of issues that I need to deal with, and from a young age I've dealt with them by writing journals. Since I stopped keeping this routine of analysing my own problems, I have developed many others that have gotten worse with age.

I still don't want to go to therapy, so, this is the end of blogging as I know it. From now on, I'm back to paper+pen journals, and whatever fact I want people to know about me, it will make its way thinly disguised in my creative work - be it writings or visual art.

Thanks for coming, and see you around.


Não há mais motivo pra manter esse blog. Por muito tempo, esse tem sido um "diário discreto", cheio de posts sobre coisas irrelevantes publicadas por outros, e como disse um cara chamado Henry Channon: "Não há nada mais chato do que um diário discreto. É o mesmo que ter uma alma discreta".

Muita coisa tem acontecido na minha vida que eu prefiro não discutir em público porque, infelizmente, eu não sou madura o suficiente ainda pra não me importar com o que os outros pensam. Nesse momento, assim como nos últimos anos, eu não tenho tido coragem pra descrever abertamente meus problemas burocráticos e muito menos emocionais, o que e' obviamente meu maior motivo de interesse - aon invés de saber o que está acontecendo na vida dos outros (a não ser que eles tenham histórias parecidas).

Ontem a noite eu me dei conta de que eu tenho vários problemas que precisam ser resolvidos, e desde muito nova eu sempre tenho lidado com problemas através de diários. Desde que eu parei de manter essa rotina de analisar minhas dificuldades, eu tenho desenvolvido outras que só parecem ter piorado com a idade.

Eu ainda não estou pronta pra fazer terapia, então, isso e' o fim do blog como eu o conheço. De agora em diante, estou voltando pros diários de papel e caneta, e qualquer fato que eu queira que as pessoas saibam sobre mim, será incluído disfarçadamente em meu trabalho, seja ele em escrita ou artes visuais.

Obrigada por ter vindo, e nos vemos por aí.


Uglification of England

I've got a confusing love affair with cigarettes. For 13 years I've been smoking them, but never obssessively - almost only when i'm socialising, almost always accompanying a drink. However, since I was 12 i have had quite an eventful social life, which means I have smoked quite a lot during many, many weekends of more than half of my life. But i never became a proper smoker due to two main reasons: cigarettes out of context (social scenarios/following alcoholic drinks/night time) make my stomach turn, and also in excess make me literaly sick. I've got chronic bronquites since I was a child, which in times of crisis makes me stay FAR away from cigarettes.

But I've been thinking about cigarettes quite a lot for the past few weeks. Well, since my big stint at hospital last month, when I had a full-on ashma attack and boyfriend J. prohibited me to even look a cigarette - or he would leave me to die in hospital alone. I thought I would be alright, but then something changed: for once in my life i started craving Vogue cigarettes, the little menthol polish stick wonders. Then, I started going out again, having alcohol in quite big quantities, and the craving got worse - specially after J. decided to stop me by force if needed.

Then, the smoking ban is coming to the country in less then 2 months. I thought this was going to put a stop at my craving, but then every time I go out I think "how this is going to be without smoke"?

Now the Guardian, my favourite paper, publishes a special report on cigarretes - and most of the articles are PRO-smoking! There's all these smart people saying how they've always loved tobacco and how they will keep smoking till the bitter end. Even my hero of the moment, David Hockney, wrote today a piece on how he smokes for his mental health and how "the uglification of England is under way by people with no vision."

Am I being weak here? With all these forces pushing me in the opposite direction, I don't think my confusing love affair with cigarettes will end anytime soon.


Beth Ditto as Agony Aunt

The Coolest Rock Chic today, the overweight, outspoken, and in-your-face feminist lead-singer of the Gossip Beth Ditto, now has an advice column in the Guardian. I think it's great, although in her first column she sounds too mature and coherent, like any agony aunt in any women's mag. I was expecting a little bit of her the colorful, spontaneous irony, but i guess she is just testing the grounds. Still, It could only be someone with her confidence to give people advice - she probably needed one whenever she wanted to do something.


Club Land - The Return

Now, The Good News: London is going through a clubbing renascence. "What you mean?", you ask me, "it has never died, in the first place." I say, you could be right, but for me, in the last 4 or 5 years, the club scene was as boring and predictable as my grandma's daily routine. 'Same old, same old' became the motto of most dance floors not only around the world, but also in London's vast clubland. Until, that is, the indie rock sphere infiltrated into the tired rave bubble. Say what you want, but since that colourful trio called the Klaxons decided to go on stage wearing fluor jumpers and playing rock tunes tinted with acid house flavours, I caught a glimpse of an enlightened future. Since then, fashion has gone through an amazing reinvention of the classic 80s/90s club gear, and every proud East London club kid made the decision to have the most absurd fun with their wardrobes, and consequently, with their nights out. Now, clubbers dance to indie rock, old pop, post-punk, dirty electro, funk carioca, justin timberlake, whatever makes you laugh and shake that size zero arse. Shoreditch, thank god, is home to some of the most exciting (and exclusive - tell me about it) parties in the whole of the city: BoomBox, Trailer Trash, Modular, are just some of the tons of small but unperfectly formed parties that together compose the so called "New Rave" scene. It's all about dressing up and showing off the eccentricity and idisincrasy inside us all. Call it what you like, I'm just glad the fun is back.

R.I.P. Isabella Blow

I know, it's a bit of a drag to come back to this blog with sad news. But I was quite shocked to find out today that Isabella Blow has died at the tender age of 48. How come? Cancer, some sources say. For fashion insiders, or simply fans like myself, this is an awful surprise. Two months ago I was still in awe of her stylishness, after reading what must have been her last article for British Vogue about our dependency of technology today.

I think what shocks me most it's the fact that life is so fragile. It might sound like a cliche', but this is another reminder that our clock is always ticking like a time-bomb, and we should make the most of this very moment. That said, what's the point of devoting an entire life to fabulous hats and frocks if they won't go anywhere with you after your last breath?

God. I'm sick and tired of this weight on shoulders. Time sucks.