Saturday, April 16, 2005

Mild Soap Opera

I am writing this entry sitting on the toilette of my bathroom. No, no, I do not own a laptop computer, and I don't even have those cute Apple notebooks. I just have this sweet writing pad in the shape of a binder wrapped with a green leather-like plastic that I bought at Office Depot(one of my favorite spots to shop when I used to live in the USA)in 2002.

I take this little green binder along wherever I go because being a writer, I understand that we never know when the greatest ideas may show up.

Right at this moment, I am forcing my brain to dump a load of words and make them look like cool sentences. I am not sure that I am getting there, however the silence and coldness of bathrooms can take me to distant realms and from there I can bring out fun topics, sometimes draw real characters with stinky features.

What had I never understood was the reason why there are people who don't consider writing as their main way to communicate. I have difficulties in expressing myself through spoken words. I don't enjoy much talking, especially after extra-busy weekdays (full-time classes and two tough translations). The words barely come out of my throat.

These days I have preferred to keep myself secluded in a bathroom, just like now, grabbing a pen and this magical green binder. Me, myself, and my intestinal contents, building blocks of ideas, or poems per se.

As I check out my surroundings, I see that in each corner of all rooms in my place, dust is being accumulated which I consider my errors. My faulty life being kept aside, never swept off, never squeegeed, and polluting my consciousness.

So, I have intended to clean up these spots today. Taking away my mistakes... They are now being washed with warm water and mild soap. Then I will bleach the stains so that they can be removed once and for all. My guilty feelings are going to come off like chewing gums stuck on jeans pants being rubbed by an ice cube.

Wipe it off, flush them down, and head to the computer (with washed and towel-dried hands!)

PS - No one has tried to touch my binder, I just wonder why!

11 comments:

  1. Where are our pictures???????
    I'm so uspet with you!!!
    SHAME ON YOU TEACHER!!!

    Hahahahaha...
    H&K...

    ReplyDelete
  2. Kisses and Hugs to you too PIPIPI!

    The thing is that those photo shoots were reserved for another kind of post!!! It will be published soon.

    Don't get too anxious... You know we love you and care about you as you'd be our kid.

    Well, anyone else will be able to check your spot and see what pictures you're talking about - http://fotolog.terra.com.br/felipelf

    Have a nice one... L. ChriS

    ReplyDelete
  3. Thought I would stop in to say, "Hi"!!!

    Howdy

    'Thought & Humor'
    http://ilovehowdy.blogspot.com/
    Harvard Humor Club
    http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Harvard_Humor_Club/

    ReplyDelete
  4. I bet you heard choirs of angels while you were writing this.

    ReplyDelete
  5. ehm, that wasn't supposed to be a funny comment. )-:

    ReplyDelete
  6. laila...


    i struggle with art, not understanding it well....

    if anything, while i am quite lexiconally-endowed, dance holds for me the closest form of understandable expression...and i have no dancing ability, no agility, no flexibility, no training, no rythm...

    but the point of this iss this: you meld word with idea in the most awesome way, and second only to Gabriel Garcia Marquez in what i enjoy reading... i feel intellectually i have ingested the finest of cuisine, and crap out pathetic compliments... a craft-skill like yours in me would only be turned to complimenting your writing!!! and while plebian this may seem, you write (as and i enjoy it) as your national football team plays soccer - too enjoyably beautifull and skilled.... in ancient greece the artisans like potters were of the lowest echelon, and looked down upon; it was only amoung each other that they competed for the esteem they deserved as craftsman, and artists... you can never loose the esteem and respect deserved by you if ever only amoung those of your artistic ilk - the ones that really are the only ones qualified to speak ... there is a movie, i am sure to hard to find in Brazil, but called "Babette's Feast" .... it details the story of a french chef, the cullinary beneficiaries of whom never knew what they were receiving if it were not for one member amoung them.... yet all her art was a gift for them in honor of the love she had received from them...well, i encourage you finding it, or telling me where i can mail it to you.....



    if you get the time, i would welcome the comment on my latest entry....on my blog

    ReplyDelete
  7. I have seen that film! I am not quite sure when, but it was many years ago, that's why I can't remember it very well. In portuguese, it is called FESTA DE BABETTE...

    I am checking your last post in a sec...

    ReplyDelete
  8. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Here I come, last in line again...

    I can really relate to needing to write, speak, yell, get some words out somehow.

    It's nice to know that I'm not the only one who has to force myself to do what I know I need to do.

    Thanks Laila,
    - Gabe

    ReplyDelete

If you want your comment puplished, English writing is required.

Is it the end of it all?

A bit of imagination I can’t push the knife in I can’t make the cut I can’t turn the wheel I can’t step off the kerb I can’t take the p...