It is nothing but a fear within a fear...

Afraid of this self-reliance feeling that can ruin me while my head keep thinking I don't need anyone else to be here. I have strenght, I have my own power and I can't share what I've got inside. I'm too much dependant. But when I'm not, I can lose it all. And you can lose it as well.

It is nothing but a fear within a fear about the future that has to come.

there is a light that never goes out. (never comes up, actually)

Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were -- I have not seen
As others saw -- I could not bring
My passions from a common spring --
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow -- I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone --
And all I lov'd -- I lov'd alone --
Then -- in my childhood -- in the dawn
Of a most stormy life -- was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still --
From the torrent, or the fountain --
From the red cliff of the mountain --
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold --
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by --
From the thunder, and the storm --
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view --

By Edgar Allan Poe. Source: Poe Stories

Poe: life and works

I've just read Edgar Allan Poe: um homem em sua sombra, and I wished to share my opinion with you, folks.

Although this book presents quite important aspects of Poe's life, it doesn't have an organized timeline. In this sense, I suggest you to read the work of Ivan Schmidt, who also researched previous Poe's biografies such as Hervey Allen's for instance. The countless footnotes are also problematic. The reading becomes tiring and our attention can be easily distracted. On the other hand, the author presents good analysis of "The Raven" and other Poe's works.

and finally, the tiny stars want to shine! they get right through my window and everything in here is sweet and bright.

falling in love with stars.

Not a scent of emotions

She was quite comfortable with that feeling of tasting no scent of emotions. Who the hell needs this? Picures, songs and also emotions are just distractions. Like television, videogames, stars in the sky and little ghosts. Only distractions to make us strong enough avoiding the fear of death.

Reflections of a word

Reading Clarice Lispector makes me tired enough. My inner self is damn fuckin' messed up. When you feel the truth and you don't tell it, it's ok. But if you see this truth somewhere... you're lost and you make anything to hide it.