The Flames of Summer Wither and Die Away

http://vimeo.com/13667092
Goodbye summer!
And I totally love that dialogue!

Burning Bacon...

Its 4.00 am and I just caught the craziest chat conversation in LetMeWatchThis, my favorite movies' site.
Apparently "idroppedmyspoon" (that's his/hers web name) started this yesterday and its still going!

It's impossible to put all the names of the people chatting or even to include all post but these are the best!

Start frying!!!

Rebel Without a Bacon
There's something about Bacon
Girls Gone Bacon
Jennifer's Bacon
No Bacon Attached
The Sisterhood Of The Travelling Bacon
Mr and Mrs Bacon
The Lost Bacon
Bacon and Stitch
Flight of the Bacon
Bacon Dearest
Mom and Dad Save the Bacon
Journey To The Centre Of The Bacon
I Know What Bacon Did Last Summer
Before The Devil Knows You're Bacon
Die Hard: With a Sausage
BACON WARS
Inubacon
NaruBacon
How To Make Friends And Influence Bacon
Bad Bacon
FaceBacon
Winnie The Bacon
Girls Just Wanna Have Bacon
Bacon Trek
Titanic Bacon
Black Snake Sausage
The Rise of the Bacon
The Truth About Bacon
Bacon The Documentary
Interview With A Bacon
You want the bacon? ...You can't handle the bacon!
Bacon Grease AND Bacon Grease 2
The Bacon Diaries AND The Diaries of Bacon Jones
...It's my way or the baconway...
Stop or the Bacon Shoots!
Pulp Bacon
Billy the Bacon
The Bacon in the Middle
Must....resist...bacon
Guns and Bacon
Monsters vs Bacon
League of Extraordinary Bacon
...go bacon yourself you bacon bacon...
BaconStone
Trading Bacon
The Bacon of the Dead Bacons
"Its Bacon, Captain, but not as we know it."
Dirty Bacon
there's a movie with john candy called "canadian bacon" for real...
Beastly Bacon
Green Day : St. bBacon
No Country for Old Bacon
Don't Tell Mom the Bacon's Dead
Baconquest
Bacon this....
The Princess Bacon
The Bacon Gates
... I spit on your bacon!
Fried Green Bacon
Honey I Shrunk The Bacon
Bacon Impossible
Is Harry on the Bacon?
Downtown Bacon
Who Framed The Bacon?
Bacon Everlasting
Letmebaconthis :)
Meet Joe Bacon
Night of the Living Bacon
Bacon The 13th
the phantom bacon
The Bacon of the Opera
Eggs
With Bacon
Balls of Bacon
Final Destinbacon
the bacon family values
Dude, where's my bacon?
Beavis and Bacon-Head Do America
Searching For Bobby Bacon
Jason vs Bacon
The Fast and the Bacon
The Importance of Being Bacon
Supper Bacon!
Harry potter and the Bacon Hallows
The Mask of Bacon
...because bacon's what' cookin'...
Over the bacon
Save the Last Bacon For Me
Say Something Bacon
Spy Bacon
Don't be a bacon to South Bacon while drinking your Bacon in the Bacon Pretty in Bacon
Coffee and Baconettes
Never Been Baconed
Raiders of the Lost Bacon
Who's Afraid of the Bacon?
I'm hungry
The Meaning of Bacon
Finding Bacon
Ingloriuos bacon
The Bacon Mile
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Bacon
Live Free or Die bacon
Bacon Soldiers
Chainbacon massacre
Beyond the Valley of Bacon
The Woman in Bacon
The Bacontrix
Wake up if ya smmmmmmeeeeeeeellllllllllllll the bacon!
Oh No! Another Bacon Movie
Captain Bacon
Saving Private Bacon
Beauty and the Bacon
Bacon Falls
Mr Bacon
rise of the planet of the bacon
forrest bacon
Bacon Act
Bacon-nights
Clash of the Bacon
Conan the Bacon
A bacon flew over the cuckoos nest
Immortal Bacon
Forbidden Bacon
the hills have bacon
read the bacon, it tells you everything
Eyes Wide Bacon
7 days in Bacon
The Baconism
...you had me at bacon...
Number twenty bacon
silence of the bacons
Bacon of the Lambs
Borat: Cultural Learnings of Bacon for make benefit glorious Bacon of Kazakhstan
ice ice bacon
the BAcon Saga
cowboys and bacon
Fear and Bacon in Las Vegas
A Bacon Runs Through It
brokeback bacon
I now pronounce you Chuck and Bacon
IF YOU BACON THIS, YOU CAN BACON THAT
Bacon Returns
Bacon, James Bacon...
bacon me if you can
it's kind of a funny bacon
clockwork bacon
Bacon Attacks!
the rocky horror bacon show
playboy bacon
gossip bacon
a time to bacon
the bacon who could fly
The Saddest Bacon in the World
Big Bacon
A NIGHTMARE ON BACON ST.
the bacon video horror that made me puke on my aunt gertrude
Natural Born Bacon
anyone know of a good BACON?
the bacon kid
Bacon and Prejudice
The Bacon who shagged me
a Bacon too far
bridgette jones bacon
The Bacons Of Madison County
the bacon musketeers AND The Three Bacons
Dr. StrangeBacon: or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bacon
UltraBacon
Mr. Poppers Bacons
edward bacon hands
Million dollar bacon
teenage mutant hero bacons
X-bacon
Queen of the Bacon
3000 Miles to Baconland
Finding Bacon
A Fish Called Bacon
The Lord Of the Bacon: The Fellowship of the Bacon
True Bacon
American Bacon
The Bacon of Monte Cristo
The Bacon Network
Bacon, The Bacon Slayer
Mars Needs Bacon
the twin bacons

And much more bacon...

Ah! Another Beautiful Day of Reading HP fanfiction and Daydreaming... don't you just love my life?

§ You Know You’re Obsessed When… §

- You snort out loud whenever 'Chamber of Secrets', 'Harry's sword' and 'Basilisk/Tom's Monster Snake' are mentioned.

- You refuse to believe that Tom is irredeemably dark and Harry is completely light. Normally you like it when Harry goes dark.

- You look at the words 'time travel' and grin, immediately assuming that this is a perfect lead into a Tom/Harry fic.

- You come across a H/V fic and you cackle with glee.

- You can't wait until Harry finally crosses to the Dark side.

- You listen to the radio and notice down any songs/lyrics that remind you of your ship, and then you imagine for hours on end, a little theater scene in your mind, starring H and T, just dancing or singing said songs.

- You were giddy during the entire graveyard scene in GoF.

-You've memorised the page numbers of the Gravyard Scene

-...and the Chamber Scene

-...and all the pensieve scenes with Tom in HBP!

-...and where Snape deems them a couple.

-You've decided that the even numbered books are the best, because those are where Tom's mentioned, which leads to T/H subtext, which is fantastic.

-You realise that JK. R. didn't intend for it to happen, but you know how it is...

love happens.

Playing With Fire and With Cats

"We are all motivated by the same urges. Cats have the courage to live by them."

When I read this quote I just thought it represented exactly my feelings right now.

I don't know how but it just clicked right in my head.

Everything in my life right now is a complete mess, in terms of my professional and academic future, in my love life, even just in my relationships with family and friends.

Oddly enough this single quote contains, in a way, the answer, or at least my answer to all my questions abou the above issues.

Academic and professionaly, my problem is not even how I am getting to my gol, but simply getting any goals at all. I'm terribly stuck, and I say terribly because it is terrible the pressure that is. Everyone, not just family and friends but the entire society we're living in is just pressuring me into making a decision, into wanting things. Wanting to be things, to do things, to have things. Things, things, things. Like a repetitive macarena song, constantly playing in my head.

In terms of relationships, with friends and family, I always felt and probably always will feel dislocated, like I just don't know what to do. I love my friends, sure and my family of course, but is it so very strange to not know how to act around them, to always think, "Am I doing this right?" , "Perhaps it would be best to do this or say that instead?" . Its always like the simplest of things, like how many times I should see them or even talk to them, are unfamiliar concepts for me. And it seems so very simple to everyone else, like they all speak some secret language and I'm the only one left out, the foreigh student trying to learn a strange new language while all around me, everyone was born knowing it.

Ahhhh!?!!!!

And romantic relationships! Damn! it's ridicolous. I'm totaly clueless both as to how to act and in what I want. Now. I have this urges, this things I want, sure, but they are all just mixed up with this thoughts and ideas, even ideals and damn. Its all a freaking mess.

Does he like me? Do I like him?

When I like tem and they like me, I stop wanting them and when I don't like them or they don't like me is like I totally want them!

If they want long term I want a short affair, if they want a short affair, I want to have teir babies and grow old together, for All Gods' sake!

It's because I'm on my 20's isnt it?

And yet as I read that quote I feel like, for now, and for a very long time ahead. For me. This is as it should be, I hould be more like a cat, I should feel my urges, my ideas, my wants and act upon them, without guilt or second thoughts or doubts.

Just go, do what I want and damn enjoy it!

I must gather the courage to bake my cake, have it and eat it too.

Flames of Flowers Meanings

Harebell (campainha)is for submission,
gladiolus (gladiolo)
and Snapdragons (erva-bezerra)
for strength,
Grass
for aceptance,
the dog rose
is for pleasure & pain
and coral rose

for desire.
Chamomile
is patience, as well as energy in adversity;
tulips
are a declaration of love,
and yarrow (milefolio)
is the cure for heartache.
Love-lies-bleeding
is pretty self-explanatory;
pansies (amores-perfeitos)
are for thoughts and love,
lotus
is for estranged love and forgetfulness,
zinnia
are for thoughts of an absent friend.

Ok, now I bet you're super curious to why I bothered to research this particular flowers and their meanings... well, it's quite easy!
I wanted to insert flowers into a conversation, like what I did with the ice-cream, remember?
Innuendo games but with flowers this time!
Lets play!
Patricia, if you ever read this, please don't be offended, it's your fault for all that talk about threesomes!

"So, do you want to go out with him?" Pats asked me.

"Well, he's wonderful, that's for sure" I said, cheeks growing pink as I remembered last night, and then tried to think of a good way to show her how last evening had made me feel, without being too obvious or crude.

"Last evening has made me want a... a bouquet, with harebell, gladiolus and snapdragons, to lay on a bed of grass and rose petals," I said, rapidly chosing a few flowers, to represent myself-- the harebell meaning submission, then the gladiolus and snapdragons for him, the roses of desire and the grass of acceptance for pats -- though of course I knew they both really did deserve different, specific symbols, I was quite tired and gave up at finding a more appropriate one.

"I'd offer to arrange that," said Pats, "but it would only get us all in trouble." she continued shaking her head regretfully.

"Ah, perhaps once there's a proper opportunity," I said, looking curiously at her face for any reaction, "we could reconsider the matter?"

She broke out laughing, as I expected, but then she nodded once and made a mockingly serious face . "I shall trust that after many cups of chamomile tea," she said, and my memory supplied a whisper of patience among the meanings, "you will bring us tulips and not yarrow, and I'll have no cause to refuse such a proposal."

I blinked and nodded, filing the statement away to look up later, though I was pretty sure I knew what she meant. "I'll sip chamomile as well," I said, unconsciously copying her more formal speech, "and hope that he won't trade my tulips for love-lies-bleeding."

She laid her hand over mine and smiled softly. "We'll send you pansies all year long," she said trying not to laugh out loud. "And hope not to get lotus blossoms back."

"Never lotus," I said, the strange code coming to me easier, the more we spoke it, like a foreign language I'd read about but never actually tried to speak until just now.

"Pansies and zinnia, for you, always."

I finished smiling softly.

AFTER...

There was a party going on in the flat...
There was always a party...
Someone told her,
"You are woman enough to know he wants you, right?"
She answered,
"I am?"

She was? Am I?

There's a knock on the door of her room...
There's always a knonck on the door...

She got up, it was past 12 pm, but the party had lasted until the early hours of morning, and she never got up early either way.
She opened the door.
He is standing there.
There was a moment in which she thought she was still sleeping and dreaming.

She was not.
He took a step forward, and kissed her.

He pulled back, looked at the floor and spoke,
"I am sorry."

She answered,
"You are? About what?"

He looks up and goes to say something, she stops him,
"Look, if you're really sorry, then you're forgiven, I was not offended or anything.
If you're not sorry... I'm going to close this door, and when I open it again, you'll do this right."

She goes to close the door, he stops her,
"Right? Wait, what do you want me to say?"

She smiles,
"That is for you to know and for me to find out."

The door closes.

She breaths deeply.
He breaths deeply.
She tries to smooth her hair down and checks her breath.
He knocks.

The door opens.

He kisses her again.
And stays silent, looking at her.
She speaks,
"Hum... no sorry this time?"
He answers,
"I wasn't really all that sorry."

They laugh.
Somethings need no words.

Coffee Burn

Have you ever thought about coffee? It's 4 am and I find myself thinking about coffee. I suppose it is odd to be thinking about coffee in a flat where everyone drinks tea, all the time. In the middle of an entire country of tea drinkers. Yet I despise tea. Nothing special about it if you ask me. Tastes like water and grass. There's also a lemony sort of taste sometimes. Altough for me, it is more like a lemony sort of feeling. You see, food and drinks more often than not, evoke memories for me. Feelings ans sensations, mend and combine with the singular experience of the simplest meal. And tea, brings to me, one of the most despicable memories of my childhood. Remarkably enough, it's also one of the earliest ones, it is true that we sheldom recall the good things in our past, and yet the sad, painful moments stay with us, like an irritating burn, that no longer quite hurts, but it's still there as a constant reminder not to get to close to the stove. I cannot recall how old I am, but certainly younger than six, for I am still in kinderganden. It's around 5pm, and it's tea-time in a country where there is no such time, or at least few places around here are in the habit of having tea at this particular time. Unfortunatly I'm currently in one of such places. And there's a small yellow plate beneath a round white bread with butter in it, next to a orange mug, right in front of me. Inside the mug, lies my greatest fear... or not. Sometimes it is orange juice. And sometimes it isn't. They never tell us. And they never bother to ask. After all who would bother to inform the children of the contents of their cups? much less question them on their preferences. The strange thing, is that I cannot, for all that I've tried, and believe me I have tried, remember what the tea tastes like. I know it is bad, for certain, and that I detest it, but certanly I should have seen feet to recall the exact nature of the taste of such a detested brew, right? Apparently no. In fact, the really important thing about this memory is not the tea or my ultimate dislike of it, but intead that precise moment, right before I pick up the mugg, in which the contents of said mugg are still a mistery to me. They are indeed misterious the working of the human mind, for altough I cannot for the life of me remember the taste of the tea, or of the orange juice for that matter, I can recall with amaizing detail, my precise feelings in those few moments before picking up the mugg. Indecision... denial... fear, nay, pure terror... comtempt, hum, hate, for my caretakers for making me drink it... inevitability (is that a feeling? It certanly feels like one, it feels like being trapped, like having no choice, like knowing of the things that hurt you and having no control over them and no power to stop them. And those are the feelings I associate with tea. On the reverse, I love coffee, such a deep, smooth drink. Milk and sugar for sweetness. II always have my coffee with lots of milk and suggar. I suppose the coffe prudes out there would say I don't like coffee at all, if I don't drink it pure, but I do. I love the sour, bitter feeling it leaves on the back of one's mouth, after a mouthfull of sweetness. When I have coffee, I don't recall a specific memory, but intead a set of memories. Memories of breakfast in strange places. I first had coffee with my mom, I have no recolection of that first time, altough I guess I should, but I don't, I know it was with my mom, because I only stay in hotels with my mom. And it was in hotels the only times I had coffee as a child. Amidst baskets of croissants, juggs of all the juices imaginable, cakes, little packets of butter and jams, honey, different bread and so many fruit,yogurts, milk with chocolate dust in it, with cereals, or just a tall glass of perfect ice cold milk. My mom always made sure we had a good earthy breakfast in the hotels, at home, there was of course not such concern, even if we skipped breakfast, we could always eat something troughout the day, but during vacations, we would often go entire mornings with nothing but our breakfast, sometimes we wouldn't even have luch. Then again, my mom was always good at saving and travelling alone with four kids, the biggest expense is always food, so she would always tell us to eat a lot at breakfast so we would be full for the rest of the day. Oh, there would be cookies in the car, but we never really ate them, we're all quite used to filling up at breakfast during vacations, I dare say, it wouldn't be vacation without that feeling of almost bursting throughout the entire morning. Even when camping, breakfast was always the biggest affair, nothing like at home, where everyone would fend for itself, during vacation, mother always made certain we had a piece of everything we liked, and were all fill up until at least the end of the afternoon, when we would eat a couple of cookies, just to tied us up until dinner, because when we skipped lunch, during vacations it was always to save up for a big dinner out. Not a bad way to spend your summer. Not a bad way at all. Besides I think mother liked that we were all a bit drowsy because of all the food, made us quieter and slower. Yeah, she liked that, you would too, if you had to travel hours and hours locked in a car with two rowdy toddlers, one moddy almost-adult-teenager, and my annoying brooding self... I guess most people would dislike those times, or at least it would be expected for most people to hold no long lost love for the food they consumed when trying to eat for a battalion. But I'm hardly most people, I adored it, all the variety, the enormous quantities... in a household, where you eat whatever is available regardless of personal taste, and in whatever quantity you can get your hands in, (which is never much, you would be surprised at how fast food vanishes) it is hardly surprising that I would appreciate thing like variety and quantity, in the most challenging topic of food. I guess what I liked best, was the feeeling of getting to choose. And coffee truly symbolises that choice for me, I always went to a lot of trouble for my coffee, well my mom went to a lot of trouble for my cooffe, she would often have coffee at home, and I seriously doubt she has a the connection with coffee that I do, still when in the hotels she would let me have some coffee the same way she did, with milk and sugar. Much less milk and suggar than me I might add, but she would do my coffee at the same time she she did hers, and then give it to me, and I would spend a good ten minutes, waiting for it to cool down and adding more milk and more suggar untill it was perfect to my taste. A large difference from my fast, mostly non existent breakfast during the rest of the year. A bowl of cereal on the weekends, in the middle of the morning, I always sleep late on the weekends, my mom encouraged it, gave some moments of piece and quiet to watch Bewitch reruns on TV. Some bread with butter, cheese or ham, only on the day after a supermarket trip, on the days where I'd classes late or overslept. Some cake of the way to school, in the few mornings of the weeks when I hadn't spend all my money in books. Yes more often then not I skipped it entirely. Then again I always had that attitude towards food, and I dare say mom encouraged it, not to starve, obviously, there was never lack of food exactly, although if you didn't volunteer to go to the supermarket, she more often than not, wouldn't go. But it was more the feeling of relaxation towards food, and food schedules, for example, every fifyteen days at my father's place we would eat on schedule, really on scheedule, not large amouts, but I suppose I always felt they were compared to the food back home, specially breakfast again, always toast, my father loves toasted bread, all kinds of toasted bread, and bragging about his toaster, throgh out my life he has had many toasters but he brags about then always in the same exact way, and, at least for me, the bread has always tasted the same. Maybe I should feel more grateful towards it... He was trying, so very hard, to give us schedules, a routine, a sence of order, that I am quite sure, he was well aware mother never gave us. But I am afraid, he failed he simply did not understood. There was a method to her madness, at least I think there was, we turned out okay, so I believe I'm right. She gave as order, well a sence of it, but it was a a different sence of order, one father could never understand, which was in the end one of the causes for their divorce, contrasting personalities, you know? Yes, I should be grateful towards it, but I'm not, nothing I can do about it, I've long ago accepted the fact that I cannot change my feelings in relation to people or places or facts, they are as they are and trying to make myself grief for a death, or feel shame for an action, or love for a person, ("saudade" such a portuguese word, and such a strange feeling, strange for I feel it more for my cat than for my family and friends. Odd. Then again I was always odd, which explains why I miss my cat, he never asks if I miss him. I always assumed he know how much I do). Trying to change one's feelings is a useless endeavour. I feel what I feel, feelings are as unchanging as the sea. And since I'm not of a religious disposition, and cannot part the water or walk over them, I'm afraid I'll just have to let them be, as they are, free of guilt, or shame, or regrets. That's me. Now that I think about it I guess I put so much acceptance into this, into accepting my own emotions, my own actions, indeed my own self, that I leave none such acceptance for the topic of food. If it cannot be enjoyable then I see no point to it. I cook very rarely, yet I enjoy it tremendously, that is because I only cook when for enjoyment. In fact when finished cooking I often forget to eat the food, the pleasure was so often in the making of it. If someone were to ask me my secret for the perfect diet, I would give them my case, I never vary more than five kilos, that's five more or five less than my original weight. Which is very appropriate for my size and body shape. My father says I'm too thin, then again, fathers always say that. No one who has seen me naked ever complained and I dare say they were in a good position to judge. Perfect diet tip number one, eat only when you want. I like to call this one the Mom's rule, this was after all how my mom's policy to food. You are not hungry? then why eat? go do something else more valuable with your time. Money is food. If your eating all the time you won't give food the proper value, there are kids starving in Africa you know? Want to eat? go cook! do I look like the maid? It's your food, you want to eat it, you go and get it from the supermarket and you cook it yourself, otherwise you just eat whatever I make (which more often than not, includes such delicacies as peas and eggs and any king of pasta ever invented to mankind with turkey sausages from the can) or whatever is around ( not much, if you didn't go to the supermarket I'm afraid). Hell I always tought she would make us kill our own meat and plant our own potatoes, if she could! *This goal is now closer than ever to completation, with my mom's recent purchase of a farm, yep a farm, can you see me in a farm? heck, you probably can too, sitting beneath a tree, reading a book and hording some sheep.* Either way, back to coffee, it was only in hotels, during vacation, that I ever had coffee. Not anymore, of course, now I can have coffee anytime, and temarkably enough, it still feels the same, every single time I take a sip of my steaming hot mugg, more often at the end of a hard day, than at the beguining of one, it still tastes like confort, not a home confort, but a confort away from home, in strange lands, aventure full places. Coffee tastes like luxury for me, reward of sorts in a sense, but not an addiction, like some people refer to it, not at all! Instead it is someting that you would not have everyday, and altough I love the flavour, and have tried before, I cannot have it everyday, not even once a week, the mere sense of predicabilaty and my coffee is ruined for me. For me Coffee is a feeling. It's the feeling of freedom, of independance, of memories long gone of happy, sweet breakfasts and sour, absent ones. Of choosing one's own fate... of making one's own path in life, as one makes one's own coffee.