<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440</id><updated>2012-01-01T12:15:21.498-02:00</updated><title type='text'>Mrs. Kowalski</title><subtitle type='html'>Circuitos magnéticos imaginários</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>185</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-7820628969191934923</id><published>2012-01-01T12:15:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2012-01-01T12:15:21.506-02:00</updated><title type='text'>New Year's Eve</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;I really like your arms...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; - they like you too ;)&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-7820628969191934923?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/7820628969191934923/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=7820628969191934923' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7820628969191934923'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7820628969191934923'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2012/01/new-years-eve.html' title='New Year&apos;s Eve'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-6799593250706664508</id><published>2011-12-22T05:41:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2011-12-22T05:41:41.875-02:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Hanukkah!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;You came! You're here!&lt;br /&gt;Just what I needed right now, perfect timing, mate!&lt;br /&gt;I called you, shaking it out... thanks for helping me clean my back.&lt;br /&gt;I love how you helped me paddle faster.&lt;br /&gt;I love how you know how and when to calm me down.&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for helping me bury that horse.&lt;br /&gt;I love how you surprise me, me (!), the one who cannot be surprised anymore.&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for keeping me on my toes.&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for your duality.&lt;br /&gt;You got the gist.&lt;br /&gt;Made me write again.&lt;br /&gt;Cheers!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-6799593250706664508?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/6799593250706664508/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=6799593250706664508' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6799593250706664508'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6799593250706664508'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2011/12/happy-hanukkah.html' title='Happy Hanukkah!'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-9004925776637771220</id><published>2011-04-13T12:26:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-04-13T12:26:30.767-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Calaaaaaados!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;Vamos mudar o mundo!&lt;br /&gt;Simbora escrever um livro sobre a sociedade injusta e irreal, uma cancao subjetiva com letra protestante, um blues raivoso e cheio de alma doente de tanta falta de alma e falsa modernidade. Eu nao me importo com nada que fale a respeito de uma massa aonde eu nao me incluo, nao perco meu tempo pensando que, mesmo a minha maior vontade e tentativa, terao o minimo resultado nesse mar imundo. Nao tenho paciencia para pseudo intelectuais, ambientalistas e qualquer tipinho blaze tentando me fazer sentir menos por nao fingir que me preocupo com o que acontece com gente que nao conheco. Tambem nao acho que deveria, desisti de tentar entender e de perdoar a raca humana. Assim como eu, somos todos escrotos egoistas e egocentricos, obviamente, existem niveis de escrotisse e eu escolho me relacionar com os menos asquerosos. Eu sei que, se todos fizerem sua parte, talvez algo melhor aconteceria mas, eu sou a mariazinha chata do maternal que acha que, se joazinho nao precisa fazer, eu tambem nao preciso. E nao acho que devo satisfacao a ninguem a respeito do meu ponto de vista, tambem nao tenho paciencia pra discutir isso. Cada um no seu quadrado! Nao faca aos outros o que nao quer que facam a voce! Mate com docura! Admita que, em tudo que lhe acontece, voce tem culpa sim! Nao coloque a responsabilidade do seu sucesso em qualquer outro que nao seja voce mesmo! Faca o que tiver vontade e sempre, sempre, diga a verdade a voce mesmo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nao tenho mais paciencia pra esse post, nem pra nada que me fez querer escrever tudo isso.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-9004925776637771220?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/9004925776637771220/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=9004925776637771220' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/9004925776637771220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/9004925776637771220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2011/04/calaaaaaados.html' title='Calaaaaaados!'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-4010484234509104954</id><published>2011-03-15T01:18:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-15T01:18:03.820-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Unable</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;I use to breathe and live by love, give it to the most unfortunate and unlikely to receive it&lt;br /&gt;my love was charity and compassion, for the return of selfless love is the most precious treasure one can have.&lt;br /&gt;Little do they tell that, once love is given it cannot be taken back. Perhaps I gave all of mine, come to think that it might take an eternity to get some of it back.&lt;br /&gt;As I stand here, loveless, millions of different feelings come to place: lust, hunger, coldness of being, passion, hate. Began to think my heart's grown hard and tough with no place for warm sentiments or kindness towards another who tries to get in. Began to think others were unworthy of my love or even I was unworthy of my love. Began to forget how it was to live on an edge of madness caused by somebody else whom I despise today. Miss the feelings, never the men. Believe I haven't, to this day, met even half of the person one should be to deserve such complex appreciation as mine. Would like to think I earn no regrets, would like to think every mistake was necessary and every fall a new beginning. I wish these veins on my hands could let you know where they've been. I wish I could showcase all the people (men) who made my chest so hard and who killed all the butterflies in my stomach. Wish I still had the colors to showcase the ones who made me cry and pour out joy into words. Of all the ones I loved, all the ones I cried for and out of all the ones that made my days worth living, the ones I haven't met and the moments I still haven't lived are, certainly, the ones that I miss and what makes life hurt the most, for it is the uncertainty of fulfillment that moves me and kills me every day. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-4010484234509104954?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/4010484234509104954/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=4010484234509104954' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/4010484234509104954'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/4010484234509104954'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2011/03/unable.html' title='Unable'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-2023580069279566846</id><published>2011-03-08T03:08:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-08T03:08:12.862-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Raphael</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;Oh if it isn't for the souls of the lost in the abyss of oblivion&lt;br /&gt;for the hands that longed to touch the invisible&lt;br /&gt;feel the unimaginable &lt;br /&gt;there's the dream of conquering all the impossible&lt;br /&gt;learning the unexplicable&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;loving the despicable&lt;br /&gt;as in the day I saw your eyes for the first time&lt;br /&gt;two black wholes into what I fell&lt;br /&gt;never to return to surface again&lt;br /&gt;for then, I knew, once seen the future&lt;br /&gt;the present had nothing left to give&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but time&lt;br /&gt;time as in waiting and waiting the best way one can&lt;br /&gt;loving the despicable&lt;br /&gt;learning the unexplicable&lt;br /&gt;conquering the impossible&lt;br /&gt;feeling the unimaginable&lt;br /&gt;touching the invisible&lt;br /&gt;falling into oblivion&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;as the sounds of glory loudly make their way into the crowd&lt;br /&gt;two black wholes guide me into the infinite&lt;br /&gt;for in your eyes reside all glory, fear and regret&lt;br /&gt;the guilt of not being enough&lt;br /&gt;but the hope of being tragic enough for&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;romance&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and so we lie in tragedy and silence&lt;br /&gt;and in the silence we found bliss&lt;br /&gt;answers in discomfort&lt;br /&gt;solitude in being together&lt;br /&gt;for it is best to find love in silence&lt;br /&gt;than passion in chaos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it is best to be intrigued by coldness&lt;br /&gt;than to feel safe with warmth&lt;br /&gt;and I'd rather live a thousand years in your silence&lt;br /&gt;than only one second of your voice&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;your hands and wrists are keys to my abyss&lt;br /&gt;in which I'll keep you&lt;br /&gt;for every time I fall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-2023580069279566846?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/2023580069279566846/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=2023580069279566846' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2023580069279566846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2023580069279566846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2011/03/raphael.html' title='Raphael'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-7378986075597033714</id><published>2011-01-28T15:28:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2011-01-28T15:28:09.721-02:00</updated><title type='text'>Salvatore</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;           &lt;style&gt;@font-face {  font-family: "Times";}@font-face {  font-family: "Cambria";}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }&lt;/style&gt;     &lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;As I held her, weak as her "life" proceeded to wish to leave her, she met me at the place she longed to be in. Little village, right outside of London, five hundred years ago. Long blue dress, long dark hair, shining around with those big green eyes. "I've been wanting to come here" she said. "Well, the word got spread around" I replied. "The sun feels so warm, I missed this so much" she said as she leaned her body against mine on the field, autumn trees filled the place with their orange leaves, the horses made the whole scene feel like a celebration of life, of day light. "Am I dreaming?" she asked, I shook my shoulders in the hopes of convincing her that it actually didn't matter. "I miss being human" she said to me, "humanity is overrated" I said trying to make her forget about the beginning but to enjoy the end. "I had friends, I had a family, I mattered", she looked up to me as I said: " you still do".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;- I don't, and that's ok, but you do. You spent your whole life surrounded by the people who love you, I spent five hundred years just existing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;She said as if it was possible to live for that long and continue to feel, to hurt.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;- I didn't have a choice.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;I told her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;- There's always a choice.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;She said while gazing at me with those big green eyes. "You know, you are ruining a perfect day with your strange, philosophical blabber". She laughed and kissed me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;- I'd like to enjoy the fresh air, will you enjoy it with me?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;She asked.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;- For a while.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;I said. She leaned her head on my shoulder.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;As I felt the fresh air for the first time in 120 years, with my eyes open I still had her dying body in my arms on that filthy bed. I grabbed the wooden stake as I let go of her hand.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;On the field, she grabbed my hand harder and thanked me. "For what?" I asked and she replied: " for being this good". It was the first time in a hundred years I had listen to the word "good" being directed at me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;- Am I gonna see them again? My family?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;She asked.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;- I think you're gonna see whoever you'd like to see now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;- I'm not afraid anymore.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;With the stake in my hand I gently positioned it on top of Rose's heart. She interrupted me to ask if I'd like to race her through the woods.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;- Well, be aware that you're gonna lose.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;I warned her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;- Well I'm older than you, and faster.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;She replied with the devil's eyes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;- Oh you think? Well I'm controlling this dream, maybe I'll cheat.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;She laughed and said:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;- On the count of three.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;My hand now strongly tries to fight the will of pushing the stake down her chest.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;One..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;Even though they were little, my strange tears painfully rolled through my face.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;Two...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;Like my existential crisis of feeling or switching off my humanity kicked in and I was left with the decision to kill her/it or let live.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"&gt;Three&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-7378986075597033714?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/7378986075597033714/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=7378986075597033714' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7378986075597033714'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7378986075597033714'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2011/01/salvatore.html' title='Salvatore'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-5003602034215919752</id><published>2011-01-25T18:07:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T23:36:18.164-02:00</updated><title type='text'>Michael told me last night...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;I believe in the unsaid, the imperfect, on what's already gone and all we left behind. All those beautiful moments we pictured and that will never be. I believe in Michael and everything he told me about the stars, for I'm his soul sister and he gives me rides across the sky. Michael never cries, he never complains and he never hides. Michael only shines, and breathes and smiles. He's an angel for sure but he can't stop telling lies. We both agree that fantasy and reality are equally relevant. Whatever you create or live, once you forget, ceases to exist. Therefore, once remembered, everything is here and everything is now. It's all real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps, instead of trying to go back and fix it, we should make a mental note of asking our future selves for guidance. Right now, ask for it. Perhaps that's the secret, for, once we know we, indeed, need help from our future selves, knowing that, in the future, can make us come back in a completely real way through our conscious(ness) and save us from ourselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever may not make sense right now, I know the time is gonna come and you will realize the same thing and wonder and weep for it. "Oh, why didn't I ask myself that before?" Everything could be fine for not only it is a way of self comprehension, it is also an escape and a fantastic way of believing that you, yourself, have the answer to all of your questions. It is a matter of time until you actually have them, but knowing that truth will come might be the most comfortable and practical way of living with yourself. No matter how old you get, you'll always be sure that the answer will come to you and there is no need to worry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Michael says: "be calm, be sure, be lieve."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-5003602034215919752?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/5003602034215919752/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=5003602034215919752' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/5003602034215919752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/5003602034215919752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2011/01/michael-told-me-last-night.html' title='Michael told me last night...'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-6604096833985181095</id><published>2010-12-19T05:46:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2010-12-19T05:46:25.811-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;The sky was dark and clear, all stars up. She had braided hair and a red dress on, looking through the window of her bedroom she saw the dark night. Life in the castle was very pleasant, good hearted people, sometimes not so much, no physical needs, perhaps financial needs but nothing too serious... everything in its place. The new boy came from far away to work for the lord, he was beautiful, all dark and well built, he had the brown eyes and the hair, just as she pictured. She would wander through the gardens and day dream of that one, the one she read about on books who would, with his dark passenger on his ear, take her away from that reality that was so unbearably real. Luck, love and wealth, all in a very distinctive way. The boy was charming and clever, he knew a lot about the trees and the animals, he knew everything there was to know about nature. He would walk around shirtless making her blush everytime, she'd laugh at his jokes and the way he'd make fun of her braided hair. " Isn't that the way a proper girl should be?" she asked him, he said: "well, if a proper girl is what you are then, you probably shouldn't be talking like that to a servant, or letting him wash your hair at night, or wish he had a darker secret then the color of his trousers... you know miss, maybe your not that proper after all." She laughed and thanked him for his honesty and that kind of behavior for he was the only one who would truly see her beyond the braids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The days passed as if nothing else in the world was happening but them. They played under the moonlight and she began to notice that the boy had traces of a man by the way he would look at her sometimes, you see, it is noticeable for a girl when a boy becomes a man for only they can actually feel the transition. It is in the way the eyes stop acting so surprised and more analytic, how their hands feel tougher instead of soft and touch becomes stronger. It is when you are held by man and you feel safe as if nothing, at that moment, could harm you or even reach you. It is when, instead of awkwardness, you feel freedom and, instead of frustration, you get expectation. A true man could stop a hundred horses with a scream, make a hundred servants with his posture, a hundred days of happiness with his mouth and a hundred years of love with a look. In the meantime, as a boy who's becoming a man, he would let her know with his eyes that, soon, he would be complete in all matters you can be. She let her hair down and got closer to him, staring straight into his soul, she tried to tell him but knew it wasn't the time. Not yet. His voice would change as he told her about the spirit of a flower, how it grows and listens to you, how it responds to your caring. She cared for nothing else but the higher of his being, she could not wait until he was complete, she had the need to savor the child in him before it was gone. Their lips touched and his eyes became surprised and his touch was soft for the last time. At that moment, she understood that, a girl only senses the transition of a boy becoming a man, because she acts as the trigger object and joins him on the same path. It is when a girl turns a boy into a man that she, herself, becomes a woman and, in this explosion of a moment, there is a glimpse of sadness for knowing what will never be the same and the responsibility one carries when being a part of such event. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They looked at each other as completely new beings and, all that doubt and questioning that would torment them before, it was all gone. All that was left was the urge and need to have more so their lips collapsed again, now as man and woman, his touch was stronger and his chest was home. Together they became one and discovered that, once that point was reached, even if far away, they would never be apart.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;to be continued&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-6604096833985181095?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/6604096833985181095/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=6604096833985181095' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6604096833985181095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6604096833985181095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/12/sky-was-dark-and-clear-all-stars-up.html' title=''/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-2184094589737573717</id><published>2010-12-07T02:57:00.006-02:00</published><updated>2010-12-07T15:06:09.029-02:00</updated><title type='text'>castigo</title><content type='html'>tuas mãos sujas, calejadas, esfarrapadas&lt;br /&gt;deixam digitais nos meus olhos, pele e cabelos&lt;br /&gt;te quero fora e exorcizado de mim, mesmo que só por hoje&lt;br /&gt;só pra poder lembrar do tempo em que eu sonhava por ti&lt;br /&gt;esquecer de mim nos teus bracos e tirar de ti a vida&lt;br /&gt;assim como gostaria de tira-la de mim&lt;br /&gt;tuas declarações nunca foram suficiente, nem as tuas, nem as tuas, nem as tuas...&lt;br /&gt;quando a musica muda, muda a cor, o cheiro, o sentir&lt;br /&gt;e me da vontade de ser tua de novo&lt;br /&gt;e de curar teus calos e secar teu suor&lt;br /&gt;"o esforço acabou" dizer no teu ouvido baixinho: it's already over&lt;br /&gt;enquanto tu te esperneias e gritas para que não o solte&lt;br /&gt;e então&lt;br /&gt;eu te observo cair&lt;br /&gt;e o teu olhar se tornou sereno durante o trajeto ate o chão&lt;br /&gt;nesse segundo eu vi que tu compreendias e me perdoavas por te-lo amado tanto&lt;br /&gt;e eu vi tua vida sair do teu corpo num leve sopro&lt;br /&gt;sorri e me senti completamente amada por saber que tu serias sempre meu e que, mesmo sem vida, teus olhos seguiriam, sempre, olhando pra mim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;o trajeto de volta pra casa foi como se, a cada passo, um pedaço de mim se perdesse pelo caminho.&lt;br /&gt;atravessei o campo de flores sob o luar, rodopiando e dançando feito menina em sonhos dourados. &lt;br /&gt;cantava teu nome e a cada silaba saboreava como se o dissesse pela primeira vez.&lt;br /&gt;engraçado como o nome da pessoa amada se torna enfeitiçante. como se tivesse o poder de materializar-lo ali em minha frente. então peguei em tua mão e deixei que me levasse ate um trajeto mais escuro.&lt;br /&gt;ficou frio, gelado e muito, muito escuro. então cai. cai e rasguei a palma.&lt;br /&gt;vi o sangue e então eu vi, vi que estava sozinha e o sangue não era meu.&lt;br /&gt;de repente, um buraco abriu-se dentro de mim pois percebi que não estavas ao meu lado, nem jamais voltaria a estar&lt;br /&gt;ao dar-me conta do ocorrido, pus me a chorar lagrimas frias que de nada me adiantavam&lt;br /&gt;comecei a correr, eu tenho medo do escuro, do desconhecido e de qualquer coisa sem ti.&lt;br /&gt;enquanto corria, pedia perdão, pedia que viesse me socorrer, que nunca mais faria aquilo de novo, prometo!&lt;br /&gt;cheguei ate os trilhos de trem, nos quais tantas vezes nos despedimos e tu partias para tao longe...&lt;br /&gt;e agora o longe se transformou em nunca mais, e o amanha se transformou em pra sempre.&lt;br /&gt;soluçava e gritava aos ventos que jamais me perdoaria, que jamais me deixaria amar outra vez, que preferia a morte a ter de viver sem minha vida.&lt;br /&gt;a luz me cegou, interrompeu minha fúria&lt;br /&gt;olhei para a luz e então te vi, não a tua materialização mas tu, de verdade, caminhando em minha direção.&lt;br /&gt;tu sorrias, sorrias aquele teu sorriso leve e bandido.&lt;br /&gt;era o perdão&lt;br /&gt;então eu corri, corri em tua direção, em direção a minha luz e então... como que num baque surdo, eu estava em teus bracos e eu te beijava o peito, como se nunca mais fossemos nos soltar &lt;br /&gt;uma lagrima rolou, estava feliz e me senti amada pois, agora sim, tu serias sempre meu mas, por estar eternamente abracada em ti, jamais veria, novamente, teus olhos olhando pra mim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TP3LRX7JLJI/AAAAAAAAALs/pnSOAgIBvMY/s1600/20090131014353.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TP3LRX7JLJI/AAAAAAAAALs/pnSOAgIBvMY/s320/20090131014353.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547813815330614418" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-2184094589737573717?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/2184094589737573717/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=2184094589737573717' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2184094589737573717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2184094589737573717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/12/castigo.html' title='castigo'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TP3LRX7JLJI/AAAAAAAAALs/pnSOAgIBvMY/s72-c/20090131014353.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-7048456330280417871</id><published>2010-11-04T03:25:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2010-11-04T03:38:58.741-02:00</updated><title type='text'>my hands are growing</title><content type='html'>kiss me and forever free me from this inner cage. lost inside a thousand walls that keep me in this alluring prison... who's to blame? emotional wreck for lack of compassion, to love and die or to live and die from the absence of love, that is the question. wrap me up, unfold me... I am small and needy, warm me up and breathe me... that's what she said. the girl who just cannot keep steady even though she craves for stability. what to do with such irrational state of mind? what to live for if not to love and be loved? sometimes I feel him talking to me through my thoughts, nights like this one when I can't sleep, just thinking and wondering where did it all go? so many questions, so many sentences that were already spoken... so repetitive, but what are the words that were never spoken before? is there such thing as an untold story? an idea that wasn't thought about before? there is no future, just the repetition of everything that was already said and written. we are little pieces putting together the puzzle of life, which was already thought through before... so why is it so hard to understand? why is it so hard to get any answers? why do we ask so many questions? same doubts, different instruments. if only the wind would stop so it could start again in a new/old way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-7048456330280417871?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/7048456330280417871/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=7048456330280417871' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7048456330280417871'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7048456330280417871'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/11/my-hands-are-growing.html' title='my hands are growing'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-7224625266347486074</id><published>2010-10-29T01:02:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2010-10-29T01:57:50.604-02:00</updated><title type='text'>the unbearable wish</title><content type='html'>through the window of my bedroom I see Paul, he takes off his shirt everyday at six thirty, which is exactly 45 minutes after I get home from school. The other day I saw Paul at the groceries store, he was wearing that brown shirt that matches his eyes, he asked me if I knew where the chicken broth was, why would he want to know that? was he sick? was his girlfriend sick? Does he even have a girlfriend? My eyes went straight to his tattoo, he has cross on his left arm, I always get drawn to the little tip that gets out his shirt's sleeve. He thinks I'm a weirdo, and maybe I am - you'd be a weirdo for Paul as well - "second row", I said after staring for about 4 seconds. I wish I could just tell him, I can always say everything, I'm not a nerd, not a weirdo... only when he looks at me, as if some sort of spell was cast on me every time I see his eyes, his light brown eyes, like fire on a train track (train track? yeah, that's the image I see when he looks at me), like a train on fire, and I'm inside, burning, but it doesn't matter because he's looking at me, all I see, in the midst of all that fire, are Paul's eyes. All I see are his dashing eyes, for all eternity in his eyes, four seconds. One day I saw Paul at the library, he was reading "The unbearable lightness of being", only him would read literature at a library, well, him and me. He had a hoodie on, so simple yet so complex, how could a creature so mundane seem so angelic to me? His thin pointed nose, those strong shaped lips, high cheeks... not to mention his long fingers flipping through those pages, he would caress his head and touch his hair... to touch his hair...He looked at me and smile, you would think I could not deserve a smile but, like I said, I'm no freak. I just happen to have this urge to get inside his chest forever and stay there, comforted by his weakness and threatened by his strength, wander his thoughts and most shameful desires, speak with Paul's voice, touch with Paul's hands, hear his music but, most of all, see with Paul's fiery eyes. I wish there was a door to Paul's world, to his soul, wish I could consume Paul and all his essence, wish I could be Paul. I wish Paul was real.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-7224625266347486074?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/7224625266347486074/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=7224625266347486074' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7224625266347486074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7224625266347486074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/10/unbearable-wish.html' title='the unbearable wish'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-3159081861765997747</id><published>2010-10-26T04:10:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2010-10-26T04:25:28.124-02:00</updated><title type='text'>the start of amazing men</title><content type='html'>Hoje Mr. Kowalski esta, e assim ficara, mais confortavel em seu novo lar. Compartilho esse espaco tambem com o mais novo membro da minha (in)consciencia, o garoto malvado da coca. Ele tambem tem coracao e olhos de pedra, rara excecao feita devido aos seus olhos azuis. Eu nunca gostei de homem com olho claro, nao me passa confianca, mas Tommy me mostrou que clareza tambem pode ser empatica. Gostaria de deixar outra coisa clara, aqui nao iras encontrar nada de informativo ou, sendo assim, extremamente construtivo aqueles que veem na superficie do espelho. Me encanta o sexo oposto, obviamente, me encantam suas maneiras distintas e febris de pensar e agir. Divirto- me observando o comportamento masculino: o processamento de informacoes, o raciocinio raro e a formulacao de conclusoes. Homens sao divertidissimos, nao tendo uma missao explicita nesse mundo (no caso das mulheres seria ser mae, supostamente), sentem-se por vezes confusos quanto ao que fazer ou dizer quando questionados sobre o mesmo. Principalmente quando questionados por mulheres, pobres homens, cercados por duvidas sobre o que pensar ou dizer sem que parecam machistas, mal sabem eles que as maiores machistas sao, de fato, as mulheres! Inclusive eu que,acredito ter deixado claro, sou admiradora fiel desse ser tao magnifico e intrigante que e o macho de nossa especie decadente. Voltarei a discutir esse assunto mas, no momento, me encontro absorta em pensamentos por demais cabulosos para, sequer, continuar a escrever. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Don't you know? You're the most beautiful thing there is in this planet, you're a man..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZ0FqgwXPI/AAAAAAAAALk/2Qi0oXYeO1g/s1600/happysmile.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 259px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZ0FqgwXPI/AAAAAAAAALk/2Qi0oXYeO1g/s320/happysmile.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532236832931077362" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-3159081861765997747?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/3159081861765997747/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=3159081861765997747' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3159081861765997747'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3159081861765997747'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/10/start-of-amazing-men.html' title='the start of amazing men'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZ0FqgwXPI/AAAAAAAAALk/2Qi0oXYeO1g/s72-c/happysmile.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-7894757296907224670</id><published>2010-10-17T03:01:00.003-02:00</published><updated>2010-10-17T03:20:40.309-02:00</updated><title type='text'>Ceu Distante</title><content type='html'>eu era a primavera e não sabia... quando escuto o choro do vento batendo nas ondas de pais distante me da saudade das águas do sul e das lagrimas do sul. de poemas de Jabor e casas de praia abandonadas, casas de praia aonde minha virgindade repousa, onde a juventude guarda os contos de infância e o cheiro de mofo transporta o espirito de volta a inocência. Havia uma beleza ali ou era criatividade minha, quando andava pela rua cor de sol amarelo ouro, me fitava e eu avermelhando nos jardins de ouro. Desvanecida de amor cor de carmim...&lt;br /&gt;a nostalgia eh a mais louvável forma de viagem no tempo, quando podemos dançar velhas musicas e beijar lábios de primeiros amores, de amores que sequer foram amores. me da uma saudade de ser Carolina, Daniela e Susana - codinomes de quem não da importância a nomes. fantasias e delírios dentro dos teus olhos verdes, lindos - tu não eh único, nem primeiro, nem ultimo - es assim eterno, duradouro, de modo que te confesso agora todos os sonhos de outrora construindo, assim, uma porta para o imaginário, infinito e lirico que existe só no meu pensamento que eh tua morada, enamorada sou eu desse teu animal enjaulado no teu corpo que tem sede da minha sede e fome da minha fome. eu me alimento com teus devaneios enquanto tu te sacias com as minhas mentiras.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-7894757296907224670?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/7894757296907224670/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=7894757296907224670' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7894757296907224670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7894757296907224670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/10/ceu-distante.html' title='Ceu Distante'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-1565467556960330973</id><published>2010-08-13T10:50:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2010-08-13T11:05:37.883-03:00</updated><title type='text'>the doors must be open</title><content type='html'>Sofro agora a dor do fim de uma era, era de sonhos e amores perdidos, de aventuras inocentes e outras nem tanto assim. Agora ha pouco li todos os posts antigos e chorei como uma criança... vi que minhas frustrações ainda são as mesmas, meus medos ainda são os mesmos e, ateh os amores, me doeram... não soh a perda deles em si, mas de saudade de todas as coisas lindas que desejei e que nunca existirão, os planos que fiz que não mais persistem, dos que fiz sofrer e dos que me fizeram chorar. Acho tao triste quando chega o final de um ciclo como esse, mais despedidas, por mais que já esteja acostumada, não fica mais fácil, não doí menos, não deixa de tirar um pedaço de mim. Por isso, agora, sofro e choro por esse pedaço que fica, como se sentisse ele sendo arrancado de mim, o pedaço imaturo, ingenuo e sonhador, não cresceu o bastante pra continuar - deve ser substituído por outro mais forte e mais maduro - que a essência nunca se perca, mas a matéria agora se vai e machuca pesando na garganta a despedida da criança imatura e ingenua e sonhadora. Sigo em busca de novas batalhas, novos sonhos e, sempre, novos amores.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-1565467556960330973?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/1565467556960330973/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=1565467556960330973' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1565467556960330973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1565467556960330973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/08/doors-must-be-open.html' title='the doors must be open'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-8544269845515570611</id><published>2010-08-02T09:17:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2010-08-02T09:30:04.719-03:00</updated><title type='text'>back to basics</title><content type='html'>Going back to the roots of real things and true words of inspiration I realize I'm back on track following my path. When people and random situations seem to let you down, philosophy and literature bring you back to where you want to be and never disappoint you. Now I read Oscar Wilde and he speaks to me in my language, whispers the truth in my ears, telling me that pleasure is very different from happiness and some things are more precious because they don't last. Typing this makes it feel like the keyboard is in fact a piano that exhales poetry in the form of music (or the other way around). My hands feel like soft tools to be used as instruments of inspiration, I declare myself a messenger of sense and sensibility, always searching for tutors in the greats and passing on to the weak. If only one would notice and appreciate it maybe I could feel less of an incomplete but, at the same time, less unique. I claim the right to be observed and studied the same way I love to observe and study another one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are eyes and hair and hands, breathing through an insatiable heart. I hear your call, come out, come out wherever you are.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-8544269845515570611?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/8544269845515570611/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=8544269845515570611' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8544269845515570611'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8544269845515570611'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/08/back-to-basics.html' title='back to basics'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-7726357344024903840</id><published>2010-07-24T05:37:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-07-24T05:48:28.825-03:00</updated><title type='text'>porque eu nao vou morrer de amor</title><content type='html'>"...my birthday is coming, and if I had one wish, yeah, you'd be it. When you're around I lose myself inside your mouth, you've got brown eyes like no one else baby make it to me again and again..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"you know something? I have always wanted to kiss you and I hate myself now because it's too late..." foi o que tu disse hoje pra mim. mas que audacia, jamais seria tarde demais... ah sim, claro, tu te apaixonou por outra pessoa, logico... da nada, to acostumada. mas, pelo menos fiz tu entender que comigo a roda gira pro outro lado, que eu nao vou ficar chateada contigo, ou te deletar do facebook por que? porque eu sou do caralho! eu sou a guria mais afude que tu ja conheceu na tua vida - sim, pelo menos tu entendeu isso e me beijou porque sabia que eu nao ia morrer de amor, que bom que tu entendeu e me abracou porque sabia que eu nao ia entender errado, que bom que tu entendeu e me levou no cinema e fugiu do resto do povo comigo, e me deu metade do teu crepe de nutella. que bom que tu entendeu que eu entendo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;entao ta, assim ficamos combinados: tu pode deitar no meu colo, pode me abracar, deixar eu dormir no teu peito, pode me contar teus segredos, pode me mostrar teus filmes e tuas insegurancas, pode me falar dela tambem (sou craque em dar conselhos pra quem amo), pode beijar meu rosto sem medo que eu tente beijar tua boca, pode me chamar de Marrrriana e falar comigo em alemao ou frances, pode ateh me convencer a assitir um filme de acao chato nao primeira fila do cinema e me deixar com enxaqueca, pode dizer que me adora mais do que todas as outras pessoas que tu conheceu aqui. eh isso que eu quero de ti, tua consideracao - e hoje tu provou pra todo mundo que por mim tem muita. que bom que tu entendeu o que nenhum outro entendeu, que bom que tu entendeu que, nao, eu nao vou morrer de amor.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-7726357344024903840?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/7726357344024903840/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=7726357344024903840' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7726357344024903840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7726357344024903840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/07/porque-eu-nao-vou-morrer-de-amor.html' title='porque eu nao vou morrer de amor'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-5163703043401615174</id><published>2010-07-14T04:14:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-07-14T04:36:43.151-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Acabei de fazer amor contigo por telepatia&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vem chegando a tao esperada hora da partida. Ha anos, vinte para ser mais exata, tenho vivido intensamente cada segundo por saber que ela sempre vem, sem atrasos. Caminho pelas ruas exageradamente iluminadas e poluidas de tanta informacao. Hollywwod Blvd., Sunset Blvd., Vine, Highland, Barham, Mulholland Dr., Wilshire e tantas outras. Outro sonho realizado, outra experiencia tao bem apreciada... mesmo assim, na calcada da fama, eu sinto saudades da minha Porto Alegre boemia, das ruas da cidade baixa e dos mendigos do centro... saudades de caminhar por la e me encontrar com as pessoas que tanto amo. Nao ha duvida que sentirei falta desse lugar tambem, talvez mais do que espero mas, esse ano, me abri feito flor na primavera e as outras estacoes nao me assustam mais do que me encantam. Aprendi a apreciar o momento e nao chorar quando ele acaba, mas sorrir porque o vivi. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Entre tantos desvios e pechadas pelo caminho, eu dedico essa vida - e a proxima - as pessoas que a viveram, vivem e a viverao comigo, sempre, de algum jeito ou de outro, carrego cada sorriso, cada lagrima, abraco, beijo e tesao que dividi com todos que me construiram e me destruiram e me construiram de volta. Agradeco todos os dias por ser livre para pensar sem sentir medo, beijar sem sentir culpa, transar sem ter vergonha, compartilhar tantas mas tantas noites e tardes e dias sonhando com o que seria, o que haveria de ser EU, essa pessoa que nem eu mesmo sei pra onde vai ou o que quer ser. A hora da partida esta chegando, como todas outras vieram e mais irao de vir, essa marca um ponto final, e eu to tri afim.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-5163703043401615174?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/5163703043401615174/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=5163703043401615174' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/5163703043401615174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/5163703043401615174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/07/acabei-de-fazer-amor-contigo-por.html' title=''/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-2160428972759598195</id><published>2010-06-11T05:17:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2010-06-11T05:38:34.693-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Carinhoso</title><content type='html'>Meu coração, não sei por que... bate feliz quando te vê e os meus olhos ficam sorrindo e pelas ruas vão te seguindo mas, mesmo assim, foges de mim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Foge de volta pra casa, que bonito eh estar tao apaixonada por tao doce criatura. A doçura da tua voz, tao cândida, tao profunda. As tuas costas machucadas pelo peso do trabalho (vida). Fico viajando nos teus lábios, tuas sobrancelhas perfeitamente arqueadas. A tua imensa delicadeza e ateh a tua falta de empatia, tao compreensível, tao perdoável. Nao tenho vontade de te mudar, de te fazer mais maduro, quero so observar-te caminhar pela vida e crescer como espirito. Te tenho como flor guardada dentro de um livro bom que continua cheirosa e me fazendo sorrir, mesmo já tendo decorado a historia. Quero, porem, te falar das coisas que aprendi e dividir contigo meus desejos e meus medos porque sei que parecem com os teus. Entao, sem medo, me da a mao e vem comigo aproveitar o pouco tempo que temos, vem comigo transformar esse pouco tempo em eternidade para nossos coracoes tao desiludidos mas cheios de esperanca. Vem comigo compartilhar segredos entre beijos, cancoes entre prazeres e historias entre estrelas. Vem dancar ao som do vento que nos separa e da dor que nos une.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amo-te como amigo e como amante, numa sempre diversa realidade.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-2160428972759598195?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/2160428972759598195/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=2160428972759598195' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2160428972759598195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2160428972759598195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/06/carinhoso.html' title='Carinhoso'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-7993703360118911864</id><published>2010-05-22T05:48:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-22T05:58:42.758-03:00</updated><title type='text'>le garcon avec les yeux tragic, frappe la port</title><content type='html'>lembrei daquele quarto que eu tinha na pensao, dos momentos solitarios bebendo uisque e dancando ao som de Doors. Dos vizinhos, da comida, da familia, das experiencias... procuro nao me arrepender do que faco mas, dessa vez, o arrependimento bate forte. Me arrependo de ter esquecido de mim por tanto tempo, de ter deixado aquele lar que, apesar de nao ser meu, foi o melhor que ja tive, o mais libertador, mais otimista do que qualquer outro. Lembro daqueles que me visitaram la e daqueles que eu visitei. Todos, todos eles, nao importa quantas vezes me decepcionei, nenhum deles me desrespeitou tanto, me diminui tanto, me esmagou, me tirou a alegria de ser eu, Mari e sim, eu tive tanta saudade de ser eu e de ser eu com os outros. Felicidade eh saber que o tempo cura e fecha as feridas que devem ser fechadas e seca as lagrimas desmerecidas. Sei que tudo eh um aprendizado e que o futuro reserva grandes experiencias e eh soh isso que me importa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e um suico de olhos castanhos malvados.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-7993703360118911864?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/7993703360118911864/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=7993703360118911864' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7993703360118911864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7993703360118911864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/05/le-garcon-avec-les-yeux-tragic-frappe.html' title='le garcon avec les yeux tragic, frappe la port'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-8367083289634362672</id><published>2010-05-19T07:25:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-19T07:38:16.487-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Because you took that one</title><content type='html'>E assim como veio ja se foi. O menino dos olhos tragicos bate a porta ou, como tu me ensinou :le garcon avec les yeux tragic, frappe la port. Sim, fala frances, me diz qualquer coisa que eu escuto e enxergo. Tu tem medo do que pode acontecer e no fundo sabe que eu tambem, a gente nunca sabe o que vai acontecer ou, principalmente, como vai acontecer. Acredito que nos motivamos com simples desejos e objetivos - um deles era ter essa conversa contigo, ter esse momento que, no meio de mil realidades paralelas e pessoas que poderiamos ser, aconteceu hoje - hoje tu largou tudo e veio me ver, soh por me ver, e assim como de repente, pegou na minha mao e a segurou e entao suavemente me largou, esse leva e traz do teu espirito me enche de agonia mas tambem admiracao... como se gritasse "sim" mas recuasse na logica do "nao". Assim que te gosto, indeciso, impreciso e intrigante, sempre me deixa esperando mais, imaginando mais. Contigo eu sonho de novo com os romances impossiveis e o morros de ventos uivantes. Es como um traidor da propria natureza, tragicamente impossibilitado de satisfacao. Lutando contra os fortes demonios e fogo da tua alma para permancer puro atraves desses olhos selvagens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/S_O_cx8AQGI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/MR3bggLxw_I/s1600/LA_20100420_0986.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/S_O_cx8AQGI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/MR3bggLxw_I/s320/LA_20100420_0986.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472928473347539042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-8367083289634362672?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/8367083289634362672/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=8367083289634362672' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8367083289634362672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8367083289634362672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/05/because-you-took-that-one.html' title='Because you took that one'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/S_O_cx8AQGI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/MR3bggLxw_I/s72-c/LA_20100420_0986.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-2160921003908024524</id><published>2010-05-11T06:50:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-11T09:07:36.130-03:00</updated><title type='text'>sobre Kull e Bondy</title><content type='html'>Entao o mundo gira, a vida anda e me leva de volta a essas pessoas tao especiais que conheci. Tu, por exemplo, um menino de 19 anos naquela epoca, alto, desajeitado, cabeludo, barbudo, um viajante do mundo... me mostrou uma docura incondicional, nao me pediu nada e mesmo assim beijou todas as partes do meu rosto. Hoje encontrei outro parecido contigo, com a mesma docura mas, devo dizer, um pouco mais de malicia. Ele tem mais escuridao no jeito de se expressar e deve ser por isso que me atrai tanto. Acabei por descobrir que eh grande amigo teu, eh obvio, tudo fez sentido. Nao sei o que em voces germanicos me deixa tao enfeiticada, falar contigo agora depois de tanto tempo me deu vontade de te ter de novo e, como tu mesmo disse, eu vou. Esperar...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"obrigado pela experiencia" obrigada voce meu anjo por me deixar ser parte da tua vida.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-2160921003908024524?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/2160921003908024524/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=2160921003908024524' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2160921003908024524'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2160921003908024524'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/05/sobre-kull-e-bondy.html' title='sobre Kull e Bondy'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-1752812893023200909</id><published>2010-05-02T02:43:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-02T02:45:38.294-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Sing it like Fiona</title><content type='html'>You said I killed you&lt;br /&gt;haunt me then&lt;br /&gt;be with me always&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;take any form&lt;br /&gt;take any shape&lt;br /&gt;drive me mad&lt;br /&gt;but don't leave me&lt;br /&gt;in this abyss I cannot find you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cannot live without my life&lt;br /&gt;I cannot live without my soul&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;stay&lt;br /&gt;stay&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-1752812893023200909?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/1752812893023200909/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=1752812893023200909' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1752812893023200909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1752812893023200909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/05/sing-it-like-fiona.html' title='Sing it like Fiona'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-1984168925393973253</id><published>2010-04-28T04:12:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-04-28T04:18:47.634-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Sick of it!</title><content type='html'>Foda-se as gracinhas, fodam-se as paixoes passageiras, foda-se a carencia e a vontade de te ter porque um almadicoado eternizou minha Alma nesse buraco Negro de desilusoes onde meu corpo se esconde. Foda-se o carinho e o desejo, FODAM-SE todos esses detaljes superfluos que nos levam a essa mentira que eh o amor.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-1984168925393973253?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/1984168925393973253/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=1984168925393973253' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1984168925393973253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1984168925393973253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/04/sick-of-it.html' title='Sick of it!'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-3463122761739641583</id><published>2010-04-14T06:35:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-04-14T06:37:47.604-03:00</updated><title type='text'>home sweet home</title><content type='html'>hoje, pela primeira vez em vinte anos, me senti em casa. sinto como se estivesse exatamente onde eu deveria estar. a mobilia parece estar no lugar certo, as cores quentes desse studio tem a minha cara, fiquei ateh com vontade de comprar quadros pras paredes, agora isso eh muito importante - quadros na parede, isso eh sinal de casa, livros na prateleira abaixo do abajur com uma cadeira confortavel ao lado, isso eh sinal de minha casa - minha cara escrita nas cores quentes e nas almofadas de leopardo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-3463122761739641583?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/3463122761739641583/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=3463122761739641583' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3463122761739641583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3463122761739641583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/04/home-sweet-home.html' title='home sweet home'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-3371956879952993355</id><published>2010-04-13T04:44:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-04-13T04:59:16.884-03:00</updated><title type='text'>it's always you my love</title><content type='html'>It's just so impossible to express the way I feel about you right now. I wonder if it's the lack of interesting people I've been meeting or if it's just genuine affection. You are just so wonderfully designed for me, and handmade for my care. I wish I could just hold you for a whole minute and gaze into those wild blue eyes, those tragic eyes that I adore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if my obsession affects you in any matter, after all it is not possible to be unaware of my constant thinking about you. It's impossible not to feel all this fire that I send to you. I do believe one day maybe you will see and appreciate my glossy gazes into your heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/S8Qj82OAS2I/AAAAAAAAAJc/Met4upOKTfk/s1600/butterflies1vu5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/S8Qj82OAS2I/AAAAAAAAAJc/Met4upOKTfk/s320/butterflies1vu5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459528176533261154" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;here it's Tom and his striking personality, eu sei mas nao achei uma foto que ele esteja menos palhaco...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-3371956879952993355?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/3371956879952993355/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=3371956879952993355' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3371956879952993355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3371956879952993355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/04/its-always-you-my-love.html' title='it&apos;s always you my love'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/S8Qj82OAS2I/AAAAAAAAAJc/Met4upOKTfk/s72-c/butterflies1vu5.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-8016022224267361273</id><published>2010-04-11T01:50:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-04-11T01:59:07.317-03:00</updated><title type='text'>For Tom</title><content type='html'>This is where I write my thoughts and desires and dreams. The importance of appreciation for me is, by all means a high point in my behavior. I want nothing more than a sample of your affection, a little piece of your soul that I can carry with me forever, for that is what I do, meeting people no matter how worthless they might seem, there is always something enjoyable in each one's personality. That is how I get love and attention, by taking a little piece of everyone I have the pleasure to talk to. It's like a conversation could be a window to each one's soul, to each one's heart. Even though they may not notice or even think that I am cheap for selling myself so short. They sometimes don't see or realize that we all want the same and one thing only, appreciation. I know that there will be one, eventually, that will see and understand that. I also know that I am not ready for him but I shall be damn if he finds me before that.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-8016022224267361273?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/8016022224267361273/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=8016022224267361273' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8016022224267361273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8016022224267361273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/04/for-tom.html' title='For Tom'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-5339634157392979122</id><published>2010-04-09T02:07:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2010-04-09T02:07:18.870-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Shimbalaie</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: arial; font-size: 11px; "&gt;Ser capitã desse mundo&lt;br /&gt;Poder rodar sem fronteiras&lt;br /&gt;Viver um ano em segundos&lt;br /&gt;Não achar sonhos besteira&lt;br /&gt;Me encantar com um livro&lt;br /&gt;Que fale sobre a vaidade&lt;br /&gt;Quando mentir for preciso&lt;br /&gt;Poder falar a verdade&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-5339634157392979122?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/5339634157392979122/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=5339634157392979122' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/5339634157392979122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/5339634157392979122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/04/shimbalaie.html' title='Shimbalaie'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-25445978374425661</id><published>2010-04-07T17:30:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-04-09T02:08:15.311-03:00</updated><title type='text'>The Devil in the Kitchen</title><content type='html'>Marco is at John's bachelor party, he is not really the party type but what the hell, he thought. John's worked in the kitchen with Marco since they were teenagers, and now he found this chick, this girl with the most scintillating personality he's ever seen. Not worth it, Marco thought. Anyway the loud guys were thrilled when they heard that there would be a stripper coming and all that usual nonsense. As they cheered and raised glasses to Marco who would scarcely smile, he thought that if it wasn't for the bourbon and the fourteen years of friendship with John he would jump out of that balcony and run for his life. The music went on, and so did the  drunkenness, when the doorbell rang. Cheers, he thought, the stripper is here. At last some better form of entertainment than drunken hippies. She walked in in a very sexy outfit, obviously, and a mask covering part of her face. Marco thought: "how interesting she didn't say a word instead of that 'can I put out your fire' bullshit". She walked to the center of the room and put on a song, a stripper's song, whatever that means, and started to dance. Slowly moving her hips from one side to another, back and forth, moving her hands on her body and, sometimes, turning. That dance went on for what it seemed to Marco hours. Hours of pain for having to watch that poor girl sell her soul to the drunken hippies, he could see her eyes through that mask, beautiful hazel eyes on which he seemed to drown. She proceeded as one of the guys had the wonderful idea to play the guitar while she danced. Yes, the imbecil clown could actually play it quite nicely. He was playing what sounded like a gipsy lullaby and she responded by doing the most addictive performance Marco could possibly imagine. He found himself drifting into that woman's eyes and the way she moved her hands made him follow every moment as if he no longer was a part of that stupid party but a member of her body, revolving and spinning. He got dizzy and thought it would be clever to stop drinking when the music stop. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About an hour had passed when the stripper had to leave. She said goodbye to the hippies who begged her to stay in a very "delicate" way but she smiled and went to the door where John discreetly  paid her an amount that Marco couldn't tell. He felt a strange urge to go after that intriguing lady and after a quick goodbye to John when he told him how happy he was for his marriage and that he would see him tomorrow at the festivities, Marco left quite in a hurry downstairs. He got to the entrance of the building and stopped to light up a cigarette. "Have you got an extra one?" said a female voice which he recognized. There she was, a huge coat on and no mask, the eyes uncovered, savage hazel eyes on fire. He reached his pocket to give her a cigarette. He couldn't stop staring until he realized that she noticed him staring. "Why are you still here? I mean it's cold" what a douchelord he thought to himself, what kinda question is that? She lighted up her cigarette "well my car just broke so I'm trying to get a cab or something". He was staring again, stop it you idiot! " I can give you a ride, where do you live?" she smiled and said "downtown". On the way to the car she finally said " I saw you looking at me upstairs" he puffed the cigarette "isn't that the point? you dance, we watch...?" " yes, but you had other thoughts than the others" "well, you're a great performer". As they walked to the parking lot he noticed from the corner of his eyes how gracefully she carried herself on those high heels and how delicate she seemed to smoke that cigarette. "So what do you do?" she asked, "I'm a cook, me and my friend, the bachelor you saw at the party, we have a restaurant in West Hollywood" she looked at him and said: "Really? I would love to see you cook sometime" she took another hit of the cigarette and he stopped noticing how she was trying to intimidate her with that conversation, he wouldn't be intimidated, not tonight " come with me then, I'll show you". They walked to the car and left.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He opened the door of his condo and thought about the mess he left in the living room, books and records everywhere. He had a storm the other day when he thought that his creativity was on hold so he started searching for inspiration in every word of those books and music. But that didn't matter right now. He had to show her, prove to her that he wasn't the lamb, he was the wolf, he had the control of everything...or so he thought. "Nice place" she said, "it's a little bit messy but, it's been worse" she laughed and follow him to the kitchen that was absolutely clean and organized, that was his sanctuary, nobody was allowed to touch anything there or take anything out of place. That was one of the many reasons why him and Laura broke up, she would always try to move stuff for him, always telling him that he had to let go that perfectionism. that it wasn't healthy for neither of them. So he let her go, he couldn't have anyone else trying to control that world in his mind, no one. "Sit down" he said to her pointing to one of the stools, he asked if she wanted to drink something and she said yes, so he poured her some red wine which she started drinking in large sips. He took off his coat and rushed to wash his hands, she watched him do so very precisely, he would wash one hand completely and then the other almost like a doctor. "So what are you going to make?" she asked, "I still don't know, I'll let them guide me". "Them?" she said a little confused, "the ingredients, I pick them up as they appear and then they tell me what to do". Interesting she thought, she knew what he was talking about, she would always let the signs tell her what to do, she didn't like planning anything, waste of time, it's always more exciting to see where life is gonna take you. She believed that you would loose too much of what was happening if you kept planning your next move.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He remembered the crab meat he bought that morning at the Farmer's Market and that was his queue, he grabbed some baby tomatoes, lettuce and avocado and started working with them. "So what are they telling you to do?" he didn't look at her when he responded: "the question is not what, but why? Why are you doing this? You see a lot of things are like this, instead of always asking yourself what am I doing? you should ask why are you doing it? Visualize the dish in your head and work your way through it, that's how you get to the perfect result." "What if I don't know how I want it to look?" she asked, "then you shouldn't bother doing it" he looked at her, staring at those big hazel fiery  eyes "if don't know how you want the result to be, you probably don't know yourself very much, do you?". She stared at him back, he turned and got some more eggs outta the fridge. "Can I put some music on?" she asked, "sure, there are some records... everywhere." She walked to the living room and started looking at the records, she wander through Jethro Tull, Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Beatles and this beautiful looking record with two girls in the cover sitting in a car. She felt intrigued by the look of these two women and decided to listen to it. She put it on and a drunk male voice started singing, breathtaking she thought. She then looked around that mess and appreciated it, she wouldn't have liked a more organized place, the reason she couldn't tell. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He had her again at the corner of his eye, sitting on that stool, she was sweating, after all she had a fur coat on and the heater was on. Of course she wouldn't take that coat off for she was with her stripper outfit underneath it. "Would you like to put on one of my shirts? Perhaps you'll feel more comfortable..." he said to her while he chopped the tomatoes. She said yes, and her guard was completely off by now, for he has shown her that he had no dirty intentions towards her, perhaps no intentions at all. He went to his room and gather a t-shirt for her. He handed her the t-shirt a little blushed for she had taken the coat off and he could see now her magnificent body, she had that pale texture and a very soft skin with voluptuous breasts. "Thanks" she said, taking him out of the journey he was in staring at her body. He went back to the kitchen and asked her to taste the tomato pure he just made. She loved it and wanted to know if that, whatever he was cooking was his invention. "We are in a world of refinement, not invention. We don't create anything, only refine, redecorate, we learn and lighten things up as we get older" he said while he was chopping the lettuce and the watercress . He would say these things and chop the lettuce, she thought. "Do you know how to cook everything?" she asked, "I wouldn't say that, but there's nothing we cannot learn now is it?" she was puzzled "well, I don't think I would have the ability to do that, I find myself quite capable of several things, but not cooking". He thought that was absurd, any human being could cook "didn't your mother or your father teach you? or cooked for you?" she thought for a moment "I can't remember much of what my parents could have done for me". He grabbed the pepper and the salt and dropped at the sauce. "You see, there is no such thing as the incapacity of doing something, you are capable of doing everything you allow yourself to do, now if you don't allow yourself to cook then you never will and I don't know, as much as I find a person who says that cannot cook a little annoying I, maybe, should be thankful for they are a great part of the restaurantgoers." She felt a little angry for him calling her annoying but answered back: "well I think chefs sometimes can be extremely arrogant with your genius ways and cocky manners. He put the plate in front of her with a huge and appetizing sandwich. "Eat it" he said, and she did. It was a delicious mix of sweet and sour of the vinaigrette and the crab meat almost melting in her mouth, she felt as if no sandwich could be so divine and at the same time she was furious with him. "It's wonderful" she said, "the only thing that makes a chef look arrogant is his pursuit for perfection, the effort that he puts in any type of dish is bigger than what a lot of people put in life itself, therefore he does not admit mistakes or any lack of concentration. Sometimes he brings that to his personal life, sometimes he doesn't.""Which one are you?" she asked but he did not answer so she said:"I don't like the way you try to intimidate me, you know? It makes me feel a little shaky, I don't like that." Does she always speaks whatever comes to her head? he thought "I don't have the power to intimidate anybody, if you are, you are doing this to yourself". Arrogant bastard she thought, but as much as she loathed him she could not seem to find reasons to leave. She ate (devoured) the club crab meat sandwich and took the last swig of her red wine. She started watching him clean the kitchen, again, with such obsession and perfectionism and she noticed how his hands were big and rough looking, the way his curly and messy hair would fall on his eyes, those sexy harsh eyes and she couldn't tell if it was the wine or the song that were making her feel so attracted to that despicable man "you said no one creates anything anymore, but I don't think anyone could transform a sandwich into such a sophisticated piece of art" she said smiling. He saw the way she said those last three words, it was almost sexual, he also noticed the way she was moving her crossed legs, inviting him "the real artist is mother nature, she has everything all we need to know is how to put them together" he said as she crawled on top of the counter looking at him. She sat on the counter in front of him and spread her legs apart. He could see those magnificent thighs  and he followed her hands as she was taking the shirt off: "what else does it take to be a great chef?" she asked gazing at him, she wanted to touch him and so she moved his hair away from his eyes. He was beautiful, tragically beautiful with those tragic harsh eyes and strong  hands. Thinking he could not stand staring at her any longer he kissed her and she embraced him completely as he lifted her up and took her to the living room floor. I need the words and the lyrics he thought. They made love passionately, he couldn't help but touching her lips and neck and looking into the devilish hazel eyes, one day they might kill me he thought.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He lighted up a cigarette and started thinking of all the dishes he had made so far and how many of them were for his women, demons are what they are. Toying with the most sincere of feelings of admiration, he felt bruised and cut but not by his cooking but for the way he would always let himself fall for the littlest sample of affection. She was also smoking as she thought of all the men she have met and how adventurous life felt at that moment, she had no regrets and started humming with the song playing, even though she didn't know the rhythm.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-25445978374425661?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/25445978374425661/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=25445978374425661' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/25445978374425661'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/25445978374425661'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/04/devil-in-kitchen.html' title='The Devil in the Kitchen'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-5670921529772622270</id><published>2010-04-03T01:55:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-04-03T02:07:43.039-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Time grabs you by the wrist directs you where to go... How is it we're all wrapped around this cybernetic net that no one understands? When do we stop being children and become people? When is the turning point from being someone else's to be your own? I question my own idea of reality, of responsibility and what it is to be a human being? What is that? Who has the answers to all these questions? I do. You do. Everybody knows their own path, I know all the answers to my questions! Still, why do I keep running from them? Why do I refuse to follow the rules and whatever is expected of me? Why do I rebel? I have nothing to complain about. The only thing I have to complain about is myself. How ironic is that? I'm a rebel against myself. Ain't that stupid? Can anyone come over and hit me hard in the head to see if I get better maybe with a seizure?! I deserve to be severely punished for being so disappointed at myself and yet do nothing about it but to feel angry, to feel sad and to feel like nothing could ever make me feel better. I just realized that I hate the fact of moving in with my mother because she makes me confront everything that I hate about myself and maybe that's the only way of getting better. She wants me to be better so why do I hate that? Why do I run away from that? Why am I so scared of becoming a real person? A wonderful one as I know I could be. I use to be so proud of how mature and understanding I always was and now I see that it is worthless to be understanding towards others if your not satisfied with yourself. It is worthless to feel empathetic if you hate to admit that you are weak. Weak and worthless. You see I do know everything that's wrong with me and that's the only good thing I believe I do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-5670921529772622270?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/5670921529772622270/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=5670921529772622270' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/5670921529772622270'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/5670921529772622270'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/04/time-grabs-you-by-wrist-directs-you.html' title=''/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-4357769313152016063</id><published>2010-03-30T20:29:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-30T20:47:06.929-03:00</updated><title type='text'>No topo do ceu</title><content type='html'>Sonhei que morava numa casa/castelo. Ficava passando por todos os aposentos tentando escolher o meu. Escolhi. Tava ali porque o Rei me queria. Ele tinha cabelos pretos e longos e olhos azuis, frios e crueis. Eu temia o Rei, mas tambem o amava, amava ser amada por ele. Por mais que eu errasse o Rei sempre me perdoava, ele colocava suas maos frias e brancas em meu rosto e dizia que meu fogo ainda ia mata-lo. Nao! Eu nao queria matar o Rei, eu queria ama-lo e aprecia-lo e deitar meu corpo contra o dele. Nunca consegui, no sonho ele sempre me procurava e nao me achava. Eu via ele chegar em seu cavalo negro pela janela, ele olhava pra cima pra mim com aqueles olhos crueis e eu me sentia culpada e ao mesmo tempo nao. Nao sei, eu acordei e ela tinha ido embora - triste muito triste.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Soh mesmo uma conversa com o Gi pra me acalmar, ele sempre sabe.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"sinceramente, apesar de nao saber se sou capaz, tenho vontade de curar tuas feridas..."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;o Gi tem a letra.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-4357769313152016063?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/4357769313152016063/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=4357769313152016063' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/4357769313152016063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/4357769313152016063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/03/no-topo-do-ceu.html' title='No topo do ceu'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-8371939250282153553</id><published>2010-03-29T01:40:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-29T02:54:38.965-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Mari no findi maravilhas em Redondo Beach</title><content type='html'>Entrei na casa com Joao acendendo velas como um ritual, ele logo saiu cantarolando algo que eu nao entendi. Logo vem Johnny e coloca as velas alinhadas em perfeito angulo, ele eh obsessivo compulsivo e fica aflito quando as coisas estao fora de lugar. Nunca vi quarto de dois caras ser tao cheiroso e organizado tudo obra de Johnny eh claro, Joao didn't give a shit. Ai notei uma foto no closet de Joao e vi que ele tem uma filhinha, coisa linda e pensei na hora "cara, eu me relacionei com caras que tinham filhos, mas os que tinham filhas eram sempre mais especiais..." eh verdade, homem que tem filha tem uma sensibilidade maior para com as mulheres, e o Joao tem - encantador. Joao eh o Mad Hatter e o Johnny o coelhinho nervoso. Mais pessoas chegaram porque a gente tinha ido ver a UFC, nunca tinha assistido uma luta inteira, ontem descobri por que. Enfim tinha tambem o Diego que tava rouco e eh cantor, lindo e adora dar elogios - ele disse que eu tinha labios lindos e uma expressao charmosa, tambem falou mais outras coisas inapropriadas de um jeito bem cavalheiro, adoro! Comecaram a tocar Joao, Diego, Justin e Johnny. Psicodelico, o tempo agora passa muito mais devagar e a musica parece que toca ha dez anos, todo mundo em silencio sentindo...Justin eh americano mas fala portugues: "nossa mais esse seu negocio na orelha eh muito grandi...um...como se diz isso em portugueis??" "brinco" "ah! pois entao, que brincadeira ai na sua orelha..." aham, eu e ju tocamos pinhal e sob um ceu de blues. Dormi na cama de Johnny (...nao sei).&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Acordei ao som de Joao tocando e cantando Blackbird, sorri e disse "caaaara que delicia" tomei um suco de laranja mara e fui pro sol ouvir o som. Todos concordaram em churrasco e no caminho Juliano grita: "nao esquece os coracoezinhos pra mari!" coracoes pra mari...certo. Tom estava com dor no joelho, Joao: " cara eu tenho o bagulho que vai te fazer melhorar" na hora penso ai meu deus que tipo de coisa ilegal ele vai puxar dessa gaveta..." cataflan 50 mano, nao tem nem o que discutir, toma ai..." ele tem um jeito tao unico de expressar as coisas...eu sou a lagarta azul que fuma e filosofa afu, certo. A Helly eh a Alice que ta deixando o pais das maravilhas...eu nao sei se foi o cha, o suco de laranja, o rum, a cerveja ou a companhia mas na hora que a gente quase dormiu assistindo Jimi Hendrix eu percebi que sim, eu gosto de experiencias, de pessoas e momentos - e de um irlandes, rapper, engenheiro que mora em Studio City.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-8371939250282153553?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/8371939250282153553/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=8371939250282153553' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8371939250282153553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8371939250282153553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/03/mari-no-findi-maravilhas-em-redondo.html' title='Mari no findi maravilhas em Redondo Beach'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-3257138771788802775</id><published>2010-03-26T17:59:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-26T17:59:31.842-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Babybird</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; "&gt;Remember that tank top you bought me. &lt;br /&gt;You wrote 'You're Gorgeous' on it. &lt;br /&gt;You took me to your rented motor car and filmed me on the bonnet. &lt;br /&gt;You got me to hitch my knees up and pulled my legs apart. &lt;br /&gt;You took an instamatic camera and and pulled my sleeves around my heart. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because you're gorgeous I'd do anything for you. &lt;br /&gt;Because you're gorgeous our love will see us through. &lt;br /&gt;Because you're gorgeous I'd do anything for you. &lt;br /&gt;Because you're gorgeous I know you'll get me through. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You said my clothes were sexy, you tore away my shirt. &lt;br /&gt;You rubbed an ice-cube on my chest snapped me 'til it hurt. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because you're gorgeous I'd do anything for you. &lt;br /&gt;Because you're gorgeous our love will see us through. &lt;br /&gt;Because you're gorgeous I'd do anything for you. &lt;br /&gt;Because you're gorgeous I know you'll get me through. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You said I wasn't cheap. You paid me twenty pounds. &lt;br /&gt;You promised to put me in a magazine on every table in every lounge. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because you're gorgeous I'd do anything for you. &lt;br /&gt;Because you're gorgeous our love will see us through. &lt;br /&gt;Because you're gorgeous I'd do anything for you. &lt;br /&gt;Because you're gorgeous our love will see us through. &lt;br /&gt;Because you're gorgeous I know you'll get me through. I know you'll get me through.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-3257138771788802775?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/3257138771788802775/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=3257138771788802775' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3257138771788802775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3257138771788802775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/03/babybird.html' title='Babybird'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-7003139444078571784</id><published>2010-03-23T22:47:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-23T22:56:13.921-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Chariots Rise</title><content type='html'>Assisti pela segunda vez na mesma semana: Vicky Cristina Barcelona...me identifico com Cristina, assim como eu ela ainda nao sabe o que quer e soh tem certeza do que nao quer, sente que tem muito a expressar mas encara o fato de que nao tem veia artistica o suficiente para o mesmo e, assim como eu, seu maior medo eh nao ter a capacidade de inspirar o homem que ama.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mudando de assunto, estou lendo uma novela erotica ma-ravilhosa da Anne Rice chamada The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty que conta a historia da tao conhecida Bela Adormecida que ha 100 anos esta em sono profundo e finalmente eh despertada pelo tao esperado principe mas, diferente do beijo com o qual estamos acostumados, principe desperta Bela iniciando-a sexualmente e portanto toma Bela como sua escrava sexual, fato aparentemente muito comum naqueles tempos. Enfim eh sadico, cru e ateh por vezes doloroso mas incrivelmente narrado e impossivel parar de ler. Confira!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;P.S. O livro lembra muito o filme Secretaria, tenho certeza que ha uma inspiracao ai por tras. Por hoje eh soh pra esse blog que hoje esta um tanto quanto informativo, demais ateh pro meu gosto.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-7003139444078571784?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/7003139444078571784/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=7003139444078571784' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7003139444078571784'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7003139444078571784'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/03/chariots-rise.html' title='Chariots Rise'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-8792398559149763533</id><published>2010-03-20T18:17:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-20T18:19:59.501-03:00</updated><title type='text'>quicky</title><content type='html'>Tava olhando essa foto aqui em cima, como eh linda e lirica... tenho vontade de deitar ali do lado do johnny e acariciar-lhe a face levemente com as folhas secas e cantar-lhe um lullaby... ateh pensei em mudar mas nao consigo, a sua beleza me encanta e me enche de paz - eu aprecio a beleza de uma forma que poucos compreendem nesse ambiente carnal e pratico que tanto detesto.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-8792398559149763533?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/8792398559149763533/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=8792398559149763533' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8792398559149763533'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8792398559149763533'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/03/quicky.html' title='quicky'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-4513590264589528771</id><published>2010-03-19T22:22:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-03-19T22:26:08.185-03:00</updated><title type='text'>procurando a poesia que teima em acordar..enfim</title><content type='html'>nao consigo parar de escutar me adora da pitty...injustamente julga por prazer, cuidado quando for falar de mim, soh nao desonre o meu nome. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;anyway, tomei um sol hoje, que delicia, to bronzeada, indo pra praia amanha depois de uma diaria, nao tem sensacao melhor do que a depois de um dia cansativo de filmagem...nessas horas penso que escolhi a vida certa - agora soh falta ganhar pra isso. Tenho conhecido pessoas maravilhosas, outras nem tanto assim - mas tudo eh bagagem eh historia - que a gente inventa e melhora depois no roteiro.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-4513590264589528771?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/4513590264589528771/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=4513590264589528771' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/4513590264589528771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/4513590264589528771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/03/procurando-poesia-que-teima-em.html' title='procurando a poesia que teima em acordar..enfim'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-6564783192670473217</id><published>2010-02-27T00:59:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-02-27T01:01:56.084-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey you've got to hide your love away</title><content type='html'>eu nao tenho mais medo, ele saltou pela janela ou melhor, eu atirei ele pela janela&lt;div&gt;"nao tem mais lugar pra voce aqui"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;e assim as asas se abriram e aqui vou eu voando, buscando...feliz&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-6564783192670473217?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/6564783192670473217/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=6564783192670473217' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6564783192670473217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6564783192670473217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/02/hey-youve-got-to-hide-your-love-away.html' title='Hey you&apos;ve got to hide your love away'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-8531952068768969023</id><published>2010-02-18T09:31:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2010-02-18T09:43:08.766-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Quase dormindo comecei a pensar no meu roteiro de tese e pensei e pensei e pensei: "nao! nao eh isso.." ai veio essa outra ideia que me lembrou dos dias que eu era eu mesma ha muito muito tempo atras e me deu saudade desse blog e de nao ser julgada. Tanta coisa acontecendo e mudando sem parar minha veia artistica ta querendo acordar e resolvi dar corda pra ela porque meu mapa astral falou que as vezes eu sou muito dura com ela, tanto que tinha deixado ela de castigo. Coitada sempre foi tao boa comigo.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;i believe I  should give her another chance to tell me where to go, wherever that is.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here's a sample of Sample:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- How come you don't ask me anything?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- well, I'm still shocked that I might be dead so I feel very comfortable...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;---&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- What is it that you want?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- There are many many things I want..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- What is it that you want from me?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- Honestly? just a sample of your affection...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- who are you?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- I dont know... do you?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- No... no I don't..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-8531952068768969023?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/8531952068768969023/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=8531952068768969023' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8531952068768969023'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8531952068768969023'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2010/02/quase-dormindo-comecei-pensar-no-meu.html' title=''/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-7139047947926677551</id><published>2008-11-10T12:30:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T12:30:43.271-02:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>eu juro que levo teus olhos castanhos comigo.&lt;br /&gt;te amo&lt;br /&gt;te amo&lt;br /&gt;seu bobalhão&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-7139047947926677551?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/7139047947926677551/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=7139047947926677551' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7139047947926677551'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7139047947926677551'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/11/eu-juro-que-levo-teus-olhos-castanhos.html' title=''/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-6450156125897858274</id><published>2008-10-10T23:12:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T23:16:09.236-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Tao Facil</title><content type='html'>deixe estar essa convenção terrorista, deixe-me ser a primeira opção&lt;br /&gt;e compor sinfonias nos teus ombros sem tragédia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be your girl if you say it's a gift&lt;br /&gt;and you give me some more of your drug&lt;br /&gt;I'll be your pet if you say it's gift&lt;br /&gt;cause I'm tired of whys, choking on whys&lt;br /&gt;just need a little because, because...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-6450156125897858274?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/6450156125897858274/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=6450156125897858274' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6450156125897858274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6450156125897858274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/10/tao-facil.html' title='Tao Facil'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-7569021078232569379</id><published>2008-09-21T16:41:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-09-21T16:44:46.045-03:00</updated><title type='text'>letter to nobody</title><content type='html'>"entre tantas bobagens, promessas e mentiras momentaneamente verdadeiras, eu fico...por estar estar em silencio contigo, pelo teu silencio e por nele encontrar a verdade absoluta."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;eh estranho, principalmente pra mim, não se importar com o resultado de uma acao alheia..pensei isso hoje, mas foram dois segundos, no tres eu ja tava me importando afu. hehe&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-7569021078232569379?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/7569021078232569379/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=7569021078232569379' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7569021078232569379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7569021078232569379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/09/letter-to-nobody.html' title='letter to nobody'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-8338383843495067541</id><published>2008-09-14T03:57:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-09-14T03:58:48.048-03:00</updated><title type='text'>beijos</title><content type='html'>eu nego, eu vou negar...soh por hoje, por agora.&lt;br /&gt;eu e mim...tamo tri bem.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-8338383843495067541?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/8338383843495067541/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=8338383843495067541' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8338383843495067541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8338383843495067541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/09/beijos.html' title='beijos'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-8109171577039684987</id><published>2008-09-09T20:03:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-09-09T20:04:52.721-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Recado Final</title><content type='html'>"Sabe qual meu sonho secreto? Que um dia você perceba que poderia ter aproveitado melhor a minha companhia. Que um dia imagine o quanto teria sido ótimo estar ao meu lado, mesmo quando eu estava gripada. No entanto, sei que você está a cada dia que passa mais fugido, e me limito a surpreender-me com as circunstâncias da vida que me levaram a viver esse papel: o da mulher que quer mais um pouquinho. Constrange-me existir nesse personagem Chico Buarque, dolorida, bonita sendo assim, meio tonta, meio insistente, até meio chata. Nunca precisei aborrecer ninguém antes, então atuo por instinto, cansando-me facilmente. E que fique claro que não é por estar você dessa forma, tão esquivo, que o desejo tanto. Desejo-o porque desejo. Estúpida. Latina. Bethânia. Ainda creio que você, quando eu menos esperar, possa me chegar com um verso em atitude."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;thanks orkut de amigos&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-8109171577039684987?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/8109171577039684987/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=8109171577039684987' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8109171577039684987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8109171577039684987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/09/recado-final.html' title='Recado Final'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-7621066792990206927</id><published>2008-09-09T01:32:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-09-09T01:41:57.895-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Eu vou cometer um erro, vou fazer isso de propósito. Vou perder meu tempo porque estou sendo burra até agora e arranhando a superfície. O que eu procuro é meu.&lt;br /&gt;E quando o dia chegar e eu olhar para trás, e de fato me diverti atrapalhando tudo o que eu consegui e evitei. Eu corri quando eles falavam para eu não correr, mas é claro, me diverti.&lt;br /&gt;Então eu vou ferrar com tudo de novo, fazer outro desvio, despavimentar meu caminho.&lt;br /&gt;E se você quiser que faça sentido, por que esta olhando pra mim? eu não sou boa de cálculo.&lt;br /&gt;Quando eu procurar meu caminho de volta, o fato 'e que talvez eu decida ficar, ou não.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu adquiri um certo gosto por um erro bem feito.&lt;br /&gt;Eu quero errar, porque eu não posso cometer um erro?&lt;br /&gt;Eu estou sempre fazendo o que acho que devo.&lt;br /&gt;Quase sempre fazendo o bem a todos&lt;br /&gt;Por que?&lt;br /&gt;Eu quero fazer o certo? é claro, mas, realmente quero me forçar a isso?&lt;br /&gt;Claro que nao!&lt;br /&gt;Eu adquri um certo gosto por um erro bem feito.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bem feito.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-7621066792990206927?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/7621066792990206927/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=7621066792990206927' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7621066792990206927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7621066792990206927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/09/eu-vou-cometer-um-erro-vou-fazer-isso.html' title=''/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-1809382283709658318</id><published>2008-09-04T23:39:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-09-04T23:40:38.002-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Moonchild</title><content type='html'>Chamam-na &lt;em&gt;filha da lua&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;Dançando na quietude de um rio&lt;br /&gt;Solitária filha da lua&lt;br /&gt;Sonhando na sombra de um vimeiro&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Falando para as árvores&lt;br /&gt;De estranhas espirais&lt;br /&gt;Dormindo nos degraus de uma fonte&lt;br /&gt;Agitando a magia para a canção dos pássaros noturnos&lt;br /&gt;Esperando pelo sol da montanha&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ela é uma filha da lua&lt;br /&gt;Juntando as flores em um jardim&lt;br /&gt;Amável filha da lua&lt;br /&gt;Flutuando pelos ecos das horas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Navegando sobre o vento&lt;br /&gt;Em seu lácteo vestido&lt;br /&gt;Deixando circulares pedras sobre o relógio de sol&lt;br /&gt;Jogando esconde-esconde&lt;br /&gt;Com os fantasmas do entardecer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Esperando um sorriso do filho do sol&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-1809382283709658318?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/1809382283709658318/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=1809382283709658318' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1809382283709658318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1809382283709658318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/09/moonchild.html' title='Moonchild'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-3652782736025979387</id><published>2008-08-29T11:42:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-08-29T12:00:57.895-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Lizard King</title><content type='html'>"All poems have wolves in them&lt;br /&gt; all but one&lt;br /&gt; the most beautiful one of all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; She dances in a ring of fire&lt;br /&gt; and throws off the challenge&lt;br /&gt; with a shrug."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'por favor, goste de mim'&lt;br /&gt; disse a pequena&lt;br /&gt; o que posso fazer?&lt;br /&gt; eu a amo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jim Morrison&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-3652782736025979387?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/3652782736025979387/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=3652782736025979387' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3652782736025979387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3652782736025979387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/08/lizard-king.html' title='Lizard King'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-3207081075407645063</id><published>2008-08-27T22:33:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T23:21:29.720-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>O futuro eh agora&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e agora...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e agora...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-3207081075407645063?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/3207081075407645063/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=3207081075407645063' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3207081075407645063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3207081075407645063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/08/o-futuro-eh-agora-e-agora.html' title=''/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-8238118424064833100</id><published>2008-08-25T21:40:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2008-08-25T21:49:57.713-03:00</updated><title type='text'>get together one more time...</title><content type='html'>The time you ran was too insane we'll meet again, we'll meet again...&lt;br /&gt;sao poucas as coisas que fazem tanto sentido quanto&lt;br /&gt;ouvir a voz do pai, sentir o toque do sabio passaro&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;eu fecho os olhos e escuto o som do escuro&lt;br /&gt;ele me fala sore as cadeias de outrora&lt;br /&gt;ele me mostra o caminho ate o topo, o topo do morro de paz e silencio que procuro.&lt;br /&gt;as vezes sinto o gosto das lagrimas alheias que matam a minha sede de dor&lt;br /&gt;eu tenho sede de dor e fome de morte.&lt;br /&gt;eu sinto falta do sofrimento inexistente em minhas veias, eu sou uma mentira e vivo sublime nela. eu nao aceito e nao creio na descrenca.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;come on baby take a chance with us!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-8238118424064833100?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/8238118424064833100/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=8238118424064833100' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8238118424064833100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8238118424064833100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/08/get-together-one-more-time.html' title='get together one more time...'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-8340992755830668793</id><published>2008-08-24T21:09:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T21:21:56.861-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Shadowboxer</title><content type='html'>queria uma válvula para libertar as cordas vocais e falar, falar, falar e dizer e cantar tudo que eu penso e escuto. queria uma chave pra dentro da tua mente. ou um portal de volta ao passado. não, não quero voltar, quero ir pra frente - la onde aqueles passarinhos não cantam as três e meia da manha, onde o meu jardim secreto tem uma portinha de madeira bem pequenina, escondida por trepadeiras, o portal secreto, passagem de ida para o teu peito - grandes árvores fazem sombra para minha pele descascada, quebrada, enrugada, abetumada. mas eu me encanto com a tua displicência e convicção ao tentar me dizer as tuas verdades, admiro o jeito com que tu tenta me analisar através de uma simples frase, adormeço pensando na tua simplicidade. mas veja bem, eu sei que essa simplicidade eh extremamente complexa e isso se mostra na tua figura. talvez tu não acredite que grandes segredos e fantasmas se escondem em baixo de um pano preto chamado otimismo! mas mais uma vez eu não consigo explicar porque não tenho essa válvula liberando meus verbos e então eu me calo e sorrio. como sempre. o uso de personagens e historias se torna necessário neste momento de demonstração, apresentação ou ilustração. eu escrevo muito melhor do que falo e falo muito mais do que escrevo. presta atenção. vem comigo. só desta vez.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-8340992755830668793?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/8340992755830668793/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=8340992755830668793' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8340992755830668793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8340992755830668793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/08/shadowboxer.html' title='Shadowboxer'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-7619208771967538444</id><published>2008-08-21T18:40:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T18:41:31.709-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Secret Garden</title><content type='html'>She'll let you in her house&lt;br /&gt;If you come knockin' late at night&lt;br /&gt;She'll let you in her mouth&lt;br /&gt;If the words you say are right&lt;br /&gt;If you pay the price&lt;br /&gt;She'll let you deep inside&lt;br /&gt;But there's a secret garden she hides&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She'll let you in her car&lt;br /&gt;To go drivin' 'round&lt;br /&gt;She'll let you into the parts of herself&lt;br /&gt;That'll bring you down&lt;br /&gt;She'll let you in her heart&lt;br /&gt;If you got a hammer and a vise&lt;br /&gt;But into her secret garden, don't think twice&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've gone a million miles&lt;br /&gt;How far'd you get&lt;br /&gt;To that place where you can't remember&lt;br /&gt;And you can't forget&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She'll lead you down a path&lt;br /&gt;There'll be tenderness in the air&lt;br /&gt;She'll let you come just far enough&lt;br /&gt;So you know she's really there&lt;br /&gt;She'll look at you and smile&lt;br /&gt;And her eyes will say&lt;br /&gt;She's got a secret garden&lt;br /&gt;Where everything you want&lt;br /&gt;Where everything you need&lt;br /&gt;Will always stay&lt;br /&gt;A million miles away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bruce Springsteen&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-7619208771967538444?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/7619208771967538444/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=7619208771967538444' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7619208771967538444'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7619208771967538444'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/08/secret-garden.html' title='Secret Garden'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-4852705898529278141</id><published>2008-08-18T00:20:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T00:27:43.086-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Be brave young sargent!</title><content type='html'>ai meu deus quase postei Morning Theft pela quarta vez. desisti. faz um sentido totalmente diferente toda vez e, ao menos que eu me explicasse, nao daria pra entender. mas quem quer entender nao eh mesmo? eu quero. sempre. me da uma agonia pensar, imaginar e nao ter. mas isso eh tao obvio. vou parar de escrever pra sempre.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mentira. logico. nao consigo. apesar do pesares eu fico tao encantada com a forma que ele fala as coisas corretas e faz questao de ser gentil. bons homens esses. nao conheco muitos, ja conheci. agora eles se foram depois de me ver. mas tambem, ninguem enxerga nada. nem eu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;as horas vao me perseguindo e as lembrancas nao me deixam dormir. eu sou uma irresponsavel inconsequente mas super original. (sim, eu falo e escrevo super. e nao acho gay). os momentos de lucidez vao e vem. e quando vem nao duram, eu nao deixo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mas eh inutil. sabe o que eh inutil? eh. bem isso. a poesia cansou de esperar, agora eh sao soh palavras envoltas por pensamentos o que? inuteis.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-4852705898529278141?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/4852705898529278141/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=4852705898529278141' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/4852705898529278141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/4852705898529278141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/08/be-brave-young-sargent.html' title='Be brave young sargent!'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-9113141091630265887</id><published>2008-08-12T00:25:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2008-08-12T00:42:09.384-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Buffallo 66</title><content type='html'>" Billy se desvencilha de Layla e levanta da cama.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Onde tu ta indo ?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- [ Zipper Zips ]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Eu soh vou pegar um cafe. Quer alguma coisa?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Sim, pode trazer um chocolate quente?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Okay, Eu pego.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Quando tu volta?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Ah, sei la, uns cinco minutos.Como assim? Eu ja volto.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Eu soh sinto que tu nao vai voltar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Eu acabei de dizer que eu ja volto. Eu volto em, uh, em cinco minutes. Vou pegar um chocolate quente pra ti.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Eu realmente gosto de ti. Vou ficar muito triste se tu nao voltar, a nao ser que tu me diga. Se tu nao vai voltar me diz. Nao mente pra mim. Vai voltar ou nao?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Se tu nao quiser que eu va eu nao vou, ta bom? Nao vou pegar o chocolate quente. - A gente podia soh--- Se tu quer pegar um cafe, vai pegar um cafe. Soh volta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Eu te falei que eu volto.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Posso ganhar um beijo de despedida?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Nao, nao comeca-- Por favor--nao comeca com problemas. Nao--nao comeca--nao comeca com esse mal. Eu nao disse que te daria um beijo, eu disse que te daria um chocolate quente, ta bom? Entao eu to indo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Pode ser um abraco entao?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Ah meu, fala serio. Um aperto de maos ta legal?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Okay. Lembra que tu prometeu voltar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Prometo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Billy. Eu soh quero que tu saiba... Eu acho... tu eh o cara mais doce do mundo... e o mais lindo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E eu te amo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-[porta bate]. "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vincent Gallo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-9113141091630265887?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/9113141091630265887/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=9113141091630265887' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/9113141091630265887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/9113141091630265887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/08/buffallo-66.html' title='Buffallo 66'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-2778001597091943914</id><published>2008-08-05T13:13:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2008-08-05T13:44:11.609-03:00</updated><title type='text'>A mulher mais linda da cidade</title><content type='html'>"...corpo flexivel, estranho, sinuoso que nem cobra e fogoso com os olhos: um fogareu vivo ambulante. Espirito impaciente para romper o molde incapaz de rete-lo. Os cabelos pretos, longos e sedosos, ondulavam e balancavam ao andar. Sempre muito animada ou entao deprimida.&lt;br /&gt;Segundo alguns, era louca. Opiniao de apaticos que jamais poderiam compreende-la. E passava a vida a dancar, a namorar e a beijar. Mas, salvo a raras excecoes, na hora H sempre encontrava forma de sumir e deixar todo mundo na mao.&lt;br /&gt;A mentalidade eh que simplesmente destoava das demais: nada tinha de pratica.&lt;br /&gt;Guardava, inclusive, uma cicatriz indelevel na face esquerda, que em vez de empanar-lhe a beleza so servia para realca-la."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Charles Bukowski&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-2778001597091943914?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/2778001597091943914/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=2778001597091943914' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2778001597091943914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2778001597091943914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/08/mulher-mais-linda-da-cidade.html' title='A mulher mais linda da cidade'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-1832394131786882497</id><published>2008-07-30T13:29:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T13:31:20.404-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Quando alegram-se os anjos, libertam-se os loucos!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-1832394131786882497?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/1832394131786882497/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=1832394131786882497' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1832394131786882497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1832394131786882497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/07/quando-alegram-se-os-anjos-libertam-se.html' title=''/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-6196706837247781465</id><published>2008-07-28T10:56:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-28T11:01:29.982-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Buenos Aires Parte 2</title><content type='html'>Aca estou novamente, nesse cyber maluco, mas pelo menos o louco ta ouvindo Doors: "the west is the beeest...get here and we'll do the rest...the blue bus is calling us, driver where are u taking us?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, ferias divertidas, minha mamae eh a melhor, e agora estou enfeiticada pelos maravilhosos deuses de ebano que encontrei pela minha jornada...oh ceus, ateh sonho com eles, coisa total obsessiva...meu voo atrasou, o que foi muito bom pois, assim estou aqui a apenas tres horas de ir para casa ao inves de cinco.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enfim, esperar eh minha sina - assim como esses teclados sem acento!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Come on baby take a chance with us!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-6196706837247781465?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/6196706837247781465/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=6196706837247781465' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6196706837247781465'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6196706837247781465'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/07/buenos-aires-parte-2.html' title='Buenos Aires Parte 2'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-7216256961386155153</id><published>2008-07-21T03:12:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-21T03:29:44.400-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Filosofando com o velho Buk</title><content type='html'>"A verdade é que somos &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;umas monstruosidades&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;. Se pudéssemos nos ver de verdade, saberíamos como somos ridículos com nossos intestinos retorcidos pelos quais deslizam lentamente as fezes... enquanto nos olhamos nos olhos e dizemos: &lt;strong&gt;'Te amo'&lt;/strong&gt;. Fazemos e produzimos uma porção de porcarias, mas não peidamos perto de uma pessoa. Tudo tem um fio cômico."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'estranho: volta e meia deixar de foder é melhor que foder. apesar que posso estar enganado. em geral dizem que estou.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"para linda king que me proporcionou e um dia há de me privar"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Levo a morte em meu bolso esquerdo. Ás vezes, tiro-a do bolso e falo com ela : "&lt;em&gt;Oi, Gata como vai? Quando virá me buscar? Vou estar pronto."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Essa &lt;strong&gt;loucura &lt;/strong&gt;roubada que não desejo a ninguém a não ser a mim mesmo &lt;strong&gt;amém&lt;/strong&gt;."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"O &lt;em&gt;'amor&lt;/em&gt;' é algo para o qual você precisa de penicilina.'&lt;em&gt;Amar&lt;/em&gt;' é dar uma flor para um homem nú com piolhos no cabelo enquanto sua mãe esta sentada em casa com o coração partido.Você &lt;em&gt;'ama'&lt;/em&gt; os estranhos, não os pais."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"O&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt; amor&lt;/span&gt; é cheio de significados. O &lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;sexo &lt;/span&gt;é significativo por si só"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Que anos penosos foram aqueles, ter a vontade e a nececidade de viver, mas não a habilidade."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Crianças foram feitas para serem olhadas, não ouvidas"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Como pode dizer que ama uma pessoa quando há dez mil outras no mundo que você amaria mais se conhecesse?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nenhuma dor significa o fim da sensibilidade; cada uma de nossas alegrias é uma barganha com o diabo ".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"...sentia-me contente por não estar apaixonado, por não estar contente com o mundo. Gosto de estar em desacordo com tudo. As pessoas apaixonadas tornam-se muitas vezes susceptíveis, perigosas. Perdem o sentido da realidade. Perdem o senso de humor. Tornam-se nervosas, psicóticas, chatas. Tornam-se, mesmo, assassinas."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"...e amor, pensando bem, não passa de uma espécie de palavrão."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Intelectual é aquele que diz uma coisa simples de um jeito complicado. Artista é quem diz uma coisa complicada de um jeito simples."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Acho que viver com mulheres loucas faz bem para a espinha"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;"...&lt;br /&gt;e então você se foi me deixando aqui num quarto com uma cortina rasgada&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;e o Idílio de Siegfried tocando no radinho vermelho&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;e você se foi tão rápido &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;tão subitamente quanto quando você veio &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;e quando eu estava limpando seu rosto e lábios &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;você abriu os maiores olhos que eu já tinha visto e disse "eu devia saber que era você" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;e me reconheceu mas não por muito tempo &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;e um homem velho com pernas brancas e finas na cama ao lado dizia, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;"eu não quero morrer," e seu sangue veio de novo &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;e eu o aparei com as mãos em concha tudo o que ficou das noites e dos dias também, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;e o homem velho ainda estava vivo mas &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;você não estava, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;nós não estamos. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;e você foi como você veio, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;você me deixou tão rápido &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;você já tinha me deixado várias vezes antes &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;quando eu pensava que isso me destruiria mas não &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;e você sempre voltava. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;agora eu desliguei o rádio vermelho &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;e alguém no apartamento ao lado &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;bate uma porta a sentença final: eu não vou te encontrar na rua &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;o telefone não vai tocar, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;e nenhum movimento vai me deixar em paz. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;não basta que haja várias mortes &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;e que esta não seja a primeira; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;não basta que eu viva mais muitos dias, talvez até muitos anos. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;não basta. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;o telefone é como um bicho morto que não vai falar. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;e quando falar de novo será sempre a voz errada agora. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;antes eu esperava e você sempre entrava porta adentro. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#9999ff;"&gt;agora você vai esperar por mim."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"...quando o amor se transforma num comando, o odio pode transforma-se num prazer...."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Charles Bukowski&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-7216256961386155153?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/7216256961386155153/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=7216256961386155153' title='6 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7216256961386155153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7216256961386155153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/07/filosofando-com-o-velho-buk.html' title='Filosofando com o velho Buk'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-2898889227808600454</id><published>2008-07-19T16:09:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-19T16:12:22.924-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Sonhos de Caetano</title><content type='html'>Tudo era apenas brincadeira&lt;br /&gt;E foi crescendo, crescendo, me absorvendo&lt;br /&gt;E de repente eu me vi assim&lt;br /&gt;Completamente seu&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vi a minha força amarrada no seu passo&lt;br /&gt;Vi que sem você não há caminho, não me acho&lt;br /&gt;Vi um grande amor gritar dentro de mim&lt;br /&gt;Como eu sonhei um dia&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quando a canção se fez mais clara e mais sentida&lt;br /&gt;Quando a poesia realmente fez folia em minha vida&lt;br /&gt;Você veio me falar dessa paixão inesperada&lt;br /&gt;Por outra pessoa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas não tem revolta não&lt;br /&gt;Eu só quero que você me encontre&lt;br /&gt;Saudade até que é bom&lt;br /&gt;É melhor que caminhar vazio&lt;br /&gt;A esperança é um dom&lt;br /&gt;Que eu tenho em mim,&lt;br /&gt;Eu tenho sim&lt;br /&gt;Não tem desespero não&lt;br /&gt;Você me ensinou milhões de coisas&lt;br /&gt;Tenho um sonho em minhas mãos&lt;br /&gt;Amanhã será um novo dia&lt;br /&gt;Certamente eu vou ser mais feliz&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;com certeza.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-2898889227808600454?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/2898889227808600454/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=2898889227808600454' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2898889227808600454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2898889227808600454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/07/sonhos-de-caetano.html' title='Sonhos de Caetano'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-555259747136020566</id><published>2008-07-18T03:17:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-18T03:23:21.207-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Amor nos Tempos de Colera</title><content type='html'>"Pense no amor como um estado de graca.&lt;br /&gt;  Sem sentido para coisa alguma.&lt;br /&gt;  De alfa ate omega.&lt;br /&gt;  Como o fim em si mesmo.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;  ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  Amor é tudo aquilo que fazemos pelados.&lt;br /&gt;  Da cintura para cima, amor espiritual.&lt;br /&gt;  Da cintura para baixo, amor carnal.&lt;br /&gt;  Amor dividido."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                              Gabriel Garcia Marquez&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-555259747136020566?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/555259747136020566/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=555259747136020566' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/555259747136020566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/555259747136020566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/07/amor-nos-tempos-de-colera.html' title='Amor nos Tempos de Colera'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-8122216010746503781</id><published>2008-07-15T02:05:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-15T21:20:52.226-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Parting Gift</title><content type='html'>I opened my eyes&lt;br /&gt;While you were kissing me once more than once&lt;br /&gt;And you looked as sincere as a dog&lt;br /&gt;Just as sincere as a dog does,&lt;br /&gt;When it's the food on your lips with which it's in love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bet you could never tell&lt;br /&gt;That I knew you didn't know me that well&lt;br /&gt;It is my fault you see&lt;br /&gt;You never learned that much from me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh you silly, stupid pastime of mine&lt;br /&gt;You were always good for a rhyme&lt;br /&gt;And from the first to the last time&lt;br /&gt;The signs says 'stop'&lt;br /&gt;But we went on whole-hearted it ended bad&lt;br /&gt;But I love what we started&lt;br /&gt;They said 'stop'&lt;br /&gt;But we went on whole-hearted it ended bad&lt;br /&gt;But I love what we started&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took off my glasses&lt;br /&gt;While you were yelling at me once more than once&lt;br /&gt;So's not to see you see me react&lt;br /&gt;Should've put 'em, should've put 'em on again&lt;br /&gt;So I could see you see me sincerely yelling back&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bet your fortressed face&lt;br /&gt;Belied your fort of lace&lt;br /&gt;It is by the grace of me&lt;br /&gt;You never learned what I could see&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh you silly, stupid pastime of mine&lt;br /&gt;You were always good for a rhyme&lt;br /&gt;And from the first to all the last time&lt;br /&gt;All the signs says 'stop'&lt;br /&gt;But we went on whole-hearted it ended bad&lt;br /&gt;But I love what we started&lt;br /&gt;They said 'stop'&lt;br /&gt;But we went on whole-hearted it ended bad&lt;br /&gt;But I love what we started&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fiona Apple&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nSedNthxokQ"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-8122216010746503781?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/8122216010746503781/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=8122216010746503781' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8122216010746503781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8122216010746503781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/07/blog-post.html' title='Parting Gift'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-6940041538133202433</id><published>2008-07-14T18:34:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-15T21:12:57.673-03:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm not there</title><content type='html'>....pra morar em algum lugar onde ser alguem eh ser ninguem e todo mundo, por que na &lt;strong&gt;verdade&lt;/strong&gt;, &lt;em&gt;fingir&lt;/em&gt; tem tanto a proporcionar...?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;e a gente nasce &lt;em&gt;anyway&lt;/em&gt;?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-6940041538133202433?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/6940041538133202433/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=6940041538133202433' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6940041538133202433'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6940041538133202433'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/07/im-not-there.html' title='I&apos;m not there'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-4625846923830248287</id><published>2008-07-11T01:50:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-11T01:50:30.444-03:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>lembrancas tem cheiro, sabor, cor e musica&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-4625846923830248287?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/4625846923830248287/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=4625846923830248287' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/4625846923830248287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/4625846923830248287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/07/lembrancas-tem-cheiro-sabor-cor-e.html' title=''/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-1296800795897070500</id><published>2008-07-10T22:48:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-10T22:50:11.034-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off, but it's better if you do!</title><content type='html'>http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NgbRdo79omI&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WxA8VJvirXI&amp;feature=related&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-1296800795897070500?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/1296800795897070500/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=1296800795897070500' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1296800795897070500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1296800795897070500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/07/lying-is-most-fun-girl-can-have-without.html' title='Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off, but it&apos;s better if you do!'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-3187228873634205699</id><published>2008-07-07T15:59:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T23:26:44.979-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Buenos Aires Part 1</title><content type='html'>Delícia viajar!! Apesar de eu sempre ficar um tempo presa em aeroportos, no momento estou no movimentadíssimo aeroporto de Buenos Aires, gosto dessa atmosfera de ficar entre dois lugares. Nao estou mais no lugar de partida mas também nao cheguei ao meu destino. Mais ou menos como anda minha vida. Meio termo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-3187228873634205699?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/3187228873634205699/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=3187228873634205699' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3187228873634205699'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3187228873634205699'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/07/buenos-aires-part-1.html' title='Buenos Aires Part 1'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-4336968049606439220</id><published>2008-07-05T16:51:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-05T17:59:10.732-03:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm like lawyer the way I'm always trying to get you off</title><content type='html'>"O melhor jeito de passar por isso&lt;br /&gt; Com corações e pulsos intactos&lt;br /&gt; É perceber que dois entre três não é ruim..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fall Out Boy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-4336968049606439220?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/4336968049606439220/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=4336968049606439220' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/4336968049606439220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/4336968049606439220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/07/im-like-lawyer-way-im-always-trying-to.html' title='I&apos;m like lawyer the way I&apos;m always trying to get you off'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-539019725232542613</id><published>2008-07-02T04:33:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-02T19:01:09.236-03:00</updated><title type='text'>My incapacity of crying makes me laugh</title><content type='html'>Dry. Completely dry. I got everything. I got the best movies, I got the sad songs, got the books and got the wrong men. Dry. Not even one tear, none. Nothing. Maybe I've become nothing, maybe I'm just so used to it that I got tired of it. My body got tired of it. Crying. What is it anyway? Just another weak way to show how you feel or the way you show that you feel? Anything. Just give me something I can get pissed at. Just one single thing that makes me angry. Anger. I don't remember the last time I got angry at something. Really angry. You know why? Because I understand. I UNDERSTAND EVERYTHING! EVERY FUCKING THING. And why? So I can live better? No. I was built like that, and I don't like it. I used to cry all the time. Even when I wasn't supposed to. Speacially when I wasn't supposed to. Love? What the hell am I supposed to do with love? All that love. All that lack of love. I got reasons to be angry, I got reasons to cry, of course I do. Then why now did my body, my eyes, refuse to express what's going on my mind? So many questions. Usually I'm the one who answers them. Everybody. I am the answer to every question. Just ask me anything, I'll give a hundred answers to the same thing. I think. And then I think again, there's always something more, isn't there? It's not just about coincidences, things happen for a reason right? I got the reason. I always get it.&lt;br /&gt;Here's one thing, I am tired to answer my own questions. Can somebody do the hard work for me once? Can somebody answer me or tell me something I don't already know? Gimme something to think about, give me something I didn't JUST tell you. Surprise me. Make me feel surprised. Give me a whole new vocabulary, be hard on me, make me THINK. Make me feel. Cause that's what I want, I wanna feel, and I mean really feel. Touch my soul, punch me in the face with reallity. Make me believe you believe in me. Give me that. I'm sure I deserve it. I deserve more than being just a shoulder you can rely on. Where's my shoulder? Where is my loyalty? Be loyal. Be true to me. Be honest. Keep your word. Everybody is just so used to be my child. I wanna be somebody's child. I want a partner, a real one. All this make believe that I live in...I know that's not real, I want real.&lt;br /&gt;This, as you make think, it's not about him, or him, or anybody. This is about me. This is me wanting something that, for once, is about me. ME. Let's talk about me, let's talk about you but please, let's be real! Let's be honest to each other. All the time we would spend trying to make each other understand, we don't need that. I already got it but, have you? Have you ever thought about something besides yourself? This is a question to everybody, have you ever really thought about anything but yourself? Can you live with yourself? Do you know how to be alone? Do you know waht it's like to be homeless? Do you know how does it feel not having anyone to call at night?&lt;br /&gt;And please, do you know how to make any kind of relationship not get boring? That's obviously impossible but, have you ever tried? Have you ever tried to make each day a new day? Have you ever fought for something or someone? Have you ever LOVED? Do you understand what LOVE is? Can you define it? Of course not. People don't try, they wanted it ready, and when it's not, they just get tired of it. And I am tired of people who get tired. Do you see the fire? Do you seek for fire? Are you passioned? Do you seek for anything? Why do you live? Have you ever thought about it? What are you doing? Do you consider yourself wise? Do you know what wisdom means? Do you know? Ask yourself that, what are you? what are you made of? what do you want? Cause I want answers, or new questions. Are you still capable of crying? Can you tell me why I am not? Can you tell me anything?&lt;br /&gt;Strength. I am strong, maybe a little too much. Maybe that's just the way I am. That's not for sale, that's not something you can buy, strenght. It comes with time, you have to fight for it. You have to fight to be strong. Because one day you're gonna wake up and everything will be gone, and you will breathe no more. So, are aware of that? What's this that you're doing? Did you leave anything behind? Did you give something? What can we share? For those who think this all bullshit I say no. You bet I'll get my grand finale.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once again, thank you Cameron Crowe for showing me, for giving me reasons to be real.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-539019725232542613?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/539019725232542613/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=539019725232542613' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/539019725232542613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/539019725232542613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/07/my-incapacity-of-crying-makes-me-laugh.html' title='My incapacity of crying makes me laugh'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-822042233663165057</id><published>2008-07-02T02:03:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2008-07-02T02:07:49.343-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Letter to Mary</title><content type='html'>"Danny está só porque a Mary está na Índia agora. Ela disse que ia ligar mas isso foi ha três semanas atrás. Ela deixou todas suas coisas, seus livros e as cartas dele.&lt;br /&gt;E assim que o sol nasce para Mary, se põe para ele.&lt;br /&gt;Só dançar, só beber e só ver as coisas que eu provavelmente nunca terei a chance de ver.&lt;br /&gt;Danny não está comendo, ele só está bebendo e dormindo. Eu o vi ontem numa festa, ele está magro mesmo. Diz que está feliz, ele aparentava muito bem mas, eu acho que assim que o sol nasce para Mary, se põe para ele.&lt;br /&gt;Danny veio pra cá ontem à noite e eu cozinhei para ele, nós conversamos sobre você, Mary, e quanto nós ainda te amávamos. Ele me disse que empacotou seus livros e suas cartas e coisas.&lt;br /&gt;E assim que o sol se põe para Mary, está nascendo para ele.&lt;br /&gt;E nós dançamos e nós bebemos e eu vi algumas coisas que você provavelmente nunca teve a chance de ver.&lt;br /&gt;Não se preocupe Mary, pois eu estou cuidando do Danny e ele está cuidando de mim."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as the sun rises on Mary, it sets on him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dido, muito obrigada.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-822042233663165057?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/822042233663165057/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=822042233663165057' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/822042233663165057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/822042233663165057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/07/letter-to-mary.html' title='Letter to Mary'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-3394142897938241503</id><published>2008-06-27T09:59:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-27T10:00:28.733-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Kill the beast</title><content type='html'>"Sabe o que é um coração amar ao máximo de seu sangue?&lt;br /&gt;  Bater até ao auge do seu baticum?&lt;br /&gt;  Não, você não sabe de jeito nenhum.&lt;br /&gt;  Agora chega.reforma no meu peito!&lt;br /&gt;  Pedreiros, Pintores, raspadores de mágoas aproximem-se!&lt;br /&gt;  Rolos, tintas, tijolo&lt;br /&gt;  comecem a obra!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  O homem que hoje me amar&lt;br /&gt;  encontrará outro lá dentro.&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;strong&gt;Pois que o mate&lt;/strong&gt;."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-3394142897938241503?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/3394142897938241503/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=3394142897938241503' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3394142897938241503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3394142897938241503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/06/kill-beast.html' title='Kill the beast'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-3885537319816060944</id><published>2008-06-26T00:42:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-26T12:19:30.298-03:00</updated><title type='text'>NOWhere</title><content type='html'>"...me diz o que eh o sufoco que eu te mostro alguem afim de te acompanhar..."&lt;br /&gt;atravessando a rua ela fica pensando em maneiras diferentes de dizer "oi", patetico, claro e quando ela percebe, desiste e ri. ela entra e ve ELE, com uma cara abatida e cansada. um beijo em sua mao e ela se senta, pergunta "como vai?", e la vai ELE falar sobre a sua vida cheia de problemas e neuroses, como sempre mas, no mais, tudo bem. ela comeca a falar sobre os objetivos do encontro e ele concorda com absolutamente tudo. ELE responde as suas perguntas de forma clara e explicativa, da a ela tudo que ela queria, ou pelo menos fingia acreditar que queria. o telefone dele toca, eh ELA, ela sabe porque ELE sai da mesa para atender.&lt;br /&gt;"tu vai conhecer a minha namorada" diz ele. "ah eh?" com um sorriso no rosto ela nao poderia estar sendo mais sincera em demonstrar felicidade e interesse com a noticia. eles seguem falando em solucoes e criacoes quando ELA chega. ela quase nao acredita quando A ve. baixinha e com ar jovial, ELA passa aquela sensacao infantil de nao caber em si mesma. adoravel. ela A adora de cara, claro. totalmente comunicativa ELA preenche o ambiente com sua luz e alegria de ser. ela o observa enquanto ele A observa, fascinado, completamente encantado com ELA. "que bom" pensa ela. afinal tudo que ela mais deseja eh a felicidade DELE.&lt;br /&gt;ELA logo se intera do assunto dos dois e da ideias otimas e solucoes para problemas subjetivos da "personagem". ELA fuma cigarro mentolado, tem seu proprio carro e toma suco de abacaxi. ela nao tem grana nem pra comprar seu marlboro light muito menos para pagar seu whiskey cowboy. enquanto ELA conta sobre as novidades de sua aula e de como eh competente em suas acoes, ela pensa que talvez, ao ver tamanha fascinacao DELE sobre a menina, nunca O tivesse conhecido realmente. percebe que, se quer uma vez, ELE perguntou como andava sua vida, se ela estava bem ou feliz. "melhor assim" pensou ela. melhor assim.&lt;br /&gt;ELA liga para a mae e pede permissao para dormir na casa DELE. lugar tao conhecido por ela, tantas coisas ditas um ao lado do outro na cama. todas as suas certezas e conviccoes foram por agua abaixo e ela se sente um lixo ao lado da menina. melhor assim, ja tava na hora de parar de fingir, de ter qualquer resquicio de esperanca. chega! chega! ela tem que aprender, ela aprendeu. em dois segundos, ela aprendeu. ela ainda nao chorou, talvez nunca chore por causa DELE. "melhor assim" pensou, enquanto ELA e ELE a levavam em casa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;entao ela adormeceu, sentindo o toque delicado e carinhoso de um monstro.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-3885537319816060944?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/3885537319816060944/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=3885537319816060944' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3885537319816060944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3885537319816060944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/06/nowhere.html' title='NOWhere'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-2969179714303083150</id><published>2008-06-24T01:24:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-24T01:29:01.634-03:00</updated><title type='text'>AVISO</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Suas atualizacoes estao prontas. Gostaria de reeiniciar agora?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;SIM&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-2969179714303083150?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/2969179714303083150/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=2969179714303083150' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2969179714303083150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2969179714303083150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/06/aviso.html' title='AVISO'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-1842315790528042942</id><published>2008-06-23T19:47:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-23T20:00:55.525-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Aprecie sem moderacao</title><content type='html'>na parada de onibus, fumando um cigarro&lt;br /&gt;ela pensa no tempo perdido, digo, ganho.&lt;br /&gt;pra ela nada se perde tudo se transforma e incrivel como ultimamente as coisas ruins tem gerado tantas coisas boas, pelo menos no ponto de vista dela.&lt;br /&gt;lembra daquela dor aguda, quase fisica que vem depois de um nao? pois eh, ela tem certeza que essa dor eh menos pior do que o buraco negro que surge depois do sim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"oi, tem fogo?" diz um gentil rapaz que se aproxima. ele tem uma aparencia agradavel aos olhos e um sorriso quase infantil. os dois comecam a falar sobre a demora do onibus e o garoto logo abre casos de sua vida na parada. ele tem um jeito meigo de falar mesmo com um cigarro na boca. a cada respirada, um riso bobo, desengoncado, como se nao conseguisse se preencher direito. ela o adorou de cara mas mantinha seu ar simpatico e ao mesmo tempo blaze. o onibus dele chegou e ao se despedir seus labios tocaram o canto da boca dela. um ultimo olhar e ele se vai. ela sorri.sabia que nunca mais ia ver o garoto, mas nao passou mais do que cinco segundos pensando nisso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pela janela da lotacao ela ve a redencao. vontade de sair caminhando por ai, mas o dinheiro so eh o bastante para um passe. whatever, o importante eh apreciar a paisagem. apreciar a paisagem.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-1842315790528042942?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/1842315790528042942/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=1842315790528042942' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1842315790528042942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1842315790528042942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/06/aprecie-sem-moderacao.html' title='Aprecie sem moderacao'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-1238608770261571659</id><published>2008-06-18T19:30:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-18T19:49:00.098-03:00</updated><title type='text'>This time around</title><content type='html'>"hoje o tempo voa amor, escorre pelas maos...mesmo sem se sentir...nao ha tempo que volte amor, vamos viver tudo que ha pra viver, vamos nos permitir!!!"&lt;br /&gt;delicia de estacao, dias ensolarados e aquele friozinho que da uma preguica...ando pensando no fim, quer dizer, no comeco...vou fazr uma festa de despedidas...de todas que ja passei acho que essa vai ser a mais dolorosa porque, certamente, eh uma das utimas. ja to imaginando minha casa nova, meus novos amigos...sinceramente nao posso reclamar da minha vida, afinal, soh tem melhorado ultimamente, alguns altos e baixos claro mas, no mais tudo bem. eu me orgulho da minha capacidade de reerguer a cabeca e seguir em frente em qualquer situacao, de nao deixar as coisas ruins que acontecem me consumirem e mesmo quando penso no que pode dar errado eu sei, que vai ser horrivel, mas vai passar...tudo passa. e nao poderia estar tocando uma musica melhor - my father's gun do elton john - da trilha sonora de elizabethtown, essa toca quando ele ta sozinho no carro falando com as cinzas do pai dele, maravilhoso e propicio pra este momento nostalgia de minha vida e espera pelo futuro que ta um pentelhinho na frente. ai to feliz! e feliz do jeito bom, nao daquele jeito que ta tudo otimo e eu sei que daqui a pouco da merda. to feliz do jeito que nada ta perfeito mas eu chego em casa e nao tenho vontade de fugir, de ligar pra alguem e nao surto mais querendo sair. finalmente o lugar onde me econtro nao me aprisiona!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-1238608770261571659?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/1238608770261571659/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=1238608770261571659' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1238608770261571659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1238608770261571659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/06/this-time-around.html' title='This time around'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-2448589460030508455</id><published>2008-06-15T15:28:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-15T15:38:06.803-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Download it now!</title><content type='html'>agora eu baixo filmes. baixo musicas. baixo livros.&lt;br /&gt;sera que da pra baixar pessoas? podia.&lt;br /&gt;baixar mais tempo. &lt;br /&gt;baixar sentimentos novos. to cansada dos velhos. eu enjoo muito das coisas. nao necessariamente de pessoas mas do que eu sinto por elas. enjoo de gostar taanto de alguem. deve ter um software de lavagem cerebral, digo amorosa. a gente baixa, instala e atualiza os sentimentos. adorei.vou baixar.&lt;br /&gt;vou baixar tambem pessoas novas, homens novos. tem um software que faz isso. tu coloca as caracteristicas e ele cria um alguem novo. ia apertar no shuffle pra ver no que dava. certamente alguem bem complicado. nao. quero o simples. o completo. o desnecessario. vagante. andarilho. independente. autentico. despreocupado. simples. porque as coisas sao muito simples. as pessoas que complicam tudo.&lt;br /&gt;hoje eh um dos dias mais bonitos desse ano. ta frio e tem sol. da vontade de ficar vagando pela rua. entao eu fui. vaguei. felicidade. eu sei. to indo baixar.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-2448589460030508455?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/2448589460030508455/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=2448589460030508455' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2448589460030508455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2448589460030508455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/06/download-it-now.html' title='Download it now!'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-1231691801556670521</id><published>2008-06-13T13:29:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-13T13:35:25.856-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Extraordinary Girl</title><content type='html'>She's an extraordinary girl&lt;br /&gt;in an ordinary world&lt;br /&gt;and she can't seem to get away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;he lacks the courage in his mind&lt;br /&gt;like a child that's left behind&lt;br /&gt;like a pet left in the rain&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;she's all alone again&lt;br /&gt;wiping the tears from her eyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;someday he feels like dying&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;she gets so sick of crying&lt;br /&gt;she sees the mirror of herself&lt;br /&gt;and image she wants to sell&lt;br /&gt;to anyone willing to buy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;he steals the image in her kiss&lt;br /&gt;from her hearts apocalypse&lt;br /&gt;from the one called whatsername&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;somedays it's not worth trying&lt;br /&gt;now that they both are finding&lt;br /&gt;she got sick of crying&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-1231691801556670521?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/1231691801556670521/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=1231691801556670521' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1231691801556670521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1231691801556670521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/06/extraordinary-girl.html' title='Extraordinary Girl'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-1880581089755005685</id><published>2008-06-12T11:42:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-12T11:43:23.806-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Eu quero a sorte de um amor tranquilo.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-1880581089755005685?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/1880581089755005685/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=1880581089755005685' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1880581089755005685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1880581089755005685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/06/eu-quero-sorte-de-um-amor-tranquilo.html' title='Eu quero a sorte de um amor tranquilo.'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-352962972616317277</id><published>2008-06-10T10:56:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T10:58:39.390-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Carrion</title><content type='html'>Won't do no good to hold no seance&lt;br /&gt;What's gone is gone, and you can't bring it back around&lt;br /&gt;Won't do no good to hold no searchlight&lt;br /&gt;You can't illuminate what time has anchored down&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've gone away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Won't do no good to sing no love song&lt;br /&gt;No sound could simulate the presence of a man&lt;br /&gt;Won't do no good asking no questions&lt;br /&gt;Your divination should acquaint you with the plan&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honey, I've gone away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My feel for you, boy, is decaying in front of me&lt;br /&gt;Like the carrion of a murdered prey&lt;br /&gt;And all I want is to save you, honey&lt;br /&gt;Or the strength to walk away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Won't do no good to go no distance&lt;br /&gt;The space between us is as boundless as the dark&lt;br /&gt;Won't do no good to throw no fist, baby&lt;br /&gt;You can't intimidate me back into your arms&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because honey, I've gone away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My feel for you, boy, is decaying in front of me&lt;br /&gt;Like the carrion of a murdered prey&lt;br /&gt;And all I want is to save you, honey&lt;br /&gt;Or the strength to walk away&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-352962972616317277?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/352962972616317277/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=352962972616317277' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/352962972616317277'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/352962972616317277'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/06/carrion.html' title='Carrion'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-382380527566477204</id><published>2008-06-09T15:51:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-09T15:54:37.653-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Sweet Home</title><content type='html'>visto adquirido! quero que esse ano acabe logo que as coisas passem rapido.&lt;br /&gt;minha vida inteira fiquei correndo por ai, sem rumo certo, sem raizes...&lt;br /&gt;e a cada dia que passa sinto que chego mais perto de casa.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-382380527566477204?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/382380527566477204/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=382380527566477204' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/382380527566477204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/382380527566477204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/06/sweet-home.html' title='Sweet Home'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-6445287938881563878</id><published>2008-06-07T15:53:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-07T15:55:41.308-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Restinho</title><content type='html'>Eu tô perdido&lt;br /&gt;Sem pai nem mãe&lt;br /&gt;Bem na porta da tua casa&lt;br /&gt;Eu tô pedindo&lt;br /&gt;A tua mão&lt;br /&gt;E um pouquinho do braço&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Migalhas dormidas do teu pão&lt;br /&gt;Raspas e restos&lt;br /&gt;Me interessam&lt;br /&gt;Pequenas poções de ilusão&lt;br /&gt;Mentiras sinceras me interessam&lt;br /&gt;Me interessam, me interessam&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu tô pedindo&lt;br /&gt;A tua mão&lt;br /&gt;Me leve para qualquer lado&lt;br /&gt;Só um pouquinho&lt;br /&gt;De proteção&lt;br /&gt;Ao maior abandonado&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teu corpo com amor ou não&lt;br /&gt;Raspas e restos me interessam&lt;br /&gt;Me ame como a um irmão&lt;br /&gt;Mentiras sinceras me interessam&lt;br /&gt;Me interessam&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-6445287938881563878?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/6445287938881563878/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=6445287938881563878' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6445287938881563878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6445287938881563878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/06/restinho.html' title='Restinho'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-4743003518990926953</id><published>2008-06-06T13:02:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-06T13:06:47.590-03:00</updated><title type='text'>First class for free!</title><content type='html'>"Pat says: So waht have u been up to all this time?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; mariana says: Well I've been busy working and braking my heart a hundred and five   times...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Pat says: Oh I'm sorry to hear that&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; mariana says: no but I'm getting really good on getting up, I'll probably make some money teaching the art of getting over failed relationships!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really am good at it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-4743003518990926953?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/4743003518990926953/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=4743003518990926953' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/4743003518990926953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/4743003518990926953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/06/first-class-for-free.html' title='First class for free!'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-5757315768164662137</id><published>2008-06-03T15:03:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-03T15:07:59.645-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Resposta</title><content type='html'>Replacing sorrow for joy&lt;br /&gt;that's what I'm doing.&lt;br /&gt;though I'm a gambler&lt;br /&gt;love is losing game...&lt;br /&gt;after all "shakes come and go&lt;br /&gt;but friends are furrrrrrever"&lt;br /&gt;says the kitty cat!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-5757315768164662137?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/5757315768164662137/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=5757315768164662137' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/5757315768164662137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/5757315768164662137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/06/resposta.html' title='Resposta'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-5333309126138527354</id><published>2008-06-01T02:35:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-01T02:42:25.657-03:00</updated><title type='text'>escritura</title><content type='html'>e saindo de casa, caminhando pela rua, atravessando avenidas e me perdendo em becos...a linguagem ja me engoliu e meus olhos formam uma grande angular,&lt;br /&gt;vou subindo e achando pessimo tudo isso mas ao mesmo tempo como quando decolamos, dividindo o espirito da materia me livrando, sim, me livrando...mas eu voltei e ao pousar engoli tudo de novo.&lt;br /&gt;love is a losing game - so amy says.&lt;br /&gt;paranoia, paranoia, vou arrancar esse musculo bombante e mandar costurar, vou ate onde ele me disser pra ir...&lt;br /&gt;MAS O QUE SINGIFICA TUDO ISSO? &lt;br /&gt;COMO ASSIM?&lt;br /&gt;e tudo muito pequeno, tao pequeno, eu sou tao pequena&lt;br /&gt;insignificante.&lt;br /&gt;please don't say that out loud ok?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-5333309126138527354?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/5333309126138527354/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=5333309126138527354' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/5333309126138527354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/5333309126138527354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/06/escritura.html' title='escritura'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-7780073448816288209</id><published>2008-05-31T16:34:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-31T16:38:37.234-03:00</updated><title type='text'>We only said goodbye with words</title><content type='html'>A cada dia que vivo, mais me convenço de que o desperdício da vida está no amor que não damos, nas forças que não usamos, na prudência egoísta que nada arrisca e que, esquivando-nos do sofrimento, perdemos também a felicidade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Carlos Drummond de Andrade&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;assino embaixo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-7780073448816288209?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/7780073448816288209/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=7780073448816288209' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7780073448816288209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7780073448816288209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/05/we-only-said-goodbye-with-words.html' title='We only said goodbye with words'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-3509432438438126829</id><published>2008-05-28T21:07:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-28T21:09:36.745-03:00</updated><title type='text'>R.I.P</title><content type='html'>Cansei de chorar feridas que não se fecham, não se curam.&lt;br /&gt;Essa abstinência uma hora vai passar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;não importa se você vem hoje, amanhã&lt;br /&gt;ou não vem.&lt;br /&gt;desisti de esperar por alguém&lt;br /&gt;cuja ausência me faz companhia.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-3509432438438126829?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/3509432438438126829/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=3509432438438126829' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3509432438438126829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3509432438438126829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/05/rip.html' title='R.I.P'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-257626829787613333</id><published>2008-05-24T05:53:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-24T05:54:50.064-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Vanilla Sky</title><content type='html'>Meus sonhos são piadas de mau gosto.&lt;br /&gt;Eles debocham de mim. Até em sonho, eu sou a idiota que sabe que vai acordar a qualquer momento.&lt;br /&gt;Me concentro para sonhar que estou voando, que sou livre.&lt;br /&gt;Nunca dá certo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-257626829787613333?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/257626829787613333/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=257626829787613333' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/257626829787613333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/257626829787613333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/05/vanilla-sky.html' title='Vanilla Sky'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-2864332383903558710</id><published>2008-05-18T05:51:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-18T05:53:52.122-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Votos</title><content type='html'>Branco. Apático. Olhos fundos. Boca seca.&lt;br /&gt;Sentado e preso a uma agulha, palpitante.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De repente, um quase sorriso:&lt;br /&gt;"Mari, será que tu me consegue uma água de côco?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ah meu bem, o mundo. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Descansa.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-2864332383903558710?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/2864332383903558710/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=2864332383903558710' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2864332383903558710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2864332383903558710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/05/votos.html' title='Votos'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-45897928287191019</id><published>2008-05-13T03:02:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-13T03:03:26.082-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Em cima da casa Torelli</title><content type='html'>Minha felicidade tinha hora marcada&lt;br /&gt;e eu me atrasei...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-45897928287191019?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/45897928287191019/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=45897928287191019' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/45897928287191019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/45897928287191019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/05/em-cima-da-casa-torelli.html' title='Em cima da casa Torelli'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-2819420923971842510</id><published>2008-05-04T23:12:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-05-04T23:19:37.412-03:00</updated><title type='text'>seguindo a palavra</title><content type='html'>Esse blog antes era quase dissertativo, expunha minhas opiniões sobre assuntos diversos, hoje é só um bando de declarações pra quem quer que seja. Apaixonada sim, volúvel nunca! &lt;br /&gt;Pensa na frequencia de um sentimento - tum tum tum tum tum&lt;br /&gt;de repente aquilo não te satisfaz mais, mas continua na mesma frequencia - aí aparece outro, mais disposto, mais aberto e vai te fazendo bem - tumtumtumtumtumtumtumtumtumtum - mas o outro continua ali a diferença é que a frequencia vai diminuindo - tum   tum  tum   tum - entendeu?&lt;br /&gt;to feliz com o que escuto e o que sinto.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"...um anjo...de asinhas tortas, caídas...ainda assim um anjo..."&lt;br /&gt;eu é que não vou perguntar se tem Elvis, quase que uma ofensa a tão vasta coleção.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-2819420923971842510?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/2819420923971842510/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=2819420923971842510' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2819420923971842510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2819420923971842510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/05/seguindo-palavra.html' title='seguindo a palavra'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-2933319393142669527</id><published>2008-04-30T15:19:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-04-30T15:21:50.836-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Letter to the Priest</title><content type='html'>Time takes care of the wound, so I can believe.&lt;br /&gt;You had so much to give, you thought I couldn't see.&lt;br /&gt;Gifts for boot heels to crush, promises deceived&lt;br /&gt;I had to send it away to bring us back again.&lt;br /&gt;Your eyes and body brighten silent waters, deep.&lt;br /&gt;Your precious daughter in the other room, asleep.&lt;br /&gt;A kiss "Goodnight" from every stranger that I meet.&lt;br /&gt;I had to send it away to bring us back again.&lt;br /&gt;Morning theft, and pretender left, ungrateful.&lt;br /&gt;True Self is what brought you here, to me.&lt;br /&gt;A place where we can accept this love.&lt;br /&gt;Friendship battered down by useless history,&lt;br /&gt;Unexamined failure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;What am I still to you?&lt;br /&gt;Some thief who stole from you?&lt;br /&gt;Or some fool drama queen whose chances were few?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love brings us to who we need,&lt;br /&gt;a place where we can save&lt;br /&gt;A heart that beats as both siphon and reservoir.&lt;br /&gt;You're a man, I'm a calf.&lt;br /&gt;You're a window, I'm a knife.&lt;br /&gt;We come together making chance into starlight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Meet me tomorrow night, or any day you want.&lt;br /&gt;I have no right to wonder just how, or when.&lt;br /&gt;And though the meaning fits, there's no relief in this.&lt;br /&gt;I miss my beautiful friend.&lt;br /&gt;I had to send it away to bring him back again.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-2933319393142669527?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/2933319393142669527/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=2933319393142669527' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2933319393142669527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2933319393142669527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/04/letter-to-priest.html' title='Letter to the Priest'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-8016341441357154555</id><published>2008-04-29T09:16:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-04-29T09:23:15.833-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Felliniando</title><content type='html'>"Reivindico o direito de contradizer-me. Não quero privar-me do direito de dizer bobagens e peço, humildemente, que me seja permitido enganar-me algumas vezes."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-8016341441357154555?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/8016341441357154555/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=8016341441357154555' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8016341441357154555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/8016341441357154555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/04/felliniando.html' title='Felliniando'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-2514593658567430272</id><published>2008-04-24T23:27:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-04-24T23:29:40.807-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Chave</title><content type='html'>Meu bichinho assustado&lt;br /&gt;não recues diante da vida&lt;br /&gt;a vida&lt;br /&gt;é uma armadilha sem dono&lt;br /&gt;um abandono&lt;br /&gt;um abandono&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-2514593658567430272?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/2514593658567430272/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=2514593658567430272' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2514593658567430272'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2514593658567430272'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/04/chave.html' title='Chave'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-2248902934876743773</id><published>2008-04-23T16:34:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-04-23T19:02:54.665-03:00</updated><title type='text'>It ain't me babe</title><content type='html'>Go away from my window&lt;br /&gt;Leave at your own chosen speed&lt;br /&gt;I'm not the one you want, babe&lt;br /&gt;I'm not the one you need&lt;br /&gt;You say you're lookin' for someone&lt;br /&gt;Who's never weak but always strong&lt;br /&gt;To protect you and defend you&lt;br /&gt;Whether you are right or wrong&lt;br /&gt;Someone to open each and every door&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it ain't me babe&lt;br /&gt;No, no, no, it ain't me babe&lt;br /&gt;It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-2248902934876743773?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/2248902934876743773/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=2248902934876743773' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2248902934876743773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/2248902934876743773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/04/it-aint-me-babe.html' title='It ain&apos;t me babe'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-7975020009445632679</id><published>2008-04-22T14:23:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-04-22T14:25:40.310-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Better version of me</title><content type='html'>Deixei cair o níquel quando eu estava ligada&lt;br /&gt;Meu caminho além do Rubicon &lt;br /&gt;O que eu fiz?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E os jogos que eu posso manusear&lt;br /&gt;E então aqueles com uma vela&lt;br /&gt;O que eu posso fazer?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu sou uma pessoa assustada e inconstante&lt;br /&gt;Lutando, chorando, chutando e praguejando&lt;br /&gt;O que eu devo fazer?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Depois de todos os acessórios inúteis&lt;br /&gt;E o transporte do carvão excedente parou.&lt;br /&gt;O que eu aprendi?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu estou provavelmente perdendo o evento principal&lt;br /&gt;Se eu parar de chorar e reclamar de novo&lt;br /&gt;Então eu manterei uma paz proposital&lt;br /&gt;Deixe a maldita brisa enxugar meu rosto&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, senhor, Espere até você ver&lt;br /&gt;O que eu planejo ser&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu tenho um plano pra processar e isso só começou&lt;br /&gt;E se você estiver certo, você vai concordar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aí vem a melhor versão de mim&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-7975020009445632679?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/7975020009445632679/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=7975020009445632679' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7975020009445632679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/7975020009445632679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/04/better-version-of-me.html' title='Better version of me'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-1866952537538293978</id><published>2008-04-09T22:39:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2008-04-09T22:44:44.616-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Em cima da Redenção</title><content type='html'>"...penso nas tantas bitucas de cigarro afogadas no fundo de garrafas que habitam como inquilinas este condomínio de perdições...&lt;br /&gt;- me perdi do sebo, dos calos, das bitucas, menos das garrafas, nunca das garrafas! Jamais seria desleal com minhas fiéis companheiras embora elas queiram tanto fugir diante do sol que, tão repentinamente, invadiu minha janela."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                    Trecho da poesia de Henrique&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-1866952537538293978?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/1866952537538293978/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=1866952537538293978' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1866952537538293978'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1866952537538293978'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/04/em-cima-da-redeno.html' title='Em cima da Redenção'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-5886146465365829183</id><published>2008-04-01T02:03:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-04-01T02:04:46.974-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Paper Bag</title><content type='html'>And I went crazy again today,&lt;br /&gt;Looking for a strand to climb&lt;br /&gt;Looking for a little hope&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby said he couldn't stay, wouldn't put his lips to mine,&lt;br /&gt;And a fail to kiss is a fail to cope&lt;br /&gt;I said, "honey, i don't feel so good, don't feel justified&lt;br /&gt;Come on put a little love here in my void"&lt;br /&gt;He said "it's all in your head", and I said "so's everything"&lt;br /&gt;But he didn't get it&lt;br /&gt;I thought he was a man&lt;br /&gt;But he was just a little boy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-5886146465365829183?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/5886146465365829183/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=5886146465365829183' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/5886146465365829183'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/5886146465365829183'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/04/paper-bag.html' title='Paper Bag'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-473454406100529526</id><published>2008-03-28T11:59:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-03-28T12:02:12.419-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Fernando Pessoa</title><content type='html'>O que me dói não é o que há no coração,&lt;br /&gt;mas essas coisas lindas que nunca existirão...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-473454406100529526?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/473454406100529526/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=473454406100529526' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/473454406100529526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/473454406100529526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/03/fernando-pessoa.html' title='Fernando Pessoa'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-6078222886841614789</id><published>2008-03-25T03:04:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-03-25T03:07:44.644-03:00</updated><title type='text'>O tempo que mereça</title><content type='html'>"Aprenda a se descobrir e a viver&lt;br /&gt;e não se esconder nas histórias"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Gi tem a letra.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-6078222886841614789?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/6078222886841614789/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=6078222886841614789' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6078222886841614789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6078222886841614789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/03/o-tempo-que-merea.html' title='O tempo que mereça'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-1824843178815964954</id><published>2008-03-24T12:31:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-03-24T12:33:49.930-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Ça commence avec toi</title><content type='html'>Non!&lt;br /&gt;Rien de rien...&lt;br /&gt;Non !&lt;br /&gt;Je ne regrette rien&lt;br /&gt;Ni le bien&lt;br /&gt;Qu’on m’a fait,&lt;br /&gt;Ni le mal,&lt;br /&gt;Tout ça m’est bien égal !&lt;br /&gt;Non!&lt;br /&gt;Rien de rien...&lt;br /&gt;Non !&lt;br /&gt;Je ne regrette rien&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C’est payé,&lt;br /&gt;Balayé,&lt;br /&gt;Oublié,&lt;br /&gt;Je me fous du passé !&lt;br /&gt;Avec me souvenirs&lt;br /&gt;J’ai allumé le feu,&lt;br /&gt;Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs,&lt;br /&gt;Je n’ai plus besoin d’eux !&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Balayé les amours,&lt;br /&gt;Avec leurs trémolos,&lt;br /&gt;Balayés pour toujours&lt;br /&gt;Je repars à zéro...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-1824843178815964954?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/1824843178815964954/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=1824843178815964954' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1824843178815964954'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1824843178815964954'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/03/commence-avec-toi.html' title='Ça commence avec toi'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-6011809932237239338</id><published>2008-03-16T18:28:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T18:33:11.788-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Banho</title><content type='html'>Alguém do lado de fora grita pra mim : "Ei! vamos acordar pra vida?"&lt;br /&gt;Sim. To indo.&lt;br /&gt;Chega de canções românticas e tanto tempo perdido pensando no sexo oposto. Quero agora fazer a minha vida, seguir o meu caminho, se alguma coisa ficou mal resolvida - desculpe, agora não posso, to vivendo - quem sabe daqui a uns três anos eu volte e responda as tuas perguntas.&lt;br /&gt;Vamos ao que deve ser feito: contas a pagar, trabalhos, dinheiro, emagrecer e virar gente, ver filmes, pensar e pensar e fazer.&lt;br /&gt;Amanhã é segunda feira, um bom dia para recomeçar.&lt;br /&gt;Até mais boemia e que venha o mundo real.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, perdão mamãe por ter esquecido teus ensinamentos até agora.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Raul Seixas - Gita&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-6011809932237239338?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/6011809932237239338/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=6011809932237239338' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6011809932237239338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6011809932237239338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/03/banho.html' title='Banho'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-452094841352286843</id><published>2008-03-11T01:19:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2008-03-11T01:24:38.103-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Não leve tudo tão a sério.</title><content type='html'>Once upon a time&lt;br /&gt;there was a girl&lt;br /&gt;sitting quiet in her own peace of mind.&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly someone starts to knock on her door,&lt;br /&gt;it was him...the one she never really noticed&lt;br /&gt;but knew enough about.&lt;br /&gt;So she remained in silence - self preservation you know - &lt;br /&gt;though he kept knocking.&lt;br /&gt;One final day the boy said what he shouldn't have&lt;br /&gt;and the girl had a second thought.&lt;br /&gt;She opens the door - &lt;br /&gt;he is gone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-452094841352286843?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/452094841352286843/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=452094841352286843' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/452094841352286843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/452094841352286843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/03/no-leve-tudo-to-srio.html' title='Não leve tudo tão a sério.'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-3070412325576484934</id><published>2008-03-09T23:31:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-03-09T23:32:18.393-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Cutucando</title><content type='html'>Na árvore caída, caída ao chão,&lt;br /&gt;há nos galhos fétidos, pura podridão?&lt;br /&gt;Ou ainda no tronco, uma oca razão?&lt;br /&gt;Ou raízes quebradiças, falsa desilusão?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No fundo poço, densa escuridão,&lt;br /&gt;sob a árvore morta em sua depreciação,&lt;br /&gt;não há somente desgraça e destruição.&lt;br /&gt;Cuida a luz frágil, minha eterna paixão.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-3070412325576484934?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/3070412325576484934/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=3070412325576484934' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3070412325576484934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/3070412325576484934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/03/cutucando.html' title='Cutucando'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-6914379672538708031</id><published>2008-03-07T14:39:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T14:41:57.691-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Feridas Abertas</title><content type='html'>Quem nunca foi de acreditar nas coisas não ditas?&lt;br /&gt;nos beijos incertos?&lt;br /&gt;nas vozes não ouvidas?&lt;br /&gt;nos silêncios?&lt;br /&gt;nas mãos unidas?&lt;br /&gt;corações partidos?&lt;br /&gt;amores perdidos.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-6914379672538708031?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/6914379672538708031/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=6914379672538708031' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6914379672538708031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/6914379672538708031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/03/feridas-abertas.html' title='Feridas Abertas'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_At5Ro8PiFUw/TMZmv6k5ADI/AAAAAAAAAKs/S9W8BluWgx0/S220/DSC_0733.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1557208967079948440.post-1614509592196268087</id><published>2008-02-28T13:17:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-02-28T13:18:56.614-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Last Tango in Paris</title><content type='html'>...os homens insistem em pensar que sabem quem eu sou, ou que eu não sei quem eles são...and that's very boring...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1557208967079948440-1614509592196268087?l=marikowalski.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/feeds/1614509592196268087/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1557208967079948440&amp;postID=1614509592196268087' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1614509592196268087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1557208967079948440/posts/default/1614509592196268087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://marikowalski.blogspot.com/2008/02/last-tango-in-paris.html' title='Last Tango in Paris'/><author><name>miss_lioncourt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09114703803591120514</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' 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