One step up (and two steps back)

Woke up this morning, the house was cold
Checked the furnace, she wasn't burnin'
Went out and hopped in my old Ford
Hit the engine, but she ain't turnin'
We've given each other some hard lessons lately
But we ain't learnin'
We're the same sad story, that's a fact
One step up and two steps back

Bird on a wire outside my motel room
But he ain't singin'
Girl in white outside a church in June
But the church bells, they ain't ringin'
I'm sittin' here in this bar tonight
But all I'm thinkin' is
I'm the same old story, same old act
One step up and two steps back

It's the same thing, night on night
Who's wrong baby, who's right?
Another fight and I slam the door on
Another battle in our dirty little war
When I look at myself I don't see
The man I wanted to be
Somewhere along the line I slipped off track
I'm caught movin' one step up and two steps back

There's a girl across the bar
I get the message she's sendin'
Mmm she ain't lookin' too married
And me well, honey, I'm pretending
Last night I dreamed I held you in my arms
The music was never-ending
We danced as the evening sky faded to black
One step up and two steps back

- Bruce Springsteen, "One step up" (1987)

On boundaries and barriers

In Tangibility Forbidden

The thought of him leaking into her life wasn't a funny one, not even in the distant fictional texting between towers 12 and 11. It wasn't fair for him to keep his boundaries and barriers well into place while she watched hers vanish under the weight of 760 characters or less. Yet, she felt like what happened that night in the company of circumstantial friends was all her fault. Kiss & tell. People will talk, people will ask questions. And so they did. Being under the spotlight is all about context, and this wouldn't have been one for flattery and praise. So as she struggled to keep her pride into place and her mouth shut, he had his laugh afar. "I love your way when you're pushed against the wall." How daring of him to secretly laugh at her expense while well shielded behind his boundaries and barriers. It was coward, she thought. Uncomfortable excitement sat shut on the back seat waiting for the silence to introduce a new topic of conversation. "Pushed against the wall," rang the evil words. "Pushed against the wall," in desirable imagery. Pushed and pushed and pushed, in tangibility forbidden. The night was over in a Bogart & Bacall fashion. It fit, but it didn't suit the isolation of tower 11.

"Dark Passage" trailer (1947)

Her: You won't tell me because you think I'd come there, you think I'd follow you.
Him: You'd be insane to follow me!
Her: Was I insane to pick you up on the road? Was I crazy to let you stay here?
- Bogart & Bacall, "Dark Passage"

Pra quem ficou curioso sobre o filme e quer assistir, procure por "Prisioneiro do Passado" na 2001. É um filme relativamente raro, então se não tiver pra alugar na 2001, difícil imaginar que teria em outro lugar.
É um tipo de noir só pra ver os dois em ação, Bogart e Bacall. :)
Pipoquinha, juntinho... ;)
Não faça essa busca no site da 2001 porque lá só procura entre os filmes à venda, não entre os disponíveis pra locação. E muito filme esgotado no fornecedor -- como é o caso desse -- tem pra alugar. Antes de ir até uma loja da 2001, dá uma ligada antes! Às vezes um filme que não tem numa loja tem em outra.

Introducing... Réalisme Magique *

On a sunny Sunday afternoon

Spotting the secret pet name she had for him on the caller ID of her cell phone on a sunny Sunday afternoon seemed extremely unlikely. Excited like a child at the surprising ring, she gladly answered, filled with internal satisfaction. Sunday night would reveal he had only called because his wife wasn't home. Worse even, she thought, he was just doing what he always does: he wanted to talk about him. The absence of his wife just allowed him an extra freedom in doing so, the freedom of not being interrupted by mundane and unimportant domestic affairs. Even more fundamental than that, the absence of his wife meant no eavesdropping.
But she had to cut the conversation short. If it wasn't for that, he would have talked about himself (and she would have listened) for hours -- or at least one good hour, until his battery died or his ear started to burn, whichever came first.
He had found in her the perfect lover, one he wouldn't have to satisfy. One fresh, vibrant, pure, unexperienced and avid young lover, to whom he was an entire island to be discovered.

Cartoon: Brad J. Guigar

* Réalisme magique, in the case of this label or tag, refers to the context from which these writings, scribbles and notes came to be. It is not, in any way, an attempt into the genre, but rather (and simply) a wordplay.