Sunday, 7 July 2019

Geografia Errada

As fronteiras? Imaginada fumaça
Dissipando-se quando se as passa,
Duras para quem as traça,
Atrozes para humana massa.

A diståncia? Mera irrelevância
Quando se pensa na circunferência,
E havendo pernas e paciência.

A tribo? Isso, sim, é fodido.

Friday, 19 April 2019

A Good Good Friday Afternoon

The Christ Child Asleep on the Cross (Our Lady Adoring the Infant
 Jesus Asleep on the Cross) - William Blake  (1757–1827)

It’s not my fault that I’m one of those morning persons. 

I first realized I was a member of such congregation on my 6th grade: For the first time in my young life I had classes in the afternoon only. And soon I discovered that I wasn’t as alert as in the morning. That turned every school day into a dragging endless one, while I couldn’t keep focus for long, or suppress the occasional yawn... as I couldn’t do it just now, writing to you in the afternoon as I am... What a sleepyhead year that one was.

Early mornings are quiet. And, as time passes, you can perceive the day coming to being in a crescendo of sounds, light, or even smells. The mornings, the Good Mornings, bring a promise with them that no afternoon can keep. 

What mornings bring to me also is thoughts that were shaped while I slept. Sometimes a few lines for a poem, or an understanding of something I was puzzled about before. And other times, simply the yearning for coffee. or the pleasure of feeling the bed linens while I stretch, while the senses slowly awake.

All seems to be possible and doable until lunch time. After that meal, a thirty-minute nap should be mandatory for everyone, thus not messing with our circadian rhythms. while the afternoon should be left free for our enjoyment. With such daily regime, I envision a better and more stress free world. Besides, nagging tends to occur in the afternoon, and the naggers are people who do not nap, fighting against our natural digestive state of drowsiness: therefore their nagging.  Yes, the world is divided in between Afternaps and Afternags. 

Choose your faction wisely.


P.S. My thoughts and more thoughts to Jesus Christ on this Good Friday. Indeed, JC wouldn’t have been crucified if only the Romans were less disciplined and took naps.

P.P.S. If you don't like the note above it's because it was written in the afternoon. So go fuck yourself in the most enjoyable manner available to you, please.

Tuesday, 16 April 2019

The Curvaceous Ss of Yourself & Its Remedy

Why, hasn't this been told time and time again, in different words, with similar dispositions?
Let's recount it once more to vent this seasonally appropriate desire!

Spring, solitude, and suppressed sensuality are the curves of the winding path that leads to memories of you.
This sibilant sequential line of Ss seems to allude to the lost garden of Eden in a slightly twisted way.
The biblical story and its harden believers see in the snake the source of shame and tragedy, while I comically see it as the classic scene of a smooth talker, and as the embodiment of those subsequent sensual touches that would get all of us shamelessly laid.
Snake-like are my fingers that slowly map your shape, and when that picture is fully revealed in my mind, lo, the garden of Eden! 
Once found, we lose ourselves in the garden exquisite scent: Is it of flowers? Of forest? Or is it of sea? 
Have we became liquid and merged temporarily?   
In such a confused state inseminated by a profusion of sensations, we lose sight of the garden afresh.
And, once found and then lost, we are strongly pulled to map it all anew.

* * *


Two morning droplets of News each day during the whole Spring. 
A pill of Politics to aggravate that Climate Change induced headache.
Inhale the return of Tax Returns. 
Send Family Problems to the Hospital.

Thursday, 30 August 2018

Hoje saí à rua usando dois chapéus e uma cabeça desnuda

Senta-se à nossa frente moça que pediu lhe tatuassem sobre a omoplata direita “Abençoa-me Deus.”

Chapéu 1: Falta uma vírgula naquela tatuagem para que o vocativo funcione. Sem vocativo, equivale a declarar “Deus abençoa-me.” E, sem vocativo, como pode Deus prestar atenção, e logo executar o que Lhe é pedido? Deus é grande mas não corrige os nosso erros gramaticais. Aliás, ainda não vi ninguém pedir a Deus que o faça. Talvez uma boa tatuagem fosse “Corrige-me a língua, Deus.” No caso do moço que me usa em sua cabeça, tal tatuagem, mal secasse, daria lugar ao milagre da língua cortada cerce por agente invisível. Qual estatueta de Madona chorando lágrimas de sangue, qual quê! Língua sumida e sangue vertendo da boca de ateu, isso sim!

Cabeça Desnuda: A pele é dela, se a Deus não a deu. Gostarias de ter visto tatuagem dizendo “Quem és tu para me julgar pelas costas?”

Chapéu 2: Cabeça Desnuda, já estás careca de saber que deverias sair à rua de chapéu como nós.

Friday, 24 August 2018

A Couple of Things

I dreamt that at the end of a day it was my turn to put music on that you had to listen to the end. That would be a forced exposure to otherness: our brain gym. You’d have to wait for the very next end of the day to repay the favour, to bore me to death, or to exact revenge: our patience gym. We’d have twenty-four hours to come up with what music to play: our slow-thinking gym.

Then I thought that films are bullshit because if our daily chores were accompanied by music we’d look good as well even if we’d be just stopped at a street-light scratching our head. I’m not so sure if our lives would look much better if they were scripted. But they’d would definitely benefit from a wardrobe specialist, make-up artist, and perfect lighting.

Now I must go to find the perfect soundtrack for taking a shit.

Thursday, 23 August 2018

The Free Hounds of Will

Sometimes, just sometimes, I think
I was born to be someone’s

Not a Slave who’s forced to work
against his will for no pay. Not a Slave
who’s seen as an inferior race,
and feared for his superior traits.

A Slave out of being born free to choose
his own shackles and chains. A Slave
out of being taught how to break a lock
and yet never breaking free
without first unleashing the hounds
that will track him down,
and bite his brain
whenever he tries to be his own Master.

Tuesday, 14 August 2018

Sterilized Sex

Hear me as if I were Sherlock’s Hound
barking at noises the uncertain wind brings
from the moors of this Era.

Customization, loath of the human body,
virtual worlds, brittle egos, robots,
and porn, all mixed in a pot
will produce a new sexual soup
in which all will be perfect.

Lovers will have no scent,
no encumbering hair,
will not laugh at the size
or colour of our pleasure parts;
every request will be satisfied.

And here I must remind you
that Holmes never had a pet
if we discount his faithful Watson.

Wednesday, 8 August 2018

Portuguese everyday humour

The Portuguese seem to primarily laugh at the other. This cannot be proven without field research first, but let’s imagine that my assumption is lucky enough to be true. (It is).

If the other is present during the moment of delivery, that should be equivalent to unloading a negative charge on that same other. It might be compensated by redirecting laughter at another one, if not on the moment itself then at least later. Still, there will be a negative charge to be dealt with. The negative charge of laughing at someone’s shortcomings or differences, and the negative charge of being the object of laughter. This doesn’t bode well for the national psyche.

On the other hand---and that one must be always the hand that is still free --- groups or tribes seem to be defined by what is different in other groups. “We don’t talk as loudly as;” “Theirs is a drinking culture;” “They’re lazy.” And, truth be told, we cannot fully ascertain what we’re like without being exposed to what is different from what surrounds us, which is our normal. By the way, that’s a great argument to add an article 31 to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights: It’s mandatory that everyone visits every country in the world for a minimum period of ninety days. One month to adjust. One month to understand. One month to have fun.

On the first foot, as I’ve no free hands left by now, a group will feel more closely knit if it can differentiate itself from other groups, and groups and their dynamics are a part of human evolution.

While on the other foot, we all now must evolve from our tribal past in order to become a planetary civilization, otherwise humanity is screwed. And that’s why I’m trying to change my humour from making fun of the other to self-deprecating humour.

As you noticed, I stupidly used all my limbs to hold an argument on each. I thus fell on my butt. And it hurts.