If I were Satan I would love you,
Nurture you through half your life,
Quench you thirsts, feed your scarcities,
Cure your diseases, tame your scars,
Give you all your dreams and drive
For you your fast cars I’d offer you.
Then, I would disappear and let you
There without the one who provides
For all your needs, needlesses and fears,
Precisely in the middle of your life.
And if this my argument fails,
My final statement would then be:
If I am Satan, friend,
You are God.
E é neste vendo não compro;
compro não vendo;
se visse não comprava
(vendo bem, já comprei),
que ofereço,
fenecendo.
Failing to deliver a perfect product, GOD Inc. (acronym for Ghost On Drugs Incorporated), just as any other major corporation that blundered but wants to keep a fine share of the market, apologised for not having included a reset button for the mental constructions Man produces for himself.
It was announced recently, around 8.000 years ago, when Man is reported to have begun his settled life, having mastered the art of growing edible plants in a favourable area for such, that there are some ways to achieve a reset.
The first is to follow any path one's already following. The final reset will come sooner or later.
Another available reset is to follow the path of GOD, a golden and toll motorway, and GOD's main area of business. “The instructions to achieve this specific reset were precise and not intended to be taken metaphorically,” said GOD. Confronted with the actual text of the instructions, also known as BIBLE (Brilliantly Irrelevant Book from Lost Eras), GOD reportedly mumbled, “Okay, okay.… We inserted some little stories to keep the client reading the instructions with interest until the end...” This sort of final reset will come sooner or later too.
For those in need of a reset before the final one, GOD proved that it is possible to question oneself. The reporter replied, “Can I?” and GOD said, “There’s the proof!” This soft reset is the most difficult to master, so GOD said that the sub-routine FAITH was created to help all of those who fail to achieve it. The reporter asked what FAITH stands for, only to be advised that those who ask that very same question have nun. *
Questioned about what GOD has been producing lately, the answer was blunt: “Why do you think we made things that can reproduce themselves?” The same did not happen when the reporter asked what GOD has been doing lately. GOD’s face shifted into a broad, paternal smile, when it said, “We’ve been entertaining our guests,” and gave the example of Oscar Wilde, who has been helping GOD with the corporation's last aphorisms.
“Let us tell you off the record,” GOD said, “that we think Oscar fancies us a bit too much, asking us all the time to show to him what we have in between our legs as a proof that we made him to our image.” As this comment was produced off the record and is here published nonetheless, GOD threatened the reporter with DEATH (Delicious End Available To Humans). A long debate then ensued on that mortal virus that came with the original package, ending only when GOD, in its infinite forgiveness, told the reporter that, “You might live a little longer if only you publish some of the aphorisms we and Oscar came up with.”
This article therefore ends with the above said aphorisms, for which the reporter denies any responsibility.
THE WORD OF GOD
When you think you finally found IT you will be already lost.
If you think games are for children then your game is over.
Part of the truth is that you will never be able to see that you are blind or understand that you are stupid.
____________________
* Erratum et Addendum: GOD said, “none,” and that, “If it is to talk about women, after the manuscript we haven’t thought of producing any womanuscript, as we do not intend to get into an area of business that is doomed to fail right from the start.”
Queria dizer-te, não dizendo,
que acordei contigo na mente
mais cedo do que deveria,
que seria às quatro da tarde
o meu despertar, mas acordei
exactamente no meio do dia,
do meio do sonho,
o sonho mais alvo e doce
de que me lembro.
Queria dizer-te que te encontrei
nesse sonho e falámos da vida,
e a tua era triste.
Aquele homem tinha-te deixado,
e digo-te que todo esse sonho
do qual acordei sobressaltado
se esvai da minha memória
mais rápido do que aqui te digo.
Queria dizer-te que aquele corpo
sonhado que seria teu não o era,
era um corpo representado,
o teu espírito,
pelo meu,
e que de mim não me recordo.
Ui!... e que corpo!
Tudo era branco nesse sonho
e sei porquê, não o sabendo.
Digo-te que, consolando-te,
acabámos por nos abandonar ao outro.
Sentia-se o mar na proximidade?
Então, eu em ti ou tu em mim, lá,
surgiu uma poesia que no sonho
te declamei no momento
e antes do momento em que acordei,
e quase de nenhuma palavra me lembro.
Sabes que rimava?
Sei apenas o que senti; raios, acordei!
Forte foi, e terno.
E digo-te tudo isto antes de a Morfeu
me entregar de novo
sabendo de antemão que não sonharei
o mesmo novamente.
É por isso que te digo o que não posso,
ou tento,
o que a memória preservou —
só afecto.
Digo-te que sei porque te sonhei.
Nesse dia, o meu irmão que te ama,
que creio nunca ter feito algo
tão constantemente como amar-te,
pediu-me o teu número
na de contactar-te ânsia.
Não sei, mas julgo que, nesse dia,
o meu irmão que te ama
recordava o seu passado
e, nesses afectos misturado,
distraiu-se e extraiu-te
para a superfície da memória.
E eu o que fiz? Na consequência,
renasci-te nesse sonho,
criando um cenário que não existiu
e não existirá. (Há certezas, não há?)
Ah!... e gargalhadas!
A parte séria é a seguinte,
que, nesta memória afectiva,
te amei mais do que com veia
ensanguentada,
e que, na parte acordada
que partilhei contigo,
me senti entendido,
falando pouco,
no teu sorriso e na tua mirada.
Disso tudo que carrego
para lado nenhum, gravado
com electricidade em carne,
de leve, levo-te.
Lisboa, 11 de Outubro de 2005, das 12 às 13 horas.
Alas, ghost ships are real, real as any metaphor
is real, as any reality is really real.
Those are the vessels that skeletons carry
chained to the damp wood, fungi’s meal
that will burn slower when the boat catches fire,
if the boat fire catches,
if fire catches the boat,
or if there is any fire at all;
a quasi-fever kind enough
to help ghosts release the skeletons in the hold.
Those are the ghosts who possess
hungry skulls for gold,
gold in their lust,
in their teeth gold,
and of their tongues out gold spills
while the crossed bones are tired — crossed —
two — double-crossed —
all framed in black — waiting.
Those are the skeletons without will,
no muscle to fight the manacles
of smoky keys the foggy ghosts forge,
a reminder that after free doom comes,
and a remainder of what is done by the free;
ghosts of twisted minds by any toxicity
like twisted strands of hemp
to form a stronger rope
which the ghosts pray it will not break.
The course of those vessels is set
not by waves which the wood abate,
and the winds cannot be blamed to blow
against the ragged sails
that dress the masts stuck deep through the deck,
down where the bony vassals are said to live,
and the currents are warm or cold
only to those who feel.
The course of those vessels is set
by how many skeletons were locked aboard.
They can be chained to the port side
without any warranties the ship thus
to a safe port will arrive.
They can be chained to the starboard
and yet no haven will be on sight.
And the ghosts during their piracy
can sufficient bones collect
to sink the ships of their dreams.
Lunacy.
Word coined before Man set his foot on the Moon, derived from the Latin Luna, Moon.
Probably also referring to those who had dreams of visiting the Moon.
It may be considered outdated since the 21st of July, 1969.
Suggestion for a new term:
A new word to replace this one will be suggested in due time.
The man was loved
Because he did not take himself seriously.
Those who take themselves seriously are loved
Not by this man.
The man was happy
Because he was sadder than the majority.
If he was like the majority of those who are happy
He would be a sad man.
Really, the man was a man
Performing all functions a man can in all his virility.
And what kind of manhood is that of a man who is a man
Who practices monogamy?
‘Unnaturally castrated,’ the man
Would promptly reply. And would add, ‘Fertility
Is to spread these genes I carry inside my man.
You fuck; I flourish.’
Unfortunately this could lead
To war to stop the proliferation of the enemy,
Which in turn would lead vast armies of lead
To end all wars.
The enemy of man reacts
To any action, for the enemy of man is biology
Which always to the rules of physics reacts
Which clearly state:
For every movement
There is a counter-movement. Immobility
Is a movement or a counter-movement?
And does physics rule
Then over biology? The man
Did not continue such an intriguing study
For that would consume all time the man
Had for reproducing
His own thoughts.
Not to mention that it could malignantly
Start a war between the warriors of thoughts,
Whom we call scientists.
So if the man did not obey
The imperatives of biology, what kind of man would he…
‘Unnaturally castrated.’ Ah, thank you. ‘I just obey
Your commands.’
Is the man obedient?
Maybe sometimes the man is wisely
Thinking he will be better off by being obedient.
‘Or, at least, pretending to be.’
The man described above
Perhaps one day will answer out of integrity.
Or maybe the man partly described above
Will forge his decorum.
Either way or any other
Way, will we let the man be what many
Other men would like to be; the other?
He will thank thee.
We are those who do not know what we are and where we are going.
Now, what was your problem again?