soft meat for lazy teeth
19.9.16
brand new start
There were two things I should have said at the time, but I didn't. The first one was "I am sorry, let's start over" and the second one was "fuck you".
15.9.16
cerveja, gala, fumaça
a solidão é uma coisa muito grande velho, e a gente engole todo tipo de coisa pra não ser engolida por ela.
13.9.16
true love wails
this is the story of how the wings grew and we couldn't fly out of fear, this is the story that came crawling out of your throat on a feverish night,
here are the details we promised never to tell each other again, but they have outgrown me, so this is also the chronics of defeat
you were bleeding through your legs and i said "let me take a picture of this" and you said it was ok, as long as it never made part of our novel, furthermore we would bleed so much none of us could speak again,
there was a loose tooth on one of the pages, there were people on the street proclaiming holy words and all i could think of was the memory of me naked on your damp bathroom floor, the windows so far i could swear death was a myth, and yet
death came to us on a tuesday afternoon, like bills swept under the door, when i asked you "what time is it?" and you were too busy to answer, and the shaky hands of the clock shrieked in dizziness, and every fifteen minutes the church bells would ring, the king is dead, the king is dead, true love wails through the walls, bouncing off my chest like a firework accident.
here are the details we promised never to tell each other again, but they have outgrown me, so this is also the chronics of defeat
you were bleeding through your legs and i said "let me take a picture of this" and you said it was ok, as long as it never made part of our novel, furthermore we would bleed so much none of us could speak again,
there was a loose tooth on one of the pages, there were people on the street proclaiming holy words and all i could think of was the memory of me naked on your damp bathroom floor, the windows so far i could swear death was a myth, and yet
death came to us on a tuesday afternoon, like bills swept under the door, when i asked you "what time is it?" and you were too busy to answer, and the shaky hands of the clock shrieked in dizziness, and every fifteen minutes the church bells would ring, the king is dead, the king is dead, true love wails through the walls, bouncing off my chest like a firework accident.
oblivion
it is not to forget, it is not to stop memories from coming to the surface of your coffee in the morning, it is not to successfully avoid, not to bury in a distant soil
because when you bury, there are still the left overs to rot and be found
when you avoid, there is still the cold wind behind carefully closed, hermetically sealed doors
i forgot how to write my name so i could no longer remember yours, since we shared some of that, and yet
oblivion didn't come.
i drowned my sorrows in the pacific, i cleaned my body with boiling bleach, you could never find yourself in here anymore, and yet
eventually the land moves and nobody knows why, it makes me believe earthquakes are the bodies of the dead shaking off forgetfulness.
because when you bury, there are still the left overs to rot and be found
when you avoid, there is still the cold wind behind carefully closed, hermetically sealed doors
i forgot how to write my name so i could no longer remember yours, since we shared some of that, and yet
oblivion didn't come.
i drowned my sorrows in the pacific, i cleaned my body with boiling bleach, you could never find yourself in here anymore, and yet
eventually the land moves and nobody knows why, it makes me believe earthquakes are the bodies of the dead shaking off forgetfulness.
last time i saw richard
come tuas negas, enfia cada um dos teus dedos nelas pensando em mim, o indicador que me apontou pela primeira vez onde tu morava, lá no fim dele tá a projeção da minha língua, estão minhas unhas roídas. e depois. olha pros pés com vontade de um cigarro, se convence que não, é apenas vontade e não um vicio, se convence que esse cheiro úmido na ponta dos dedos te salva de tudo que não está aqui, qualquer gosto é melhor que o azedo do refluxo ansioso passeando pela tua garganta.
elas gozam e isso te preenche, não é mesmo? elas gozam e você risca mais um traço na parede, elas gozam e é mais uma marca no corpo para contar a história de quando você estava bem.
nas festas, eu aponto pro meu peito e digo, rindo "é aqui que o amor vem pra morrer."
no banheiro, você escova o gosto de hoje com a minuciosidade de um criminoso, "preciso fazer espaco para um novo desapego"
e crava na gengiva um fio dental mentolado.
31.8.16
weeper
i
you were three, asleep in your single aunties room. the last thing you remember was your fathers voice lullabing your way to dreams. the absence of people made you wake in a rush and for the first time you realized how sensible you were to loneliness.
ii
you were fourteen, the way he touched seemed inappropriate but it was better than waking up feeling three again.
iii
you were five, you let go off your drivers hand and ran towards an iridescent plastic bag, you grabbed it because it reminded you of the truth.
iv
you were never nineteen because absenteeism grew bigger than your body.
v
am i 26? in every social interaction, they ask me what do you do for a living
(i keep thinking about this new word i learned)
i am a doctor
(weeper)
you were three, asleep in your single aunties room. the last thing you remember was your fathers voice lullabing your way to dreams. the absence of people made you wake in a rush and for the first time you realized how sensible you were to loneliness.
ii
you were fourteen, the way he touched seemed inappropriate but it was better than waking up feeling three again.
iii
you were five, you let go off your drivers hand and ran towards an iridescent plastic bag, you grabbed it because it reminded you of the truth.
iv
you were never nineteen because absenteeism grew bigger than your body.
v
am i 26? in every social interaction, they ask me what do you do for a living
(i keep thinking about this new word i learned)
i am a doctor
(weeper)
30.8.16
for the too-touched
your cup like hands reaching to my milkless breasts,
i could feel the insides of my body making themselves smaller, avoiding the skin, avoiding your uninvited presence on the surface of me
mother said daddy loved me so much that would always be his girl,
And what about you mama?
I got mass to attend
now be a nice girl and serve him some of your chicken breast stew
14.6.16
fearless
You pick the place and I'll choose the time
And I'll climb
The hill in my own way
just wait a while, for the right day
And as I rise above the treeline and the clouds
I lookYou pick the place and I'll choose the time
And I'll climb
The hill in my own way
just wait a while, for the right day
And as I rise above the treeline and the clouds
I look down hear the sound of the things you said today down hear the sound of the things you said today
And I'll climb
The hill in my own way
just wait a while, for the right day
And as I rise above the treeline and the clouds
I lookYou pick the place and I'll choose the time
And I'll climb
The hill in my own way
just wait a while, for the right day
And as I rise above the treeline and the clouds
I look down hear the sound of the things you said today down hear the sound of the things you said today
15.5.16
13.5.16
12.5.16
um dia pesado no trabalho, muita gente morrendo como os vivos costumam fazer, muita gente muda e mutilada e sem amor ou com amor demais, e você absorta em uma perspectiva alheia, distante do imediatismo de todo aquele drama, desejando apenas o fim do expediente e um role até o paiva, vidro abaixado e o barulho de vento no ouvido, uma tentativa de me sentir em algum lugar remotamente seguro e distante daqui.
boa noite, qual o posto mais próximo?
em gaibu, moça.
(beleza, deve dar até gaibu, pode ser que não de mas acho que vai dar, eu vou)
::gaibu::
velho, fudeu, o posto tá fechado
q q tem?
q q tem q não tem gasolina pra voltar, apenas
oxe como assim????
eu perguntei lá na entrada do Paiva qual era o posto mais próximo e me disseram gaibu,
THIS ISALL CRAP I HOPE YOU DIE FOREVER
coming thru in waves
um longo silêncio e depois, muito depois, sua voz de nascença, aquela que não sabe falar, que chora pelas necessidades e que caga sem controle.
a voz que você escuta agora não é a minha voz de falar, mas a voz da minha consciência primitiva liberta da obrigação de ter que se expressar. se você não quer saber, não pergunte e não leia. não há nada no mundo que me acalme, me anime e decepcione quanto poder ouvir claramente meus desejos irrefreáveis, sem a censura idiota dos outros. confie em mim, não há nada a almejar para querer sentir o sublime som de suas próprias palavras; seria muito mais uma desconstrução minuciosa de toda merda extra e supérflua que foi anexada à sua pessoa original, como acessórios e efeitos musicais indispensáveis que abafam o barulho de fome num estômago faminto.
my bones are shaking under so much destruction, why dont they ever crack for everybodys sake?
ainda outro ceu de chumbo, as magoas flutuam em exaustivas remadas mas não morrem. numa era onde quase todos enxergam apenas a si próprios ou as falsas projeções de si mesmos, respiro aliviada por não ser vista e fecho os olhos para encarar sozinha a constatação do escuro: sou uma pequena mulher confusa e sem sentido, sem grandes ambições devido a minha incompetente mãe que gerou mais um ser sem talento nesse planeta já abarrotado de pessoas comuns. não há nada mais medíocre que caber em si mesmo. e de que adianta os remédios? para tornar mais suportável essa vida medíocre a qual estou fadada. um emprego comum numa área financeiramente estável, um carro que leva e trás sempre à lugares dos quais me arrependo ter ido, uma casa própria onde como meus dedos compulsivamente esperando o fim da solidão, bem independente, não? humildade. paciencia. resiliência. virtudes hilárias e entediantes, o mais novo desafio de uma geração que gasta seus dias tentando ser melhores quando seriam muito melhores se fossem apenas quem são, sem tanto yoga, sem tanto inibidor seletivo de recaptacao da serotonina, sem tanta aversão ao drama inevitável que é acordar e constar sua própria existência fudida, mais uma vez.
10.5.16
requiem for my heart
há dias e dias e parecia que tinham calado uma das vozes da minha cabeça, aquela vozinha irritante que questiona tudo e te bota pra baixo baixo baixo like radio static and i cant write from all the noise
1.5.16
6.4.16
5.4.16
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