For the time
A month of waiting (…)
2016
Texts written in Brazilian Portuguese.
The translations were made automatically so that other cultures could at least come close to the lyrical universe.
Undress
Say goodbye to any rigor
of thought
Just to be honest
Yes! As per
shapeless decides
show chaos-space
Of the miserable being that
Loves
And there is love
saved, but
fear does not allow love
and
that's why it is
target of the farewell.
When listening to Cavalo.
Pupil does not dry
If there is a wound
And when you meet someone else
There are tears that present themselves
to contemplate departure
Grant
not little
but a lot of life
When looking at Maré.
Fruit in the basket, some of the cassava cut in the freezer, Italian bread, a young tangerine from the first harvest, broth. This time there are more guests. Than usual. It's good to slice the bread and take the small pieces of roots out of your mouth and add sesame seeds and discuss traditional customs. Enter into silence. And remember that we are human. It doesn't matter if you've lived for two decades. We all need broth. But it's nice to laugh at the change in ourselves amidst the broth. Ourselves. The guests also find it funny. Sometimes they question it. Well, most of the time. It's not relevant. If it is, we watch soap operas... or... see whoever we like. The end is simpler. Maybe tastier than broth on an autumn night. Everyone sleeps under the same roof. To remember that we are human. It doesn't matter if you've lived for half a century. Reunion.
When receiving my parents.
City
Schedule the time
The possibilities of
To feel
All half-heartedly
Silence:
truly when would we feel?
Having a day full of activities.
Reception, art
What is it?
Excitement.
Pause!
Red. Sweat.
From disorienting ta ta tion
who do you turn to?
Answer, come on!
Programmed structure
go to the ground
Exhibition
of itself
Now we are talking about experience.
When challenged.
It is about the seas that I want to talk, after hearing about the lagoons, of which one in particular reached me, because I did not see it alone. The silence that occurs when one is alone is not in itself an order of grief, but it is necessary to observe the absence of sounds and shared thoughts when gazing at the immensity of a part of the oceans – the beauty of the interstice of words at the foot of the waves that scream in their rest. In addition to my presence, I present myself to yours and without the need for a verb, the dialogue is established between us and the sea. Observe. We do not need to see to communicate; staying in the same space is enough to feel existing or alive. It is night. And the entire forest seems to be attentively contemplating the chronicles of the seas as well.
When listening to an excerpt from Desumanização.
Shoal enters the scene
Dancing a thousand stories
Sailor cries
By participating in storytelling.
(Who taught you to swim? It was, sailor, it was the little fish in the sea)
Defend yourself
Create a character
When interpreting Meletos.
Far beyond merit.
When talking to teacher.
Affection
Why are you afraid?
There is no secret
There is no ceiling for time
Enough to bring a smile to your face.
Affection, quiet
Because you are afraid.
By reaching some conclusions.
Follow. The bridge is your reference. There you will find all the possibilities of feeling and desiring. Maybe you will identify with it. In a strong flow of crossing, you will have very little time left before being swallowed up. It is your first time, remember; the bridge is many years old. Those who have crossed it always return, quite often. It is an addiction. However, few who go there do not simply cross it. They stop to contemplate the river, with the same strong flow, which cuts perpendicularly through the structure, passing underneath it. There is a certain simplicity in its spirit of life. Of the river, and of the minority that shares this breath. I would call it innocence. Inevitably, you will have to cross the bridge. And you will cross it many times until you hear the invitation of the gentle current. When you discern its voice, you will understand why some lean over it. And here is the moment when I justify the stains on this letter: many have passed by there and never noticed the river.
When watching Chihiro.
In the corner of the party
Singing to the sound of longing
Tim Maia is enchanted
When going to Milo.
Hours on end in a cheap glass. The dish? The set does it, without more of the same, laughter and almost crying with the chorus of the music that everyone can't wait to hear. Get up and discuss extending bedtime even if you still have four hours to wake up. That's when a simple agreement is established in an attempt at a hug. We must meet again since sleep turns day and night into one thing but doesn't allow me to yawn just once. The conversation deserves a break to listen.
Upon meeting Mayra and Bia.
How much more breathless do we have to be to understand that there is one person responsible for inflating our lungs?
When listening to friends about relational conflicts.
Of breathing courage after noticing the movements of that portion of the flower of youth determined to close the shackles that weigh them down in the climb to their freedom.
When watching Quando meus pés "não" pisam o chão.
Expensive city,
City stop
Cross the city.
Heal city,
Rare city.
When searching for properties.
Almost there. Endless hole. In fact, it seems like we're almost there. After all, we've been going through a few hours of falls. It's pitch black; a vacuum. After a while, the fall doesn't worry me anymore. I confess that I even like this suspense of not knowing where it's going to end. But if it doesn't, will I be in a declared fall forever? Thank goodness I'm not alone. It's even funny to remember why we decided to get into this hole. To begin with, it wasn't our idea. And most of us had nothing to do with it. Here we are. Blocks enter, between falls, stuck together. Blink!
This was just the armadillo's den; we didn't even enter the city. Stories of holes caught our attention. We were attracted by gravity. A giant universe. No one can see each other, after all it's dark, but we know they're there. Us. And the stories. Blocks pass, falls weigh, wings appear. Blink!
Upon meeting Rick, Rinah and Rosa.
Silenced by the theft of time.
Still. Signs indicate the movement that should be breathing. Still, here is immobility. An invitation to the comfort of living the banality of a messy house the way you like it and it is made to be liked. What is the use of plants in the window if the impulse to experience the countless beauties of each pollen that has traveled miles away is beyond the glass that separates your box from the world? There are other beings that breathe in the same way. Don't you dare limit yourself to the journey from your home to work and the hours you dedicate to incubated leisure. A way of life. A life of forms. Knees on the floor to have a better chance of falling your forehead onto the lap of the bed. An explosion of emotions that only the blows of time can blind us. It can be much simpler and more truthful beyond the dishes of recipes that go into the oven. The unbearable weight that is imposed on your back can be knocked down with just one dance step. Dance! It's a parquet floor creaking with each strong step of the desire to make that moment the most beautiful of the day. The day asks for more. The night asks for the moon. The moon talks to you. Face the situation as it is. The moon presents itself long before you. There are many stories and dance steps. Stop. Dance.
When watching O Futuro.