Intents
Only rhyme and meter to lighten the weight of the city.
2020
Texts written in Brazilian Portuguese.
The translations were made automatically so that other cultures could at least come close to the lyrical universe.
Take a deep breath without swimming in the shallows, dive headfirst into the revolt I marry, dig underground, find reality, in the wall of suffering where the pool is the vase and with love it makes little of itself. Here we find the sewage pipes, which transport the garbage, balance the luxury, of the fearful good life the billboard I graffiti and if they push the same so-called I pull. To think that this waste has more space than us, suffocating in the open air, polluting our minds, I take the anger, transmitted by childbirth, of a mother with 8 children who shares the same room, begging her Lord, mercy for those who have not eaten, for so long they have been thirsty, for so long they have been hungry, without help or hope, her husband who only disappears and opens his mouth to speak, take... The more I dive, body and soul submerged, the more I see the pain of the submissive, more slaves, less servants. Salt water does not heal these fissures, buried in the spirit, the legacy of bitterness, chained by the death of the damned dictatorship, the pressure is rising, the vision is getting dark, safe... safe... You must have lungs, brother, because support will not come in these waters, otherwise, those who are on the surface waste time and time is fragile, profits with people, objects from shipwrecks decrease. Do you understand? The crack is about to burst and when I become aware I am a drop in this sea. Cries, laments, guide me to other paths, drowning me with stories and we have not even gone beyond 10 meters. Saturated, there is so much hate and so much longing, for the false life in this environment through love I show what I believe. In a dive without any notion of time I found the world, filthy on the surface, far from this glory, I want to go deeper in this ocean, here there is life and attention, to kill you need more than slavery. Those who doubt it only appreciate the photo, but do not forget the nature of a tidal wave!
This reflux that comes and goes and disappears consumes all my energy, but I have a thirst and hunger that never goes away and is far from being extinguished and by grace and ink I come and review and proclaim. But it is not enough, the desire to shout poetry only gets more boring. I think carefully, the lines of each letter that I transcribe the space of so much rebellion is becoming scarce, what would become of these verses? The blood rises and I vomit a manifesto! And I say goodbye to the pen and paper, believing it to be enough, an illusion to enter heaven. What a mess… In front of a world of clashes are my mind and my hand! Cognition, the reflux takes its course and suddenly in the blink of an eye the revolt and aorta burst. The blood pulses, I feel it, pigment for ink, manuscript of liberation. Once again, my mind, coherent with the hand that feels, on the paper an accident of exhortation! It's always like this, back and forth, back and forth, whoever falls into this trap gets distracted over time. Commitment, necessity. There's no room for vanity on the pages of a notebook. Faced with the age of destruction of life, cut short, if I still have mine I'll fight for life and nothing else. In this system under banal rule, they push us to the gutter and the mud is our backyard. But this house won't give in. We take paper from the trash and the mud uses it to write. The reflux is present, that's why, they offer us a reason to die every day! With everything far from the core of Creation, devastated, this world is doomed. The Garden is the north of my troubled vision and may the blank pages no longer be kept. Because words are our weapon, I've already learned. If my pulse quickens, I'll shoot, to hit!
Abstain from fear, test your luck, for the Lapa of this world, the size is too small for what we are. Build collectively the consciousness and the permanence of the revolt of a people alive by faith. Suffocated and the storm, the bullet scrapes, pushes the abyss, the planks of a pirate ship. Threat of reintegration, they say think carefully, think carefully about what, resistance is what made us stronger. For the mandate of extortion, government, they sign the term, the leech sucks what it promises. Repeat, the same litany, oppression, I'm tired of seeing blood printed in the headlines. Small print in a peace treaty, lies, a programmed agreement, a farce of the State. Puppet, until when? How about cutting the wires between the controller and the controlled? It's been working like this for a long time, most of it goes to them, the swill goes to me, to you, to her, to us. Except for a few investing in all the exploitation. With a clear conscience, American vacations, a private jet with whiskey, a suitcase full of money. Let's torment this head. One day the tape changes, as incredible as it may seem to you. It's a brief message from someone who is tired of the false life. Miserable by nature is enough for me. By imposition, one cannot stand it, thus declaring one's high caste threatened. It does not come from a few, but from many who are fed up. Of having their heads stepped on by the boots. The system's control apparatus kills, ensuring the safety of those at the top. Rise from the graves in an ode to rebellion. Shout louder for those who are already silent. Tomorrow the fight will bring the day when the walls of the greatest prison will fall to the ground.
Cities breathe networks
These keepers of non-chaos
Or almost chaos
For some
Many
That, without time for conversation,
They are concerned about adapting networks
So that the almost doesn't become a tragedy
If it isn't already
For others.
The city's beams are networks, I repeat
On the banks they sway
And everything that serves as a base
It is advisable not to wobble
But it happens…
While this is happening,
Those still have no time for conversation
I already told you why.
From other airs, many prefer not to know –
I won't go into that –
But for those interested:
These build ruins
Those, networks.
Swallow it, swallow it, the truth overcomes it. Honestly, it's the truth that tells me I'm right. So close, I sink deeper and deeper. In the list of those who discover the alcoholic content of the world. Still, you're stumbling a lot in the gutter. Drink the devil's vile drink for real. Capitalism is Satan, I don't deny it or support it. From so much criticism, I've already increased my balance. From being an anarcho-bore to a nihilist, I doubt my own faith. And when the truth showed its face, I shot myself in the foot. Isn't that right? The meekness... All the desire to embrace the world converted into a moment of pettiness. Between the exchange of glances of the paradox of wealth and rebellion. When the shuttlecock dropped, the pasta on the table turned sour. And if I were to throw a party full of truths, who would come? I preach freedom so much that I imprisoned the speech. About the freedom that is currently running through the pulse. Only then... maybe only then. That with so much blah blah blah, the fight is cult and the executioners are still here. May all kingdoms explode, I believe in that. My fear, lately, is to trample the means. And the clash I refer to is not between Marx and Bakunin. But little by little driving out those who are close to me.