Monthly Archives: August 2011


Ele se perguntava, mesmo contra sua tão aclamada sensatez, como se chamava a insanidade nômade que só aparecia ao entardecer, deixando seu receptáculo sozinho quando a manhã dominava o mundo. Equações e métodos científicos ele usara, tão quanto conselhos alheios e reflexões exaustivas e demoradas, mas nada tinha resultado. Sua ignorância o irritava, o fazia revoltar-se contra si mesmo (“Que nuvem escura de estupidez é essa, que cobre meu alcance à verdade furtiva que busco?”).

Ele foi tão assíduo em sua busca que, lentamente, foi abandonando todo o resto. Seus sonhos se tornaram lanternas; seus poemas se tornaram mapas; suas notas se tornaram sons abafados de passos indo em direção à sua interrogação; e seus amigos, sujeitos de afirmações de lealdade sem fim, se tornaram o tempo finito que lhe restava para encontrar a desejada resposta.

O tempo não parava de passar. As pessoas à sua volta envelheciam, se tornavam fantasmas de seu próprio passado. Ele mesmo se via envelhecendo ao passo da finitude de tudo, enquanto a interminável pesquisa não chegava a uma conclusão. À sua volta se ouviam seus lamentos, audíveis a trinta metros de distância: “o que é essa força, essa entidade, que se apossa da sapiência dos homens, e que não tem padrão, nem simetria, nem plano, nem razão ou motivo? De onde vem esse caos concentrado, essa ausência de luz, esse desespero que parece não cessar, mas que desaparece como a baixa maré quando se menos espera?”. O pobre garoto, homem e velho! Não tinha paz que lhe durasse mais de uma hora. Read the rest of this entry


Merry Christmas, This Is The “It” We’ve Been Waiting For

Telephones are wasting our money while we’re on a struggling scene,

(“who’s the one who fucked up first?!”).

Telegraphs, we make apologies, then our hearts pour out lies and folly,

(“when’s this going to end?”).

Old typewriters, lying there with fresh fingertips and the taste of the young skin that touched their keys,

(“this is the end.”).

Merry Christmas, dear Jane Doe, we’ve succeeded in bringing our patience to an end. Then again, the end comes and goes, and all we do is start it all over again. We suffer more than sour on sore and the blood and gore of advertisements on the TV.

I hate to say it, it hasn’t been the greatest time of my life. We have to quit and slit our relationship apart.

Hacking Memory

Regardless of everything that’s happened …

The same old short kid who used to be in the back of the classroom writing by himself;

The same kid who didn’t care about his academic welfare, while miraculously doing okay in school;

The same one who lived in another dimension, while his earphones clouded the world away;

The same lad who climbed up and fell for a little strand of golden hair, at the blink of eye…

He’s still here.

Undead, roaming through the emptiness inside the man who wrote this mess you’re reading, waiting for God knows what will free him again.

He’s not a Snowman, he’s the fire!

Red-dressed Thief

Rose, red she is!

Rose, told in verse and sang in prose,

Rose! how could she so recklessly twist

the writings of a young poet?

My rhyming dear Rose has stolen

and nights of sleep along the way.

Now I walk my daily path swollen,

sworn to back my grievings pay.

Where might she be hiding now?

Up the rooftop, down the basement,

in the middle of a faceless crowd?

My aim is to find you, dear Rose,

I will even put my life on the line.

Either marry or murder you,

I will when you I find.

Alice’s Prince

When nightly tremors vanished,

willful swings of her desire replenished

what immortal love was left inside her battered heart.

Singing pure and simple wisdom,

humming Alice walks home alone.

Her prince to Heaven fled his prison,

she only dreams about her time to come.

Dead is her prince charming;

dead are all her stories.

But raging without warning,

alive for hundreds other glories,

is the youth, to her heart calling.

A force her soul retained,

a beast that can’t be tamed.

If her prince had taught her all so well,

then how come her road led straight to Hell ?

August the 13th

When the coffee mug he was holding fell to the ground and shattered, the Ashtray did nothing but look at it. Everyone around him stared in amusement at his expressionless face, imagining what had triggered such a reaction. He was still, and eventually every bystander turned their attention somewhere else.

The Ashtray was witnessing the birth of something beautiful, and apparently no one else knew a thing about his discovery: the coffee mug was broken, the coffee spilled, his clothes stained, his skin burning, and his eyes watering. The greatest metaphor he had ever known, right before his eyes.

His time was the Age of Snow, and everything he saw and touched was cold and empty in meaning. Every man goes there, at least once in their life, and experiences the harshness of the weather, and the bruteness of the snowmen. Once they’re settled inside the heart of the snowland, they learn about the two polar opposites that command the life of the sad people there: love and spite.

The snowlife takes its toll on the good wayfarer’s personality. It is inevitable absorbing some of their characteristics: the stoicalness, the dissimulation, the wickedness… but it is not impossible to control them. The good wayfarer sees the virtue of every land he visits, and there is indeed a way to use the burden of the snowmen for your advantage, without losing your honor. All you have to do is guard your heart with all your weapons, while trying to learn their skills. That is what the wise traveler will do, should he come across such a cursed land.

That is what the Ashtray did. That is what he realised, staring at the mug shards on the floor: he was finally out of the miserable Snowland, and his heart was not yet a dead one.

August the 13th was the day he ran away from the deadliness of that land. It was a glorious day for the Ashtray.

Hidden Things Stay Hidden

Can someone have known a dead person deeply enough to have the confidence of publishing their works posthumously? Is there really a way to know for sure when you’ve reached the highest levels of compatibility and knowledge of a fellow human being?  Secrets and lies are present in everyone’s life since the beginning of times, but is there a way to eliminate them completely?

To destroy the barriers between two relatives, or friends, or lovers… that is a dream far too complicated to be dreamt, and far too demanding to be realised. After years of trying to know someone ’till their last hair string, you may unravel the complexity of their flexible behavior and be baffled by your innocence, by the way you thought you knew them so well.

It is unfair, I agree…


Brought to this game, my request (“save the lies, save the rest!”);

I’m hiding faces from your fake frowns,

then I’m trying to impress (“save the tears, no distress!”).

Oh, Snowgirl, would you fear me if I told you that

I could barely even hold the force of

the one hundred foul desires I’ve had

for your skin and your perfume?

Would you run away if I tried

to bite your neck, just like the speck

of snow that came to land on mine?

Then would you hide yourself away,

stand above the disarray,

say you loved me, say you tried,

say your departure is justified?

(“save your words, for them I have no ears!”).

Alternate Ending

There, in the mist of rainy thoughts, I could hear sounds that never reached my ear:

An infant’s laughter, his mother’s contempt;

The wheels of his father’s car steering to come back home;

The couple’s kiss, their faded love still standing,

all for the sake of their child, a mutual understanding.

The two of them seated in the living room,

hands entangled and small talk conversations

while she breathes the memory of my last words:

I was supposed to look after you

When An Old Friend Makes You Smile

It happened that I found myself walking down a very crowded street, on a busy day. I was late for something I can’t quite remember, and I was as impatient as a big city dweller can be.

In the middle of the rush hour chaos, I saw something that made me stop moving. A familiar face among the faceless figures. A young woman with a smile on her face, an unusual thing to see on such a restless day. She had the same air of child-like joy I remembered, the same hair color and the same careless eyes. I don’t know if she didn’t notice me standing there, or if she did and didn’t recognize my face, but she passed by me without a single glance towards me.

That sight made me happier than a lot of seemingly good things had, in a long time. I was able to endure the whole day, the whole week, the whole month, without any issues. There’s nothing better than to be reminded of the wonderful memories of your childhood.