“Beyonce’s daughter was here”

I like to be with you when the sun is going, and you look at me and I look at you, and you or I don’t have to say a thing, because we know it already… I like you because you have the sun in your eyes… we are the “Universal Traveler(s)"… I like just to stay with you I like when the time stops for us… I like you like I never liked anyone before… you are my “Sunrise” and “Sunset”…

Let’s play pretend… today you can be Lady Johanna and I’ll be Lord Finnegan, we were born in the high society of London, and that’s why we are always HIGH!

I just like you, I think is a simple feeling, right?
Kiss…

Ps- stupid title!

Coisas II

Sinto-me preso entre uma adolescência infantil e uma ânsia por ser adulto e independente.
Sem paciência para obedecer a convenções.
Quero colo mas não quero estar preso.
Já não sou mais um “anão”.

Uns e Umas (5 de Fevereiro de 2010; 10:30)

Um ataque de ansiedade.
Uma miúda a comer um suspiro.
Um exame para o galheiro.
Uma manhã solarenga.
Um coração aos saltos.
Uma tarde prometedora.
Um cavalo na Falagueira.
Uma senhora curiosa que tenta ler o que escrevo.
Um autocarro cheio de velhos e velhas a cheirar a mofo.
Uma leitora assídua de Dan Brown.
Um preconceito.
Uma risada.
Um cliché.
Uma musica que me agrada.
Um PingoDoce.
Uma decoração de natal.
Um preto.
Uma tasca com a "melhor Água Pé de Lisboa e arredores.
Um mundo cheio de Umas.
Uma paragem de chegada.

É por Uns e Umas, que eu gosto de andar de autocarro!

Daddy

Daddy
by: Sylvia Plath

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time--
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You--

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two--
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.

Coisas I

Rumar num destino sem Destino.
Andar Preocupado ao invés de Ocupado.
Ser Útil ou Inútil.

"Ser ou não Ser?"

Orgasm...

"an orgasm is that point and time that can't be measured a mystical instinct that doesn't really exist in this dimension"

Massive Attack Paradise Circus from sabakan on Vimeo.

"when the Bluebells are ringing"

Os dias agora têm outra cor
Outro sabor
Um tanto ou quanto amargo
Com um toque de acre

Os dias agora são acobreados
E vejo os dias passarem
Fora de mim
Longe de mim

Ver-me na terceira pessoa
E não ver o que vem à frente
Sentir que me aproximo de um fim inesperado
Ou será mais de um fim mais imaginado

Dormir
É isso dormir
Fechar os olhos e dormir
Sem vontade mas dormir

“Respirar e ser feliz!”

Os dias repetem-se
E eu Eu repito-me com eles
Ou eles repetem-se comigo
De qualquer forma repetimo-nos

“Esboça um sorriso, isso convence-los à.”