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Skin walls

It's like you're stuck in yourself, I answered him, soundly, it's like you're hitting the walls, and the walls are your skin, and you can't get out, it doesn't even echo. He looked at me with a grim on his face, as if words were too little or not powerful enough to put it out there. I knew this, because I had been trying to reach out for words myself all this time, but I hadn't been able to.
The streets were covered in a mud that reminded us nothing of Christmas time, in fact, our slow pace made it look like we belonged somewhere else, a warmer else. Before I began to calculate how long these shoes would survive, he grabbed my arm, in a way that made me wake up and mess up with the show-math. You see, it's easy to play out the victim, or even easier to play strong, it's a lot harder to do this, what you're doing, to be wide-open about your weak spots and to bring up a solution in the same strain of thought.
I kept walking around the mud, feelin…

Um porta-malas que acomode o nosso futuro.

Atenção,

Das coisas que eu não te disse, mas com muita insegurança, fazendo desvios, inclusive dos teus abraços, tentei te dizer, eis aqui mais do que algumas. Eu não sinto a tua falta, pois há muito aprendi a viver sem ninguém. Cultivei esse objetivo, agora colho. Por isso, desde o primeiro momento que te deixei entrar, não foi casual, foi tudo planejado, eu havia preparado tudo isso pra ti, uma cadeira ao meu lado, que andava vazia, a cadeira-companhia. Por isso não sinto a tua falta, deixo apenas que tu acrescentes algo a mais à minha vida, então faz-lo! E se te dá vontade de aqui mesmo levantar-te, esvaziar a cadeira, eu nem sei se me restam as forças para pensar em querer chorar, pois já vi tanto triste que esse seria apenas mais um triste na pilha dos tristes, acostumado, comum, não menos triste! Mas conhecido. Como o amigo que toma o café, e sái, desavisado, até a próxima.
Fora isso, não te disse que penso em ti. O tempo inteiro. Imagino um carro com porta-malas grande o sufici…

Maria e Lampião

Vivo em um limbo cultural
Dou brecha ao destino
Lembro de Maria e Lampião
Pego avião
Continuo atemporal
na tristeza desta geografia
do meu sentimento que se espalha
que é mais que continental

First time sailor

Mistakes are moving wheels. Just like the right calls — they are also full of potential for change. The one and only difference is that the latter (can) brings something unexpected. And of course, no one is ever wanting to make a mistake, be mistaken or misunderstood. Could it be so bad?

In 1492, Columbus came across what he judged to be an island, the Indies. It was such a time of great assurance that Europeans thought that all they knew was already known, written in the Bible; and what they did not know — was not theirs to understand in the first place and God probably had a good reason for that. He couldn’t, anywhere in his mind, admit that he had discovered a brand new continent. It couldn’t be, of course: the world was already and was always made of Europe, Asia and Africa.

Mr. Vespucci, an Italian man who began his expedition in 1499, came across the same “island”. But this was a different encounter thanks to his perspective: he knew this was different, and not only he knew but…

Attached to this message

I need just one cup of coffee to be entirely happy right now. I was repeating to myself walking around the bay, crystal clear water, smell of salt and good memories around. So in no time I was sitting there, reading my book, taking peaks out the window and feeling entirely happy, with that coffee. Complete. Such a foreign feeling for those who inhabitant big cities like Moscow and get used to having meals and breathing in and out when they remember to. I was stroke by so many moral questions, but in this peaceful state of mind, on an island in the middle of nowhere, they were more and more evident, as, in the human nature, the only real issues tend to be moral, not financial or where did I leave my keys-wise. They were all spreading out the surface. I dove in. Not in the sea I was staring at blue blue water, so inviting and salty and bond to cure everything. I dove into these moral questions. I had long pursued the idea of love as attachment. Having exercised that for years, it obvio…

Se eu me despedir de ti estaria mentindo

Quando te pus na mala
me desintegrei em pedaços
também
Eu tomando chá de avião
Você pra trás.

O mundo não cabe na nossa mão
Nem na minha mala
Nem na tua
na minha
vontade

Cabe no meu acordar
do lado teu
Nos meus ataques
(só de risos)

Cabe no teu cheiro
que ficou em mim.
Cores promessas

E olhando pra ti lá

ficando pra trás
Fico sem dúvidas:

Te levo na mala sim
Pois se eu me despedir de ti
Estaria mentindo

Ar e garra

Respirei os teus sonhos
Vivi pela metade
Guardei ar e garra
Para quando valesse a pena respirar
Quis te falar o concreto
Não me serviam as formulas
Não me saiam as palavras
Não me saia mais nada
Vivi só por viver
Senti a tua falta
Pintei quadros só para renovar minhas memórias de ti
Me distrai
Esqueci
Puxei ar
E o teu cheiro já não me impedia de respirar
Valia a pena
Sem você
Valia a pena até as duas metades.
Vivi com ar e garra
Pois não vivo de você
Vivo de pulmões
do que é meu
do que eu quero que seja meu
Inalo o que me estratifica em dezenas de camadas
E me remonto ao expirar
E me remonto ao inalar
Me remonto pelo simples prazer
de de novo me realinhar