Soromenho - on the run

Thank you.

2010-09-13T01:56:00.003+01:00

Now, right now and forever, we are one.

I want you since the day I’ve met you.

And I melt on your gaze, every time you frown.

I get hung up on your voice, as it seethes and burns into my veins… as to adjust my heart rhythm to the beating going on beneath your own skin, deep inside your chest; the centre of everything that is warm and meaningful to me.

Why won’t you stay? Please, quit joking and tell me that you won’t leave in five hours, in four hours in a half, in three hours and twenty minutes.

Your smell…

Your skin…

My heart

Is mine!

Take it, it’s yours.

I’ve always thought of myself as complete, and full, and whole. But with you I see, with you I find the line between me and the abysm eating through my days unexplainably clear.

You are what’s missing. I only exist with you.

And if lovemaking is actually makeable and it is even conceivable that two humans can be capable of such magnificent act; then we are the ones transgressing possibility and preaching, for love is what we do. What we are. What is between us.

The Verb is real when your eyes meets mine.

I wish there would be time, more time for me to get to know you better and memorize over and over again every inch of you, while humming; for me to look at you endlessly and… if you are you and I am me, let us please be just one… thing, clasped and enmeshed together in a continuous and cyclic unity with no time nor space or any other worldly prison to it.

I want you for me, and for me alone.

Will you marry me? Do you want to?

Let us not be that short-sighted and refrain to the mundane side of this, for my love for you outstretches the Earth: I want to be with you, just exist with you forever.

I wish I could watch you wake up defencelessly,

And I wish I could watch you sleep, all night.

More; I wish I could steal you from this world and keep you for me until the end of the days, so that I could make you a baby and keep you safe while you’re with my child, and – if that can ever be – see you pregnant and be overwhelmed with your immense beauty, for you’d be even more beautiful than you already are. I hope that four years from now, when you return, you come to me and let me take you

Take you to the beach where we were born, where we first met,

To the beach where we can be one and exist to the infinity

To the beach where we could drink each other incessantly, tirelessly and without care,

For providence is a beautiful thing and I only feel thirsty when I long for you.

For there would be no airplanes to take

No city waiting up on us to wake up

And all but Nature would be gone

Why is my life scarred by distance

And departure

And miles of goodbyes, parallel to each other as if they were rails…

It is horribly, downright sad that not even all traffic lights turning red gave us enough time to put some muteness to the fatal distance crashing up on us and smothering our love with drowning break-ups and tears.

I want you to be happy and feel good and have the night of your life,

And to forget you’re leaving in twenty minutes.
I want to keep you inside me until I return,

I won’t move your hairs from my car;

I won’t take this bracelet off ever again;

I won’t even bathe if that keeps your divine smell with me a little bit longer…

Our children; they would be blonde and have your eyes

And my mouth

And your hair,

And a smile and innocence of their own, for they would know nothing but Love.

Send me away… or else, I’ll neve leave.

Go away…

Come back.

Only if to your arms.

Je veux partir d'ici..

2010-06-17T02:32:00.002+01:00

d'ici, ici peut etre quelque place que l'Homme pense (si encore la realite n'est pas pensée comme une constatation de l'object, mais une creation de le sujet sensible)... l'ici de que je parle est l'ici que existe maintenant en mon coeur, oú je reste sur l'air de tout les choses que je veut faire mais que je ne peut pas...

I sincerely do hope...

2010-05-07T01:28:00.002+01:00

...you're here to get me, upon my return.

Soromenho on the run

2010-04-19T00:42:00.001+01:00

And finally it appears the name is suitable.

Adeus Lisboa,
Hello Scotland

Sanskritic holes

2010-04-03T19:14:00.000+01:00

pierced in my skin, while my fingers bleed.

At sea

2010-03-18T02:40:00.000Z

You are my Ocean's bottom.
You are my beginning, my end
The herein farthest place where light won't hit nor cast the faintest shadow
And the tower that supports the everything that is me.

If I am to be the Sea
Then you'd surely be the salt and the deepness that holds me together
And the Moon that changes tides
And all that is Life and God, in between

For you are animal, you are human
you are unquestionably and insanely divine
And there is music, and hope
And fears, and joy
And a midst of enthusiasm and childish euphoria with pain
Memoralia and strong, embedded beliefs
That grow and mature to an unique, unlikely, everlasting fufilled you

Loving you entirely will keep me safe
And guard me at night
and keep me from all despair
For you are sure, and eternal, and far too beautiful inside-out to put out with words
There's so much more to the all that you give body too...
That it is not sickening, but intoxicatingly attractive and whole to even put thought to.

Não há tempo.

2010-02-27T04:41:00.003Z

E o Ontem de Ontem é o Hoje que Passou, de um Amanhã tão longínquo quanto o Passado.

Já tivemos esta conversa.

An Education

2010-02-27T02:51:00.000Z

Dead inside, I am

- but I haven’t been killed.

Dead inside, I am.

- and no one bothered to burry me.

And it is not exactly as if I actually died,

But more as if I herein am forced to live – or better, to exist – with Death within.

Dead inside, I am.

And a part of me was not amputated, but merely shut down to a subordinate and necrotic numb existence, spreading Death to everything that is around.

Let it be? Easier said than done, I am afraid…

For I’ve been to Paris

(and that goes for being extremely, intensely alive)

And in the dark I lie missing colours, for I wasn’t born blind…

And men in my life – well, in truth simply boys – keep suffocating me with doubts and passions and fears and complications that, quite frankly, I couldn’t care less for

When, reality stated, the only men I Loved – (pause) – he no longer is.

Dead inside, I am

… but I can’t see a way to get back to life.

Maybe, just maybe it is meant to be so. Exist dead without living or dying.

And, unfortunately, I did not go – for I am not Jenny

Nor was I good enough to stick to plan A

(and in this secondary type of crawling, day by day, I sadly am).

Isto era demasiado bom para desaparecer numa janela do facebook.

2010-02-25T01:28:00.000Z

adorava amar-te

e que tu me amasses também

01:18

também eu.

01:18

se calhar era o mais próximo da perfeição romântica que poderíamos ter

but it isn't so. ponto.

01:18

acho que te amo, num certo sentido...

01:18

sim... eu percebo

01:19

há muitas formas de amor

01:19

e nessa maneira acho que te amo também

mas digo Amar-te incondicionalmente, como se Ama a sério

01:19

por isso é que me sinto...

(silêncio)

estás-me a assustar.

eu ia dizer "por isso é que sinto necessidade de distinguir amor e Amor"

01:20

lol

eu percebo...

01:20

bem...

mais uma vez

vamos dormir?

01:20

só gostava de dormir

ultimamente ando acordada no sono

estou derreada

01:20

percebo-te, mais ou menos. mais menos do que mais, acho eu

01:21

ir dormir, vou, mas acho que não vou deixar de estar cansada de manhã

01:21

há muito tempo que não dormia tão bem como o tenho feito

01:21

para dormir temos a morte...

nem sonhas como te invejo

não ando a dormir nada, não posso dormir nada e quando durmo estou acordada.

01:21

isto é muita metafísica (ou tentativa falhada de...) para aqui

01:21

que queres? é o que há.

01:22

já podemos ir dormir? desculpa, estou...

estoirado

fisicamente (yay!)

acho que emocionalmente tãobem, mas acho que já me habituei, portanto...

01:23

tãobem

lol

tãobem tepercebo

e enfim, amando-nos mas não nos Amando, vamos nós dormir: tu descansando e eu ficando acordada. a vida é bela mas às vezes é triste.

01:24

somos uns génios incompreendidos.

a semana passada

2010-02-16T17:56:00.004Z

Os what ifs perseguem-me, e só vivi 80 anos.

O que são 80 anos quando se tem o Mundo, diziam eles em jeito de pergunta (daquelas que não devem jamais ser respondidas)

Pois, para mim, são tudo.

O que é o Tempo?

É o que nos separa dos deuses.

O que é o tempo?

É sabê-lo, e ser mais que cadáver andante que espera a hora de se rever...

Com o Tudo. Não há Tempo. O tempo é o nada e eu sou o Tudo.

Não tenho alma se em mil bocados me parto e retorno à minha essência...

Sou o nada.

Sou um nada errante que, mais que tudo, teme te reencontrar.

Sou o Mar.

E não sei, de dia, o caminho de volta de onde vim.

(não fora um para o de onde for)

Tenho 80 anos de uma perfeição sinestésica e circular que não parece ter chão.

Nem tecto.
Nem horizonte

Nem sentido, para esse efeito, no deserto imenso do teu Amor em modo repeat.

Há algo sacro no tocar de leve do papel e escorrer tinta como quem discorre lágrimas e não pensamentos

(sem corpo, não consigo mais chorar)

E sussurrar-te ao ouvido baixinho as mais indecifráveis histórias de outros tempos

em que não havia Tempo nem História que as enquadrasse

nem saias rodadas, nem flores, nem sofrimento que ultrapassasse um ponto de exclamação

E ser ingénuo como a água era muito mais que Ser

incondicional

(é esta a minha existência, branca como um neologismo de fumo que não se conhece)

e faço cada vez menos sentido

inacabado

como o livro que te dediquei um dia

e não o leste. Pois não?

(in) DENIAL – a etiqueta que hoje te coloquei na testa.

Até amanhã.

Confessions on a dancefloor.

2010-01-23T23:04:00.004Z

‘Going back isn’t that bad’, he said, without the slightest inflexion of fear under his tone.

I miss my old life, my old inconsequent self.

I miss the parties; I miss the libidinous glares, the constant concern to keep it alive, beautiful and real. I miss coke, I miss smoking joints as if they were cigarettes. I miss music, having time, hanging out and giving long walks on the beach at 10 am, after hitting the club. I miss artificial relationships and having no real interest on others. I miss YOUTH. I miss

I miss living the dream.

But dreams… they die. And we are forced into waking up to the irritating buzz of our room’s alarm clock, tossed and revolved beneath our bed, next to a pile of books and bills and a baby crying.

I’m homesick, although I never had a real home.

Hangovers don’t seem that bad, now, when putting it to perspective… at least you feel, you feel any freaking thing other than this oozing numbness coming from inside and taking control.

Is it rape if you enable it? Well, guess than that’s make it_

I was nothing, but at least I was happy and fulfilled.

I didn’t care about anyone, but at least I was taken care of.

Has it any worth, walking this Earth half asleep?

‘Stick to the present’, he said, and triumph hit him hard. He smiled and looked up to the sky. Twenty minutes to boarding. He was living the dream.

Sometimes the biggest risk of all can be to simply say “No.” and stick to your own convictions. It doesn’t hurt… at least that much.

I quit dreams, I quit aspirations, I quit everything except hoping that maybe one day the pain, the blood, the sweat and tears will be rewarded. Because although I have nothing, at least I am something. And, as for now, I choose the hardest path of all… Not going.

I’m not afraid. I want to go, and leave, and take a chance out there. But it seems empty and shallow, meaningless, and too big of a risk just for a few happy years.

… But will I ever have happy years staying?

Probably not. Not even on the long run.

Maybe I’m not entitled to being happy, I’m not worth it. It sucks, but It’s better to live it up and work with what you’ve got than spend your life complaining – when it gets down to it, the ones that

I’m dead, inside. But at least I’m not screwing my way around just to have short-term pleasure. Joy? Let others have it.

I don’t need it do keep up with my obligations. And I will do them, well.

I will be the best, even if I don’t feel it.

Well, it isn’t very nice to know… is it? But you needn’t worry: I can put up with a pretty picture-perfect everyday show. For as long as it takes.

At least it’s not lying to myself.

I miss you.
I love you.
You saved me without even knowing; but where the hell are you now?

Hedonism

2010-01-23T19:59:00.000Z

just doesn't go with living in society.

I'm sorry sweetie, but I'm not sorry at all. If I'd make plans to hang out with a narcissistic bitch, I'd stick to my bathroom mirror.

2010-01-19T22:41:00.001Z

If, hypothetically speaking, you'd go from C to B, being A, wouldn't that qualify as going backwards? Quid iuris?

(está) Perto

2009-12-21T13:19:00.000Z

Não chores aos pés do leito onde morro

Se em Ser (eu fui) chama qu’enlutou

As luas se sucedem

E da Primavera de nascer o Outono ceifou

Ontem fui caule verdejante,

da brisa

Neste grão de areia dou minha folha ao Cais de beber

Se vou findar na praia

Podiam certas, as ondas, me vir empurrar

E arrasta-me, ò Dor do Tempo

Que só partindo Homem te vou perceber

As luas se sucedem

E lento, o compasso, não deixa de mim sair

Em despedir-me corto o fio da Laranja

Que foi o Sol onde ceguei

Da Luz em sangue concebida

Jorram mil perfumes

Do ventre onde, Encarnado, nasci

O solo me engole

Por murmúrios prantos que não sabem desfolhar

Mas antes se dissolvem

Quem chora, quem chora? Porquê preces tecer?

Os braços do amado onde ansiei terminar

Se arqueiam, quebrando ramos

E já mais não tenho repulsa em arrefecer...

Se a Terra sabe Amar (e a Mar)

A maresia que provo não me é estranha

O fim é, sobremaneira, Salgado

E, morrendo, escorro para o Sul

Em finando me devolvo

Trespassando atavismos

A quem, de mim, se fizer

O féretro não guarda memória,

De madrugada doença pareceu se esquecer

Que é salubre a vida

Em ciclos e fins do princípio viver.

Today

2009-12-21T00:15:00.003Z

There lie secrets

And spaces

And sorrowing graces

inside.

And people,

They seem to rely on the apparent image of perfection; on the picture-perfect photogenic smile, that we are so obviously forced into

Posing.

Why?

Do my questions remain unanswered if all I do is ask the nude-eyed, blunt and clear as the day Truth?

(that is, if the days are ever clear and there are no multiple facets to the pristine lazurite coming between me and you).

Don’t let me go, please

If all I do is try to mend the broken pieces of your heart

that is altogether my

And keep my own of getting broken

Even if that is a totally misleading endeavour, and I am to be stuck with a sunken cost…

I fall and catch the repetitive tone of cliché, hovering around the living room (where you stand and SHRINK down to the final round, when eventually you’re caught and slashed to bits by it) and I hate sensing you, drowning by the trivial traits that outline our pending conversation

So, hush.

and let me take you through this journey that will be led in the dark, and in silence, and in mutual comprehension.

Why did you have to go… Why do I have to stay…

Why don’t I understand you and your frustrating rhetorical monologues

And why do I know you so well I don’t need words to put the way things are.

I love you entirely,

And I cannot part from your living memory, and move on.

I don’t want to, either.

And you saved me without even knowing

Although… my redeeming cure, nowadays, only seems to pull me down and keep me trapped to old prejudices… that keep me blinded and cold.

Sábado arrumo a casa

2009-12-10T23:37:00.003Z

Sábado arrumo a casa

Que o sótão onde eu durmo mais não faz sentido.

Sábado arrumo a casa

Hoje é sexta-feira, e não te tenho em meus braços.

E hoje é o amanhã que adormeceu sem esperança

…e se esqueceu de acordar

(num sopro)

E quem precisa de versos se onde eu moro há Música

e sons infinitos, e clamores tão altos que só precisam do cair baixinho da chuva para serem ouvidos...

Sábado arrumo a casa

Que hoje é sexta-feira de madrugada.

E já faz mais de um segundo sem mais não te ver.

(e é Quinta, e é Quinta...

a quinta dos meus regaços escondidos,

onde semeio a vida e ofereço pasto à minha imaginação.)

It is

2009-12-10T22:16:00.002Z

easier to cry and mourn a triviality than to stand tall and…

face your own mistakes.

live up to the consequences of your own actions

and simply realize that nothing you can do will ever change the fact that what you’ve done has caused irreparable damage to others.

It is.

Il y a

2009-12-09T20:46:00.002Z

des raisons qui se surpassent, à maintes reprises.

Ne m'attendez pas, en vain...

Precisava mesmo de dizer isto

2009-12-08T20:36:00.001Z

I'm not used to doing this kind of thing.

Writing plainly and without set purpose or edition seems both dull and fruitless.

But somehow, inside me, a metastatic urge to write has emerged. And grown.

And filtered my existence with words and dots and question marks and a bunch of orthographic an syllabic mumbo-jumbo altogether far too complicated and long to describe...

I miss you. I love you. But I will let go.

(and somehow, from the start of this all I knew it was the only way)

I was foolish...

When trying to conceal my sorrow with shallow interests and occupations, and numb my mind with restless sound and noise that only seemed to make me go

But now it's not like that anymore.

[hush, there enters another actor on the scene. And you stay back... and I'm sorry you'll disappear - I know that you will - but he doesn't even cast a shadow on your beautiful, epic pale figure, hovering magically by the side and gazing confidently to empower my anemic state of mind]

Why??

I was feeling so fine with my forced addiction

That I almost could linger on the feeling of never being able to find another you, in between rushes of drug through my veins...

I WAS SO HAPPY! I was so joyfully vain

I was so mercifully sin-free and light headed that it almost sickens me the disruption of my simple, insane and perfectly superficial nuissance d'être

(so, why did you have to come and wreck all of this with your systematic punctuation and wonderfully pitched voice and british humor and elegant walk, and moody days that evolve into beautiful, clear, cold, pristine confessional nights while smoking cigarettes and telling tales...).

I love our telekinetic introspections. I love the fact that I don't need to explain myself, but when I do you get everything so fully right I want to cry.

I love that you are my shadowy best friend.

I love that you are my lost brother

And my parallel

And my soul mate

And the only person in the World that can make me gasp with overflowing sensitivity, comprehension and concomitant immense knowledge.

But I hate your similarities with my vague, lost reflexion,

and I do hate your empathic psychoanalysis

and I hate your half-words (that I also love - the half that you keep to yourself)

AND I HATE NOT MAKING SENSE WHEN I THINK OF YOU!

I hate falling down and throwing the lunch tray down when I sense his breathing and that I only feel safe and reassured when you come and lend me a hand.

And I LOVE your mockery! And your enthusiasm, and your pain...

Does this mean I love you?

Not at all. It is too soon to say...

But I won't forget the other two others I left behind, one in a different life

The other perhaps across the ocean.

One is dead;

the other has never been so alive.

I am happy amidst my grazing and ever-appealing dark side...

And I do have love.

That's for sure!

Longe

2009-11-18T20:42:00.002Z

Tenho quartos claros, na moradia escura que sou.

Quedo-me nos cantos e encontro nas esquinas a partida,

Sou recortes esquecidos, e vendo-me aos bocados,

Ao preço certo, até dou a troco a própria a vida.

Quando acordo

Encontro muros que latejam, sem fôlego nem solução

E resolvo-me por papéis que não têm estrada

Mas antes suam um eterno nada, que não me parece satisfazer.

E esqueço-me então do retumbar solene do relógio da cabeceira

Que se adensa na minha carne,

E sangro dos veios da madeira

- que em verdade são mais meus que a minha própria circulação.

Hoje é de madrugada

E já se passaram vinte e seis horas de um dia.

Guardo sons e clamores amordaçados

Debaixo do tecto que ruirá sobre a dor que eu sentia.

Não há tempo.

Não tenho casa.

Matei os deuses que adorei em existência,

Escondo-me do sol debaixo da asa

De uma eterna, imensa complacência

Que parece esquecer-se de que o que eu mais queria

Não era sobreviver, mas ao Ser glorificar a própria vivência

Que não faz sentido sem ti como companhia.

Quando é que te vejo?

Na obscuridade profunda em que te escondes

Que é quem eu fui e quem eu lamento

Na pior das hipóteses, é meu ser incorpóreo o derradeiro desalento

Porque estou sem forças nem tenho matéria para vencer.

À hora dos finados, eu busco

Sondo campas e sepulturas

Procuro-nos a nós enterrados

E dormindo quietos, tendo por mortalhas todas as amarguras

De quem só na Morte nos conseguiu prender.

A vida foi-me injusta.

Deu-me todos os “ores” da finitude;

Dissabores, dores, horrores

E em infinita graça até os amores

Não houve nada para além da juventude, que valha a pena recordar.

Atravesso então, agora

Em 744 dias de zombar sem caminho

Encontrei apenas um buraco negro comigo

Do que um dia foi o que eu amei.

A História goza com a minha solidão:

levaram-me tudo.

As glórias e os insucessos que tive

Em boa análise, só me fizeram sofrer.

E na nudez do limbo em que me encontro

Não vejo inocência mas rancor

Dos despojos em antemão retirados

Na derradeira luta em que me irão fazer perder.

Sou um nada errático e dormente

Pairo espectral entre toda a gente

E ensurdeço no silêncio em que me afogaram.

Não levo para o outro lado a alegria

Nem o prazer, nem a euforia

Em que me levaram a acreditar.

Não levo sequer o que fui, nem as causas porque lutei

Nem as memórias em sinestesia do que gostei,

Mas o amor que nesta vida dei

Sem esperar nada em troco receber.

Por quem os sinos dobram?

Não sei. Mas por mim, não é de certeza.

Francisca Soromenho

Lisboa, 18 de Novembro de 2009

Crumbles

2009-11-17T00:21:00.003Z

I am having an emotional crisis.

An everything-but-existential-drama.

A psychological-melodramatic-obsessive-compulsive-disorder-grazing-the fringes-of-a-neurotic-depression-pathologically-symptomatic-and-clinically-tested day.

Where should I go?

Why should I stay, or leave
Or go and meet a lifetime with you away from everyone else and everything else – and know that that is my deepest wish –, and never buy a house, but rent a room instead; and have babies; and not get married; and work in anything other than what intended and crazy and cuckooed; and never get my degree – especially that! – and waste time…, and don’t make savings, and ride the subway every day and lose my aspirations and tear apart all my plans and set their pieces on fire_

STOP.

I am losing it.

…inhale, exhale…. Inhale, exhale… count to ten

(What did the doctor tell you?)

- where in hell did I put his number…

- if only I could recall where the hush is the post-it and why on Earth I ever got rid of my moleskin

- and the voices ring inside my mind and I don’t have time nor space nor patience inside me to keep one person talking at a time, let alone all of these different personalities that want to_

STOP

My brain. Makes sense, no more. Momma, if my mind burns, can I watch its ashes fly in the sea or swim in the sky?

No.

‘A year ago it was better.’, she says, pressing “pause” on her thoughts after slipping another cigarette from her purse.

‘Why do you think so?’

I know it.

I just know that indifference, and solitude, and the everlasting sensation of being lost made altogether sense when there is purpose and strive and magic veiling the mystery of not knowing… what… to do… next… with the same routine. And how to break it – the bond that seems to trap me to this miserable, despicable life that I now live.

“Living is easier when there is no free will, choosing is easier when there are no choices”, he once said. But where is the life in that, if surviving is merely getting through the day and I seriously hope that I DIE instead of becoming… that

You

That I hate.

The mediocre, conforming YOU that is far worse than being depress or hating oneself.

Duty, he said, is meaningless without suffering. He’s probably right.

Masochistic, inglorious pain is the most dignifying feeling that I shall ever be granted.

So be it.

I will chose. And I will go.

For I rather disappear, and die or worse – live tormented long years – than merely survive in the warmth of another fruitless, worthless, deprived of meaning “existence”.

Amen.

You have

2009-11-16T20:40:00.003Z

the most profound and unforgivable designs that make me want you more and more everyday.
And loving you thoroughly, and with no other intention, seems only to justify itself.

Em primeiro lugar,

2009-11-16T20:24:00.002Z

isto é uma reprimenda.

Deixa-me que te diga, desde já, que te culpo por tudo:

Tomo-te como responsável por cada segundo desde que te conheci – por me teres visto, por me teres vindo cumprimentar. Por não me conseguires deixar minimamente indiferente. Por sorrires, por falares, por seres infinitamente interessante. Por teres opinião própria. Por respirares, por teres nascido! Tens toda a culpa de me conheceres e de, sempre que te vejo, ficar com a sensação que me sabes melhor que eu a mim mesma.

Adoro, e também não gosto, de saber que tudo fica mais simples ao teu lado. Adoro, e também não gosto, de gostar tanto de ficar contigo, por essas horas adentro, que se parecem diluir num céu incólume e cinzento. Adoro, não gosto e temo saber que, no espelho de quem sou, encontro sempre um reflexo espectral da tua existência – da mesma forma que me revejo em ti, de cada vez em que cruzamos o olhar.

Porque é que tem de ser fastidiosamente certo? Não percebes que eu venho de um lugar onde é tudo complicado e intricado, onde há sempre mais que duas voltas, à esquina, e onde estar-se apaixonado é mais fácil do que Amar? Não há Tempo, nem vontade, nem inclinação que me demova, agora, do fito a que me propus... o que não deixa de fazer ficar um travo amargo na boca, de cada vez que penso em partir.

Não és mais a amarra febril e castrante que me prende, mas um porto seguro onde me vou sempre agarrar.

Se tu soubesses... que à noite, por vezes, tenho medo de acordar e dar de caras com quem eu sou. E se sonhasses que ainda noutras alturas me esqueço de tudo – e não sei quem sou, não sei que língua falo, e esqueço-me até de como andar. Não sei escrever! Não tenho morada! E sou, em total e branca agnosia, o mais próxima do Tudo que se pode ser – se não é indefeso e em nudez que todo o traço de humanidade se forma.

... se gostarias de mim na mesma?

Não sei. Mas tenho uma boa ideia da resposta... se é que não a tens, neste momento.

(Sim, não te preocupes: gosto muito de ti, igual e principalmente... por tudo isto.)

November's nostalgia

2009-11-16T02:12:00.005Z

To my lost you,
A um ti perdido,

November falls and crashes into my own existence. The perils of surpassing oneself seem to transcend my dying conscience.

I am numb amidst all of this… intellectual pollution and frenetic consumption that doesn’t allow me to LIVE like this without having time to rest and to think and to know that in the city is where I keep all my troubles and lovers and friends and everything comes together tangled and knotted but perfectly unredeemable beneath it’s shadowy grey hideout

-- Why should pain feel this way?

Pleasurable, treasurable, lovable pain that hinders the bright of your ash-torn eyes.

I am as homeless as anyone else; only lonelier.

So I take the left when I leave the bridge, just to find a dim shred of what I’ve used to be. And rags, they are, the pieces of my broken self lost in translation from me to where you used to be.

Sometimes denial is the only way. (That’s probably why I can’t get the car started just before a roundabout). [I sigh...]

It’s been a year since you left my life.

A long, joy-filled year, in which all my sorrow has been taken away.

But where

Where have you kept my sorrow hidden?

Where is it

My pain

My fears, crowned with never-felt tears and smoked cigarettes that collapse my lungs with death that is no longer respected but neglected deep inside my spine.

Is it in a box? Is it beside our pictures and souvenirs of a lifetime built together?

I should not try to reach you again. But I am not me, not the person I was a year ago, nor the person I’ve used to be before that. I am someone else that I go to bed with every night, and wake up next to the following mornings. And it seemed polite to contact you, by this time.

What have you been up to? Have you found someone new? Or are you really around the corner, like you sometimes say you are?

Should I be afraid?

Should I change my number and move out?

Or is it time for us to get it on again?

Come on and kill me like you wanted to before

November cries its way through the windy afternoons.

And here I am, celebrating the anniversary of our divorce.

Happy birthday, D.

Graphic Lyrism - vol. IV

2009-11-13T01:00:00.001Z

I like you with a cigarette. You’re easy like coffee

Warm as a cappuccino, when it snows

And fulfilling as hot chocolate, when it’s cold.

I like you like a cigarette,

You’re my beginning, my end

I don’t need excuses to remember of you

And you are an extension to my own existence.

There is no pain

No additional energy required

For your self is as innately distinct, clear and evident to my self as my own thought.

You bring the best of me to the surface.

You’re the accelerator of my own chemical reaction

You’re the unneeded reason to smile.

I don’t need you – at least I think I don’t

But somehow life without you wouldn’t be the same… today, I can’t picture my days without your constancy, without the immutable variable of your music, of your smile, of the creases forming in the corners of your eyes, of your clenched jaw and fists – when you’re angry, and how I love the way you hold me when I need it – and I don’t need to tell you anything for you to know_

That my house feels empty without you

And my existence has no meaning without you

And there is no point to cook for one

And no one to wait in the bus station with

What am I supposed to come home

To no one

No one to beg not to leave

No one to make the last phone call of the night

No one to sleep by my side

And no one to fall asleep to, on wintry March’s rainy days

And it is so saddening, downright unfair that I mustn’t stay.

It’s been a year, and a lifetime and a week without hearing from you.

And the sins crossing your lips bear the plausible array of sanity,

As your eyes, they gleam with the unsounded numbness oozing from your soul.

Sickening cold, it is

Without you hovering by my side.

I cherish you, but I know that in time

You’ll be the World’s, and not only mine.

It has begun, between it and you…

Throughout all the nonsense we’ve been through

Somehow, somehow we were able to keep the undefined characteristic of remaining deeply

Involved, enrolled, embedded, entwined

And what’s breaking is your side, but isn’t mine.

Or is it really?

For you’ve been patient, not once judgemental, always present although you are there.

Who’s turned off the phone, then?

The magnitude of phone-lines stretching the Ocean… make me want to go

And run

So, should I run?

Should I go and meet your fears

Your tears

Your unshakeable indifference towards life

Sprinting careless around you

Just when you take a hold of yourself, and grab the Universe with two hands…

Run

It seems fairly easy to say, but now the time has come…

Wind grazing the ground with torn leaves of Autumn.

November’s final cut.

It is cold. But it gets colder when you’re not around.

I love you entirely.

and you saved me without even knowing.

Confissões esotéricas em tardes de nevoeiro

2009-11-07T18:46:00.004Z

Para a minha eterna ausência de Ser,

To my undying absence of Being,

Hoje o Mundo deu um soluço, e ninguém notou. Na placidez dos teus olhos mornos – que me vão dissolvendo, sem querer – há uma voz que ecoa e me chama; e me diz para ficar.

E mal sabendo, mal sabendo... que os temores que se cruzam no cristalino do teu olhar, não carregam a mágoa de quem viveu – se dormindo passas os teus dias. Contudo, meu caro, e muitas vezes, os dilemas com que nos deparamos já foram previstos – e há na falta de novidade uma amargura Maior, que se impõe e fica.

A perenidade dos teus impulsos se consome em chamas ante os desígnios de quem já foi. Segue, sem pensar, porque não há maior angústia do que a de quem reflecte...

Não há certezas, mas apenas prós e contras, neste monólogo – do qual, numa tónica de dialogo, te apossas. Et, en train de mourir… il y a des raisons plus fortes que, dans un rêve, me faire retourner à tes embrasses. Surtout, si on reste un peut dans le cours de ces années en cache; que la musique de ta voix se a fait plus savoureux à mon cœur. Ramène les préjudices à un niveau mondial; donc l’honneur de t’être connu, elle a plus de sens…

O que fica, então? O que traz de novo a própria dúvida de como andar? De não saber mais respirar, e vivendo_

O nada.

Um nada frio que se escalda na calçada que passa à frente da rua onde nasci, mas não moro. A mais lúgubre dor que escorre pelas ruas da que foi minha cidade, mas por qual hoje não sinto a menor empatia – nem amor, nem amizade, nem asco – mas uma indiferença dormente que só se aviva quando penso em a não mais ver.

Não tenho casa.

E toda a Razão dos anos passados é empalada por um valor maior que a ultrapassa: se a promessa do futuro for desprovida Valor, de que me servem então os dias, os anos, os meses terrenos passados na esperança aérea de me soltar destas amarras?

Não vou pedir desculpa por querer voar, se ao fazê-lo renego todo o fito da minha própria existência. Não parei para olhar para trás, e se egoisticamente tiver de cortar amarras: é um sim. Lamento abandonar a quem deixei cativo, mas neste Tempo não há nada que mereça algemas.

Sobrevivi presa e cabisbaixa tempo de mais.

Há um sacramento humano no sangue que me escorre do peito, dos olhos, da boca, da cabeça, quando o derradeiro acto catártico é nunca mais voltar.

E parto, e fujo, e vou e corro – não por ti, não para ti, mas pelo mero acto de te ter, um dia, amado.

O imperativo categórico kantiano é ultrapassado por um totalitarismo dissimulado, ao aproveitar o tempo ao máximo a troco de um Bem Maior.

Peanuts, my friend, para quem sabe e aguarda pela Hora do alinhamento perfeito. Garanto o que não posso, que haverá uma altura, o momento derradeiro em que tudo ficará nítido e todos os dissabores serão parte de um Todo maravilhoso...

Aos que tomaram a decisão fatal antes de terem nascido, que se deixem embalar pela nuissance de que haverá sempre quem há-de dar o seu melhor. Até ao fim.

Sim, perguntarei: o que levo então para o outro lado? Não o quanto fui Feliz, nem o que de bem fiz; tão pouco as alegrias da Vida, nem o transcender da sobrevivência: mas o quanto, no escasso tempo que me foi concedido, Amei de corpo e alma.

And, when forgetting, I give in to the foreseen solicitude of abandoning pain, vou caindo no facilitismo branco de mergulhar no breu dos oceanos, para não me ver.

Antes fora fácil soltar um “Adeus” fingido, quando não se quer a quem se deixa… Se as saudades só fazem sentido a quem sente falta. Hão-de entender…

Assim seja.

(e, não, não me vou despedir)

Graphic Lyrism vol. III

2009-10-06T20:22:00.002+01:00

For I want to cry as I hear the rain slashing the pavement,

As I smell the wet of the bricks, of your cooling street

And contemplate the condensation creeping across the dusty surface of your windows – the most pristine door to your soul.

Then, a cool breeze kisses my back; it is no longer the dawn’s zephyr, but your mouth that I feel. That I adore

Piercing through my skin and cutting down to the bone; your words.

Your voice.

Your ethereal, silent self.

And hesitation…

For I could die, I could disappear, I could never think again and the single thing that shall ever be

is the LOVE that I have for you.

That I owe you.

There is not enough grammar, vocabulary, semantics, paper in this entire world to report even the tiniest, tangible taste of what it is to dwell in this absolute certainty that you ARE

… and I live

And there is a communion that cannot be broken or even corrupted.

Hush.

What is time?

What is space?

What is life between us?

And negativity only is to affirm the uttermost positive feelings and emotions that rise when I think of you.

When you breathe

When you speak

When you read

When you walk

When you smile

When you carry something from one place to another and pause for a moment to reflect and make sure this was the right spot to place it

When your hands have incontrollable actions that are far too beautiful to be called fidgeting, and when your feet move better than merely dancing, when you apparently are lost in translation but actually are miles ahead of everything and everyone… and you laugh in thought, and the air breaks

There is no more reasoning, no more Reason, no more anything that can come close to the colour of your eyes dissolving in moonlight and sunlight and sea

And polluted cities by dawn.

Frosty mornings whither my negligence, and become mild with your genuine, incorruptible flare.

Where are you? As for now

I wonder
I pretend I don’t know

You wander

You pretend I don’t care

Chimeras are hollow when facing our_

Everything.

Melodic, synchronic, rhythmic and perfectly-timed

Humour

Melancholy

Sometimes singing

Dying (a little)

Growing up (… a lot)

And just existing in an untrained unparalleled, unsurpassable… partnership.

Deadening noises, outside.

They remind me of the euphonious jocundity that our mutual stillness used to have.

Still has.

Even if in thought

Even if in concordant… withdrawal

Even if in forced length

Even if in oft absence

In everyday yearning

Though filled, recurrent need
Our all-wise, unerring choice.

Everything around me has become clearer, ever since you came into my life and gave meaning to my existence.

Perhaps

mirrored souls were not made to be, but just face each other from a distance.

Will I

come for you?

I don’t know.

One thing is for sure: if I did… go

for you… it wouldn’t be the same, for my nuclear, focused self would be lost in the process. And I know that I love you, and you love me, and I love to love you for the way WE are; the way we always have been: no omissions or additions to it.

So I linger, so I stay, so I wait for an external confirmation to keep me up with my sanity. How annoyingly cold, how downright judgemental can be one’s conscience. (By know you are probably mocking my tortuous morals; but then I have them and so do you…)

And here I am,

(afraid and doubting myself for the first time,)

although the sole, most important unshakeable assurance I now have is that

I do love you entirely.

and you saved me without even knowing.

Graphic Lyrism vol. II

2009-09-26T22:51:00.005+01:00

The rain makes no sense without you.

The sun shines dimmer when you’re gone.

My notion of being dawdles around, as I count the days until we meet again.

Thundering

Numbness.

The idle seem to fade, as they walk on by without_

Emptiness.

Your empty, stripped bed.

Your white linen mocks my loneliness

Your smell… it fades

And goes

And I run away to get a hold of… of your voice.

I reach to you

I hold your hand and tell you not to be afraid.

Like a cane,

Like the fortress of your strong, established self.

Like the soothing aid that rises to meet your pain

Like me. Just me. Simply my unconditional self that I offer, on a daily bases.

Where once it was warm, now there is nothing but glacial desperation

And a cooling mattress.

We had time…

There was time.

There was no time.
It didn’t matter.

I remember the intimacy of soft-spoken words bejeweled with devotion.

Yearning

and conformed solitude.

What is left?

What is left… is

That

that I dissolve in the placid endeavor of letting you go.

Is that

Joy?

When you tell me all about your life

And when you hear all about mine

And when you wonder when will I return

I stay silent.

…hush…

For the only thing that is even similar to happiness, the sole thing in this strange, menacing world that can make me

Breathe

(Amidst this all)

is both your handsome smile

and your stern, solid face.

It is the magic that oozes from you when you focus

And try

And strive

And win

And conquer your inner aspirations.

It is the overall security

The full reassurance

The one true home that I find, in you.

(I long for your... presence, sprawled over some armchair like you were part of the furniture.

I dream of you, and your moony poise as you caressed everything around you with a single, sweet, attentive hand motion.

I sometimes come to the extreme of seeing you, lying in front of me, reading pensively and losing track of time.

It figures...)

You know,… your sheets do look ridiculous without you in them.

Without you being here, at all.

Why does everything seem so scarily preposterous, and fastidiously absurd… I don’t know.

Nor will I ever.

I love you entirely.

and you saved me without even knowing.

Graphic Lyrism vol. I

2009-09-18T16:53:00.002+01:00

Leave me.

Love me.

Don’t – go.

Hold me.

Hug me.

Kiss me... don’t.

If I ever stop this wandering and senseless cogitation, would you still take me as I hypothetically was, and if you did, would you be the same?

I want to_

Run away with you, without minding anyone else.

Everyone else.

Myself.

The others.

You… but I do care.

I’d cross the world for you, and the worse thing is that you know it. You like it. You allow it. You enable it. You

If only you weren’t so easy to love. So perfectly comfortable, unadjustedly fit.

If only I had never known you, the deepest corners of your self, the most profound and unattainable thoughts that go from your mouth to your eyes

To your absentminded face.

How I love your sad face,

Your melancholic gaze,

Your laughing face,

Your focused gaze,

Your

Hands.

Your hair. The smell of your skin. The soft touch of your lips. Your melting smile. The creases forming in the corners of your eyes.

I beckon you over. And over again.

You come.

You leave.

I fight back the urge to stay with you.

In a rhyme

In a chorus

In a cry

In my trivial everyday preoccupations.

I linger, embedded in our everlasting, never-ending conversations.

I wait

I linger on your silence.

And I adore your nostalgia.

Your momentarily off-putting despair

And the way you overcome your frustrations.

I dwell in the airy twinge of unease, trespassing from your trembling jaw:

Your fears.

Your faithful uncertainty *and blank emotions*

Do you remember

Stillness.

The moment when your eyes meet mine

The way we broke down time

The passion, the enthusiasm…

The childish euphoria of careless synchrony.

And then to wish you goodbye

- and having the strength NOT to miss you.

Our hot, sunny days

Rainy mornings

Chilling nights

Warm bodies

Engirdled synesthesia

And years, and months, and weeks, and days, and hours

And seconds of sheer indebted joy.

Why is this clarity so

Raw?

Viciously

Cruelly

Paradoxal.

Oh, I bade you to let me

set you free

For I will die before seeing you entrapped

- even if enmeshed in my ethereal, uncompromised, utter [sigh]

Don’t… speak.

Look at me –

Not.

Not, anymore.

(and I brush off the honesty given away by your devoted stare)

For… since you… I am whole.

With you, without you, just because of your centred, beautiful existence.

I love you entirely.

and you saved me without even knowing.