pocket brain

“You destroy and you suffer… I often see how you sob over what you destroy, how you want to stop and just worship; and you do stop, and then a moment later you are at it again with a knife, like a surgeon. In some strange way I am not with you, I am against you. We are destined to hold two truths. I love you and I fight you. And you, the same. We will be stronger for it, each of us, stronger with our love and our hate. When you caricature and nail down and tear apart, I hate you. I want to answer you, not with weak or stupid poetry but with a wonder as strong as your reality. I want to fight your surgical knife with all the occult and magical forces of the world. I want to both combat you and submit to you, because as a woman I adore your courage, I adore the pain it engenders, I adore the struggle you carry in yourself, which I alone fully realize, I adore your terrifying sincerity. I adore your strength. You are right. The world is to be caricatured, but I know, too, how m

Meu coração escorre por entre meus dedos, manchando os lençóis, o tapete e as cortinas. Sons abafados entram pela janela como risos loucos de uma noite insana. Não há silencio, não há saída, somente esse pedaço de gente encravado em meu peito. E ele insiste em ir cada vez mais fundo, cada vez mais.

Every time I think about having kids I remember this orphanage that I used to visit, specially this little 3-year-old girl I met there. She had a huge scar covering her belly from top to bottom, and the social worker told me it was her mother who had done that to her. She was so traumatized she never spoke, but her eyes had this urge for attention and love that made me want so badly to take her home with me. Well, maybe someday I will.

Why chasing shadows when you are surrounded by light? The love for the unknown will always surpass the comfort of traversed paths. But to what extent do we really get to know these paths? There is always a dark corner where secrets are kept well hidden from passers-by.

Scattered across the floor, shards of glass reflect the sunlight, forming a prism of emotions. All colours of feelings dance on the wall, in patterns of joy and despair.

The cold screen emits a spectral light, bringing with it electronic ghosts. Out there, the sun shines an even more impossible reality, longing for beaches and waterfalls. In the mirror, the image of someone on the verge of something to happen, only awaiting for the inevitable. And underneath the sight, a thick layer of memories and oblique thoughts. (03-08-2012)