robot interface

I feel like a child today

there is a mistake in this state

unknown from back then

so I amuse myself

in comparing both strains

of a long, lost sense

one from pristine time of simpler things

the calm exposure and experience to our ways

everything so subtle, yet so clear

feeds me with the fittest of dreams

and this, something of everything, so sudden, fast, what you cannot grasp

like a hurricane made of moths, and you jump from the flock

and swim in melted clocks in parallel processors

tragically, it all fades down in about an hour

and all you can barely is to sever the weather

stop and get some paper, have a deep breath

and try to be clever and write it all down

os mortos irão dançar até o amanhecer

observo sombras na serenidade, o silencioso suplício dos segredos
se espalha às centopéias para sorver e morrer
o seguro certo para tempos incertos.
sou o espírito sedento de sangue, o sublime substituto
para a ternura da tempestade, sob estranha embriaguez,
testando minha temperança e meu semblante sóbrio e san(t)o.

estagnação sucumbe o sagrado, permanece o pecado
dias distantes, demoníacos, derramam-se em devaneios
desejamos mais que diversão, drinks e desperdício
e amanhã, ah, "amanhã é outro dia"

um novo dia intangível
as paredes pedem por perecer
e o tempo distorce nossa tez
tão tenra, tórrida e transbordando certeza
mas sem a tenacidade para transformar
quando o preço se cobrar, a carne apodrecerá

uma sonata para o sofrimento
disrritmia dissonante
sonhando com uma saída
espero que não tenhas esperança.

the dead will dance until dawn

I see shadows in serenity, the silent scream of secrets
spread as centipedes to sever and never
return the certain shelter from this stormy weather
I am the spirit of spite incarnate, the sublime surrogate
of the taste of tempest under uncanny vacancy
testing my temperance and skin of sinless sober san(t)ity

stagnation separates the soul from the sin
and we dream of dreaded days where we will be away
wishing for more time to waste in drinks and kicks
'cause "tomorrow we'll do what we need to"

tomorrow, overmorrow, nevermorrow
the walls wail for breakdown
and we frown and moan at the passage of time
so young and yang, lustful and full of trust
but dead of fresh thoughts, la même chose, tous les jours
time will take its toll and the flesh will mirror the soul

dance as the dead
dissonant dysrhythm
dreaming of escape
but I don't think you can

partidas y arribos

you say goodbye and then the engine start and you feel a rush, a connection with each little cog that runs this clock, the mechanical spirituality so 21st-centuriesque that children are born with wi-fi included, above the mountains it feels so weird so unnatural as if I'm missing all the little landscapes and faces and peestops and nights-at-little-inns that would compose a REAL trip, still the lights down there tend to have a high æsthetical value, in which I mean they are pretty, and then the migration papers come, and in this land of unfairness, it's always about the taxes... and "it ain't nothing sure in this life, except death and taxes" and I'm sure they won't collect taxes from dead people so it should be "death or taxes" and then you fill the papers in, declaring all the little trinkets and useless waste you bought, cause you had to you need to so you can show and shove all your power in-to the neighbors like a aroused male peacock would as if your smartassphone would save you in case of a plane crashing into the rocks and woods almost as if they were claiming their dead brothers stolen by us when justice is made and in case of a crash panic would be spreading like flu but there would be one smiling at last free from our stock-market-samsara and the customs control and taxes and prohibition. 'cause death is freedom, life is illusion. but the plane comes down, the way it should be. and life goes on, the way it can be. at least I can see the ones I miss, the ones that put sense into all of this.

sunlight

sunlight hits
what does it means to be alive
in our endless, unholy hives
that plague the sacred grounds
endless halls of constant crawl

step out
out of this whole hole of dirt
purge the darkness and the war
from our open-wounded hearts
and feel the freedom newfound

so you die
but the earth is still around
it will tear itself apart
grow its child in the wilds
honor the old into stone

you will become
the ground you walk
and then, mountains
everything is alive
until the sunlight
hits us all

Despedida - Troca trilhos

A Deus dedicadas incertezas
A Deus lúgubres lamentos
A Deus jogadas as mãos
A Deus sopradas sombras no caminho
A Deus a culpa de meus destemperos
A Deus orações por liberdade

Em curvas de vento, vôo, vou
Migrar ao norte para o meu verão
Me ensinam as músicas do cantar dos patos
Notas rosa ou verde
Ou amarelas ou verde de novo
Saudades vêm, vão, virão
Vãos

Troco trilhos
Essa grande estrada d'água
Enche meus olhos
Enche minha alma

Sobre meus ombros, o céu, apenas
E o nariz aponta o caminho
Do homem
A fé em esgueiradas ruínas caídas à Terra
Aos amigos agradeço
A fé
A Deus

generic low rock interface

just another man lost in its own sins
high on the perspective of a greater dream
looking for anything he can find
on anygirl's eyes

the names roll by...

little girl made of stone
when she talks
I hear the moan
of the saxophone
endure, girl, endure
and you'll grow strong

there's this girl made of clouds
thunders the softer sound
as the screams and shouts
fill up the empty spaces

one made of fire
the sheets made smoke
on a heavy load of dope
you could think she was some

water made poison
the first one you'll not let
shed tears of loss
rendered me helpless
on the floor

the one I never met
I won't soon forget

things just happen
it's a fact, a trap
for those who are not dead
love turns to sand
as the band hits the next
stop

vernissage of souls

dig all your thoughts and find a way to be lost
see the faces painted on the wall and then you fall
drift further into the mistakes of your past
walk through the dead, low head, pay respect

wounds that'll never close, but do you care?
just another story to tell on a bar brag
so many possible worlds where you're the best
but at last, you became just a hateful bastard

under the sheets and the warmth from her skin
there are no mistakes to be made by a seasoned man
but when the screaming and shouting ceases
will the ghosts under the bed haunt and dread?

and then, the silence reigns
another shadow is made
a new face for the scenes
to haunt your dreams of peace
within

another prayer to the light son

father once told
"go, and then grow
apart, but still one"
restless stones roll
and I keep memories
of those fond old times
and hopes
for times that are
yet to come

old brother
where art thou?
in our path to doom
thy feet follow
their inevitable road
the wall crumbles
and the way is shown
the dark night's gone
and thou shalt shine
as thou wast meant to

don't look back
but if thou doest
thou shalt not be lost
I will be here
somewhere to flee
to hear thy plea

amen

Haikai de Herança ou O som pode ser mais importante do que a visão (ou não)

A vós
o que é
de vós


para Wally

drunk poet II: raw meat

nobody to talk to tonight
I'll fall to this desire
this stupid daydream
where I'll take you away

but what will we do?
I warn you with words
shouldn't even write
it ain't right
to put this through

how can the poet
rhyme and reason
when all his life
is fearsome?

can you take this loss?
can you feel it so raw
growing, taking form
can you?

I should not.
but if I lose it
I feel it in my meat
it won't come back.

drunk poet I: scatterplot

so you feel
and then you fall
hit your face
into the wall
so you're drunk
and then you think
you can make
something good
bring this urge
and let's talk
about ilusions...
so, little man
you've got the world
on your hands
and, then
it slips
into the hips
of some woman
and you then see
the misbelief
in your own grip
and you'll trip
about her lips
feels like a kid
with all his bricks
scattered
through the floor
your plot is all lost

you'll get that
there was no way
to nail
no way to make
this turn
to your favor
and then you grow
to lose control
once again

17

one pair of eyes
who'd make me think
there's something upsides
something beyond our lives

one pair of eyes
who'd make me die
would lead me into the sky

brown eyes are deep
green eyes are so sweet
blue eyes are dying
she had the three
cause she had mine

one pair of eyes
opened wide
stealin' my life
steal me away

(circa 2002)

hades' lounge

everyone here is fucked up
killing mind for a bit of fun
down the alley to the lounge
where we hang around

fuck my mind so I can try
to see things as I used to
make me back a child
when I had not even a clue

over the hedge of common
lies a plain made of hobos
who won't regret
to let the other side lie down
I should forget those times

fuck my mind
so can I live in lucidity
pay me a beer
here in the city
lights

let's go out
for some kicks
call out our pal
hades
owner of this joint
this shit
bring his whisky
savor this bourbon piss
don't miss
your other life

as I lose integrity
structure
rhyme
my life means more
and less

but who are your references?
I might be a mess
but you are just another pawn
in someone else's chess
wanting to be queen
but never reaching clean
the next square.

flood over fire

I am deaf dumb numb and blind, but above all I'm tired, of seeking something that can never be found, at least not outside. there is a chill in the back of my spine, and it's kind of fun thinking about this one. maybe the mask will fall, just like them all. but who knows? I might be wrong... maybe I'll lose myself to this choir, to this mellow, tender sound that comes from the aisle. lost to it everyday until I die. or maybe not... I might find peace at the bottomline, at the last of my twenty pack, in lack of something better to cry for than my own life. full of doubt, as always. I might go for the inner fire, the peace within the war. yet, it feels like this war is lost. this soldier is tired to fight. deaf dumb numb and blind... as always.

on the children of janus

for we are one
no more.

one speaks the language of Light
to cut away darkness and myth
words made of pristine purity
crystal clear clarity
to melt madness away

one speaks shadows
seeking the silence of demons
that haunt and inhabit
many a silent soul
in hoping to heal his own

for we are one.

peace through fire

crack my skin to fall from grace
lose the boy that once made haste
to sit back and enjoy a life
of nothing more than taking pride

while I'll throw myself to the lion
you'll enjoy your child
commit yourself to this peaceful lie
and you'll believe this is your line

I'd rather be torn apart
than fight half a war
seeking what I desire

until the last breath
lost to death
I'll find peace through fire.

Augusto dos Anjos

A gosto dos anjos
Agosto dos anjos

Hoje o Poeta Morreu

Hoje o poeta morreu
Não lembremos do poeta
Hoje ele foi
E ele nem sabe pra onde foi

Se lembrarmos do poeta
Lembremos ao contrário
Porque ele foi mal
Porque ele foi vil
Porque ele foi
O que ele não foi
E assim não dói lembrar

Hoje o poeta
É uma página escrita
E tombada
É bruma, é espuma
É um relâmpago no céu
Dentro de alguém
(que ele nem sabe quem é)

O poeta é lenda
Nem existiu
Ele não é
Ele é a negação do ser
Como o conhecemos, ser
Ele negou
E anda por aí, negando

O poeta é pedra
Em cima de pedra
E pedra
Sobre um tempo
E ergue o tempo

O poeta é secular,
Seculento
Ele tem sabor à língua
Ele é da língua
Uma papila
Uma célula.

Ele foi cuspido (a língua mordeu-se)
O tempo o negou
Ele rachou
Um relâmpago queimou a página escrita
Porque ele foi vil, mal, e não foi
Caiu
Mas tudo bem
Ele não tem medo.

(2008, 1° semestre)

your cock may appear smaller when viewed from above

which implies that probably he appears larger from below. never been in that position, if you have to ask. asking also won't solve the problem... see, the size of your cock might depend on a series of factors when seen by the eyes of a willingful female who desires his oh-almighty power inside her. if she wants you badly, she'll see him a little larger that he actually is, despite the relative position. she might see him as both a tool of pleasure and one of pain, and in that case she probably would see him larger than life itself, too much for her poor little pussy to handle. she'll also see some spikes and metal parts darting off his skin, when pain becomes more than pleasure. and i'd have to say that this is NOT good.

maybe she's drunk as a skunk on spring break, and then, at the slightest error of performance or pumping capacity, she'll see him as small as he was when he (and you) was just a hairless bean painted in red. and then she might laugh at him... or maybe she's just too hungry for him. she wants more and more and more, maybe two of then. HEY! hold on, he was made for being the solo artist in this show, and then he'll really appear smaller after this kind of proposal...

it's always the same cock. how do you see him, it doesn't matter at all.

coisa velha

penso que muito se pensa sobre si mesmo, mesmo se sendo só um segundo nesse tempo lento do universo inteiro. então eu paro penso e sinto o chão me engolindo por inteiro, em vão lutando pra ser um só enquanto o universo me quer de volta ao seu vazio imenso.

(circa 2006)