Polarized Light

Natural light of my contentment
Colouring of white my hurt inside

How many layers of flesh you need to cross, before you reach my soul
In time to rescue me and bring in a luminous new feeling?

Into the light I dive. And become white (white).

For those who do nothing but...

"Mr. Muscle forcing bursting
Stingy thingy into little me, me, me
But just "ripple" said the cripple
As my jaw dropped to the ground
Smile smile

It's true I always wanted love to be
Hurtful
And it's true I always wanted love to be
Filled with pain
And bruises

Yes, so Cripple-Pig was happy
Screamed " I just compeletely love you!
And there's no rhyme or reason
I'm changing like the seasons
Watch! I'll even cut off my finger
It will grow back like a Starfish!
It will grow back like a Starfish!
It will grow back like a Starfish!"

Mr. Muscle, gazing boredly
And he checking time did punch me
And I sighed and bleeded like a windfall
Happy bleedy, happy bruisy

I am very happy
So please hit me
I am very happy
So please hurt me

I am very happy
So please hit me
I am very very happy
So come on hurt me

I'll grow back like a Starfish
I'll grow back like a Starfish
I'll grow back like a Starfish
I'll grow back like a Starfish

I'll grow back like a Starfish
I'll grow back like a Starfish
I'll grow back like a Starfish
I'll grow back like a Starfish
Like a Starfish..."

texto: "Cripple and the Starfish", Antony and the Johnsons

One day I'll let go. And again grow back like the starfish, stretching far beyond blindness

refusal
insensitiveness
denial
anger
stupidity
vain poetry
useless speech
useless tears
forgiveness
forgetfulness

and then, with the five arms of the starfish, I'll hug myself. And believe in what I always believe. The world's remaining immense sense of justice, compassion and love for those who do nothing but love.

This feels so good

J'en dors plus

Je te désir...




Imagem-movimento: "A streetcar named desire", Elia Kazan - USA, 1951

Here, alone

Hope there's someone
Who'll take care of me
When I die, will I go

Hope there's someone
Who'll set my heart free
Nice to hold when I'm tired

There's a ghost on the horizon
When I go to bed
How can I fall asleep at night
How will I rest my head

Oh I'm scared of the middle place
Between light and nowhere
I don't want to be the one
Left in there, left in there

There's a man on the horizon
Wish that I'd go to bed
If I fall to his feet tonight
Will allow rest my head

So here's hoping I will not drown
Or paralyze in light
And godsend I don't want to go
To the seal's watershed

Hope there's someone
Who'll take care of me
When I die, Will I go

Hope there's someone
Who'll set my heart free
Nice to hold when I'm tired

Imagem: Malevitch /1915/ "Black Square and Red Square"
Texto: Anthony and the Johnsons / "Hope There's Someone"

O sabor das páginas

"We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection."

/Anais Nin/

Um menú de sabores muito variados. Mas saberão os dois momentos ao mesmo? Que consequência tem o diferimento entre o momento e a retrospecção? O que traz o adensamento, em corrente, das memórias? Momentos doces ou amargos? Quentes de especiarias e exotismos ou insípidos, como água? A que sabem as letras recentes, escorrendo ainda a tinta muito fresca, na vertigem da última linha acabada?

O trânsito das palavras

em·i·grant : "departing or having departed from a country to settle elsewhere"

ex·pa·tri·ate : "living in a foreign land"

/Encyclopedia Britannica Online/

Como a língua pode ser elitista. And now, what am I? Em Bruxelas, ninguém se acha emigrante. Vivemos todos no estatuto feliz, arrogante e pretensioso de expats. I couldn't disagree more with this make-up mechanism. Camouflage au-dessus de la langue.

Promessa

Debaixo da intermitência dos dias de água, nesta Bruxelas imprópria para seres nostálgicos e apolíneos, contemplo o dia debaixo do meu guarda-chuva amarelo. E irradio felicidade.

E mesmo que aqui amanheça invariavelmente um dia sem raios e sem luz, fecho os olhos e a brancura incandescente à volta das minhas órbitas é a de um sol brilhante. I'm on my way.