Within that irreparable time where encounters fall as cloaks on the treetops that remained, in that deaf dark silence was that I saw him first, and he later me – or was it otherwise? Whatever, it’s still the still moment, even if it doesn’t do any more harm or good: the possible contact made whole, that which put us together in another direction than we both had ever desired. I said, “Come with me, let’s build a garden..” He: “No hunger or haste – though this part of the world fascinates me.” I: “Look at me, I am also art.” “Yes, muse, your image is already fixed.” For I chose to be his weak muse.. He laughs, I laugh. We did not give birth, and I also chose never to give birth in my weakness.

Where is he now that I’m telling our short story of happy? His image is also fixed, but the wallpaper faded, its rose tint and the roses in it. But I’m being nostalgic. How fine to have the irreparable time healing everything..




not to believe is the truth, despicable is the truth. or is it just me getting on, moving on? the news are overwhelmingly sad, a circus turning round&around, its arena filled with entertainment and money, with innocent blood, with people filled with fat,

or not.

a lot better bitter
i watch in amazement
and share the load

but i won’t give it a cent



bastard, with love

the social contract that is more frequent and consistent
has nothing to do with boundaries or respect for the other

quivering, it stipulates:
own lust first
luxurious lies
pure ego satiation

in the living room
on the top floor
in the malaise
of loneliness




but first a blended scotch whiskey, plis
but look at flowers in the park, look how beautiful!
but go do your homework
but this world is full of needy people
but you think you can leave me here?
with the ghost of an idea ?!


mas primeiro um blended scotch whisky, plis
mas olha pro parque, olha que lindo!
mas vá fazer seu dever de casa
mas esse mundo tá é cheio de carente
mas você acha que pode me largar aqui
com o fantasma de uma ideia?!