Young, experts are you. We must gave way. (to edit)
Young people and to those who believe to be expert
You should not give up your time trying to provoke a monster
That by its own nature is always in a fight- flight situation.
I say you dearly, to all apprentices
Who want to overthrow their masters,
Those who are to be,
As the question of the
Irresistible force,
Immovable object,
Old false question.
History is full of the appearance of wiseness,
And we got Magister Dixit hardwired in us.
There is always a soft flaw on the argument or on its implementation
As was on the ontological St Anselm's argument…
Or even in Logica more Geometrico Demonstrata do caro Baruch,
Fuckery always arrives, but until it does, it's your time.
I mean falsifiability, by the old Wien School Paradigm...
So Tyler, great band, one day it's your day to give.
Your lovely daughter older than mine,
Carries the face of her father, just so crazy!
Mine, ontological surgery, with her father's uggly arms,
Could you not have given me your face or hair?
"Yesterday" was her first medical class…14 Easters,
How cannot I feel just another carcass, alive and ready to procreate?
I hope your get the best out of it all the time.
Don't bow to writers and intellectuals because you are, Aerosmith lyrics,
Cindy Lauper, Nina Hagen, Dido,
MY identity is a Zombie, feel older as Mick Jagger
I have fallen for old idols, Halestorm, Placebo, Audioslave vocals…
Fuck you if you believe I'll try to make amends, Rexta, Eilish, Cardi B, the unpaired vocals of Taylor Momsen
Fuck you if believe I don't have to kill me to stop (?)
Cause the machine is still humming like a Crazy V6 bitch,
And yet my writings will subside....either way.
Nenny gave up slime for Gucci,
I gave up Vogue & D&G, Bulgari my favorite, Armani, Boss,don't mind
Houses, Women, Cars, drugs and Rock Fuckers
Fuckers
Fuckers, that's not that road,
Because my prose is as powerful as my poetry,
Which doesn't even deserve the name,
Fuch Petrarch form and Villanelle
Fuch Camões que muito muito respeito
Fuck Dante
Fuch Shakspeare and Marlowe
Lord Tennison, Woodsworth, Keats, Shelley, Blake's Burns, romanticism is a bitch!
I LIVE with you all!!
Except I also envy ,hate you,
BUT, I am afraid of witman's prolificacy,
Respectly ghosted by Henry Wadworth Longfellow,
Not the girls.
Don't ask me fucking WHY
The venusian beings,
From Emily Dickinson's clarity, to M,.Angelou
Include list of my beloved, tired as Sexton
Sad temptation of the author of Lazarus,
Sold to reductionism, academic fuckury
O great exotic Sylvia Plath,
Who ultimately pretentiously behaved, as academy subtlety,
Last interviews have betrayed her, from the Bell Jar…how she changed…
They made me sada but not hungry or disapointed...I am soft with her kind
Or I am their kind...who knows...
Pardon me, but T.S. Eliot never pretended not to be pretentious, from the Wasted Land till
The fabulous accent on the Four Quartets reading…
Himselg or sir Alex Guiness,
Or Her praise has travested Yeats to a workers accent…
"A pattern on a napkin dipped in blood"...
Bukovsky was correct about that hate… that perfect hate.
Colours Of Kalo, arriba Rivera and his Murals
Arriba contra España, el Rey has come to save,
García Márquez after García Lorca trumped up by "la casada infiel"?
La Casa de los espiritos, Allende, magnifica,
Wish I could write about my happy whores…
Wish nothing not to split tragedi upon us....
That golden kingdom, Léon, Aragon, Castilla e Cataluña (Navarra, not forgotten)
Never united.
Maybe the reason for their greatness.
In this shallow rabbit's hole,
Not the deepest I dig were no-one can get to me
I say to you it's not achievable to be whole
So you fragment
To diffuse the torment into memento
As it takes hold of you as a tragic Dorian Gray…
And so I lay, wherever I stay….
Brazil has given me so much...samba, bossa, chorinho Sertanejo, Nordedeste.
Jorge, Zelia, então Paulo, Clarisse, Veríssimo, Vinicius, Veredas...
E memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas..Machado de Assis...
A minha casa tomada, levada, oferecida,
Estava plena de Retirantes, presciência da seca que me assola,
Suassuna, Ariano, velho, suas risadas ecoam...
Portuguese with Camilo Castelo Branco , Eça de Queirós e geração de 70, Florbela Espanca, queridos Mário e Fernando, O'Neal, Agostinho da Silva, Mau tempo no Canal, Nemésio...
Infindável lista de ilustres à qual passo paralelo ou tangente,
Nada direi mais do universo Brasil, é my better half....
Raiva de não ter vivido, sem tempo de margarina nos dentes
Que ando pobre e relutante a vergar ao tem de ser…
Saudosos, a hora de vos honrar terá batido à porta, e à mente dói de tantos a considerar.
As it began in Donne's language,
I hope the bells are tolling for thee
Cause Europe is bigger than you or us,
No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were:
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.
Be sure of breaking BREXIT
Make sure you never forget the past
And the obligation of letting a place of peace
For those, whoever they are, that will follow us and be, behave as European people.
Silence over Italy, traison over Les Fleurs du Mal, Dr. Faustus, Schiller,
Weil Die Vögkein Sweigen im Walde, und wir, warte nur, balde...
Hail to all you, my dearest, for you I gave my flesh and blood, literally!
This dispersion is what I am, there is a letter with a project of sinthesis...
Pardon me cause at the moment...
Winds of precipitation are taming my sight into a blur of indiscernable object.
Escritas.org
