Uns de mármore, outros de mel
Tanto é o ódio que nos cobre como manto
Quanto é a vontade de ajudar, para nosso espanto
Queremos sangue de quem nos magoa
e assim boa vontade por aquele ferido,
como nós ferímos, assim salvamos.
Ou diga-se: alguns.
Uns de mármore, outros de mel
uns de fel, de basalto, de olhos no alto
seus sensores medem adentro terra
Aqueles que viram o telescópio para a vizinha,
os que preparam os filtros para o eclipse do Sol, total, que se avizinha.
Os crescidos e os grandes,
Especialmente as meninas.
Alguns já nascem grandes e destacam-se,
A sua presença com uma única qualidade
Que assusta, dá arrepios, aperto no peito,
Vontade de sorrir, ensejo de fugir,
Uns nem estão lá e estão, como um tufão.
Unpublished and still alive.
Putanita de álcoo,l venom, depressor do SNC...
Quem pensa nâo, uma antiga depressão, é cego ou nâo quer ver nâo.
Fuck my old things passed, water under that many bridges
As lágrimas da barragem eventualmente arrumam passagem, canto de etílico,
Choros sepultados, guardados, reprimidos, soluços partidos sempre retidos.
And Anne Sexton makes my healthy tears fall and fall relentless and unafraid.
And Departure makes me doubt if Plath has not conceaded to the erudition temptation,
The utmost fringe of a mundane vision was accepted by my crazy criticism.
Ghosts of beautiful voices.
You are successful and death,
Am I inconsequent, unpublished and still alive. Alterar texto
But we three still anyway thrive, what a trio.
Oh such keepers of of Profane Grail could we be….
Reinvent yourself and never became a prisoner of academic institutions,
Never give your ass to potential powerful corporations,
Your ass is an asset of the greatest value is you don't accept low bids for it…
The fucking market says it will plumb, or Rise LIke HELL
Wait, stay hungry and homeless if you have too, wait for fucking History to TELL!
The pariah’s chant
The pariah’s chant should be regret and omission of words.
The outcast song should be lament full or else null
The persecuted should have the voice of the oppressed
And yet, hummingbirds have no voices, only movement is allowed
Those hearts beats drumming like Taylor’s band
Those hearts like those who run for their lives
Those legs in incessant fight or run mode, all sides
Engaged at the multi-thread
The ethereal entangled head
Fighting to find its starboard
Fleeing from the menacing horde
Departed from Desolation destination decay
As I can with ease confess is this world’s way
Causes and effects are abstractions
An there’s no rest for the ruined wicked
Those who, being no one,
Albeit appointed, not to be ignored,
Hanged from a last thin branch
Work as slave in a Dakota country ranch
Those pigs not so equal to others,
That choose their fate by deeds done
Exuding sour from their visceral sin
And living a false live made of thin tin
Cause iron’s much consideration to them
Gypsies read their fates with awe and terror
Prophecies are spoken in baixo tone, repercuting the underbelly with infra sounds
It’s all about that bass, it’s all bass
Under 20, causing sensation of deep panic.
Memories of drunk lots of broken bottles
Now used as a collar to the enslaved one,
The one even the reaper refuses to accept in his dark lap.
Those who want to compose but never get a rap.
The tribe of one man without dog, no rabbit foot
A man who’s feeling so aloof
A person with a bad boot, a murderer soul, a tongue a foul,
Rage in a broken vase,
Walk without any base.
So there’s the snake dressed in human shape,
So identified to suffer in vain, so certain of the surrounding disdain,
That a sense of dark angel enters him,
Surrounds him in such a way that only
The beast of earth and sea feel no fear
When he stares with eyes of apparent black dead, evil intent.
And the children before they drink the wine of otherness
And join the collective, which number is many,
Bringing fear to all warlocks and witches, vampires and werewolves
His shadow so strange and indomitable he himself cannot control it.
So when the tower clock rang the last twelve strikes one more was added
And for that day on his secret name was thirteen,
The one against his kin,
Dangerous for himself and indifferent to the indignation,
Of the fellow enemy or the rage of close friends,
Foe of all fiends, searching the pact of the crossroads.
And longing to sign it with his pure blood.
So ancient as the stone were Gabriel stood
When his brother was left to fall in a tail of derail.
Até a temperana tarde se tornar alvorada e voltar
Tim Maia, vacilamos uma intensa tarde de dança,
Eu tinha decidido não morar com ela, embora adorasse a menina,
Tal nostalgia, alcoolémia, ainda se o peito aperta 17 anos passados
Dançamos até a temperana tarde se tornar alvorada húmida...
Vou encontrar as emoçôes por ti Simone kondack que me deste um ataque.
Atacaste pelas costas no dentista, coisa para colunista,
Fazias um amor óptimo e acredito que não melhor comigo do que qualquer outro
Grandes transas rápidas e noites a foder sem parar, tudo é mais para não enjoar
Mulher que sabia ser bonita sendo gostosa e atraente,
Sabia dar um toque de classe e era uma puta linda com o tesão,
Gozava muitas e contraídas vezes, com 23 anos gozava tanto que ficava sem ar...
(umas tive de parar de transar, pois deixei de aguentar o esgar de gozo quando ia ao clímax...)
E
Salve seja uma delas, amiga e mais.
É assim a vida. Coitada. Gostava de mim.
Com a Simone não, Transamos no sofá de reclinar, no quarto da frente, no chão da sala, no pátio da garagem, na mesa da sala, no banheiro dos bares, no meio da mata atlântica em cima do capô,
Eu prefiro ficar por baixo e ria quando ela me montava como num rodeio de peão,
Me dava aquela linda boceta na boca no nariz na testa, nada nela, naquela bella havia q se não beijasse, lambesse, chupas se, gozasse, dentro em cima conforme o clima.
A língua no cu bem feita, os sacos bem lambidos, o boquete, dava graças a Deus que ela tivesse fodido tanto e tantos.
Não que eu não causasse impressão na chupilancia onde sou bom bom, as mulheres passam-se ou se mais convencionais assustam-se ou negam no dia seguinte que se esqueceram ou estavam bebinhas...
Conseguia pô-las a gozar umas vezes em cima das outras, às vezes uma hora de porrinha branquinha, a língua nos buraquinhos todos, o nariz, a testa, do cli para os lábios, a bunda, o cuzinho ansioso...
Algumas vezes com sincera admiração outras porque diziam isso a qualquer Pinto com boca e ouvidos para ser bajulado...
MasMas VC sabe a diferença excepto quanto as mestras, mães de Santo da fudilância, em que fica mesmo difícil distinguir o falso do verdadeiro.. estão para além da minha liga...
A minha liga era muito elevada para um gordo, apesar de bonito e sem pau grande ou principalmente grosso, que as queridas gostam mais....
Usava uma prótese para alargar o pau e era boa porque me massageava a base enquanto batia e batia, e gozava mais e mais tempo.
Com mdma e cocaína, no terceiro dia chegava a gozar a gritar como uma garota teatral, e vinha-me, gozava, e a seguir gozava e ficava doido de tesão, ela pensavam que eu estava a passar mal, gritava e insulta a o ar como um possesso e não conseguia parar, às vezes mais de quinze minutos...
E aaa seguir ficava a tremer todo e passado 5 minutos ia outra(s) vezes até q já não saia porra nenhuma e o orgasmo era forte na mesma.
As queridas diziam que nunca tinham visto e as menos espertas ou experientes achavam que eu estava a fingir.
Já ouvi, de si para si ao lado da outra,
VC não pense que este cabrão está a dar linha para nós,
O cara é doido de todo mas não mentiroso.
Só não entendo, puta, como o cara consegue.
São as porras sãs substâncias e o treino.
Nunca vi um homem gozar como uma mulher passada...
Se há um querida, vai por mim, há mais destes por aí... acha um pra VC que este é meu chapa... entendeu,
Pode foder com ele mas não foder ele.
Putaria de homem de meia idade, a loucura dos 35/45 foi o pico para mim.
Fazia a prancha de pica engatada na boceta ou na bunda enquanto chupava outra ou outra fazia sanduíche total, usando aparelho no meu cu.
Uma beleza.
Hei-de analisar bem.
A ducha dourada também... quando os dois gostavam... Cinco Cinco estrelas.
O top, exceptuando umas de duas ou dez transa o top foi a grande pequena Tereza dos Santos Silva. A super Foda.
Esta puta que me fodeu mãe dos meus filhos não lhe ficava muito atrás e era mais super puta linda grande corpasso...
A Tereza era paixão pura.
Mútua. Amor e ódio, amor grande,...
Apesar de ser sapatona ou bi ou sei lá o quê, sei que garota de presença dos sentidos excitados, ela foi aquela coisa. Falamos e eu fico doido de vontade de a ir buscar.
Vou tentar ligar para ela.
Já tentei e liguei
E não resisti e pu-la em linha com a amiga que estava comigo. Andrea.
Claro: Jú VC continua doido...
Pois
Jú continua doido dez anos depois sem beber sem cheirar... Sem trabalhar...no papel.
Que pena, pequena, que pena.
Não sei onde é que o cais vai dar,
Cais de cara no chão,
Levanta-te cabrão!
Há um lugar no mar da amarga solidāo a que me devoto,
E ò Tu, querida gata que me deu a patinha,
Tu é e será para sempre adoraçāo minha.
Sarava, que saudade da idade, da cidade, da verdade.
Brilhantes dias, mulheres grandes, gatas vadias,
Dentro da noite, presentes nos dias, felicidades,
Fica o meu respeito, o meu peito, o vazio no meu leito.
Some feel like drowning (the beheading Mantis)
We aspire, leave, walk, and run,
And yet, some feel like drowning.
Return an assumed impossibility .
Road runs asunder under our feet,
The devil's beneath in synchronicity,
Earth rotates and yet we stand,
While
Babies become masters of chess.
While incompleteness is all around.
Nude feet feeling the grasshopper at dew,
Two seemingly legs still standing…
Dancing with an allegro cadence,
Laughing suddenly among people
Running imperturbable to their jobs
In concentrated cadence, tidy appearance.
Nothing returns to face mr long face,
Time indefatigable progression,
Which is subjective for a mortal
Who feeds on moments long past,
And build, shape your individuality,
Admonished aesthetics empty of me.
So laughable your attempts, so fable,
As a polygon and 4 picks, not a table.
Since I came to this world of inevitable demise
I understand how to despise the ripper
Like I turn my back to any stripper.
And there is nothing of complex
Nor formulas, nor inspiration
Not the progress of the Nation
Or simple Awolination.
This is all and all is dream which
Is the witches plan to our sin,
That plain of greed I have refused,
That rattlesnake I've always been,
Serpent leaving marks in the sand
Until the sand storm's demand.
Signs of mutiny on the Bounty of fear,
Captain, o captain, my dearest dear.
A blackboard behind a dream
There’s a blackboard behind a dream
Full of equations as developments,
Full of math of how to renew a stream,
There’s a need to maintain our natural world
Which one can clearly see if you look right.
There’s a blackboard behind a dream,
Full of greedy politicians and superbia,
Full of interests in delaying evolution
There’s an urge to uphold a status quo,
Easy to realize if you hear it right.
Question of perseverance to balance environment,
Vision to accept unraveling of new menaces and deal,
Contract, organize, to calmly fight against the big steal.
Over the next decades change will be so fast, insane,
No one can assure or ascertain if organizations, ready,
Will deal with rapid change, achieving something humane,
For bad instincts, greed, lust for power,
Known for hard to tame,
May put fame and glory
Above survival or history.
A opção
A vida está a acabar e já dei o que tinha para dar,
E foi a nada dar que nada recebi pela psicologia das putas que pari...
As que amei, enrabei, as que fodi.
As que embalei, ajudei, paguei e todas as que abracei.
Pari mulheres, minhas filhas, dei à luz enteadas,
Amigas e amantes, fiz cesariana de coisas semblantes,
Travestidas de mulher ou outras quaisquer.
Sou mãe de gente que me odeia, inveja, despreza,
Pessoas que cativo, sou famoso em ser ignorado,
Ser amado sendo maltratado.
Sou mãe parida das minhas outradas mulheres.
Acredita tu se puderes ou quiseres.
Não digas que queres ser como eu.
O tinhoso pode conceder o desejo, meu.
E a tua vida uma novela que não queres ver decorrida.
Um pesadelo onde vagueias nu e sem guarida.
Um vento te fustiga e te leva a pele, sabor a fel,
Longe do caís, da calma, longe do mel.
Minha escolha, pedra pisada, meu sangue nas minhas mãos,
Sangue das vítimas, vermelho dos cães, resultado de atos sãos.
Pari mulheres minhas que partiram como senhoras embaixadoras.
Tanto direito caligrafado em linhas infames,
Mulher, nunca esperei que um dia me ames.
You are not You, reductio ad absurdum
What’s the drive keeping me on,
While continuing to ignore when I hear come on,
Deaf to my desires, blind to evidence, no defense
Stance after stance not knowing how to dance
Move void of choreography
Discourse house, cacophony
Indisposed, once high spirited, won’t you come?
In the sands of time I seek thee
You, oblivious of once being me
As indecision mates with suspicion in a dark marriage
Celebration of decadence, tainted flowers, stench of cans
An imaginary line of jalopy vans
Fugue in a crazy run, rabid horses, Gothic carriage.
Because you could have had all that and more
Still reserving all the rest you adore, family and lore
Erudition and folklore, the red moon,
An embrace, your own pace.
Life is only a shadow of doubt, forgetful of about,
Cards already played returning to the deck
Unrelenting, intransigent, not meant to be conducted,
Void of leniency,
Pieces always fitting, too late to make sense, steel grim.
And I, always turning stones, looking for fantasy, whim.
Opportunities come and pass, epochs stare as I never dare.
Praised be my progeny, may they be free
Independent, adverse to their father,
May they look upon things with humility
Distance themselves of conceptual artifices, stay natural
Cultivate the body through activity, fitness is neuronal.
Drown in fears, lost friend, there’s no you.
You asphyxiated in your imaginary and were torn to pieces
You inhabit the entrails of gavials and gators
And still there is some of your stench over some bayou...
Turning into the snake author to this incoherence
Materialization of an insane nation of your savage natures
All of you frustrations, layers of auto piety you cannot hide
As ugly as the worst inside of you, stopping your thrive...
Agnostic by social correctness,
Atheistic without distress
Pantheistic Xantoist, Buddhist Hindu
J’étais très jeune quand je lisais le singe nu
Je croyais que Mircea Eliade était une jolie femme
Tant d’erreurs dans ce chemin qu’au bout, je l’aime
Et les yeux d’un homme parle comme personne
S’il y avait une interprète pour les montrer.
C’est la raison, en écoutant radio Québec,
J’ai décidé d’écrire en français san rimer
Langue que j’adore car ma nature est plein d’émotions
Et je ne suis pas capable d’être petit et vain longtemps.
Comme la bonanza doit succéder à la rage des vents,
Ici isolé, plein d’amour, sans clé,
J’attends seule depuis des années.
Horde, I can’t afford (waiting for chondrite)
I’d like to see the birds or at least hear them
After waking early or late, real ones or a digital fake,
When they were all over my bedroom their absence was not noted,
And yet hummingbirds had their drinking platforms in my heart garden.
Garden of another, erased my presence,
Gained garden of honest work, lost plants to sycophants,
Although trash keeps smelling my devious path,
Always one pace behind and two moves ahead
Those quiet limbs seem not to devise the proper thread,
This head hurts as any other fucker,
The difference is my pussyish character
The yellish fumes coming out a chimney which I don’t clean
Cause I’m a pig style unclean procrastinator
A motherfucker living in a social institution called daddy’s town
Where no freedom is whenever wherever to be found,
Not even that of trying to gain his life unperceived and anonymously,
In an unverified attempt to regain some autonomy or alter taxonomy.
Fuck me in the morning, fuck me pumps, show me death and decay!
Explain how Success leads to health and control over one’s destiny,
Explain that’s this solitude, Jules
Of no rules, mere seed of mutiny,
Will inevitably lead to deep unavoidable, deep shit.
Bake me, cook me, show me how to bend to fortify back muscles,
Tire me with tons of stress,
Don’t give me time to guess,
If there is a reason to be,
Or not, because that’s an old question,
And we are all long past that inglorious point
The point is a ton of money,
The rule of measure,
Master of sex appeal, nucleus of any deal.
The substance informing human will
Sadly although I may love all things that money can buy,
My indolence and fear of failure has lead me to this point,
The Capetown of bad luck,
The burial of Oedipus,
The fall of Clytemnestra
Error of Cassandra, broken sword of Alexander,
Mad persecuted, unsettled portuguese salamander,
A thing that difficulty walk, and cannot wander,
Much less act quickly or react in real time.
So, unable to get anything, not even a dime.
Closed business, anachronism of a lost time.
Unfaithful to women, refusal of fatherhood,
Beater of mother, spankler of wives
Eater of puppies, peeler of cats, hot killer of innocent,
The case of bad content
Should be buried in some ordinary basement,
Covered with low quality cement in life,
So one day that bad scent would led to the uncovering,
And revive this story erected in glory, so that,
For the sake of children and public mental health,
All his alimonies kept secret so such ordinary life and ludicrous failure,
Cannot influence any more losers that wouldn’t work or contribute,
To the hail Mary blues
Sacred oeuvre of mankind, the horde devoted to afford
Long live Kapital, kampari to gin, a saké after an anime
Versus the power of clips, get energy from red bull,
Leave rest to those who died,
Performance of chondrite is nanite based tech,
But not the unconquerable shore of my sobriety
Sadness
Madness
Ungratefulness
Futility made obscenity.
Heart breaking, if you believe in such romantic nonsense
As the spirit of time praises and keeping yet cultivating ‘emotional intelligence’
“Cognoscente Ferrari” practicality denies,
Picturesque dark tainted crimson smell of defeat,
Is every single praise or joy,
Every adoration,
Every smile regarding the little big things,
What really matters in this Blink of an existence we lead,
Is kept as Undina and Undine,
Painful is the realization,
Transparent clarity of acting contra natura
Against my true good nature,
Defiling all axioms and philosophical principles of my interiority,
Occulting light and kindness,
As a lost enterprise of not done and death.
Cause money is the name of the game of do or die,
The beauty innocence and kindness of children,
Stimulating talk,
Vertigo of intimate touch, content of embrace,
Dwarfing sights of mother earth,
Sacred places of human belief,
Intense calm of areas devoted to grief,
Never ceasing rhythm of music,
Joyful unbalanced balance of dance,
Tantalizing views of substance induced states.
All that makes us human, even that
Thing called work that I hardly labour to avoid
All and more and Mucha more,
Are the hidden lines of the lore erected as surreal folklore,
Beauty and me or should it be harmony and I,
Why?
Aren’t you gonna regret it oh harmony,
Never having been capable of habiting me?
Wagner style shield-maidens chants echoes roaring
Over
Apocalyptic plumbiferous thunderbolt crossed ceilings,
Little gremlins wearing SM cyan outfits over crimson Tattooed butts
Sit over complex drums speeding the world.
The lyrics are in a beautiful incomprehensible language
As we take our step by step deconstruction of thee,
It will only remain the void availability of your vacuity.
Is that refrain forgotten in vain?
P.S.
(Mystery of Iniquity, dear Lauryn Hill...you came to my remembrance, Hail! Thank you, sincerely yours)
Mind room
All my grieving are my skins,
Cameleon of beautiful leather.
Oh my labyrinthine patterns,
Old skins of detachment and furlough
Oh why I still have a room for you, though?
Short of meaning,
Void of sense.
