31 03 2018


Among passions and delusions I surrender myself almost completely in the early hours of the day. In an almost controlled ecstasy, I slowly drift into the unknown and unexpected. In my mind I have the memory of your smiling face, kind of shy, smiling to me, in my mouth the taste of the sweet coffee that I use to do every morning.

Around me is possible to feel the future, or at least, the idea of ​​it. This premiere that is borning in my chest, like the first rays of the sun one summer morning even though we are in the autumn, rejoys me but also cause me some fear.

However, I am in a kind of silent communion with the feeling of the goodbyes and arrivals. The birth of what doesn´t have a name yet, excites me in a very mild but significant way. I am who I am, you’re you, I´m remembering Clarice Lispector.

Somehow a writer is reborn inside of me, he speaks about the present and the instants. This writer who wants to express directly to you. He wants to talk about the details of an interior life without a definition. He asks me for his voice. I allow myself to be him. I am him, in a conscious, gentle and quiet way, “fulness without fulmination”.

Who are you? Who am I? Are we going to be brief resumes? Engagement and discoveries? Will we come to the common sense between insistence and resistence? Everything is so green, immature but resistant to this city of disillusionment that has become São Paulo nowadays. Will we survive only in this writing and some artistic and musical exchanges? Will we continue to surrender like two boys in search of what they have not really experienced?

I decided that I do not want to measure anything in time. The writer that I allow myself to be at this moment, speaks of perceptions of the present and he is anchored in the now. He talks about the instants that are giants but also brief, irrationally beautiful, revoking in words the right to exist.



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