Premiere

31 03 2018

Fragmentos

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.

Anúncios




Pré Estréia

31 03 2018
Obra do Nove e Tinho Nomura

Obra do Nove e Tinho Nomura (Images by Google)

 

Entre paixões e desilusões eu me rendo quase que por completo nas primeiras horas do dia. Em um êxtase quase que controlado, eu rumo vagarosamente ao desconhecido e inesperado. Na cabeça a memória do teu rosto sorrindo meio que tímido pra mim, na boca o gosto do café adocicado que eu aprecio em todas as manhãs.

Ao meu redor é possível sentir o futuro, ou ao menos, a ideia dele. Esta pré estréia que nasce no meu peito, como os primeiros raios de Sol de uma manhã ainda de verão apesar de estarmos no outono, me alegra e dá medo.

Contudo, estou em um tipo de comunhão silenciosa com o sentimento de despedida e de chegada.  O nascer me entusiasma de maneira muito branda mas significativa. Eu sou eu, você é você, me lembro de Clarice… De alguma maneira renasce em mim um escritor que fala de presente e do agora. Este escritor que sou eu e que quer expressar-lhe diretamente os detalhes de uma vida interior e sem definição, pede  voz, e eu me permito ser ele. Tudo de maneira consciente e branda e tranquila, “plenitude sem fulminação”.

Quem é você? Quem sou eu? Seremos breves recomeços? Construções e descobertas? Chegaremos ao senso comum entre insistências e desistências? Tudo é tão verde, imaturo e quase que um broto resistente a esta cidade de desilusões que se tornou São Paulo nos últimos tempos. Sobreviveremos apenas neste escrito e a algumas trocas artísticas e musicais? Continuaremos a nos render como dois meninos em busca do que ainda de fato não experimentaram?

Decidi que não quero medir  em tempo, este escritor que me permito ser neste instante, fala de percepções do presente e está ancorado no agora. Nos instantes que são gigantes mas também breves, irracionalmente bonitos e revogam em palavras o direito de existir.





Para Maysas e Vanderléias

30 12 2017

Artista: Tinho – 2013 – Two Sisters . óleo sem tela. Image by Google. Contato do artista: @tinho23sp

Entre Maysas, Clarices, Jupiters, Silvas e Vanderléias, I’m here. Pulmões danados as cinco da tarde, existindo entre cigarros e olhos molhados mas eu estou aqui. Não estou certo se estou aqui pra escrever pra mim ou pra você. Não sei se quero me lamentar, te agradecer, ou mesmo, se escrevo apenas pra dizer que te amo e depois ficar achando que você não acredita. Não sei bem porque estou aqui, eu só sei que estoy aqui, je suis ici, I´m fucking here, again.  Tenho um free em um das mãos, uma coca cola na outra. Estou aqui e ponto. Estou diante de você, olhando na pupila do seu olho, viajando no azul do seu azul, respirando a sua respiração, sentindo o seu cheiro e desejando com os meus olhos um sorriso teu e uma promessa de recomeço.

Sabe, eu adoraria que esta carta fosse alegre, ou mesmo, para te dar ou desejar boas notícias, mas eu choro, e sei que você sabe disso. No fundo, eu gosto e não gosto que você saiba. Tá vendo? Eu não sou um cara tão legal assim. No fundo eu gosto de saber que você sabe da dor aqui. Entende, eu não sou perfeito. Eu não sei se você se lembra mas eu nunca fiquei bem com a perfeição que você me dava. Eu não te achava perfeito na maioria das vezes, eu te achava possível. Um possível bem generoso. Um possivel daqueles que a gente quer pra sempre, sabe? Bem, tá certo que tem muito ideal meu aí  – my thing. Coisas de Netuno em Peixes, é tenso assim. Veja bem, eu não quero que você se foda, mas não serei destes que em “ágape absoluto”, vai querer acompanhar a sua vida feliz, ao lado do seu novo futuro esposo, aquele político diplomata da Normandia. Sou humano e fodido demais pra aceitar uma destas. E confesso que há até um certo charme em pensar da maneira como eu penso, um dia te explico.

Eu quero que você que você seja feliz e ponto, não quero ver fotinhos dos seus cachorrinhos e plantinhas no whatsapp. Tsc, tsc, não vou querer olhar a sua felicidade.  Não quero constatar a sua felicidade enquanto a minha nunca for tão certa assim. Egoísta, humano, errante e  vivo este sou eu também, um eu que  você se recusou a ver. Sendo sincero, tenho problemas em perder, e não quero compartilhar este tipo de felicidade contigo.  Calma, é claro que vou encontrar outras pessoas quando eu eventualmente quiser, mas nenhuma delas vai ser você. Nenhuma delas me provocará as mesmas sensações e os sentimentos que você provocou. Serão novas experiências, novas dores, novos amores. Mas de verdade? O que eu queria mesmo era que alguém me contasse como é que a gente faz pra passar do estágio da paixão, amor platônico, ciúme e etc… para a fase em que a gente constrói algo duradouro, e aceita que nem um e nem outro é perfeito mas que somos a melhor opção para se passar o resto da vida. Eu posso estar falando merda. desculpa aê.

Nestes dias de um verão abafado e cinzento, tenho me perguntado bastante sobre como você está reagindo. E então depois de uma manha serena, uma tarde complicada e uma noite tranquila, eu comecei a me questionar e rascunhar as seguintes perguntas: Você ainda se pergunta sobre mim? Digo isso, porque tá na cara que você também não tá bem com o final da história. Mas e então? Me conta, como é  que você faz pra mudar de pensamento quando a direção está apontada pra mim? Como você fica melhor? Como você sabe que não está mentindo para si mesmo? É só dar um passo pra atrás e está tudo resolvido? Me conta como você faz, please. Quem sabe não vai me ajudar tentar os teus métodos aqui.

Eu estou cansado cara, e eu sei que você também está. Procurei a definição de engano no dicionário, não encontrei nada bonito pra colocar aqui e linkar com algo que eu realmente queira dizer, mas me pus a perguntar se hoje pra você, meu sobrenome é somente engano e se algum dia eu deixei de ser a suspeita dele.

Eu verdadeiramente queria te escrever coisas motivadoras e permanentes. Seria um modo de permanecer aí com você de algum modo, seria um antídoto para o caso da minha imagem começar a desaparecer na sua mente. Mas sabe, no fundo, se eu tivesse três desejos todos seriam gastos em apagar aquela tarde onde você decidiu que me via somente como amigo. Estou perdido, e acho que tenho um problema com o apego da idéia de você. Sabe, no fundo eu queria ter feito tanta coisa contigo, eu gostaria de ter te proporcionado mais bons do que maus momentos. Eu queria ter ido contigo pro Rio. Você não sabia, mas eu já tinha reservado um final de semana pra nós. Enfim, eu queria ter jantado fora com você, conhecer e te apresentar os bares alternativos da Vila Madalena. Eu queria ter tentado mais. Eu queria. E eu sei que de certo modo eu não segurei a onda depois de aceitar que você não me queria do mesmo jeito que eu te queria. Estávamos os dois cansados após este um ano. Mas vem cá, você não acha que poderíamos ter tentado mais?

Enfim, permaneço aqui sem um discurso permanente e motivador, muito menos interessante.  Vai passar, eu sei. Mas eu apenas estou aqui, diante de você, olhando na pupila do seu olho, viajando no azul do seu azul, respirando a sua respiração, sentindo o seu cheiro e desejando com os meus olhos um sorriso teu.

 





Gray

21 12 2017


To read listening: A Flor e o espinho – Mariana Aydar.

I could love you forever. I said to myself when I open my eyes in the middle of the dawn. I did sleep on the sofa. It would be less painful than sleep in bed. In fact, no one ever know how much I avoided the bedroom since you leaved me. There was an awkward sensation on that place. For me, your luggage was there, your perfume was there, our mess in the bed was there, the pillows, the blanket – where we sweat a lot in our last night together – was there. Even my the underwear remained in the carpet. Our lub was there, near bed behind the books to make everything easier but not exposed. It was possible to see your smile floating on air. You was there, just sleeping,  just being beautiful with your tasty and hot white body, your beautiful blue eyes, and your unique presence. You was there, with me, and I wasn’t ready to destroy this yet. Above all,  everything what we were, was there. And I knew it will be impossible to dwell in that bedroom for a while, at least to me. My feelings and memories would not fit into this room.This was my only certainty at that moment. My bedroom  isn’t mine anymore, I thought. The bedroom has become a place dedicated to the memories and the longings.

 

Why love matters so much? I asked myself in silence before to get up unwillingly and open the window. We had a grey sky outside and I felt a comforter wind in my face already full of tears. Oh Shit, can I stop to cry for a second? I asked myself until to notice that the blue sky and the heat, from the previous days, was gone with you. Are you gone together? Are you with the cold in some place between my insecurities and yours? I don’t know. I just knew you was in some place far away from me, far away from my love and I couldn’t do anything to change that. So, I secretly thank you to take away the heat from here and took my way to the kitchen to make the coffee. It will be good follow the morning routine.

 

I started the coffee preparation as usual, I put two cups of water, one filter, five spoons of Brazilian Coffee while the milk with sugar was heating in the micro wave. I checked the fridge and I could noticed some food in way to rot I may write to you about this. It was a quiet and almost cold morning and I was overthinking, saying to myself: I knew we would end up like this! I knew it and didn’t. Being honest, I wasn’t aware it would be so painful. The pain, the same pain that makes me human according to nihilists, It was sharp, hopeless, and thin. I needed to do something to change that.  So, I move myself to the balcony, with the simple purpose to watch the life beyond my thoughts about you.

 

In the balcony I feel some cold and I like it, then I focused my attention above the commuters on their way to work. How small they are, I thought. Silly human beings with their unsolved troubles walking around very slowly under a thin and persistent rain. They was so squeezing that morning. All of them among their colorful umbrellas in tight sidewalks from a weird suburb, in the most insane town of Latin America in a country unmeasuredly colorful. My color for that day? Grey. I was completely grey. Not black even white. I was being this undefined color, grey. The coffee might be ready, I remember myself and I took my way back to the kitchen to finish this part of my daily tasks.

 

After to grab my coffee I goes to my humble TV room and I sat there for few minutes struggling to watch the news on the couch – my new bed. I drink one sip, two, when an image comes to mind. It was you walking around wearing your gray sweater shorts full of blue stars smoking a cigarette and just smiling to me trying to understand my poor English. I’m sure that you try to love me back. However, no one is able to understand the love so much. The last three days were days that you almost asked me to leave you. Why I was deceiving myself? You really asked, without a word. You were asking, leave me, look how I treat you, notice how I don’t want you anymore, leave me. Sudenly I Iremember why I became shy and I was all the time asking if I could touch or kiss you, you was just saying: Leave me Marcos, we don’t get horny anymore together. Was everything about sex though? I don’t know.

 

You will be my unsolved problem. A kind of task insolvable. Something to feel in silence, between the teeth, a small nuisance, a little sadness pretending to be hope, a happiness not contagious but epidemic. You will be something between my daily tasks and the love that we didn’t allowed. I was overthinking again. When I received a message from my bank and I remember with a little fear, that I’m a job seeker and I needed to do the ‘real’ things: checking all social networks, send resumes and pray to someone call me asking an interview.

 

I was really trying to do something who lead me far away from the idea of you. At the end, I had promise to you, that I’ll be fine. However It was impossible at that time. I can’t have strength to be happy and I also believed that the only way to find happiness it’s allowing the pain. The humanity have some concepts about love and happiness so different and so similar around these subjects, don’t you think? Maybe I’m crazy. No, we are crazy. I remembered when you told me.

 

You don’t know but from the first day you talked to me, since that afternoon, when we hadn’t started anything yet – when you came to my previous apartament and after our first ‘official date’  I was maturing our end, I think I did that during this last year, when we was united and separated at the same time. I don’t know why, but I’ve always been in this constant state of passion and grief. I was always preparing myself for the love but also for the pain. So there I was, checking the WhatsApp to feel the pleasure to talk with you and the same time the sadness because of your departure.

 

You was in Madrid waiting the conection to Brussels. We exchange few words, you said thank you for everything and we start to ‘fight’ for the guilty. We always fought for the guilty. I think we did that because, at the end, we know we were ‘the ones’. I wouldn’t lie to myself, but maybe we are ‘the ones’ just in different steps in the life. Who knows what can be happen? ‘Tomorrow is going to be a new day’ said Chico Buarque on the CD Player next to the grey couch where I, grey as I am, lived all day.





8 days with(out) you

15 12 2017

margarida PB

I recommend this reading by listening to the following songs: Stan Getz 

(You know, just my style 😊 )

 

It’s been 8 days since you left. And still, I wake up madginly worried about you. I can imagine this situation isn´t  easy for you, either. After all, we decided to end it all when we faced our first obstacule when we were face to face, eye to eye. What is more painful, is that we know there’s still so much love, affection, and a huge desire to care for each other. Maybe there´s still an inconcious and intense wish to try one last time. Yes, my prince. We´ve been planning something different now. Today, I believe both of us would like to have something that was more than what we had.

I wake up in the eighth day without you. I mean, without the possibility of ever having you back. The first thought that comes to my mind is the image of your body sleeping next to me. First, I feel the fabric of the pillow with my hands and if I put some effort in my nose it´s possible to feel you. My sheets still have your particulars smells. I remembered that sometimes, during the night, I woke up with a terrible cramp in my left arm, where your head gently rested all night. I never told you this, because for me,  worth it to feel any pain just to see you sleeping like an angel, by my side. In my arms. As you used to say, with such affection.

We can´t ordered that someone loves us, but we should just leave them in the past in case they reject us. Crazy social rules, non? I mean, I can´t suffer because you don´t love me, you, in your side should felling relieved to don´t start this relationship with someone you can´t love. Someone like me, too damage to anyone. I was wondering about it these days, but we can talk about this, you know, in another time.

I would love to tell you that everything has been ‘Supér’. But the truth is that the days haven’t been easy. It’s nothing related just with you, maybe a little. It’s nothing serious, just my heart beating and wanting that we have keep it going. I know, I’ll get over it. I need it. But in the last Sunday for example was one of the most complicated days. Firstly because I had to explain to my mother – who had separated a plant for you to take home – the reason for your early departure. Second, because I had to make a huge effort to smile, so people wouldn’t notice that who was there was just a ghost wandering through the lunch table. Third, there was only so much shame over me. All, because of this situation that I proposed myself, and the worst, at my own choice. Despite everyone warning me about your signs,  too hard to read at that time. Even you, honestly saying clearly to me that we were in different steps. Well, probably I have some problem in my mind. However, I survived to the ´Shit Sunday’ as I named the day.  Now, I think back on these days and recalls the words of poet, Kathleen Stewart, who wrote of a similar heartbreak: ‘that week ate to itself, slice after slice.’

I’ve been read a lot about how to overcome rejection. My goal is to find some solution that will put me in the right direction of life without you, or without this dream that I build up in my secrect world. I urgently need to make some decisions around unemployment, future, living abroad, this apartment that now remembers you, my money, kind of affective life I want to have, and so on. I hope you’re trying to be okay too, doing whatever you need to do. To be easier for me, I’m reading theories wrote by Freud with  many  different thoughts, I´m listening music and writing letters to you ,that I will never give to you. So, I put myself to think about many things to feel myself alive. I’m hardly trying to be functional. Through reading, I’ve discovered a text by Alain de Botton, which gives philosophical clues to dealing with rejection, everything in some kind of cartoon animation it shows a couple splitting up their relationship. The script say: ‘the only good relationship, the only relationship worth mourning, would be one to which two people desperately wanted to belong. This was not – in the end – despite all the signs – that kind of a relationship at all.’

I wondered if we both desperately wanted to belong to this relationship? I answered seconds later with a big and loud YES. YES, we both wanted to build a relationship. I may have acted in a desperate way and you always have a natural and restrained way, hoping for this “feeling” that I could never understand what it was. Were we wrong to act in different ways? No, absolutely. However, among natural exaggerations, I think we lost each other.

I asked myself why I was so dramatic. But I absolved myself, few minutes later, because you know, I’m Brazilian. In ‘Tupiniquins lands’ people are so dramatic. Then I wondered if I’d be overreacting to come here and write you these words. I concluded definitely that yes, I would. But the way I see things, it’s a waste of time to talk about you with someone else. So, I preferred to come here and put down these words.

However, I promised to myself that this would be one of the last letter´s . I would truly love to be your friend, but I cannot, at least not right now. That it would be unfair, not just for me. I’m a persistent person in worrying levels, and it would be a crap for you to deal with my insanity. To be honest, it would be unhealthy to be ‘just friends’, it will sounds weird, we will loose something that we already had. We could propose to each other now, just a ‘soft’ friendship, nothing sincere and intense as I´d like to mantain. And it is impossible for me to maintain a friendship with you without feed my passionate mind with some hope around you. Hopes that you didn´t give to me, and honestly, it will take time for you give to me, and I don’t have time to wait. It’s not that you are not worth the wait, you worth it. But I’ve waited for you too long. So, just for now, I’d rather leave the door open for whenever you want to, get in with your love, your availability, and your desperate desire to belong to this relationship and be my boyfriend – nothing more, nothing less.

I’m sorry to write you and speak so directly and openly about what I feel. I´m nothing  doing this to hurt you, I’m just relieving something here in me, something that just needs to go out toward you, not to someone with opinions based on experiences that I did not have. You don´t need to read my crap, it´s just my inner voice who needs to get out. That said, I’ve been talking with few friends, and one of them has told me an interesting theory about ending-relationship processes. The theory said that a ending love usually follows the same phases for both involved, following the logic of 1st Denial, 2nd Acceptance, 3rd Reaction and Redemption. This last phase involves self forgiveness, that´s why it´s more challenging.  This last one, told me something about us.  We’ll need to forgive ourselves for missing out ‘amazing guys’ like us. Just for the record, after filling some type of questionnaire, I’m on the first step, dening our end, according to this theory.

But you know, I love myself and I love you. In fact, I’ve been learning to love myself since you came into my life, this it would be your legacy. So, thank you for that. And thank you for all the other things you made me realize about me, including my youthful and impractical ideals.

I would like to end by saying different things, but again I will say that I still have many doubts regarding our history. Some of them I will solve alone, with the strangest excuses you will ever imagine. The other ones, I don’t think you know how to answear, even  those doubts being about yourself. For all of them, we have time. The hours and endless possibilities.

I’m so glad for your love, for your affection and concerns. And just to say it again, there is still much love here. Love for you, and for the idea of having our space, our Labrador, our place in the world amid 70,000 plants and a healthy life. I’m sure there’s a lot of love in you too, take care of it as best you can. Someday, If you’ve been needing, you can to empower yourself with my love. Especially when you lack loving and a tender look about yourself.

I need to end this book, almost letter, but in fact just an e-mail that I wrote by my smartphone.

I hope you’ll be fine. My end it’s still be: I am here! But without predictions of waiting or chance. It is a ‘I am here’, convinced and believing that any relationship is possible, mainly if we can respect ourselves as human beings. Despite all romanticism and all songs about relationships, I think if we can manage the respect for one another, as humans being and individuals as we are,  everything is possible. So, I’m here with my arm extend for you to put your head and be my angel for many nights among my sheets that I can’t wash up intending to keep you around.

Always…

Muitos Beijos.





Thoughts & Strawberries

9 12 2017

 

Me&You

 

It’s still afternoon, São Paulo looks like a greenhouse. I look with some disdain to a wet, sultry and gray landscape. These colorful, crowded, huddled and wet concrete walls that I see now strangely brings me to the strawberries just about to rot in the fridge. Strawberries that I choose, strawberries that we didn’t eat, strawberries that I eat, now.

You know, the act of eating is in itself an almost sadistic pleasure. It involves turning into tasty peaces something that just a while ago fed ours eyes and served our conceited concept of food chain.

In the middle of nowhere, I, sadistic as I am, eat. I chew, delight myself with the almost moldy strawberries. One part of me, tastes your pain with unpleasuring, the other part regurgitates mine.

When I look to my pain, I realize that it stumbles on guilt. Yes, there’s still a lot of guilt around. I declared myself guilty without any effort on your part. I blame myself for have believed, for thinking that I’m pathetic in all the love that overflows of me, even now, when I decide to write this words. At the same time, I feel guilty for feeling guilty about all of this. Because I shouldn’t be guilty to love someone wonderful as you are. But I’m so guilty to don’t realize before that you always have been saying about the different steps and showing to me that we don’t have the chemistry, the ‘feeling’ that you are looking for and etc…

I’m here, also thinking about throwing myself in the “what ifs” that we said to each other in our last days here. And I feel sorry to don’t telling to myself with the necessary awareness, that you obviously don’t wish me. And then I try to find the taste of this morning in the strawberries that you let rot in the midst of an absurd fear to be happy and an abysmal distance.

In the end, I have so much to be grateful or to thank you for these experience. And yes, I could hate you, making up zillions of artificial imperfections that, deep down, you don’t have. I could even say that I don’t love you anymore and move on, but just for today, in the middle of this faded and sultry day in São Paulo, let’s let ‘Bossa Nova’ play on the record player to clear up what’s left here besides the strawberries that we are choosing to let rot.





Queixa musical

7 12 2013

desabafoPara quê me quer aqui, posto, disposto a te fazer feliz? Suplica minha educação, minha gentileza, mas no fundo, no fundo, subestima minha inteligência. Tudo bem, compreensão nunca foi seu forte. Não tem problema, eu explico como funcionam as coisas do lado de cá. Sabe, eu sempre fui da turma do tudo ou nada. Nunca me dei bem com estas situações, meio inverno, meio calor, meia cor, meio amigo e muito menos meio amor. Gosto meu, coisa de gente tola, densa, mas sobretudo real demais para alimentar uma pseudo esperança que não nos levará a lugar algum. Me chame de descrente, me acuse negligência mas ao mesmo tempo me desculpe. Desde que você resolveu viver sua pseudo paixão exaltação – embora não sem dor – eu te deixei partir. Afinal meu caro, a matemática que agora nos envolve é de fácil entendimento: se um não quer, duas vezes a indiferença a que me expõe quando não me precisas, é igual a minha total vontade de te deixar partir. E eu só te grito esta queixa, pra você entender que o objetivo da minha deixa é pra você ser feliz, pra você viver aquilo que se convenceu ser o maior amor da sua vida, pra você esquecer que estarei sempre aqui. Portanto sejamos sensatos, aceite os fatos, e seja gentil. Quem decidiu dar cabo da sua existência cotidiana fui eu. E para mim a meta é simples, e por mais que não entenda, eu só quero me livrar, te esquecer, sobretudo olhar as luzes que seus olhos não me tem deixado ver. E não fique bravo, mas entenda as consequências ao entrar em contato com uma pessoa intensa e dura como eu. Então fica comigo, ou vai viver sua epifania ética e na sua concepção moralmente aceita e me deixe em paz. Afinal, se você não me queria, não devia me procurar, não devia me iludir, nem deixar eu me apaixonar. Por fim, fique tranquilo, o meu desejo de bom dia, ou mesmo, a curiosidade de saber como vai você, não te fará mais ou menos infeliz. E apenas para arrematar, sobre a  preocupação do que os outros podem maldar, não esquente, entre o nada que pode me ofertar e o nada que pareço lhe dedicar além daquilo que hoje não pode corresponder, não há espaço para que possam nos notar e nos julgar.