THE LOST TAPES Vol.27

[PT/ENG] 

sparkling water desire
blond hair, expensive floral dress
state-of-the-art ray-bans
owning up to the riches unowned
showing all to all a disguise
even for herself 

***

   — Bom dia, senhora. Venho lhe pedir humildemente que me ajude com um dinheirinho aí, para o almoço — Disse o menino baleiro, — Tenho umas pastilhas aqui, dois reais cada. Estou com muita fome.
   — Desculpe rapaz, não tenho dinheiro nenhum comigo.
   — Eu aceito pix, — Responde, mantendo a mesma cara de cachorro molhado.
   — Não tenho nem celular, nem pix.
   Aí ele puxa uma máquina de cartão do bolso,
   — Passa cartão também. 

***

hollow, dread, sorrow
14yo philosophy, grown up seriousness
unending suffering but romanticized at its limit 

***

   In the glass house waiting for a surprise attack
   Living life like a fuck put a price on my head
   Paranoid, never eat, never sleep
   Where’s my god at? 

***

   “What has gotten into you lately? You’ve been mentioning god a lot.”
   “I don’t know. Feels like he’s my biggest adversary at the moment.”
   “And what he’s done to you?”
   “Nothing. he just watches.”
   “You better quit talking about god, you’re sounding nuts.” 

***

   Can you walk?
   No.
   Stay here, I’ll grab us a bite to eat.
   She’s gone.
   I’m alone. 

   The stars can be seen twinkling
   —, this park is huge —,
   but my incapacitated brain fails
[in taking me to the far out,
   though I’m not anymore in my body.
   I’m out of here but still inside.
   There, but not there.
   A place non-place of dubious serenity.
   Overly-fatigued, avant-homo.   

   I don’t see the man approaching.
   Looking at him but the tree is blocking
[the moon light.
   His face is obscured.
   He doesn’t say anything.
   Sniffs my body covered in dry sweat,
   runs his hands through my arms,
   through my legs, my face,
   like a monkey following instincts.   

   Nothing comes out of my mouth
   as his hand goes up under my shirt.
   or as he reaches down to my crotch,
   or as his tongue begins to run over my face.
   I’m paralyzed.
   Not in panic or distress,
   Fear or dread,
   But as if drugged, unable to care. 

   He took advantage of my inert body
[until the sole of rocks found his face.
   She came back to the rescue.
   The man was beaten up under god’s eyes,
   under moon shine.
   Blood watered the grass that night,
   and he ran as death approached.
   I watched torpefied as the scene unfolded,
   still unable to move, legs tingling;
   she looked fearless, livid as she was.
   A lunar guardian —, or better, martian.
   In full Mars, under what seemed like
[a full moon.
   Sat by my side, tears in her eyes.
   You’re alright now.

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