THE LOST TAPES Vol.4

(a third repost of the twice deleted archive, but now translated!)

PT.: [...]A cada minuto tento replantar a semente do “voe abaixo do radar, ninguém precisa saber que você existe” em minha cabeça, mas tudo o que quero, tudo o que sempre quis, era ser alguém normal, com objetivos de vida, com a vontade de viver e fazer mais, de ser O algo superior; apontar o dedo para alguém e dizer o que realmente sinto.

ENG.: [...]Every minute I try to replant the seed of the “fly under the radar, no one needs to know you exist” in my head, but all I want, all I’ve ever wanted, was to be someone normal, with life goals and the will to live and do more, the will to be superior; point at someone and say what I really feel.

***

PT.:

I

Veja a mente.
O que houve com o espaço ao redor? 

Palpitações...
Fortes...
Fortes...
Mais fortes...
Ainda mais fortes
A visão turva.
O que está acontecendo?
Se...
Será...
Será que...
Céus!

Doçura,
Profunda doçura,
Doce doçura.
Perte. 

Palavras saem da boca
Mas o que querem dizer?
Peço socorro?
É minha hora?
Irei morrer?
Mas de que me serve a vida afinal?
O que é a vida quando
Se está a palpitar,
Se está a morrer.
Se está a duvidar o questionar? 

Onde está minha voz?
Meus dedos se movem tão rápido
Balançando o lápis de um
Lado para o outro.
Onde estão as palavras,
E o sentido que devia estar a elas imbuído?
O que acontecerá comigo?
Desesperada como estou,
Louca como estou,
Poeta como estou? 

Desespero
Terrível, desespero.
Estilhaços de sonho
E a-inda maior agonia.
Deus, agora apelo
Seja a você,
ou àquele submerso em R’lyeh.
Socorro! 

Por que tudo está escuro
E as pessoas continuam vivendo
Como se nada tivesse ocorrido?
Mas tudo ESTÁ DIFERENTE.
Como podem ser tão
Insensíveis.
Sensíveis
Corpos
Malditos.
Benditas almas.

II

Mas o que houve?
O que aconteceu?
Por quê? 

Paixão,
Ódio.
Rançoso
Questiona
mento
do
universo
eu? 

Cuida-se do gado
Acordando todos os dias
às 04:00AM
E os gatos
E os bois e vacas.
Dançam à vontade dentro da fogueira.
Malícia.
E em algum ponto do mundo
pode-se escutar.
Com tanto fervor.
os agradecimentos
pela boa colheita. 

E assim  sucede a vida
E assim  suspiro em alívio
E assim  mais um pedaço
demimmorre 

Por que será?
Por quê?
O quê?
Quero saber. O quê?
O que ocorreu?
Estou bem assim?
Estou bem?
Estou!
[?]

 

ENG.:

I

Look inside the mind.
What happened to the surroundings? 

Palpitations...
Strong...
Stronger...
Even stronger...
The blurred vision.
What’s happening?
What...
What if...
What if it is...
Oh, god!

Sweetness,
Profound sweetness,
Sweet sweetness.
Perte. 

Words come out of the mouth
But what do they mean?
Do I ask for help?
Has my time come?
Will I die?
But what good is life anyway?
What is life when
It’s palpitating,
When you’re about to die.
When you doubt the question? 

Where is my voice?
My fingers move so fast
Dragging the pencil
From side to side.
Where are the words
And the sense that should be imbued to them?
What’s going to happen with me?
Desperate as I am,
Crazy as I am,
Poet as I am! 

Terrible
Despair, despair.
Dream shards
And e-ven more agony.
god, now I call
To you, or
the one submerged in R’yleh.
Aide-moi! 

Why is everything dark
And people keep living
As if nothing happened?
But everything IS DIFFERENT.
How can they be so
Insensitive.
Sensitive
goddamned
Bodies.
god-blessed souls. 

II

But what happened?
What happened?
What? 

Passion,
Hatred.
Rancid
Questio
ning
of
the
universe
me?

They care for the cattle
Waking up everyday
at 04:00AM
And the cats
And the oxen and the cows.
Dance as they will inside the bonfire.
Malice.
And somewhere in the world
You can hear.
So fervently.
The thanks
for the good harvest. 

And this way  goes life
And this way  I sigh in relief
And this way  another piece
ofmedie

Why’s that?
Why?
What?
I want to know. What?
What happened?
Am I OK like this?
Am I OK?
I am.
[?]

*** 

PT.: Ações dirigidas pelo puro instinto, quebrando os limiares das regulares normas de um belo quadro social, e fazendo chorar — ao reconhecer a beleza da dor — os sorridentes babuínos, que preparam seu café pela manhã com a felicidade e esperança que colhem de um pomar negro como a noite chamado ideologia. Grande o suficiente para se perder, transviar da invisível trilha e caminhar sem rumo, sem destino, sem objetivos pela obscuridade de sua própria mente; alucinações mastigando sua ensaiada sanidade.

   [...]Mentecaptos são os gênios; ojerizados, os belos de caráter, banhados no sangue de seus inferiores por seus inferiores.

ENG.: Actions driven by pure instinct, breaking the limits of the regular norms in a beautiful society, and making cry — by recognizing the beauty of pain — the baboons, that prepare their coffee in the morning with the happiness and hope they gather from a garden black as night called ideology. Big enough to get lost, stray off the trail and walk aimlessly, with no destination, with no goal through the obscurity of their own minds; hallucinations eating away their rehearsed sanity.

   [...]Idiots are the geniuses; disgusting, the handsome of character, bathed in their inferiors’ blood by their inferiors.

***

PT.: Temo não valer alguns poucos minutos do dia dela.

ENG.: I’m afraid I’m not worth a few minutes of her day.

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