THE LOST TAPES Vol.15

   “Look who decided to show up! The World’s Greatest Bitch!”
   Taking a bow I say my thanks.

***

   “Where the boss at, Jonas?”
   “Somewhere in USA, golfing with the president or something.”
   “As if. That old crank would never go golfing.”
   “Oh, but he would. Took him to minigolf last weekend and he tried to bribe the employees to let him stay overnight.”
   “But... Why would you take him and not me? You know I love minigolf.”
   “Ehm... No you don’t? You like bowling.”
   “I don’t like bowling, you like bowling.”
   “Yeah, and you love to be my partner!” 

***

   “You know that hoe with the long pants you were all over some time ago? Guess who’s escorting the boss in this trip.”
   “Oh, my. You kidding right?”
   “Nope, this gossip is factual. She really is a hoe.”
   “Good lord... She ain’t getting a job here, is she?”
   “Job for that bitch only in the big man’s bed, he was telling me about her secret skills.”
   So my mind turns blank. What a crazy world we live in.
   “Annie? You ‘wake? Don’t worry about that pretty sucker, she got the bad rep she deserves.”
   “jesus christ, Jonas, no. I don’t think she’s that bad.”
   “But everybody else does, now you’re not the only slut around here.”
   “As if I was any slut to begin with.”
   “Oh, trust me, you are. La plus pute de toute les putes.”
   “Tu feras un joli cadavre. Je te préfère dur et froid, t'es moins bavard. Conard du bordel.” 

***

the paper pile is not as tall anymore
afraid my job is doomed 

***

Inês at the reception asks me what happened
What do you mean what happened?
I mean this huge scar on your neck 

***

   Work? No, life. To become important, to be more than the next.
   To treat my colleagues with the respect you dish out to christians.
   Scatter the weak for the passage of the Antichrist.
   Car le poids tout-puissant de mes actes est suffisant pour écraser le monde
   And show to who’s beneath me the value of their lives.   

***

from the bed to the desk
what a rush of creativity after sex 

***

   “I wonder if things would workout better if I didn’t say anything.”
   “Of course they would, ignorance is bliss, sweetie.”
   Pressing my hands against my head I feel the blood pumping incessantly. Stress eating away a couple more years of longevity in a single night.
   “You should worry about it, watch your words. Your loose lips will get you killed one day.”
   I curse my senses, my consciousness, the vital fluid teasing my sanity.
   “What a fool you are to think you’re anything.”
   So I whisper, “the same for you.”
   “Oh, well...” I light a cigarette, “try smoking some, will ya?” 

***

   Jovens intelectuais, prodigiosos, prestigiosos, sentam à mesa do Café São Paulo para discutir a última ata.
   — Olavo morreu. E agora?
   — Estamos livres, será?
   — Não estaremos livres nunca, você sabe bem disso.
   — Dou menos de um ano para a desinformação dele se tornar ainda mais desinformada no cultinho da direita.
   — Dou meio-ano para descobrirem na obra dele a chave para a reeleição. Bem em tempo para as votações.
   — Quantos downloads terá a TV Bolsonaro até lá, em?
   — Vai saber. Quero ver é o que o Lula nos dirá contra a direita.
   — Quero ver o que ele nos dirá contra a esquerda, isso sim.
   E todos riram.
   — Será a juventude grande o suficiente para que se possa apoiar homossexualidade em televisão nacional?
   — Oh, querida, a juventude é grande sim. Mas não é todo mundo que gosta de gay. Considere a maioria pobre.
   — Não temos gente o suficiente nas capitais, então?
   — Não com tantos latifundiários ativos por aí...
   A garçonete chega para apanhar os pedidos.
   — Já decidiram?
   — Oui, mademoiselle serveuse. On peut avoir des cinq lattes, s’il vous plaît?
   A pobre moça, não entendendo o mínimo do francês abrasileirado, pediu que repetisse.
   — Putain de singe...
   E todos riram.
   — Olha aqui pra minha mão, ok? Disse fazendo um cinco. Cinq. Lattes. S’il TE, exclamando a última com raiva fingida, plaît. Capiche?
   Sentido-se desmoralizada, acenou com a cabeça e mandou o pedido para a cozinha. Cada um dos jovens soltou um risinho diferente, orquestrado, todos os cinco.
   — O ponto é que temos de entrar na cabeça desses pobres. Plantar a semente por meio da igreja.
   — Quer corromper as igrejas, então?
   — Oh sim, riu alto, “corromper” as igrejas.
   — Arranje vinte milhões da verba pública e tem cada padre de cada mísera igrejinha desse país.
   — Ou seja, 1/2% do fundo partidário.
   E todos riram.
   — Temos de fazer tudo pelo futuro de nosso querido Brasil, não é?
   — Como disse um grande filósofo uma vez: Pela vadia que rebola, pelo pornô do DVD, pela gravidez precoce, pela pedofilia, pelo incentivo da vadia que destrói sua família. Pelo sexo livre, pelo homossexualismo, pela vulgaridade, pelo Funk mais fudido!
   E todos riram.

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