THE LOST TAPES Vol.19

   New notebook, new form (?), new me (??)
(what?)
   New brand, a dollar more expensive; soft, plum-like cloud-like heavenly coat of new everywhere
   Little money spent on everything but the quality of the pages, though
   This bookmarker ‘bout to make me kill myself, I swear
   After a couple rains, a couple falls in muddy puddles, though, I wonder
   Wonder how this symbol of symbiotic existence will be after staying with me for a couple months. 

***

new book release today
library completely booked
no fun 

***

   Paint the picture: Sweet old man publishes a book at his favorite local library.
   Invite all his childhood friends to come,
   his family, a huge bunch arrives. Their roles in varying degrees but,
   nonetheless, all below him,
   standing his ground as a benevolent father to all.
   Blessings given away to the young and the old.
   All requested, none for free;
   shows his skills at the typewriter.
   Sweet old man bad-mouths the city paper, with class.
   Hatred and virtú.
   Also says how, in his time, that room to the right didn’t exist,
   and that other one just ahead was where they ate little children alive.
   Stories from an old man. Sweet old man.
   Of the wars he didn’t fought, of the bones he didn’t break,
   the people that never existed, the life he wish to have lived.
   But also about this morning’s coffee at the café around the corner,
   about all the tiny little puppies his bitch gave birth to in the 31st of December, 1999, that are privately bred to this day, each being given to a member of the family, old and new,  as a physical representation of his blessing;
   canine guardians, to protect the family that grew too big for his own capacities. 

   Little circle of intellectuals is formed, criticizing the book.
   “Utter shit, I tell you. Senile, the way he is, the family is just lending him a last wish.”
   “HaHa” laughed another, “’bout to die, gotta finish the darn bucket list.”
   And they all guffawed but, little do they know,
   The sweet old man is happy for once.
   Tired but happy.
   Showing his typewriting skills.
   Like a child;
   not a care in the world.
   Not minding those who insist in being his enemies. 

***

   “Peço já mil perdões, mas escrevo mais do que falo.” Old man at the start of very emotional speech at the signing of his first book.

***

   popo’s everywhere
lucky me they saw me coming out that drugstore

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