I AM MY NIGHTMARE MIRROR

[PT/ENG]      Céu nublado,    Navegando o Opalão laranja modificado.    Óculos de sol recém-comprados no camelô,    Copaço de chá gelado,    Rasgando a Presidente Dutra.   ***    Rock bar repleto de hillbillies brasileiros,     “Pabllo Vittar tocando no Lollapalooza, Anitta tocando no Lollapalooza. Uma porrada de gente falando como eles representam bem o Brasil, mas eu te digo uma coisa,” falava o homem calvo de meia-idade, cuspindo enquanto falava, “a mim ele não representa. Meu presidente, Jair Bolsonaro lá em cima, ele sim me representa. Mas um frango?”   ***    Portando uma camiseta do Rolling Stones e a calça rasgada comprada dez anos atrás, ele sobe no busão. Óculos-escuros na cara, cabelo desgrenhado, chinelos Havaianas pretos, antes azuis-claros; com certeza acabou de sair do banho na ducha suja da oficina. Está indo para o centro da cidade. Deve ter sido dia de pagament...

    She nudges me with her elbow, we both sat at a sidewalk bench, watching the cars pass by,    “Did you check out those sideboobs?”     “Of course I did, huge milkers,” I respond.     “I wonder if they’re real milkers. Bet she’s pretty proud of them.”     “Yeah, look there,” I point at the huge milkers lady across the street, that is now talking with a group of other women, holding the baby picked up from a stroller.     “Oh, so she really is a mom,” says she, realizing the obvious. “Those do look very milkful.”     “Though not milkful enough.”     “And how much is enough?”     “Enough to cover the whole kitchen floor, in flood.”     “Oh,” she chuckles, “I got that. Like that movie, right?”     “Yeah. Miike. Did you know he also directed ‘Audition’?”     “That one with the piano wire? Got you. The Japanese really do know how to make their horror entertaining.”  ...

    “Bem. Estou bem. Sem motivos para estar melhor ou pior.”     “É tão monótona, sabe?, a vida... Tão cheia de falhas, de buracos, e nós como falhas, como acaso. A saliva do deus peregrino que aconteceu de ser cheia de vida. Tudo nosso não passa de extensão daquilo que nunca deveria ser, tão sem sentido quanto todo o resto que posso ver, tocar. As palavras não deviam existir, os sons, as imagens, as roupas, não deviam existir. Tão menos a arte, tão menos a ciência, tão menos nós aqui, conversando... Sabe?     “Qual o sentido da vida? Nosso criador nunca nos deu sentido para viver. Frutos do acaso, perambulamos para lá e para cá, inventando conceitos, uma roda atrás da outra, inventando modas. Quando um morre, tem dois, três nascendo. Avanços para o geral, nunca individual, pois o que é individual importa tanto para o próximo quanto o geral para o resto do universo. Não consigo me importar com qualquer conquista humana, nenhuma delas me fascina. E...

  [This is a translation for a short story written originally in Portuguese on September of 2021.]    For a week now I’ve been having this same dream, in which I wake up, have a cup of coffee and walk to this certain street. Through this street I only went once in my entire life, and doing so did not precede any momentous occasion, though I can accurately describe every building, the state of the asphalt, and the parked cars in that morning I experienced them more than a decade ago. The appearance of the exact four people that passed by me, I could put on paper right now, and in the dreams I can feel their presence just as I did in the past. At no other time within this past decade has such a vivid memory occurred to me, but now I am bound to it like a curse.    At this moment it is impossible to tell if I’m dreaming or awake, for the taste of the bitter coffee still resides on my tongue, I can feel the wind cooling my face and the sweat inside the co...

    Bell rings    Open doors    Staircase    Five knocks    Come in      Tears everywhere, it’s so cold they freeze    My face frozen, the face of pain    Or maybe not, maybe less    Maybe just disappointment      No surprise, no news here    Nothing to startle, expected    Somewhat an invitation    Desire’s craving    Craving desires    Poetic stupor      There’s no need to question    Comfortable sofa and we sit on the floor    Porcelain floor    Black porcelain, black walls    Lights out      I want you to fuck me until I’m unable to walk    I want to black out, forget everything that is    I want the bad things to go away    Make me forget everything, start anew    I give up my entitled megalomania...

Yep, that’s the second old man in a crop top we saw today.   *** The Winter is coming and I am ready to never see the sun ever again. *** The bald lady from the window came to me today. Said “hi”, I replied a “hello”, and then it got awkward. We shared cellular numbers and parted ways. Maybe it’s better if she stays up there in her window, and me down here at my bus stop. Otherwise it was just not meant to be. *** I’m telling you, it’s easy money. You already fill bottles of piss every night Why not sell it?   — Selling pussy doesn’t diminish a girl’s value. — Tell that to Purrp.   *** Thought to be goth meeting Turned into K-pop debauchery Bad taste in dark colors   ***    Shiny red bicycle    Curves so round, so luscious    Delicate and feminine    A handmade basket adorns the front [holding a pink purse    And riding it is a serious woman    Wearing serious clothes    Posing a serious face ...

[Essa versão está bastante datada (11/23) e permanece aqui somente para arquivo. O trabalho foi reescrito e virá de conjunto um novo projeto.]    Foi bom ser criança de condomínio,    Por mais que nunca tenha morado em um,    Vivendo em bairro pobre ou suburbano    Sempre há quilômetros de distância de tudo.      Meus amigos também não moravam em condomínio    Mas eram todos eles ricos     — como crianças de condomínio —    Esbanjando dos sonhos dos outros    E da falta de limites duma rebeldia infundada.      Qualquer um dirigia naquela época,    Mesmo menor de idade,    Os carros dados de presente com antecedência,    E levava a turma toda pra uma noite de terror,    E não nosso terror, mas dos outros.      Pulávamos muros, pisávamos grama fresca,    Roubávamos flores, cartas,    Quebráva...

a collection of everything I wrote about muses since last time     Goth chick Sitting alone Crying Issues away   *** Under sunlight Red head, now redder Can’t stop looking   *** “What are you reading?” “Scliar.” “Damn, you’re lame...”   “So you’re saying Lovecraft is better than Scliar?” “Without shadow of a doubt.” “You got so less attractive now.”   *** Fishnet and high heels 2XL hoodie and a backpack Student by day, hooker by night   *** Ruling over me, Tesla Coming over me, Snow Let us hit the deck   *** Female backpacks are a lie. Show me one that can hold a dildo Twice my size.   *** Today the streets are full of redheads. Mayhaps a witch reunion? Am I in heaven?   *** Snow cold outside. Why can the hot librarian Bring a blanket?   *** Café next to the library. “Here, this is for you.” “Thanks, but I’m allergic to cocoa.”   *** Gathered all books With boobs on the cover. Half deserving, half not.   *** Calliope, Venu...