I AM MY NIGHTMARE MIRROR

For so long I’ve waited For what I thought was the right moment To check on you, talk to you Show you I have changed Not the person I once was But different, better, with a new view of this new world I wanted to love you again and maybe get from you any kind of affection Thinking twice, thrice, on what to say next Spent the whole afternoon practicing a conversation But you stopped me before I had the chance And now what? What can I do? Am I really that unlikable to not even deserve a second chance?   *** maybe just show off pinky ring maybe accept and be proud of my fate as a maiden   *** baphomet printed on large black tee protestant woman in her jeans skirt don’t even look at me when I say “good morning”   *** Winter is coming The neighborhood committee Began to dress stray dogs In cozy coats   *** The trio walks down the avenue Colored hair, short hair, puny accents on broken English Skateboards and jean jackets; buttons, patches and heavy make-up Grandma’s got face tats, walking be

[PT only]      Estes são alguns experimentos em improviso e crônica, inspirado nos trabalhos de Rogério Menezes para o Correio Braziliense. ***    Rogério, 37, é morador de bairro pobre nos confins da cidade. Pega ônibus todo dia para trabalhar no quiosque que a prefeita deu. De noite trabalha como guarda noturno. Toda quarta se senta num boteco qualquer e bebe até apagar; dia de folga, mas teme parar em casa. Teme ver o filho doente sobre a cama, e a esposa de rosto como que congelado numa única expressão de angústia —sofredora estátua de sal do dedicado Lot—, assentada assim todos os dias ao lado do menino rosa, em carne viva.    Rogério não sabe do futuro, não quer saber do futuro, e afoga as mágoas em infindáveis horas de trabalho para se sentir útil, sentir-se capaz de influenciar a vida de qualquer um, mesmo que da menor forma possível[...] ***      O aniversário de Lúcia, 33, é em uma semana. Os colegas de trabalho perguntaram o que queria de presente, qual sabor de bolo gosta,

H ug the man, say “Fuck, dude, you smell” Eat ice cream Give a dog the extra strawberries Crash at a new couch, new living room Build a pillow fort Wake up at noon after playing all night And then play some more Try a fuzz pedal for the first time Make it feel like Napalm Death And then Kaya; after that, Sonic Youth Play some Guns’n’Roses — todo mundo conhece “Clube dos Canalhas” Drink ‘til I pass out, awake every ten minutes Dreamlike ventures, streaky, strobing lights Might’ve thrown up at the porch Might’ve exchanged raptures with lab rats Might’ve eaten ice cream before dinner Don’t know what’s happening, dreaming, working when half-sober No one is complaining, people visit Say “wait a minute, I don’t see your ass round these parts in a while” “What can I say, I’ve escaped” We sit down, talk about future projects Talk about reworking the scene from the ground up Make plans for a future not mine, including I “But I won’t be here for long, let’s record some B-sides already” Steal som

 Father died yesterday  Mom called, crying  It’s my duty to travel across the country now  See all those people dressed in all black  My mom corrupted by this country’s ways  My mom a disgrace to our family name  My mom crying at a funeral    Father will be laid down in a maple coffin  His black skin pale  I’ll show up in all black too but not as a sign of respect  Through the doors, up to the coffin  I’ll hold the spit inside my mouth  Look around, see them all mourning  Fake vipers, disgusting creatures  I’ll hold the will to run away inside my heart  Mom will come up to me and say  Why are you doing this to me? they’re all talking... ...can’t you dress more appropriately? I won’t say anything    My eyes will be full of tears  My back will be sore from the flight  And after everything I’ve been through  They will all misinterpret my sorrow    The prodigal son returns home  Not so prodigal, not so son  Not so willing to return  Return to this big mess a’ surprise  Father stone-cold, m

  [ENG/PT] buzz cut, 40-something-year old teacher’s body like Peaches in the 2k passes by me, says “cool shirt” I blush, whisper a “thanks” and when she was already pretty far “I made it myself”   ***    dew drips on paper like a tear    pencil cut paper like coal    dark marks, scars, permanent    words scrambled in craze    mental breakdown, blank gaze    psychotic manifesto, fuck you    love and hate in pleasure in debauchery    laid down apocryphal    let me into your life, your cult    scribbling in the dirt, foam in mouth    Horus speaks through me   ***    Miss daddy issues    Pissing in the fish tank    Make-up on dirty tissues    No money in the bank      Mom left her on read    Piss drunk in a stranger’s bed    Calm now, but down bad    Hopeful to be found dead      Can’t keep a straight step    Sleeping on wet grass    Says won’t take no crap    Viciously tongue-kissing the glass      Sunrise and she’s finished    Morals diminished    Friend’s house, at the couch    Plan Bs

   Larissa, 24, spends her paid hours trying to draw the attention of any living being to this sex shop hidden inside a busy gallery. The common sense everywhere, though, is that sex shops are simply not worth it: Pink rubber dildo 20$, shiny black cheap-plastic butt plug 50$, et cetera. Nobody stops to hear about the many advantages she is supposed to list, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to convince anyone to donate a few minutes of their time.    The sex shop business these days is the least profitable it has ever been, a “sex rental”, niche thing and one that escapes the comfortable popular taste — with the advent of all the se   recent technological advances coming into the hands of a sick and ignorant populace. Streaming is the meat substitute for video rental, and discount coupons and free shipping have finally killed the desperate search for sex toys in the dead of night. With life this much easier, with huge catalogues and discrete packages, nobody has to commit to the s

     Bright day turned somber, anxiety levels on the high. Can’t handle the fast beat of this heart, the sudden rushes of emotions, of intense emotions, the intrusive thoughts. The devil knocking on my door, ringing my bell. The switch, like the sudden flick of a switch, my mood turned upside down, the brightness, of the day, turned somber. Dark times these times of waiting. With blood coming out from the tip of my fingers, nails all on the tile, no hair to pull out, crisis, madness. I’m shaking. Wish I could shake out of this body, wish I could run downstairs, trip over, have something else to feel, to care for, to talk about. Can’t keep the words above the straight lines, can’t understand what it is I’m feeling, there’s so much to understand, so much to rip off of me. Dark tone of today, that was bright before. Today was bright, much bright, much happy, I felt that happiness, went after that happiness, tasted it, it tastes great. Oh, my, what’s wrong with me, am I right? I’m wrong, s