THE LOST TAPES Vol.46: more death and more memories

[ENG/PT]

   Black and white kitty cat
   Closed eyes, little loaf
   Couldn’t stand the chilling strike of nights
or endure the odorless hunger of days
   Died in his sleep
   Closed eyes, little loaf
   Black and white kitty cat 

rotting stench of death
buzzing necrophages feast
noiseful silence of the woods
cyclical inexorable fate 

***

The barbed wire they put up
after the cameras captured us
jumping over the wall
to steal seemingly nothing
is still as loose as we left it
to jump over the wall again
and steal gardenias 

***

   Arrived before the ants
   gave him a proper christian burial
   Baby bird inside a tupperware coffin
   god’s child, friend of the family
   The brave little Otto Braun 

***

   “want to hear all that and not feel anything;
I want you to profess your love for me, give me all there is inside your heart, and feel nothing, and say nothing back to you. I want to hit the wall of my heart's crust, scratch until my nails bleed, and still tell you I can't feel the same. Because I'm not weak as you are, I'm me. I'm weak as only I can be.” 

—"What are you? Who are you?", I asked myself, looking at my self, inside of me. "Where are you?", I asked myself. I was also nothing. Me, non-me, in consideration of all perspectives. How did my ego become so abstract?—

***

   E ela perguntou “Que hora é essa?”
   Eu respondi “Passou da meia-noite já, quase uma.”
   “É quatro. Qutro e meia o galo canta. O galo canta quatro e meia. O galo cantou pra mim, daqui a pouco é cinco. O galo cantou, daqui a pouco é cinco hora, o galo canta quatro e meia, daqui a pouco é cinco hora, o galo cantou pra mim,” ela disse.
   “Canta nessas horas mesmo,” respondi.
   “É, vai lá. Tá tarde já. É quase cinco horas já. O galo cantou, é quase cinco horas já. É quase cinco horas já. Mas vem cá, tu não tem uma balinha pra me dar aí não?”
   “Tem não, tô sem.”
   “E nessa sacola aí? É bebida? Me dá um golin. Um golin. Um golin só. Um golin pra mim, dá um golin só. Um golin só,” ela repetia e repetia, apontando para o rapaz ao meu lado, carregando a cachaça caseira derramada na garrafinha de água mineral, marcando a sacola de plástico barato. Então olha pra mim de novo, bem nos olhos, mascando os próprios dentes, o corpo todo tremendo, “Você dá? Você deixa ele me dar? Um golinho só pra mim, um golin. Eu não tô tomando remédio não. Você deixa ele me dar um golin? Você deixa? Eu não tô tomando remédio não. Só vou tomar remédio segunda-feira. Eu não tô tomando remédio não.”
   Afago o cabelo dela, um sorriso no rosto, “eu dou minha benção”. Olho pra ele, que cuide da situação pois vou sentar.
   “Olha lá, deixou. Deixou você dar um golinho pra mim. Dá. Dá só um golinho.” E o gole da cachaça foi dado, e enquanto ele a derramava dentro da garrafa vazia de coca-cola, ela olhava pra ele, pra garrafa, pra mim, os olhos brilhando, um sorriso enorme no rosto, dizendo “Obrigado, deus! Obrigado!”.
   Ela toma um gole só, inspira fundo e expira com um sorriso da mais pura felicidade no rosto. O corpo não treme mais, não está mais mascando as gengivas. Diz, “Eita, que essa é da boa!” Bate balmas e faz uma dancinha.
   Nos despedimos e ela gritava de lá,
   “deus abençoe vocês! deus abençoe! deus abençoe a noite de vocês! deus abençoe!”
   E eu gritava de cá,
   “Amém! Amém! Uma boa noite e uma boa sorte pra senhora! Amém!”

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