THE LOST TAPES Vol.47

 [ENG/PT]

   Taking pictures of people at the bus stop, this girl on the other side of the street notices and smiles in my direction; waves, calls my attention, gestures a photo-snapping, wants a picture, I take the picture. Now comes the philosophy of the situation.
   If I never truly wanted to take that picture, why did I do it, and what should I make of it? Why make a big deal out of it, also?, why should it ever matter? Maybe because the idea of deleting it came to mind. You see, I thought to cause an effect like Schrödinger's cat, of an existence/non-existence of this picture and the possible supposed uncertainty in the head of that girl before, during and after that moment.
   On the other hand, what would make someone want and ask for their picture to be taken by a stranger? What would this person want me to do with it? Does she expect me to just accept it? As a gift? A gift of her image to me? Does she only like pictures and wished to be included in a supposed project? In any way, with self-entitlement or mindless gentleness, should I really make something out of the occasion?
   As it stays, I enjoy being the experiment and holding secrecy to this photo. Make wonder a whole number of people to both what it looks like, and it’s perceived destination[...] 

***

   midday fest
   metal shirts and leather vests
   under sunlight 

   the midnight after—
   piss, puke and blood
   an outcast spews 

***

The stench of bile in my nostrils
The red of blood on my knuckles
The dark smoke of hatred as my breath 

vile saturday night
the knife is calling my name
slit a racist's throat 

***

Deusa imensa
Número 39
Salão de beleza
Doce subúrbio dos empregados
Mais adiante: desempregados, ladrões e desperados
EU
Que Gullar seria eu sem chafurdar na lama?
Que Olga seria eu sem que me ouvissem?

 
Mal tive reflexão
Tive, portanto, admiração
Completa, insólita, absoluta
por ti 

Quero ser como tu
Quero gritar à multidão
Quero me dar orgulho
Quero te dar orgulho 

...combatente clandestina aliada da classe operária
—tu sabes, meu coração de menina— 

   Pelo poder ao povo!
   Por nosso poder! 

***

   The doll comes up.
   The two men promptly start digging.
   “Hey!”, cries the doll. “Why are you digging this hole?”
   And one of them responds, “Come on, man. You know we can’t keep you outside.”
   They dig where the doll is, and when they dig the shovels phase through it like made of thin air. Once the hole is deep enough they close it. 

   The doll comes up.
   The two women promptly start digging.
   “Hey!”, cries the doll. “Why are you digging this hole?”
   When one of them answers, it’s disconnected. She’s focused on digging the hole, unfazed by the questioning.
   “You know we need to keep you inside.”
   They dig where the doll is, and when they dig the shovels phase through it like made of thin air. Once the grave is deep enough they close it.

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