THE LOST TAPES Vol.48: weird dreams, weird friends

[ENG/PT]

Today a passenger plane was taken down by its country’s air force
No one will be able to speak on the matter
Civilians roaming the immediate area are shot and killed by the jets
You know I’m crazy, it’s just a movie
It’s a dirty cover up
When did their technology become so advanced?
How are we so hopeless?
I watch the world collapse as I curl up and die
We’re all going to hell 

***

brave the night
the night riders 

on the lit window
a naked woman smokes 

the engine growls
the blues cries 

shedding no tears
two hollow chests 

no desbravar da noite
cavaleiros soturnos 

busto nu de mulher
o fumar na janela 

o grunhido do motor
o choro do blues 

não se derrama uma lágrima
são dois peitos ocos 

***

   Waiting, waiting, waiting
   Waiting some more
   What an asshole, making me wait
   What an asshole, ignoring friends
   What a bum this world of constant communication
   Me, a mute stranger, isolated
waiting 

***

no friozinho
cachacinha esquenta
a barriguinha 

***

   The duality of men
   Cowardice and bravery
   Double-love of past and present
   The awful lack of an intermingle 

   Agony reigns as tension rises
   Nervous little man living in a drama
   Plotted novella of no twists
   Two incredibly angry women 

   What do — we do — in such a time
   As watchers to silent chaos in certain doom
   Two listeners of crazed raving
   Though unsympathetic to no gloom 

   Such a life we live in
   Of such lackful reason
   Eat, sing, fuck and die we must
   Stoic to grief and creed 

   Hipocrisy at its finest
   In a youth’s heart
   Care too much, love too much
   Decade-long, constant trauma 

***

She's wearing new boots
The blonde lady, green eyes
So shine and propre
Hot orange sunflower
Hardened, shelled future
— New flower blooms, as orange as ever. 

***

Uncanny architecture of emptiness

General inherent sadness
Gray capital, no love
Isolated
We’re an individual collective 

A million heads living the same problems
Eight million
people stinking of the same pollution
Breathing the same cold breeze in the morning 

A family, a cult
composed of people and buildings,
stray dogs and cars
smoke and grime 

Emptied out in the studio apartment
Laying on a dusty carpet
no bread, smoking midget
sirens scream outside
the brights shine through the curtains 

in secret —society—
Cucumber sandwiches with too little pepper
Knife to the back, phone and wallet
Chill out, it's only for six months

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