THE LOST TAPES Vol.51: The after party & Active cuz I’m resting

[BR/ENG]

spoils
   A pain in my back
   A bruised lip
   A spike I tore out of a bra with my own teeth
   A new friend
   Maybe two
   An autograph from the city’s worst tagger
   A hangover that will last for days
   An absurdist new love
   A desire to write another manifesto on the trans day of revenge 

[Up the establishment, I guess
Up my anarchy tattoo’s value
Screaming into a mic
it’s sunrise
we’re moved only by rage] 

***

elbow to my jaw
better than a dentist 

***

Nirvana tribute at the Underground
Thousands of dollars in damages
   *a fridge
   *five coffins
   *a mic broken in half
   *loss of blood and teeth
   *numerous limbs
   *a cracked skull 

***

“the men that proud themselves in getting a girl’s dick hard”

***

   Old man rasta
   shook hands and told stories
   chanted his samba
   felt so flattered
   flattered me
   true artists
   face to face
   hand in hand
   past and future 

***

Structural elitism / cultural apartheid
An event that speaks of freedom and union
Looking down, pushing back
“we’re only artists, sir” 

***

elitist the people
history is elitist
(nomenclature, right?)
the academy is elitist
knowledge is elitist
Will the saving grace be a stroke of luck?
Will the wind tip over the cradle,
or will we succeed in winning over nature? 

***

   importante
Jean Wyllys no palco
pessoas sentadas, sem apoio nas costas, reclamando
hora e meia de atraso
morcegos rondavam, voando cá e lá
olhando feio pra gente 

***

   “Eu sou uma pessoa boa,” ele disse.
—the pregnant man is a herald of the end of times. 

***

   [...]O livro só é livro nas mãos de alguém, nas mãos de outrem, nas prateleiras de uma estante que nunca fica empoeirada. O livro usado é conceito vivo.

***

   O garoto —deficiente— ao meu lado cheirava a esgoto e bumbum de neném.
   A senhora, frustrada, olhava para além do fim da rua, mas o ônibus parecia nunca chegar.
   O ritmo de um funk qualquer sai da boca dele.
   Ela se vira bruscamente, e exclama: “Fica quieto, Jaime!”
   E Jaime se emudece como estátua; não o ouço sequer respirar pelo nariz congestionado; até nos separarmos, na parada final: ele cambaleando pra longe, olhos abertos não vendo, rosto de pedra. 

***

   O retardo da garota atrás de mim traz causos escolares para a conversa dela com a mãe.
   O sinal toca. Um senhor de camisa amarela e boina se levanta e para na porta.
   A garota diz —aquele lado do ônibus praticamente vazio—, “pode sentar aqui, senhor.”
   E ele,
   “Não, não, eu vou descer no próximo. Vou descer na Praça do Café. Praça do Café, conhece? Só nativo conhece...
   “Taxista sabe mais de nome de rua que qualquer...
   “Hoje em dia qualquer malandro quer ser chofer...
   “Pensa que malandragem é direção...”
   Até o ônibus finalmente parar, cada reticência precedeu o silêncio mortal de quem olhava fingindo não ver, sentindo perigo na indignação do antigo taxista, que crescia cadente, partindo da mais simples abertura social. Foi o rosto, eu acho, choramingado, da garota ao ouvir o tom feroz na voz e olhos daquele que, tão logo desceu do ônibus, renunciou a sociedade, que o fez desistir, finalmente, de tentar. 

***

   No palco, o homem assistia morrer, de fome, seu filho.
   “Ele está triste, é?” o garotinho choroso pergunta.
   “Está. O filho dele morreu. É triste, né?” responde um estranho, ébrio, choroso também; numa das mãos uma Heineken, noutra a garrafa vazia de kombucha; sorriso sofrendo por sobre as lágrimas.
   A mãe belisca, a atenção do menino muda. O estranho percebe a interrupção, se volta ao palco.
   Ela diz baixinho: “Não fale com estranhos.”
   O garoto embirra, puxa a mão, dá um soco na mãe. 

***

Reunião de escritores: Pound e Gullar citados.

***

“Daughter?”
“Uh, no. Life.” 

***

   Chôro em duas partes:
chorando dentro do banheiro
não ajuda
a gaita triste a chorar lá fora 

chorei litros
na frente de gente importante
foi demais 

***

   So much good has been happening to me, that I can’t help but wonder: “how is this going to balance? What evil will come to me?”
   I can rest assured, though, that at least I’m not gonna die.
   If I died, what good would all this good be?
   It would be no good.

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