After All

2009 wasn’t a bad year.

No, not at all.

I came to a new country

hence had the chance

to know a new culture.

I met some people,

some kind of people I didn’t know.

My curiosity about human beings grew along

with the sickness they make me feel.

I finished school

and now I’m being frightened with the future’s possibilities.

I practiced boredom as hard

As I had never done before.

Music has saved me again.

And it’s role in my life gets more important each day.

I watched over 70 movies

and finally realized cinema as an art

I didn’t read much in quantity

yet a lot in quality.

I’ve learned how to love

but most important: how to be loved.

During the process

my heart got broken and then

fixed, because

as no pleasure lasts forever,

neither does pain nor life.

It taught me how to enjoy things

even the bad ones.

To laugh at them,

Until they are gone.

2009 has ended smoothly

as a hot day after a typhoon

right now it’s 2010

January first

03:48 AM, my cast is sitting on my lap

everybody else is sleeping,

the wind blows soft and tells me

that it’s gonna be a good year.

It's enough

I must stop
writing
like an old man.
Or what am I gonna do
when I really get old?
Write about the afterlife?
I can barely write about life!
Right now it’s happening outside
and I’m still on my pajamas.
The youngness on me is not bigger
than three or four boners a day.
Sometimes I even
desire life! but when I leave home
to find it
the streets are dead
or crowded with stupid people who I’d like to kill.
Oh no
I must stop living
like an old
helplessly bitter
sad man.

To the gone summer

"It's just slow days, running into slow nights."
- C. Bukowski

Sun encages everything in its own existence
Look through the window on a sunny afternoon
And everything will seem to be dead.
Even if it winds, the trees just go
Back and forth back and forth
The leaves on the ground slip a bit
And then stop.
The cars, if they exist, are going
Exactly where they should go
At the predicted speed
There’s no freedom
No surprising movement
No inner nor outer life
People are just slowly getting crazy
With their dull tries to kill boredom
While sweat drips from their foreheads
And nothing really happens

Brain's chain

When you really fall in love
It feels like lethargy
Your heart beats your conscience away
And everything is done
In praise of her
You could kill, die
Or live for her

Even knowing that she’d never
Ask you such a thing
You can’t help thinking
That you’re not yours anymore

Which is painfully beautiful
Cause it’s wide and pure
Human nature.
Slavery to our own ego.

Always seeking for words
That amuse us and when
They’re finally found
We could kill, die
Or live for it.
We are nothing
But weak.

Aah, essa natureza...

Eu tenho inveja dos patos.
Dizem por aí que o
Quack deles
Não produz eco.

Eles nunca sabem quando estão sozinhos.

Comigo não acontece o mesmo.
Esmo esmo esmo
Esmo.

A selfish's masterpiece

I know how it all started
It was a hot hot Sunday
Afternoon
god was on his underwear
Lying in bed
Bored
Feeling terribly lonely
No drinks, no cigarettes, just nothingness
And in a big bang creativity explosion
He began to write for company

First he made the world then
dinosaurs
But they were quite noisy
- and cats are much cuter –
Still alone he finally made humans
So he could have some fun with
movies, music, books, porn and stuff

Each person is a word
And our lives is god’s saddest poem
Sometimes we rhyme
Mostly of the times we don’t fit
- So I guess he is not that good writer
But he never stopped writing anyway and we hope
Someday he gets there ‘cause
It’s getting boring.

Oh fuck , I’m god now
And I could create a world or two
But I’m not only a lazy person
But also a good one.

Do it as you like

"if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.
[...]
do it, do it, do it.
do it.

all the way
all the way."

Charles Bukowski -roll the dice

The first one who
Might like what you write
Is you.
Don’t worry about what
Others may think.
Do it as you like

If you want to talk about
Death, suicide, murder, rape
Or even hope and happiness
Go ahead.
And keep going ‘till it looks just like you wanted it
To look.
It’s your poem, your short story, your novel
Or whatever the hell it is
It ‘s yours and you shouldn’t care about what
They’ll say
Do it as if you were going to cut your hair
Or buy new clothes or build a house.
Do it as you like.

Pick up your pen and write.
Cut your arms and write with your blood
If you need to
- Many have done it before –
Just don’t wait.
Cos the pen won’t write for you.
I said
the pain won’t write for you
And nothing else will.

Do it as you like
Cos once you had the gut to do
someone out there will like.
And if you don’t believe me just look at
All this crap around you
On television, on radio, on internet, on bookstores.
Someone made it. Someone liked it.
The same will happen to you.
Don’t be afraid and do it!
As you like, as you want.

Quando a solidão faz sentido

Pessoas são ameaças
elas quebram o silêncio
interrompem pensamentos
criam e desenvolvem
problemas sem soluções.

Sempre saem de suas casas
felizes e sorridentes
para que você pense
que eles são superiores.

Nem mesmo te deixam
esquecer de fazer a barba!

Por isso eu só me sinto
fora de perigo, quando
ando sozinho
tendo comigo
apenas papel e caneta
e a companhia
da minha querida tristeza.

Bad diary days

Soon you’re gonna leave
To work
And say
With a fragile voice
That you love me
And I’ll know what you meant.

There’s something dying between us

I can see it
In the silence that sticks in the air
While you dress
And I lay
Facing the ceiling

Nós andamos por aí
fugindo do mundo
fingindo não te rumo
brincando e conversando
sobre a complexa de simplicidade
de nossas vidas

Nós somos o máximo.
Estamos no auge.

Adolescentes embriagados
por tédio engraçado
arrastando passos
durante a tarde.

Nesses parques
Onde passo as tardes
Se volto lá
ao anoitecer
e vejo as ávores
abandonadas e
mal iluminadas
posso ver
o terror no ar
Ou a solidão
do lugar
só que o mais comum
é me sentir
assustadoramente
sozinho