We survive the death of our parents and that's how it should be. A particular freedom sets in, heavy and surrounded by silence and it is difficult to believe how easily we adhere to it. Life goes on, as voracious and fast as ever. What changes when everything should have changed? We are still afraid, we still laugh, we still love, and beyond fear, laughter or love we find our own finitude clinging to an irrevocable present.

Esta sólida delimitação do corpo humano é aterradora. O sentimento do perfeito desamparo. (...) A estranheza, o inexplicável no facto de não ter sucumbido, de ser guiado em silêncio leva-me ao absurdo de dizer «Eu, por mim, há muito que me teria perdido». Eu, por mim.

Franz Kafka, Diários.

eu durmo sestas

no meu sofá

deixo o gato

deitar-se sobre mim

e uno a minha respiração à sua

enquanto escuto

o restolhar da nespereira

diante da casa

nesses momentos

não penso nem reajo

a nada

constante ou inconstante 

dou-me totalmente

para dentro da noite

torpe e corruptível

como um sapo no charco

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my
dreams.

Se tivesse eu os panos bordados dos céus,
Entremeados com luz dourada e de prata,
O azul e os panos esbatidos e escuros
Da noite e da luz e da meia luz,
Espalharia os panos debaixo dos teus pés:
Mas eu, sendo pobre, tenho somente os meus sonhos;
Eu espalhei os meus sonhos debaixo dos teus pés;
Caminha com cuidado porque caminhas sobre os meus sonhos.

W. B. Yeats, He Wishes For the Cloths of Heaven.

Every word has its consequences.
Every silence too.

Jean-Paul Sartre

Os medíocres são sempre os outros. A nossa vida — sobretudo a interior — jamais é banal, vulgar, mas sim rara e extraordinária. É em nós que se encontra a beleza do mundo, nunca a fealdade. De outro modo, como poderíamos viver connosco? O sistema é esse, a integração exige esforço e não podemos ser inconvenientes. Pensa positivo filho, pensa positivo. Adormece sem insónias, sem medo, sem imaginação. A liberdade que não transgride e que não te deixa em pedaços, inseguro e inquieto, não te deixa ver de quantas fantasias és feito.

Ex umbris et imaginabus in veritatem

Tell me you are looking for me
While away
Because I am
Without knowing
If the earth stopped spinning
And if time suddenly blossomed
Using lavish words
I can't hear.
Such is your silence:
A loss of intention,
A dead break,
A luxurious, hard, isolated
Language.

Love is a self-made thing

I am free

I stare at the air and I see patterns

And your name is a song in my chest

The taste is metallic

How many billions walk this planet?

I feel them, I feel them

You show me my mass

Love is an endless sky

An endless cliché that imagines itself to be deep revelation

An open face, an open palm, an open plain

All open

The more that we close it the less that we know it

And just ‘cause I know it

Don’t mean I know how to show it

They’re taking everything from us and telling us nothing is ours

But here we are, dancing

You make me a microscope

You make me a map

I called it "love," I should have called it "trap"

"I trap you," I should have said tenderly

At the end of a long day

While we kept each other desperately stagnant

"I trap you so much"

Yes, I want you to be happy, but don’t threaten my happiness

Can’t you see I’m walking this threadbare tightrope?

Made out of dental floss stitched together with strands of tobacco and dog hair

And it stretches between two precious fantasies

My fantasy of me and my fantasy of you

And beneath, in raging red chopped razor teeth states of fury

Are all my insecurities

And all the little lies I like to tell myself

And every other reason that I can’t see the truth

"I trap you so much!"

I should have whispered in your ear as we fell asleep

Bodies unbound, sheets soaked, hearts hammering

If I see it clear, will it stay clear?

Will it be clear when you’re here?

I don’t want fear, I don’t want greed

I want freedom, I want to be free

I want you to be free, I want to nourish

I don’t want to feed like some ravenous mouth

With no guts, only greed, endless appetite

Need, need, need

You can’t free me, I free me, I breathe

If I am in pieces, is it easier to see?

I think I am whole now

I think I am more whole

But I still check my phone 17 times a minute

To see if you called and I missed it

Trap

Love is a self-made thing

Love is a self-made trap

Kate Tempest, I Trap You.

Conheci um casal de namorados que passava a vida no Facebook com repicadas demonstrações de amor. De um momento para o outro, contudo, as demonstrações pararam, levando-me a perceber que a relação tinha acabado. Os discursos não acompanham a verdade que age no nosso coração.

I've lost any pretension to be loved. Those who can’t help but be loved are the ones who know the name of plants, those who know poems by heart and other who get lost in their way. My self-loss manifests through grief and makes the world such a meagre place that prevents me from losing myself. I am a being closest to matter, in a way in which I see no difference between me and the things out in the world, and I inhabit the poem like a caterpillar eating the heart of time.