Elbert, Lord Emille and Lira.

Arriving in the end of time there is surely no escape from the past, i mean, what else is there? For the simpleton that drove his truck every single day of the week up and down the hill, getting up at hours unacceptable to some, the latter being the tean-beat generation that in it's renewed wisdom and fresh approach towards the infinite possibilities of the opening of the world. He was unhappy but relatively pleased with the simple sums he could bring home to feed the single daughter and light of his life. A wife long gone, succumbed into the spirit of the treacherous kitchen enslaver, work that monetarily amounts to nothing but feeds the dying certainty that tradition and loving dedication is permeable to happiness.

The more complex the human subjects himself to being or in turn is drawn into or dreadfully conditioned from the start the more it becomes easy for the mind to deliver itself to ambition, yearning or yet another element that when truly considered is improbable to satisfy. The cycle is a parasite, a disease unto those who meditate beyond religious or spiritual beliefs, quests for meaning. Eggs, bread, company and the occasional predicament of where my patch ends and yours begins should be the civilization in the vision of thinkers and the likes of these. Discussion, debate, revolving around themes and insisting on the ideals of one another, based on adequate citations. All is background, feedback, the right environment, every once in a while there comes along the man who escapes his empty, from this standing point, life and manages to succeed in whatever area he sets his most tireless mind to. But it is this my point, areas and sections of cultivation have no place in the utopia of my eyes. Of course I am not stupid to the point of overlooking matters that can only benefit from persistence through empirical, theoretical and any other -cal that has discovered preventions to sickness and aids to development. Why must things have a cost, if they ever do? Must progress towards the safeguard of life lead ultimately to death, skipping a whole lot of shenanigans and comically referred matters that are all but this. I got carried away, making an objective out of vagueness and pointless generalizing.

The unsaciable thirst for intellectual supremacy, a super computer fully equipped with all weighed against the oblivion of those who know not beyond their ride up the hill... To me, there is no competition. He carried a sack of potatoes from the market and the occasional personal assortment of vegetables from his own reserve, a way to repay the kindness of the wealthy eremit who rarely escaped the top of the hill and his villa of this demand left unperceived by the driver, Elbert was his name and the luck of falling into the graces of said bat was something he never overlooked and thanked humbly on the also rare contact with Lord Emille. Although to this man's ever thankful eyes this was a one in a lifetime break the truth is he was payed miserably, barely covered the gas to fill up his truck, but all he needed was that unconditional smile and reassuring words uttered by his emerald eyed Lira. Lira was, since an eager suggestion from a a bewildered Emille, tutored up on the hill amongst the valleys of books and rainfalls of papers signed by her own personal, hardly concealed admirer. Skeptical at first Elbert had allowed Lira to follow a life which he himself found fit for another sort, he had come to this conclusion on realizing the facilities in transportation(the local school was of a distance worrying to any parent, blindly trusting as he may be) and the possibility of spending more time with his "lovely Lira," a name never worn out by use.

It had befallen upon him from very early in her life that he was to be outsmarted and would let no one get in the way of this fact, specially himself. "I have no interest in making my remaining family into a prosperous society for the delivery of goods" he had concluded on an exclusive episode of consideration. So it was that Lira was dropped off to 4 sufficient hours of learning, walking back down to her home keen on telling her father of yet another story too involving
for him to understand, he had sacrificed selflessly simple conversation but in overwhelming happiness observed the talent his offspring had to never make him feel dumb or in need of something more. Emille, partly intrigued by the sponge that was this girls brain and mostly delighted by the firmness of her young bosom, him not being that old himself, gave more and more of his person every time, reaching the advertised desire of passing the thirst onto the kindred spirit. There was little expectation of a riot in the skies, in the elements, in all that was grand enough to determine not one but a monstruosity of destinies calmly minding their own business on a yet to erupt earth. Nevertheless it came, at an hour of slumber somewhere, an hour of leisure elsewhere, hours of work, meditation, tramping, ranting, loving, desperation, breaking apart or driving from point a to point b, the last being the occupation of the fewest possible generation ladder that were at present moment discussing in a restrained manner Lira's recent tendency to arrive home later than expected, beyond even a tolerance supposed by Elbert to consist of a normal offer of Emille's, such as a cup of tea or a display of his own patch of vegetables.

The sky turned a shade of dark purple, apocalyptic and bizarre yet the mystery it induced and the fear it caused was accompanied to the eye of the vegetable and family oriented beholder as beautiful. To the full intellect and culture of the objective hilltop monk all sorts of theories, prophecies, damnations spun to mind, and to this the inevitable cold sweats adjoined propulsing the genuine physical feeling into the unfaithful task of terrifying the receiver of it's sensations. Lira, still in an early stage towards enlightenment saw only what was to displayed: unlikely colors crying over each other and prohibiting the slightest feeling of hope that such phenomenon was similar to that of a sunset of impossible description, this was no green ray, the end was nigh. Had she been in control of the wheel the instinct would have been to step hard into full throttle and foolishly let one area of the sky behind her and the rest above and ahead, the same. Elbert dazzled still by a real image that hadn't even been seen in similarity fictionalized or illustrated into documents out of his interest and area of expertise, kept on committing to his delivery that would not be kept for once due to a pretty picture. By the time he was arriving at the gates of the presently somber mannor deaf from the sycophantic panting of Lira and the meanwhile downfall of Emille's sanity he was long gone into an inexplicable trance of organic LSD proportions. It was then that the patches of cosmic flora dropped violently into the planet's core, such was the massiveness of these brute colisions that a wandering look would lose track of theses blocks of "worldacide", an implosion was to gradually take place and most of the earth's inhabitants would be deprived of such spectacle. Lira began to manically shout and run into the house where she found Emille under a table counting the strips of wood under an oak desk, victim to his many cerebral rages, emphatic punishments laid from dusk till dawn until hand and wooden surface became one in harsh matter, exhaustive studies and ramblings. There lay locks of hair beside him on the floor covering a number of piled up books opened in specific pages, on sighting this obsessive dedication to a logic, rational explanation to everything and all she made her way back to the arms of her father. Elbert, though in a state of ultra-self-conscience through incomprehension was unloading the sack of potatoes into the service door, left open by a few dedicated yet reasonable servants when confronted with the definite precognition of a sudden final installment to their suddenly realized short lives. Embraced by his lovely Lira a smile brought to his face the eventuality of return but it was not to be. He held her hand and passed through the gate, this time on foot, cut through the green and found a privileged spot from where to absently witness with the prized company of his daughter the fall of civilization, the one that crept into comfort only to go back in a false evolution. Under the shade of a cypress tree he gazed into what seemed almost an expectation, Lira, frightened by so many things she had not the maturity or the foolishness to decipher delivered in part her gaze into her fathers. She set her head on his shoulder, crying silently and assimilating all that had been left to do, remembering her mother and that one specific time when she was taught to peel an onion under the supervision of her entertained mother, laughing and weeping, mixing these ingredients leaving but a breathless taste for being, simply taking in what was to be offered. Elbert had no thoughts, just a detachment from all that he had known prior to this event, to say the least. The chunks of matter seemed to pace themselves slower through an invisible atmosphere and recollect themselves before the plunge into their individual contribution to the world's demise. The ground began to shake, this did not change anything, father and daughter trembling back and forth from each other, the purple sky fell. A last cry over the surface of what they had held dear escaped Lira embracing her father in fear and a warm response marked what ceased forever to be.

Ressaltar de uma linguagem para a outra
Encontrar a palavra mais adequada
A frase que se insira na perfeição
É escusada a demora
É preferível o imediato

Aquela janela de tempo não merece consideração
Aqueles breves segundos que se manifestam essenciais constantemente
Retórica de um monstro verbal
Horizonte inalcançavel num vocabulário preparado, nem sempre.
Mas porque é que falar é tão importante?
O discurso não se gasta
A manutenção do mesmo é mais eloquente
Mas contenção? Basta!

Um mundo de honestidade é aquele em que a comunicaçao é algo de tal forma fluído que a seleção, essa mesma referida contenção, é feita pelo ouvinte.

Proponho, a não sei quem, a que autoridade competirá?
Proponho a abolição da dor de cabeça e o esmorecimento do envelhecimento, a inversão da evolução retrógrada que é o amadurecimento, inevitável.

Ou talvez se queira:
Não.
Sim.
Talvez.
Tá bem.
Ás 16h00.
Foi giro.
Então adeus.
Até lá.
Isso.
Baaaaah!!

Left Lisbon, to grab europe by the crotch,
upon my arrival, it is my own that was rendered grabable.
Nothin particular, no evil fathoms I expected.
Naught but night in search of a place to sleep.

No prejudice as to where
Just a tad of despair
As the mind starts to wonder
And it´s tricks make me ponder.

Can´t afford to be left with nothing
Need at least to maintain my food
But what's mine is mine
Unto others this right
What was given to me must go back whence it came from.

So a cave was my ally, an open door my salvation.
A quiet exit from subtle irritation.

Lights in line
Effervescent as can be,
body's touching,
closer to the beat.

Dancing flirting,
being noticeable.
Our little LA

Polish models dettached from the rest,
little people intimidated by the best.
Fucking conventionally,
waiting thoughtfully,
Considering the move.
Younging celebrations in a restricted time frame, adultdhood is near,
reach for the closest life boat.

Manifest from another mind

Always na object of obsession
A girl to set the groove
An ode to get the mood

A protest for lack of retribution
A fist raised against denial
Yet again, the same old trial

Why verse for a she and not an it?
For a cause, for an inanimate being
Writing as a consequence of seeing

An emotion put to paper
A pair of glasses to describe
Hell! Document the vibe!

Banal words in beaten up issues
Philosophies, theories reaching for tissues
Crying to the mirror, emoing it up
Feelings of loneliness? Buying a pup

A solution to all the above
Escape the strains of love
No use breaking a sweat
Don’t think of that girl you met

So I raise the other
And climb a chair
In drama, in fake despair

And I speak of experience
And I talk of estructures
And I advertise natures

Not life with others
Or dates with mothers
Fathers so skeptical

Just a simple thought
Or something I bought
A discussion of what’s unethical

A flower lives but does not speak
A dog barks but does not critique
Don’t distance yourselves
But retstrain yourselves

Don’t run from interaction
But savour the conversation
Remain amongst others
But leave when you’re smothered

Colective is nice
Individual is better
Admire the mice
Climbing the tether

Rock your chair
Read your book
Write your legacy
Wait but don’t look

Settle in given time
Maybe you’ll marry a mime
Follow this parabole
Won’t be read by the whole world

Guess half will abide
The other will not
So the latter will grow tired
And the first will enjoy the lot

Um texto para despertar consciências ou a história da Búlgara que me tramou.

Tudo pode acontecer quando os ombros estão desprotegidos. Á medida que avanço sozinho pela tão inesperada 24 de Julho penso na filha que me espera em casa e peso mais uma vez como foi possível acabar a minha vida em tão tenra idade . O suicídio que não é premeditado nem acidental. A simples inconsciência de uma pessoa se deixar levar pelo momento. Mas algum credito tenho de dar a minha pessoa pois a mulher, a rapariga, a menina nos meus olhos praticamente, era um banquete para os olhos e a noite foi como uma ceia depois da guerra. Algo estava reservado para mim, sabia-o mas não estava garantido. Era também sabido pelos outros que se envolviam na minha cabeça, amigos de longa data ou vítimas de conversas de 30 segundos não pedidas e talvez bizarras, que nada me ia deixar permanecer, a permanência existia apenas na deslocação do espaço físico, temporal, profissional. Mas por enquanto estava feliz, naquela altura estudava pouco mais que o suficiente para ser brilhante. Com 17 anos e 3 dias faltavam-me 270 dias escolares para o fim de uma etapa e o início de outra, desta, infindável. Foi com um amigo que decidi ir até ás docas apanhar um bocado de sol e comer bem.

Um livro, era esse o único amigo que podia e queria suportar nesse dia. Tinha ido sair no dia anterior até Santarém, a uma festarola de um senhor amigo qualquer e a noite estava apagada da minha memória, apenas restavam relatos de que tinha mergulhado para dentro de um lago num simbolismo descabido de quem volta para o útero da mãe, o retrocesso do nascimento, disseram-me que estava enrolado em celofane e pude constatar isso mesmo porque juntamente com a rapariga que jamais havia visto com que acordei num fardo de palha estava ainda com pequenas aderências de plástico nas costas. A viagem de carro foi também bastante vaga, dormi e deixaram-me em casa, a minha mãe levou-me as docas e seguiu para a praia de São Pedro do Estoril. Almocei bem e bebi também qualquer coisinha para poder tirar alguma dor de cima da mona. Li bastante na relva e adormeci, não tinha levado nada de valor por isso não estava nem em perigo, nem contactável. Acordei à meia-noite com um sabor empapado e desconfortável na boca. Levantei-me e por acaso tinha uma pastilha no bolso que não devia estar nas melhores condições. Caminhei e atravessei a avenida no túnel que passa por baixo da linha de comboio. Estava já algum frio mas o sobretudo que tinha vestido era senhor para a tarefa. Comecei a fazer a 24 de Julho a pé com a finalidade de apanhar um autocarro na Infante santo, quando faltava pouco para o meu destino vi uma pessoa na berma do passeio. Estava com umas sabrinas de criança, pretas polidas até se ver o reflexo, apertadas que nem uma branca de neve cuidadosa. A saia comprida de um azul eléctrico que vestia parecia um polar, devia aquecer tanto como um “fogão” de uma senhora velhinha, mas não complementava isso no resto do corpo. Abraçava os joelhos flectidos numa tentativa de acalorar os braços descobertos. Tinha um top branco ligeiramente decotado e que seria proibitivo não fosse o tamanho considerável do seu peito. Estava a chorar e alça esquerda parecia remendada mal e porcamente, algo que aparentava ter sido feito recentemente. Sentei-me ao lado dela e estiquei as pernas e cruzei uma sobre a outra. Não disse nada, esperei que ela desse sinais de vida e que se entregasse a uma complacência ainda que forçada. De repente, passados 5 minutos em que até já tinha aberto o livro que não consegui ler por estar demasiado preocupado ela falou:
-Go away! Eu vi finalmente a sua cara que até então estava tapada pelo cabelo preto cerrado. Uns olhos verdes mas claros e que se podiam ser transparecidos com a visão mais apressada. Um nariz perfeitinho, não muito grande, não muito pequeno e os beixos extremamente contraditórios a si mesmos. Pequenos mas cheios, carnudos, imensos. Quando falou detectei um sotaque de leste mas não Russo, não Ukraniano, um país mais florestal ainda. A Hungria, Bulgária ou até mesmo talvez a Republica Checa. Havia uma sofisticação no seu discurso mesmo que só tenha solto duas palavras. Eu tirei o casaco e tentei pô-lo o mais lentamente possível por cima dos seus ombros, como se estivesse a desarmar uma bomba. Ela olhou-me de forma ameaçadora mas eu apenas fiz como se tivesse mudado de fio e redobrei o cuidado. Depois, finalmente, poisei o casaco.
-What´s troubling you? Arrisquei usar a fala e revelar que não era mudo. Ela respondeu:
-What´s it to you?
-Absolutely nothing. But you see, unfortunately I´m too curious of you’re whereabouts. I really must know.
-I’m from Bulgaria.
-I see. What does a girl from Bulgaria do in Portugal to be left crying on the side of the road?
-Well... Allright. I came with a friend. My best friend since forever. Problem is I didn´t know of his intentions for this trip.
-Do you want to call the police? What happened?
-No! God no! It was my fault. I let him kiss me and suddenly he was on top of me. In the car! I tried to get away but i only ripped my top with his insistence. I ran and he left, now i’m here talking to a total stranger.
-Don’t worry. I’m always quite straightforward with my intentions. Where are you staying?
-In a youth pension near rossio.
-Can i walk you?
- Ok sure. Why not?

Então levantámo-nos e a ligação estava feita, o gelo quebrado, a barreira atravessada, a química despoletada. Tudo isso. Já não havia cautela senão no desconforto do que iria dar aquele humilde passeio. Conversámos bastante, sobre tudo. Quando chegamos ao cais de sodré e subimos a rua do alecrim começou a chover e entrámos com um rock pesado. Então deixámos de falar e contemplámo-nos. Ao início timidamente da parte dela e confiantemente da minha, mas depois de algum tempo fizemo-lo de forma acolhedora. Quando me levantei para ir buscar as bebidas já éramos amantes. Não queríamos ficar rodeados de gente então continuámos pela Avenida onde nos conhecemos em direcção e para lá da casa dos bicos. Subimos pela Alfama e chegamos a um miradouro um pouco acima da Sé, para lá do Santiago Alquimista. Aí desenfreou-se, não a paixão, não a devoção, talvez a curiosidade, o aperto definitivamente o conforto. Tirei-lhe o sobretudo e vesti-o, depois com a mão nos bolsos aconcheguei-a e escondi-a perto de mim. Olhei para ela e inclinei a cabeça de forma a que só eu, naquele momento, a pudesse considerar sem olhares alheios. Ela chamou-me, sem sombra de dúvida e beijei-a sem se quer saber o seu nome. Pareceram horas e as lapas em que nos transformámos muito simplesmente não desgrudaram.

O resto foi a minha casa vazia de pais ausentes, arrumar o quarto a pressa, a restrição de movimentos demasiado lascivos ou pelo menos a ausência da sua intenção e a imersão de um corpo noutro. No fim ela chorou e eu desesperei, perguntei qual era o problema mas não havia nenhum. Disse que tinha atingido pela primeira vez a felicidade plena e eu não manifestei a minha concordância acreditando que seria possível talvez um momento que suplantasse este na nossa história. O que se passou a seguir foi um pathos de destruição. A derrocada do clímax para corrosão de um homem. Esteve mais três dias cá em que não me atendeu o telefone e 8 meses depois apareceu com uma criança que sofria de trissomia 21, ficou em minha casa uma semana em que mal nos falámos, os piores 7 dias da minha vida e depois desapareceu deixando a Yordanovshka Salvadorovitch Strafelnikov Mayer com um pai solteiro de 18 anos com 75% de ácido sulfúrico no corpo.

I pulled a heist.

Can't disclose the details.

But I pulled a fuckin' heist.