Luciana, a marciana

End of Line

I'm not going to ask that she understands how important it was to wonder how far my patience could have gone deeper. There’s no time to get back to sunny days that we lived so close or open the memories to find something to justify her presence in my life. She was like a bright star that moved it and now belongs to the infinite which has been open since she darkened all my dreams. I should not believe anymore that our paths may be connected in some way and so I just want to sleep a little longer to erase the evidence of a new attempt to make the same mistakes again. I always did the best I could to avoid it all came to the end of the line. Now I've got to look to get away from everything that might lead me to the walls that she left on the way to prevent that I find her in the same places where her eyes lit up my life for so long.

So foolish as I look

I want to tell you about things that I do not understand and why they are memories of a life that I not lived yet as everything has been happening at the same time. I can not explain where I left my last stubborn when I would not be so foolish as I look but I had to close all the doors I knew because I did not know how to cover up my ways of saying how I see the world through the eyes of those who do not known me as before. All I wanted is coming very slowly from one day to another as life was made for remember that I never knew what I was asking because it all comes back now as they were before but for other reasons. The time for answers is becoming shorter and sometimes does not follow the logic of our predicates so shrouded in dust from feelings. I won’t see you as someone I wanted to find a sacred place in my thoughts and nothing can be done so I believe the things that have not happened yet.

Eric Clapton - Love In Vain

California Dreamin' - The Mamas And The Papas - Hullabaloo, March 14, 1966

The Beatles | Hey Jude

Gary Lewis and The Playboys - Everybody Loves A Clown (HULLABALOO - Sept...

Now I know

I've been waiting for this moment since I felt how life must be amazing. Yesterday they said you're out of my mind but now I know they're wrong so I'll follow my feelings to say things I remember for listening when we're apart. Let me show you the way for where we'd cried for nothing because you're in my dreams all these years and I didn't know the real meaning of love. Take me in your arms till the last morning sun and forgive me when the moon is leaving our warm nights. Send my illusions to the roof and keep writing about  that cold and lonely days we forget every time we meet the shinning eyes of living. Don't be late, my dear. The flowers are in your hair but the crossline is empty for your smiling and all we've got to do is saying it's getting better all the time. Believe me when I tell you'll always be my only move to begin the game of searching because you're where the love is happy and full of tears.

For Her II

Last night she said that dreams are still as ghosts of a time that should not  pass until I go through all walks of uncertainty between love and guilt. It's been almost a year since I was sleeping in the arms of the night and I could not understand how things can change our way of thinking about life because I did not know to perpetuate that instant when the lights  to say  there was no reason for doubt whent everything was still  beating inside us. The scars are on my skin and they has been walking over  the open skies for her. Why she forgot the other side of my face? No matter who left the wind blew our choices.but now I must understand that this waiting can not guarantee what was lost between the innerline of thought that does not know how it all happened before I knew what really matter when the reasons are stronger than the circumstances. Maybe I'll go back to the cold ways of April and do whatever had to be done in those days before winter brings the Sun that  never  gonna keep me warm in her arms as the rain does not drain out of the windows that I closed before she tell that the dreams will still remain as ghosts of a time that should not pass.

The Storyteller - The Seller of Poetry

There was a man who had decided to sell poetry for survive in a world where people have beenworking with numbers and personal achievements to ensure no pain in their meaningless lives. He knew that poetry was a raw material and therefore he believed that his words would

contribute to get better human interpersonal relationships. For him the real world did not offer thenecessary freedom of spirit to achieve the supreme happiness. Then there would be a progressivedemand for his services when money was no longer the only source of pleasure to satisfy theconcerns of the modern life. 

So he joined his best writings and gone to the street because he wanted tell the people about the benefits of poetry for everyone who learned to hear the voice of his own heart and understand that feelings are larger than whises. He was standing on a corner where there was a large influx of people and shouted: "Who wants to buy poetry? Wake up to the true meaning of life! Nothing compares to the pleasure to elevate your thinking and make the world a better place to live". Passerby were looking at him very suspiciously wondering that he was one more crazy guy lost in the big city. Everyone watched him but no one bough anything. He waited for more than three weeks and when he was tired of crying he gave up the idea of selling poetry and came back home.

The next day someone knocked on his door and asked why he was selling poetry. He explained his reasons but the stranger told him he could not sell something that did not belong to him. "How so? - He said.  The Stranger complemented: "Listen! thoughts can be compared to a river of flowing waters. Nobody knows where they come from or where they go. Its purpose is to serve all who need it to live. Soon you cannot sell something you got free". The Seller did not understand what was happen. "Please, tell me. who are you?" - the Seller asked. "I am the man who made the rivers" - the stranger said while the Seller saw him disappearing on the streets of the big city. Have you ever seen any poetry somewhere in the world?

The Love of my life

The love of my life does not have haste to arrive. It can come to any time or it never were so close to me as now. It has patience to be born and to die every day or to run away from me forever. The love of my life is not who calls me in the middle of the night and wakes me up while I sleep without dreams, but it knows that I wait that everything happens in the foreseen schedule. It can be in the brightness of a lost look between the uncertainties or in the occult gesture of a soul forgotten in the crowd. The love of my life does not say what it thinks, but makes what it is necessary to keep me happy. It is in some place and goes to hear me when I sing our song. The love of my life does not have face nor words to confuse me and lives one day of each time so that I perceive the reality that moves the unexpected meeting of the imagination. It cannot be seen by nobody until my eyes discover the blue infinite that hides the true and sensible one of the life. The love of my life does not understand me because it does not know to count up to ten and it remains in the mind of who left anything without saying good bye.

Living for nothing (Have you ever seen the Truth?)

Living as a shadow, you will not get to see the light of the Sun. It is necessary to bring the Truth inside you so that the others can see who you are and not as you seems to be. To live in the lie is To live for Nothing. Never says what you does not know, but always says on what you believe, even if  those words change of place all the times that you to leave some thing in the past. Wait for your moment to fly, but you does not must let the others delays your decision to arise. Try to make like the flowers that depend on the sunshine to grow and does not look for the ground when to hear the calling of the stars. Forget what they had made with you because they will have the part that fits to them in the field of the choices. Nobody needs to know what you  says in silence, but everybody will hear when you to show because you’ve arrived where people would like to be. Have you seen the Sun to shine on over your way of living?  Time is everything that you have: makes it  the better  you can do,  while you can be yourself

I've got a dream

I’ve got a dream and I’d been waiting for tell the world everything I saw while I was slept. I asked the government where I should start sharing the good news but they were very busy counting the money from taxes. I asked teachers to invest in ideas that I wanted to deploy in the school curriculum but they were worried about their survive. I decided to find the firemen but they were tired of deleting so many fires. I inquired the religious what I should not to do with my dream but they were focused on seeking the path of salvation. I’ve travelled all continents but the mood of the people were too exalted for me to talk to them. I decided to ask for help to the scientists but they were doomed to discover themselves. I went to poor people but they confuse me with God. I invited the children to my dream but they called me to play. Young people called me crazy and the elders said that I had exhausted my mind. So I went back to my bed and I went to sleep again. Who knows another day it’ll better for them to understand me. What did you do with your dreams? You may not remember but they were lost when you let them die somewhere.

The Storyteller - Just a little Christmas tale

Outside, a thick layer of  snow covered the roofs of that small village. Inside their home, Joseph and Mary had already decorated the room where a Christmas dinner would be offered to their friends. They invited Mr Thompson, a smart lawyer who only served whealthy clients; Mrs Louise, a housewife who lived caring for her sick mother for twenty years; Mr Taylor, a blind writer since the age of five and Mrs Janet, a state judge who had the power to decide when and how someone should be executed or acquitted. Everything was going as they had planned when Mary realized she had forgotten to buy nuts for the filling of Panettone. “No shop is open on Christmas. What do we do, Joseph?” “There is nothing to do, Mary. Let’s move on!” – answered her husband.

Someone had been ringing the bell when Joseph opened the door and he saw a beggar freezing cold and asking for something to eat.

- I have no place to spend Christmas Eve. Could you give me some food? – he asked.

Joseph looked at this poor man and thought of all the people around the world who did not have a home to celebrate Christmas Eve. Then he said: “You can spend Christmas Eve with us, if you want”. “You are our guest” – completed Mary.

- Oh! I am very grateful. By the way, I collected some nuts as I walked in the park this morning. Let me offer some to you as a way to thank your generosity – the beggar said.

Mary accepted the nuts and remembered her Panettone. So when Joseph accommodated the old man in a chair, she had been making a filling for her Panettone and spread over it.                

                                                            

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The guests arrived on time. After dinner they all sat around the fireplace to talk while everyone ate a slice of Panettone that Mary had served as dessert. At midnight the beggar rose from his chair and said he’s leaving that home to make some deliveries. Nobody understood why he said that but they heard him ask what everyone would like to receive as a Christmas gift.  The guests took that as a joke and decided to play:

- My good man, what I’ve got do to have a baby next year? We have been trying this for a long time – Mary said as she hid a shy smile.

- Well, all I want is to see my mother in good health again – said Mrs Louise.

- For me, it would be enough to contemplate the world as I imagine it is in my writings -  confessed Mr Taylor.

- What about if I just have to work for poor people? – asked Mr Thompson.

- I would like to know how to judge between right and wrong – Mrs Janet completed.

“Well, if that’s what you want so it will be” said the old man while he was leaving Joseph and Mary's home.

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Three months have passed when the phone rang at the house of Joseph and Mary. “Hello” – said a male voice – Mrs Mary’s ? “Yes, I am. Who’s talking?

- Congratulations, Mrs Mary. Who’s speaking is Dr Will Robinson. The samples were positive for pregnancy. You will be parents of beautiful twins.

Mary was stricken with that news but she decided to call her husband. He was surprised and asked his wife to tell their friends. She called Mrs Louise and to her surprise she said that her mother was miraculously healed. “Nor the doctors know how it happened” – said her friend. Mary was confused by so much happiness and asked Mrs Louise about the friends who were in her house on Christmas Eve.

- You will not believe, my dear. Yesterday I spoke with Mr Thompson and he told me he only had been getting contracts with the poor customers – said Mrs Louise – On the same day, Mr Taylor came to my house and told me that when he awoke the day after Christmas he was able to see everything around him again. Is not that wonderful?

- What can you tell me about Mrs Janet? – asked Mary.

“That’s the unbelievable of all” – she said – “I heard she quit her job because she could not deal with human nature” – concluded Mrs Louise. Mary looked thoughtful for a few minutes and remembered the words of that beggar over desires of each one on Christmas Eve. “Maybe it all started because of a Panettone – she thought - or maybe the sweet magic of Christmas is really going on. Who knows?"

Sun and Rain

It rains out. The Sun that shines in me insists on propagating its light, remembering that nothing as one day after the other. When everything seems misty in our lives, it is necessary to restore the Sun that exists accomodated in the left side of the chest, as a bomb you give to blow up, crashing pains that defy the blackout moments the one that we are displayed every day.  It can be activated in the minimum things, since that requested adequately for sincere attitudes of irreversible changes in the daily one of the people, by means of the adoption of simple gestures that make all the difference in the result that you desires to reach, in what it says respect to the colors of the station. Every day, as a pragmatic ritual of release, you must insert the benefits of the Sun in your window, when you waking up. Remember the happy days that had made you to bet  in the dreams. Try do not  inside establish parallels of contradiction in your personal project, adopts the position of who already lived the sufficient  to believe in happiness, with the same possibility of being that rain seems to grow the sufficient one to dim your promises of reversion of values. Understand the rain as a process of renewal of the feelings, one pauses in pains, a certainty that your voice did not silence the sufficient one to give up the fight. Rain waters the flowers that decorate the ways for where you passes by every day, without perceiving that everything is there,it is enough to touch them. The Sun has to come on rain because the life is made of light.

Things to remember

So many things she left behind. His watch, his ring, his strange behavior. It was not yet time to leave but she wanted to escape from her fate when she thought the night could bring other dreams that would make her sleep. His table, his hands, his touch, everything was still waiting for someone to keep in a drawer as usual. He does not know when she'll call but he has been waiting until things is getting well. She's so tired to forget the morning sun when he came and tell her how important it was to breathe the air she has whispering in his eyes but now she had to go. Things to remember as life goes on and do not realize that a piece of her smile stayed with him forever. No more traces of his presence in her days but she knows there will always be a meeting somewhere in the streets that would lead her back at his door.

Amsterdam Nights

Never more I want to hear that voice saying to come back at the same place where everything started. The words do not say me what I must make when the reason finishes, because before believing the truth, it was necessary to lie on what you take me. The things were so simple when it did not have details to be clarified, or better, when it did not have reasons to support doubts that never are memories of a happy time that I passed before. To recommence is necessary, now and always, although the nights without sleeping, to the wait of the miracle that is not in me. Of the window, I hear the stars of Amsterdam, way on the rocks in fire and direct my thought the optimum one that I could make while yearning for the angels of, the tomorrow always faithful one to the promises of yesterday. I take care of to protect me of the cold, wanting to know how many minutes are allowed me until something supervenes to the directions and it makes me to adormecer without the city hinders me to spell a name in small letters, from fear to be recognized for as much fluidity. They do not say me what already I know, but necessary to know that hours passes the train of the butterflies, in the speed that the eyes allow that I am. Another day, new address. Things that do not compete me judging, because I am even a stranger the places for I walked UA-20619825-1.

For Her

I didn't used to deal with ghosts before meeting that girl. For her I almost believed that words could be less painful than the truth behind the silence. I never needed to admit the mistakes that I did not commit but I had to accept that the dreams began and sank when we'd been lost in our own illusions. Everything would be different if i had a bit of attention with what appeared to be a sensible way of dealing with problems. The love I've had for her is like nothing I've ever felt before. If I knew the meaning of itself I would tell her but I was so tired of searching so I let the time would keep my secrets of yesterday for no more sadness back to my days. I wonder why she left me before going to the other side of fullness. We haven't finished it yet but I've been looking for my unfinished plans every time I saw her. Some people never know when love means renouncing so I'll stay by myself for a long, long time.

The Storyteller - The Magician and the Liar

Two men walked by the sea, side by side, in silence. Suddenly, Paul, the oldest, looked for the other guy and said:  -- Can we talk while we walk?  - Of course, answered Jack, the young man. What’s your job?  - I am a Magician.  - Really? What kind of Magician? asked Jack Paul perceived the naivety of the young man so he decided to continue with his provocations to see until where that fool would be capable of leaving to be deceptive for his levities.  - I make things to happen and  to become real or it to disappear as If it never  had existed.  – Give me an example, please, said Jack.  - Look for me, asked the oldest. If I tell you that I am inheriting of a great inheritance, but  I have an incurable illness and I do not have children nor friends who to leave my richness, would you believe me? - It would go to depend on of some assessments , answered the youngest. Perhaps if you to give me some evidences of that everything you said is truth, I'd believe you're a magician, exactly because I am orphan and I do not have conditions to work for my sustenance, then, if this everything will be truth, I would be a lucky man. Paul realized that close from there existed a notary's office of a friend of his family to who gave money to confirm his tricks when he found somebody that believed him and decided to go more far with his badnesses.  -  Very well, Jack. We go to the notary's office, now, so that I transfer all my money and my properties to you. When they had arrived at the notary's office, Paul did not find his friend, but, he decided to continue with his plan because he believed that all that employees already knew who he was and what he liked to make with the people. He called the boy that was seated behind the balcony, without knowing that he was in his first day of work and did not know, still, who was Paul nor his friend as owner of the establishment, and said: : - I want to donate to all my richness for this young man that I found in the beach. Please, you must to prepare a document so that everything was made of safe form and that it does not have possibility to revert my decision, in case that I repent me later.  After some minutes, the employee presented the requested document so that he was signed by Paul, and, after that, he took care of to register everything in the Book of the Notary's office, being legalized its signature and supplying to an original copy the Jack. When they’re leaving the Notary's office, Paul said to his friend: "Then, do you believe, finally, that I'm a Magician?"  - I don’t know what kind of magic you’ve done but I can guarantee to you that I am a lucky man, said Jack  - Why do you say that? asked Paul - Because I was a Liar and now I am a rich man - Jack answered - even so I believe that the magician can be the more insurance form for who desires to manipulate a truth

Artigo do Dia - Danger in Paradise

You know me but you don't know what I want. I need to get away from the boundary between staying and leaving. Nobody has to wait so long to escape from the each day without you. Therefore, return to the place that is yours and leave the marks of past in the time that they have been for you.. Now I'm like a wine at your desk, because I'm sweet and soft to celebrate all your rainy days. Forget my face between the fingers of the night who wants to hold you like a warm blanket to warm the words that never were spoken but you've needed to hide my true feelings during the feeling's winter. So, you are my danger in the paradise because I am happy and sad at the same time. Believe when I tell you are the best moment in my life but you were so tired and lost as a baby bird. Some day we remember things we made each other for hurting and searching without a reason. Tomorow I will be here again, for you and for me.

Artigo do Dia -Sonho de uma noite qualquer

É difícil explicar a sensação de que nada mudou quando tudo parece tão diferente do modo como aproximamos a lente dos olhos para ver o que restou de um sonho que nunca termina, embora permanentemente impossível de ser realizado. Os dias passam e as promessas ficam para depois da noite em que me assusto com tanta verdade guardada entre falsas palavras que dizem o contrário do que eu queria ouvir. Agora nada pode ser mais definitivo que a ruptura na imagem que guardei em meus pensamentos até o dia seguinte, porque eram feitas de açucar e atenção aos contrastes de um sorriso que ficou na boca amarga da manhã sem luz. De onde vem essa certeza em tudo que ainda não quero mas desejo encontrar a todo momento? Pelas ruas onde a vida não precisa fugir de mim eu sei que não terei garantias quanto às transpirações involuntárias do meu despertar nervoso à procura de você em mim ou na feliz coincidência de um outro momento entre as nuvens do híbrido céu vertical que me atormenta desde que passamos a ter outros motivos para não sermos mais. Uma noite qualquer como tantas que já deixaram poeira em meus arquivos de viagem ao limite do que eu seria se tudo não fosse apenas um ponto sem final.

Artigo do Dia - O Faro do Coiote

Hei de seguir teus vestígios até que a estrada encontre a linha que separa dois destinos seja encoberta pela poeira do esquecimento na fonte que alimenta o ar com teu cheiro, como predador das minhas previsíveis ilusões. O vento aponta o norte e apaga os sinais do tempo em meu nariz vermelho do teu sangue, enquanto procuro o faro do coiote adormecido em mim, por ter negado tua presença em meu solitário jantar sob a luz das estrelas, em meio às pegadas na areia do deserto que não sonhei por conta das indecisões que me faziam girar em sentido contrário ao momento certo do abate. Volto aos lugares onde perdi teu rastro e não encontro rituais de passagem ao  meu sacrifício, porque não sei a direção de outros caminhos que não me levem ao teu chamado. Mesmo fraco e indefeso, luto para não fugir dos teus ataques e insisto no combate reticente que me aprisiona às tuas mordidas, a cada golpe certeiro da tua presença.    

Article of the Day - Flowers of May

Things that you do not want to remember also remains in your memory as unforgettable traces of a presence so distant from the time that was forever marked for the indifference that you had better inside you for all your life. It was remnants of a joy that flooded in the mornings, because you certainly does not had another one will of to be happy as you was, decided between clear afternoons of summer, when it was made for the simple pleasure to be indefinitely absorbed for the necessity to be there, magic of the words that do not allow a translation without before they were eaten on the table of the satiated ones. To the few, the silence that slept your voice, when you’ve cried, raises its wings and fortifies the air for where you, now, wants to run away in the direction of the free winds of the imagination. The fast waters indicates the ways of safe edges that do not come back to the spring of the past in flames, left without vestiges in the useless attempts to breach the vicious cycle of the love. Your telephone already does not wait the nervous touch of the months of the uncertainty, even so you still thinks that everything would be decided with half dozen of possibilities, Now, does not have more place you to be, for this, it is necessary to follow with the choices that it had made gifts later that the Flowers of May had lowered to the level most critical of its capacity of overcoming. To live will be necessary, before the old station receives new tracks for where the hope insists on passing through.

Artigo do Dia - Há algo de podre no Front do Reino da Mandioca

Os últimos acontecimentos envolvendo espionagem e cerceamento da liberdade de expressão no Reino da Mandioca sugerem fortes indícios de que uma nova ditadura está a caminho, para tristeza e desespero dos que ainda respiram democracia como fonte de alimentação para seus projetos de vida pessoais e costumam acreditar no futuro como um bom lugar para se viver. Há grampos por toda parte, ninguém está livre das câmeras indiscretas de controle dos seus movimentos, tudo parece um filme sobre a Guerra Fria, não existe mais poder sobre as forças ocultas: as Forças Ocultas monitoram a Justiça e deliberam sobre quem deve ou não deve ser considerado inocente. Assistimos, estarrecidos, a ascenção dos medíocres e o exílio dos justos, ainda que tudo pareça fluir na mais perfeita ordem  Quero acreditar que as pessoas do Bem sairão às ruas clamar por seus direitos de ir e vir, fazendo com que as leis prevaleçam sobre as arbitrariedades e não deixem que velhos fantasmas venham intimidar nossas esperanças de reconstruir um país que ainda não deixou de sonhar e que adotou a alegria como estilo de vida. Quanto a mim, estou pronto!  Se for preciso, volto a calçar minhas velhas botas de abrir caminhos, ponho um laço colorido na testa, e, como um hippie cibernético, à Lara Croft, vou ao encontro de voçês, para juntos gritarmos em alto e bom som: Fora, Corrupção! Outra Vez, Não!!! 

Artigo do Dia - Noites Claras sem Luar

O que dizer das promessas que não se cumpriram enquanto eram sinceras? Nada poderá desfazer os laços construídos sobre as pedras do rio que não passa mais em sua casa, se tudo era tão bonito quanto a delicada luz que atravessa meus pensamentos, apesar do brilho farto das palavras que ainda se movem entre as nuvens das noites claras sem luar. Todo meu abrigo se esconde na miragem negra dos olhos vazios de paisagens como estilhaços de alegria, enquanto volto a insistir na vontade de acreditar no infinito que se impõe como ressalva ao encontro do que ainda não ficou no passado. Sempre quero abrir os mesmos horizontes por onde a vida escorre e não me toca, porque ainda não me permito surpreender a ira dos acontecimentos, na curva dos erros cometidos por medo e conveniência aos anos esquecidos de minha outra face, emoldurada pelos caminhos abertos em nome da ilusão, sem perceber o quanto de mim ficou guardado para sempre no abraço adormecido em silêncio e prata. Sei que não duvido apenas do sorriso em branco deixado atrás da porta, onde tranquei os vestígios da cumplicidade repartida nos anéis das atitudes, embora fosse agora o momento incerto de aprender a falar de segredos,  repartindo as horas da manhã impune, sempre que me vejo cada vez mais perto o bastante para não saber como voltar.

Artigo do Dia - Conexão Anti-Dor

Mergulhar e prender a respiração até que o canto da sereia não mais possa ser ouvido. Entender que os antigos vestígios não mais serão decisivos para mudar os rumos dos acontecimentos. É natural que o olhar procure as estrelas sem que os pés toquem o chão, mas, a verdadeira face do infinito está revestida de loucura e contemplação. De vez em quando, o sorriso esboça um movimento regenerador, no entanto, ainda é cedo para reacender a chama azul que agoniza entre os labirintos da vontade de viver e sufocar a beleza refeita em palavras desprovidas de significados, como bússolas de alegria e generosidade. Eu sei que a vontade será tanta que os motivos virão das sobras do amanhecer que insiste em me deixar, na contramão dos desejos feridos em combates sem sobreviventes, feito gotas de um novo dia que começam a pingar entre os gritos de anunciação do horizonte esquecido nas fronteiras da razão. Tenho nove flexas apontadas para o alvo: uma delas atingirá o coração da maçã que não deve ser comida durante o jejum das vaidades a que me reservo, desde o momento em que me nego à entrega com medo de ser feliz outra vez. Juro que será eterno o que já foi dito entre parênteses, porém, libero a conexão anti-dor que imprime seu rascunho em meus pesadelos para que não volte ao mesmo caminho onde a vida termina quando eu lembro.

Artigo do Dia - Considerações tardias sobre o que me leva a voçê (Noites de Amsterdã)

Nunca mais quero ouvir aquela voz dizendo para voltar ao mesmo lugar onde tudo começou. As palavras não me dizem o que devo fazer quando a razão termina, porque antes de acreditar na verdade, foi preciso mentir sobre o que me leva a voçê. As coisas eram bem mais simples quando não havia detalhes a serem esclarecidos, ou melhor, quando não havia motivos a sustentar dúvidas que nunca são memórias de um tempo feliz que passou. Recomeçar é preciso, agora e sempre, apesar das noites sem dormir, à espera do milagre que não está em mim. Da janela, ouço as estrelas de Amsterdã, caminho sobre as pedras em fogo e dirijo meu pensamento ao melhor que pude fazer enquanto anseio pelos anjos do amanhã, sempre fiel às promessas de ontem. Cuido de me proteger do frio, querendo saber quantos minutos me são permitidos até que algo sobrevenha aos sentidos e me faça adormecer sem que a cidade me impeça de soletrar um nome em letras miúdas, com medo de ser reconhecido por tanta fluidez. Não me digam o que já sei, mas preciso saber que horas passa o trem das borboletas, na velocidade que os olhos permitem que eu seja. Outro dia, novo endereço. Coisas que não me competem julgar, até porque sou um estranho nos lugares por onde andei.

Artigo do Dia - Quando dois e dois são cinco

O que passou, passou. Não há como refazer o caminho de volta aos instantes em que tudo poderia ser resumido à perfeição. Sempre que insistimos em lidar com os momentos como se eles pudessem ser eternizados, caímos na armadilha do tempo, protagonizando as mesmas cenas sob um novo cenário. Como não podem ser mensurados pela vertente do acaso, os acontecimentos sugerem novos ângulos de percepção aos que se aprisionam em lembranças inúteis, embora reticentes quando se quer fazer de conta que é feliz. Os números, às vezes, não apresentam resultados exatos, assim como nada é tão fatídico que não mereça uma leitura flexível, para entender o porquê de tantas contradições no vai-e-vem das incertezas no que se refere à felicidade. Queremos isso e não cuidamos daquilo, logo, ou não  utilizamos o verso da moeda, ou, quase sempre, idealizamos imagens distorcidas de uma realidade que não corresponde ao presente, até onde nos conhecemos. É preciso aprender a contar de outra forma: o mundo não precisa de fórmulas para satisfazer a equação dos seus mistérios. Aliás, tudo é perfeitamente explicável desde que não se tenha a pretensão de atribuir erros aos acertos do passado, ou,  melhor dizendo, ao plano de fuga que não rabiscamos na memória, porque não era imprescindível sofrer. Quando dois e dois são cinco, milagres acontecem, as coisas mudam de lugar e regras não costumam ter exceções. 

Artigo do dia - À luta, companheiro.

A casa caiu, mas as paredes ficaram. Sou mais forte agora porque sei o bastante para hoje. Quem precisa aprender depressa acorda antes do Sol nascer e procura a estrela que ainda brilha na noite dos desesperados, para de novo acontecer entre as nuvens que já não carregam chuvas de dor, apesar dos sorrisos guardados na pele desde que me vi por inteiro no retrovisor da vida. A chama persiste, o verão está por vir, enquanto os restos da carne desfiada explode nos out-doors coloridos que norteiam meus pensamentos. Agora é esperar o que há de ser. Não temerei diante do fator imponderável nos meus dias, mesmo que nada seja eterno enquanto sopro de esperança. Aliás, nem me lembro o que motivou essas lembranças, se o que era já não pode estar mais comigo. Passa, vento. Quero abrir logo uma janela que refresque a ausência do que nunca tive. Vou olhar as coisas mais de perto, apreciar o óbvio que  alimenta meus dias e negar tudo que sonhei como projeto de inspiração. A História passa a não se repetir como deveria, mas estou certo quanto ao trecho percorrido antes da virtual chegada. As luzes ainda piscam entre os olhos cegos de miragens e as flores crescem à revelia das estações, porquanto sou realidade em decomposição e fragmento do que de melhor poderia ter oferecido aos deuses da manhã.

Artigo do Dia - Tem dia que é assim mesmo...

Ontem eu fugia. Hoje voçê sumiu. Quem sabe um dia a vida nos convide para entender, ou melhor, quando tudo não passar de um equívoco ou lapso de memória, antes que não seja mais possível voltar atrás. Tem dias em que eu sei, noutros nem te reconheço, às vezes não sei dizer, mas nunca  preciso revelar. Portanto, tenho que seguir adiante e nunca ter que pagar o preço dos esquecidos, levando o que posso e deixando o que é preciso por onde passo, à espera de sinal que me leve aos olhos assustados pela noite em que te vi partir. Volta e meia estou aqui, voçê sempre vai estar por perto, farejando meus medos, fazendo de tudo para que nada mude nas entrelinhas dos sonhos que guardei sob a luz da lua azul entrecortada pelos desertos da alma à procura da água milagrosa que me deixa dormir. Sempre foi assim, nada vai mudar, é só uma questão de tempo e necessidade. Um dia, quem sabe, amanhã, talvez... quem se importa em que lugar? Quero o antes que aconteça, mesmo que seja tudo igual. Por isto, é imprescindível jejuar,  insistir, abrir portais, mergulhar na escuridão, sentir o imponderável, custar a crer, se o que vale a pena é traduzir o sentimento que aflora em nossas teias. Agora, durma, tente lembrar quantas vezes sonhamos o mesmo pesadelo que invalida qualquer motivo para não sermos mais . Tem dia que é assim mesmo ... não somos o que pensamos, porque fomos marcados e ponto final.(?)

Artigo do Dia - Chuva e sol

Chove lá fora. O Sol que brilha em mim insiste em propagar sua luz, lembrando que nada como um dia após o outro. Quando tudo parece nebuloso em nossas vidas, é preciso restaurar o Sol que existe acomodado no lado esquerdo do peito, como uma bomba prestes a explodir, espatifando as dores que desafiam os momentos de escuridão a que somos expostos todos os dias.  Ele pode ser ativado nas mínimas coisas, desde que solicitado adequadamente por atitudes sinceras de mudanças irreversíveis no cotidiano das pessoas, mediante a adoção de gestos simples que fazem toda a diferença no resultado que se deseja atingir, no que diz respeito às cores da estação. Todos os dias, como um ritual pragmático de libertação, insira os benefícios do Sol em sua janela, ao acordar. Lembre-se dos dias felizes que lhe fizeram apostar nos sonhos, tente não estabelecer paralelos de contradição dentro do seu projeto pessoal, adote a postura de quem já viveu o bastante para acreditar na possibilidade de ser feliz, mesmo que a chuva pareça crescer o bastante para ofuscar suas promessas de reversão de valores. Endenda a chuva como um processo de renovação dos sentimentos, uma pausa na dores, uma certeza de que sua voz não calou o bastante para desistir da luta. A chuva rega as flores que enfeitam os caminhos por onde voçê passa todos os dias, sem perceber que tudo está ali, basta tocá-las. O Sol há de vir sobre a chuva porque a vida é feita de luz.

Artigo do Dia - Como se fosse a primeira vez

Por onde seguir, se não há caminhos a percorrer? Vivo em função da espera do que não sei e não imagino a cor dos olhos do medo, perplexo em tuas mãos, por onde os sonhos não acontecem e a vida insiste em me delatar, preso em imagens do que ainda torno possíveis ao meu destino, antes que tudo adormeça em cada nova surpresa. Lá vou eu, de novo, acreditar no perfume das manhãs, sem me dar conta das idas e vindas do sol que já não brilha nas tardes em que fui tão inocente, sem saber o quanto desejei estar presente nos lugares aonde não passei. Talvez esqueça as tempestades, quem sabe inaugure outra ilusão, porque aprendi que não basta ser apenas o mesmo para que tudo se torne tão igual quanto antes. Agora, sou começo e infinito. Meço as palavras com o pulsar das incertezas que mantiveram vivas as alegrias de um mundo que nunca foi tão meu, embora refaça os mesmos gestos que me tornaram um dia mais feliz. Outra vez querer, mergulhar na solidão, apostar no imensurável, refletir sobre a canção que me leva até voçê, antes do frio atroz de maio, quando a dor era apenas uma possibilidade. Não entendo outra razão que não seja o desespero de estar ali, contando os minutos para refazer meus passos, buscar o tempo que me satisfaz na breve lucidez dos pensamentos, sem nada pedir aos instantes que me separam dos campos minados por quem sou ferido na alma, como portas que se derrubam até que sejam esquecidas. No mais, quero voltar e recair sem esperanças, até que o dia aconteça, como se fosse a primeira vez.

Artigo do Dia - O Savoy é uma festa

Entro no Savoy como quem alcança o vento antes da curva do tempo. Piso nas estrelas derramadas sobre o piso escorregadio que remetem ao epitáfio do Poeta cravado nos copos de Chopp (são trinta?) cor-de-madrugada que entornamos, eu e minha saudade, goela abaixo. Sou advertido quanto ao modo de usar o vaso sanitário bicolor e recebo as chaves da cidade antes que o Recife desfaça o presumível convite ao entardecer das horas. Um soldado entoa hinos gloriosos à pátria querida, no mesmo instante em que o casal da mesa ao lado discute a relação entre socos e pontapés. Ao garçon, peço uma cartola e a mesma coxinha hollywoodiana que só se come por aqui, para que nada seja alterado na paisagem que carrego vida a fora, como se a cidade emoldurasse minhas lembranças dos parques do Casa Amarela, quando nada era para sempre nas matinês do Rivoli. O Savoy é uma festa: vou dormir pensando que ainda existo enquanto canção e sou arrastado pela manhã que nunca vem.