Colheita

 É o diabo quem fala em mim.


Alguém afia a foice na penumbra.

Me aproximo.

Sou eu.


Medo

Estou perdido.
Mas ainda lúcido.

Talvez me veja perdido por estar lúcido.

Minha identidade foi construída ao acaso,
aos tropeços dos anos.

Mas sempre um algo aquém da minha essência.

Sempre uma máscara esculpida ao sabor dos afetos;
ao sabor dos encontros e desencontros com o mundo;
sempre se moldando com inacreditável flexibilidade;
sempre passivamente aceitando o formato que a vida
ao menos parecia
impor.

resultando numa careta torta; um estorvo na cara.

A carcaça, o peso, essa carniça que me fede nos ombros
sou eu
Um eu que não é, que nunca foi e que nunca poderia ter sido
Mas que parecia um eu aceitável, um eu digno, um eu...
Um eu mais fácil de engolir.

Talvez pros outros, e pro mundo, e pros valores do mundo.
Mas pra mim, pra mim nunca desceu.

Ao silêncio possível da noite urbana,
ao fechar das cortinas, ao abrir de um livro
Meu íntimo suplica pela sua aurora.

Lucky Mammal

The problem is
You are aware of hundreds of paths
You know tons of possibilities
You are into a sea of potentialities
And that is the reason why you will never be enough.
ever.
So, stop trying.

Just go with your guts.
Trust your instinct.
Do not overthink.
Make the choices.
Live with them with no guilt!
Well, sometimes guilt may show up...
Then forgive yourself for being wrong.
Or say sorry for being an asshole.
Then move on!
Take the path that seems right.
Embrace the possibilities that fits you.
Explore your potentialities with joy.
Let your nature drive you a little more.
After all,

You are just a fucking lucky mammal!

Melhor deixe

Não tem coisa que dê mais trabalho do que a gente mesmo.
Aí tu pensa
"Mas nem dá"
"Mas sou preguiçoso"
"Mas eu não faço nada"
É.
Mas não faz nada por quê será?

É a fuga de você mesmo, de não se envolver contigo.
Porque isso aí dá trabalho. Exige.
Ficar deitado imóvel; horas no scroll down;
Vendo o rolê alheio, a vida do outro.

Crítico pra caralho você.

É bem mais fácil, né?
"Porque se fosse eu faria assado."
Faria nada. Taí deitadão. Xbox chega tá quente.

Role playing.

Porque a tua vida mesmo... pxxxx
Dá trabalho.
Cobra preço.
Gera consequência.
Gera frustração.
Já pensou?
Ter que tentar?
Se pá ter que ver dar errado?
Ter que lidar?
Nossa.

Melhor deixe.

The tree on the horizon

There is a tree on the horizon;
There is the sky behind the tree;
and there is a mistery.

Such a peaceful and scary mistery
that makes me stop, and look;
even without understand.

And when I start to wonder,
'cause that is all we can do,
I get tired.

Then sometimes I forget to wonder
and it gets me again.

Potential

- Why don't you do something?
- What do you mean?
- I don't know.
- What does that mean, "why don't I do something?"
- Isn't there something you wanted to do? Isn't there something you wanna do?
- Like what?
- I don't know. You're good at so many things. You could do anything you wanted to do, you're good at everything that you do. Isn't there something else you wanna to do?
- Than what? To be your husband, to being Frankie's dad? What do you want me to do? What-what-what... in your, like, dream scenario of me, like, doing what I'm good at, what would that be?
- I don't know. I just... you're so good at so many things. You can do so many things. You have such capacity.
- For what?
- I don't... you can sing, you can draw, you can... dance.
- Listen, I didn't wanna be somebody's husband, okay? And I didn't wanna be somebody's dad. That wasn't my... goal in life. For some guys it is - wasn't mine. But somehow I've... it was what I wanted. I didn't know that. And it's all I wanna do. I don't want to do anything else. That's what I want to do. I work so I can do that.
- I'd like to see you have a job where you don't have to start drinking at 8 o'clock, in the morning, to go to it.
- No, I have a job that I *can* drink at 8 o'clock in the morning. What a luxury... you know? I get up for work, I have a beer, I go to work, I paint somebody's house - they're excited about it. I come home, I get to be with you. What's... Like, this is the dream.
- Doesn't it ever disappoint you?
- Why? Why would it disappoint me? I could still do whatever I could do.
- Because you have all this potential.
- So what? Why do you have to fucking make money off your potential?
- Look, I'm not even saying you have to make money off it. Do you miss it?
- What does potential mean? What does even potential mean? What does that mean "potential"? Potential for what? To turn it into what?

(Blue Valentine, 2010)

A Brief History of Suffering

“According to Buddhism, the root of suffering is neither the feeling of pain nor of sadness nor even of meaninglessness. Rather, the real root of suffering is this never-ending and pointless pursuit of ephemeral feelings, which causes us to be in a constant state of tension, restlessness and dissatisfaction. Due to this pursuit, the mind is never satisfied. Even when experiencing pleasure, it is not content, because it fears this feeling might soon disappear, and craves that this feeling should stay and intensify. People are liberated from suffering not when they experience this or that fleeting pleasure, but rather when they understand the impermanent nature of all their feelings, and stop craving them. This is the aim of Buddhist meditation practices. In meditation, you are supposed to closely observe your mind and body, witness the ceaseless arising and passing of all your feelings, and realise how pointless it is to pursue them. When the pursuit stops, the mind becomes very relaxed, clear and satisfied. All kinds of feelings go on arising and passing – joy, anger, boredom, lust – but once you stop craving particular feelings, you can just accept them for what they are. You live in the present moment instead of fantasising about what might have been. The resulting serenity is so profound that those who spend their lives in the frenzied pursuit of pleasant feelings can hardly imagine it. It is like a man standing for decades on the seashore, embracing certain ‘good’ waves and trying to prevent them from disintegrating, while simultaneously pushing back ‘bad’ waves to prevent them from getting near him. Day in, day out, the man stands on the beach, driving himself crazy with this fruitless exercise. Eventually, he sits down on the sand and just allows the waves to come and go as they please. How peaceful!”

― Yuval Noah Harari, Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind

O caminho

Dizem para caminhar.
Tu, mais parado que estrela;
útil feito sombra na noite.

E apontam aonde chegar.
Bússolas pro norte da vida;
dedos que desatam nós;
tão perdidos quanto nós.

O destino a se alcançar.
Como quem despreza a estrada.
Se o que importa é chegar,
então é melhor correr.

"Cuide pra não se perder!"
Como se houvesse um caminho.
Como se eu fosse andar
como quem não vai morrer.

O bonde

Pegaste o bonde andando!
Nunca esqueça-te disto!
O bonde vem melancólico
de longe;
de sempre.

Sempre abarrotado de solidão.
Sempre em velocidade incômoda.
E, mais importante,
Sempre indo
reto;
a diante.

Sempre cheio de gente que,
assim como tu,
Pegaram-no andando.

Todos carga inocente.
Todos peso incapaz.
Esse nosso destino:
Seguir complacentes
em velocidade incômoda.
É isso ou é nada.
Só tem o bonde.

Natureza

O contato com a natureza
sempre apequena;
sempre machuca.
A mata arranha,
os mosquitos picam,
o chão fere os pés,
a água afoga,
o barulho das cachoeiras
cala tua voz.

Não somos mais bem-vindos.
A negamos.
Somos desertores;
alheios;
estrangeiros;

Construímos nossos pequenos oásis,
de pedra e eletricidade,
e, tolamente, nos emancipamos.