sexta-feira, 27 de fevereiro de 2009

Hard Case Kid

Fui pro paraiso e voltei cambaleando bebado de whisky barato, tomando uma garrafa de Biotonico gole em gole fumando um maço por hora. "Trash é tão sexy, é tão proibido!" diziam as meninas nas portas dos shoppings, vestidas em preto e all star. Pois eu viro com a fumaça ainda saindo da boca para responder apenas com um "Lindo não é? Um homem que não devia ter sido, foi condenado sem chances de justificar na corte dos deuses do paraiso e foi imediatamente chutado pelas portas para cair aqui, aonde ele passará o resto dos seus dias jovems bebendo e fumando. Jogando fora uma vida jovem que antes era tão alegre, que hoje se resume no medo de cair no sono, pois nos sonhos vêm o paraiso e com o paraiso vêm a dura realidade de ter que acordar para ver que este inferno é a pior realidade que um sonhador pode ter."Rindo um pouco, volto minha cabeça para direção que meu corpo está indo e por falta de lagrimas apenas continuo cambaleando pelas ruas brasileiras.

domingo, 22 de fevereiro de 2009

I Like The Color Pink

But i'm not gay.
How does that work?

sábado, 21 de fevereiro de 2009

KindNappers #2

Dear Bruno,

My husband died one year ago of AIDS, he got it from having sex behind my back with hookers.


KindNappers #1

Darling Joana,
I believe you remember me, but I am not all too sure.We had class together in 3rd grade, I was the boy who smelled funny (you know, the one you always made fun of).
I think you'll be glad in hearing I do not smell anymore. After several years, and showers. I have begun to smell like a new man. I remember you would get all the kids together to pick on me, and hit me some times. It was all good innocent fun.
Well I suppose I should give the motive for this letter, and stop being so nostalgic!Joana, I have your husband in the back of my van. He is fine, in case you were wondering. Although the ropes make him a tad uncomfortable from what I see. I wouldn't mind releasing his hands and feet if only he kept still and didn't try to run away while i write you this.
I do hope you don't mind coming out tonight to the park say around, midnight? And if you could be so kind as to please bring £15,000 with you that would be Fantastic. Well I will finish here because me and, Fred is his name? Yes, Fred. We are going on a little ride around town, I have fantastic places for him to visit. Unfortunately if you do not show up I must give him a closer view of the bridge outside town.

Hope you are well, Bruno.

Saturday Night For _______

"Walk on kid, but watch your step.Every tile has it's own little bit of poison."-Subconcious

Instead of turning to go home I drove straight on and took a left at the avenue, found my old house.Well this is bizarre as fuck. I haven't seen this place in a mighty long time.My friends tell me I need to get more sleep, tell me I'm paranoid.Bah, it's all jealousy. This whole teenage business has left me a little scarred.My head still gets pounded by the eventual sledgehammers, but that's nothing a little weekend of hard drinking wont fix. Those who have known me, know I have changed slightly. And I simply can't help it if it's within my nature to venture about different experiences. That life inside my flask is being quickly consumed by my unhealthy and careless habits. I have lost my uncanny ability to care about things, and it's gotten bad. To the point where I actualy can't remember where I left my drivers license, though I'm sure I didn't get careless and forget it inside a strippers bra. It don't matter much though at this point, I'm fairly drunk and ended up having a couple weird drug experiences not too long ago. I want to go home but I don't, it's this weird sensation where I think i'll just waste time if I sleep.Whenever I do get any sleep I wake up feeling sick and quite tired. I avoid sleep because I know I would rather do that than live an actual life.I am hazardous, people think I am the meaning of polemic, and girls stay far because they know I'm exactly what they're mothers told them to avoid. But I do hope you know I never forgot. So there.



I'd like to write about romantic things and perhaps even something that might take someones breath away, But I gave my creativity dollars out to the poor.

Anonymous Brazilian Love Letter #1

itamar: I have to work a lot now, , but as soon as possible I will to visit yu, but , I have to tell you, at the prresert you are in my dreams almost every day..

Anonymous Love Letter #3

Hi there _____, I personally didn't know how to start this off so i'll just go about it my own way.I miss you, Jeff says you are mighty fine but I spose it's my way of being with all this worry.Now I have spent my 35 years selling fireworks to younger american generations. They all remind me so much of us, when we were in our youth. I know I shouldn't mention it, I know you have that same heart I broke so long ago. But we know me, I just can't keep this mouth of mine shut. Always goin' off about wanting the world to change, peace and all that. I just don't have that way with words anymore, I spose.

I quit drinkin, thought you might want to know that. Doc says I was pretty darn close to getting myself killed with that. Now I haven't gotten myself into any churches, no ma'am i'm still that sorrounded by my own common sense.

I traveled pretty far corners, saw my fair share of interesting things. I saw the meat loving Gaúchos rounding up some cattle in the south. I saw the quiet and mysterious (but kind) folk of the green lands. I saw the sharp eyed curious Japanese man with his fascinating traditions. Even saw myself a tribe of able-bodied aboriginals in the Australian lands. Trying to avoid the fact that during those 15 years all I ever really wanted to see was your smile again. No need in running that far from the problem, it'll be around the corner every minute.

Looking back now, I never got to the things I really wanted. Could have at least made myself a kid to make this nomad life a little less miserable. I'm sorry, miserable isn't the word I want to use in describing my life, I harbor no regrets in it aside from the obvious. Just ain't easy lookin' out for my lonely self 365 days a year.. God knows i'm a rough definition of trouble. Then again he also knows that in 1935 no man as old or strong hearted as me should be crying over lifes spilt milk. But I miss the old days, I do. I don't feel safe much in these new times.Now that I look back at it I should have gone with you to more parties in the 20s. You weren't like those deadly french girls storming the continent, You were just you. With your big round eyes, pointy little chin. Memories aren't my thing, but if I told you I still remember your face you'd believe me right?

Anyways I thought about the end of this letter as much as I thought about the start, and just as I couldn't find a start I can't find the end to this letter.Believe me, I've been lookin' for it everywhere. Maybe my heart just beats slower than it used to. Anyways. I hope you know who this is ______, because I still remember the girl who danced with me in the New York rain and didn't give a damn about her makeup being ruined. My heart is forever yours, _______

sexta-feira, 6 de fevereiro de 2009

Agree to Disagree

As consequências do meu trabalho tem frutos estranhos de uma magnitude tão inexistente que é bem possivel que torne a pessoal que pensar o mesmo completamente insana.
Gosto disso, de ter algo que nem muitos tem.
Consigo ser impulsivo e completamente sem noção, como consigo ser realista e sensato.
Será problema do passado? Medo do futuro? Ou felicidade pelo presente?
As 7:37 quando uma luz bate no seu olho, uma mulher causa isso quando vai molhar suas plantas no apartamento ao lado. As consequencias dessa ação podem ser horriveis.
Sopõe eu estou carregando algo pesado, vamos dizer uma TV.
Esta luz bate no meu olho, não vejo a corda que caiu da minha mão e caio bem em cima da quina da mesa com minha garganta, morrendo uma morte terrivel.
Isso é impossivel.
Agora vamos pensar no lado bom, talvez isso aconteça mas eu não morro. Ao tirar satisfação gritando como se eu estivesse na Vila, sai uma menina com a cara da Joan Crawford (em 1925, claro) e uma daquelas personalidades que só um cara estranho pode gostar, dos tipos Alice Prin.
Claro isso é mais impossivel ainda, mas se alguém achar uma dessas me fala, quero conhecer.
Mundo, mundo, desculpa mas eu acho que as mulheres eram mais bonitas entre 1919 e 1929. Não posso dizer por experiencia mas fotos podem dizer muito.
Hoje as coisas estão muito estranhas. O romantismo é raro, e quase desesperador quando acontece. É tipo ver um cometa, se você não viu por que foi pegar uma coca-cola então isso simplismente diz que... Você acabou de tomar no cu.
Seu filho vai ficar sem nada pra fazer um dia e vai fuçar e descobrir que um cometa passou na sua vida. Ele pergunta como foi e tudo que você pode dizer é "não vi, queria coca-cola".
Enfim, fico na minha até a revolução dos mortos vivos na terra. Assim posso casar com o zumbi da Lillian Gish.


domingo, 1 de fevereiro de 2009

Cityfolk and The Lost

God i'd sure hate having an awkward wake-up call.
Waking up next to someone you don't know pretending they love you when all they really want is for you to be romantic for the next few hours until you both go to work and never see eachothers faces again. A poet sailed away from his home and doesn't think he'll be seen ever again, got caught up in a storm and will be lucky if he makes it out of this one alive.
Cretins the whole lot of them, trying to impress me thinking i'm that easy. I'll be taken in dead before I set foot on that kind of soil anytime soon.
Sunny days that turn into stormy sailing for the poet, he drifts off for a few seconds in hopes of regaining his faith in his memories. Looks behind his shoulder and see's a giant wave heaving over him.

By the night I wanna get your calls to tell me how many lines you've gone through, maybe i'll get turned on enough to stand the wet coke and sweat dripping on my sheets again. It wasn't meant to happen considering you came to my home at 3 in the morning shaking and obviously in need of comforting, it's the only use for me these days.
Our hero awakes in a daze with sand in his mouth and a rubbery hair from being in seawater for so long, spots some natives who have a mischeviously inviting smile on their faces.
Not too long from now you'll see me walking by and call me out from the crowd, but i'll try my best to ignore it. Not that I don't like you, I just don't bother with this kind of thing anymore.
Now our friend has been captured by natives but has found a loophole in the chiefs daughters heart. Good luck, dear one.