family institution

i think that tonight
you should turn off the tv,
sit on the dinning table,
eat your meal, drink your juice
and listen to every little crap
they have to say about their boring day.

afterwards, during coffee and desert,
you should ask your parents to go outside.
even better: ask them to leave university,
to leave everything behind.

ask them to go on a trip to find your inner self.

then you should turn the listening button off,
and sing a happy song in your head.

then you should scream, in their faces, out of nowhere.
throw a few plates - be red, angry, veins popping,
lots of finger-in-faces - your voice like a riot.

tell them you never had a single pleasure
in your whole life.
they never bring you any pleasure.

then discuss the family myth:

this huge white elephant
that has been standing in the way of happiness,
that has occupied a proeminent space in your lives
for nearly a quarter century now...

oh my god... it has been such a long, long time.

i don't know the meaning of personal space

if i cross your borders,
if i get too close,
forgive me - i don't know
this modern meaning,
this puritan society rule
of distance,
behind the act of a simple,
conforting hug.

aos meus amigos

existem coisas que sabemos no fundo dos nossos corações,
que de tão sabidas são quase sólidas e quase podemos tocá-las.
existem coisas que sempre saberemos,
que podemos ter certeza no olhar ou no toque do outro -
coisas que são verdades inegáveis, que nunca duvidaremos,
que confiamos no íntimo da pessoa do outro lado.

mas é sempre revigorante, é sempre ótimo
ouvir sua boca pronunciar as palavras que regozijam o meu coração duro,
ler as linhas da carta que alegram o meu sábado solitário e cinzento,
e receber as pequenas ações que reafirmam a lealdade e a amizade,
espantando pra longe a sensação de diminuto, de desimportante
que abate o ânimo do espírito em plena madrugada.

é sempre bom, uma vez na vida (outra na morte) ao menos,
derreter o que antes era tão frio e
você reservar um tempinho pra me falar o que é demodê,
o que é clichê, o que está empedrado, arcaico,
o que é impraticável na pressa impessoal da vida moderna -

você me falar o que eu realmente desejo ouvir:

que você se importa.

gonna shed all my tears
on the bar...

i'll let them water
the scotch on my cup.

almoço nu

na minha chatisse antropoliterária
desejo virar antropofágica:
decifrar-te e devorar-te
de guardanapo, garfo e faca.

desejo saborear os teus pedaços,
beber as tuas células sanguíneas,
como minha avó bem faria:
numa beleza dum assado temperado..

the path of the bottle

Raymond Carver
James Joyce
Jack Kerouac
Edgar Allan Poe
Scott Fitzgerald
Jack London
Ernest Hemingway
Charles Bukowski

who will follow?

piegas

longe de ti
minha espera é interminável.
fico a ver o passar das horas,
enquanto uma sensação inexplicável
de enevoado me devora.

sinto enjôo o tempo todo:
meu coração no estômago,
sinto minhas vísceras pulsarem.

então, quando te encontro,
enlaço amorosamente teus ombros
para poder tocar a tua pele
(quando queria, na verdade,
estar agora embaixo dela.)

depois da sexta e do sábado

te chamo pra sentar na minha cozinha
no domingo à tarde, às 4 horas,
pra ficar... sem hora pra ir embora.

sente-se no chão de ladrilho gelado
pra refrescar-se na tarde abafada.

abra a janela pra gente ver
as ruas e ter vontade de sair,
mas ficar em casa entocado
por causa da chuva que vai cair.

mormaço.

abrirei duas cervejas pra gente
e tomaremos primeiras, segundas e terceiras
e depois mais algumas saideiras
para curar nossas ressacas.

é importante não esquecer
que para curar ressaca
é só não parar de beber.

então farei chá e café
com toda arte de quem faz chá.
sentemos pra conversar
e passar a tarde à bebericar.

e irei ao forno, cozinhar,
antes de anoitecer.
vamos beber mais, animados,
ouvindo a sinfonia de pingos
de chuva e Charles Mingus.

o que colocarei na panela?
Sei lá. não tem problema:
eu sei que você come tudo que eu cozinhar.
e os aromas vão pelo ar.

minha boca saliva
e percebo que
a juventude precisa salivar -
não necessita babar por ídolos,
nem inventar desculpas:
a juventude só necessita salivar.

it was like going to a battle in my enemy's home field

there was only fear
in that warm sand.
it was a no man's land
but i went to the war anyway
(the war in my heart)
- and i went to die
and i didn't mind -

'cause the way your body breaks:
it is so righteous to love.

but the way my heart breaks...
it is a horrible, horrible sound.

so i'll write no more
'cause this will be only re-telling the tales
about the rich and the poor,
the ones bellow or above,
or the ones in and out of love.

jazzy

escuto coltrane ao vivo no village vanguard,
janto, tomo um café e um conhaque.
e que o submundo essa noite me aguarde
que eu vou chegar e cantar:
"Mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm
You better come on in my kitchen,
it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors"

moral hangover

i know it's a vice to get drunk
but my ships i have sunk
in your bay.

so, please, let me stay
tonight. i'll sleep tight
and in the morning i'll be gone.

you won't even notice.
i've got to fix my life
'cause everything has come undone.

o ócio nada criativo.

com medo, antecipei que esse tempo chegaria.
chegou e agora me rendo, de novo, ao fracasso.

meu coração, de todos os lugares,
você escolheu como moradia permanente.

e as lembranças fluem e
o desejo bate novamente à porta trancada.

e anulo mais uma vez a minha existência,
me reduzo a letra e ponto
ao assinar mais uma carta de amor.

F.

one about (failed) relationships

you cannot believe love is gone.
you cannot believe in what she has done.

so leave the house, boy,
and look around the corner
it may be a friend
it may be a brother:
everyone's cheating
back on their lovers,
everyone's hidding
underneath the covers.

it takes cold blood, i know,
but it's happening right now.

a loveless marriage:
i see your young father
drink to avoid getting sober.
i see your young mother
silent, to cure her hangover,

i see your young daughter,
making a fool out of her boyfriend,
i see you, loveless child,
a helpless relationship junky.

there is no love nowadays:
just scenes of sexual nature.

trafalgar

sundays are the worst days
where you finally realize things won't go your way
and you sit in your lumpy chair all day long,
all alone, waiting for someone to reach you on the phone

and the phone never rings - you're incomplete -
and you finally can see time is finite.
it never advances towards the future:
it goes and comes back to the point you first started in.

so you call your friends up in bellwoods avenue,
or in trafalgar or moss park: somewhere, the sky's blue!
but no one is home, everyone's gone!
they are all out - and you are on your own.

so, go to the bar and wash away your broken dreams
with rain drops of hard liquour. nothing's like it seems:
watch someone betray a lover, stab a friend in the back,
get sad, get drunk - disappear without leaving tracks.

no one will notice.

friends up in st frances avenue

sitting in a bar, ten past midnight,
with blurred vision from drinks and low lights,
like a punch-drunk, time stopped on the clock
and that last few beers were like fists of rock.

so this friend of mine,
this delicate soul of ancient times,
asks for a simple coffee - black with no sugar,
and starts telling a tale of no humour:

he tells me he is
the last of rock 'n' roll heroes,
the last of the modern romantics,
lighting up a cigarrette, he says:
"i've been alone for a century,
i've walked all those cities' streets
i've cheated death and melancholy,
i've lived what i had to live."

and later tonight he would die
without paying his bills,
without leaving a will,
without saying goodbye
with no dignity.

what is, after all, one hundred years of despair?

honey, please get me out of this trouble.
honey, take this bottle from my hands:
it is poison - i'm delirious, seeing doubles,
clones, ghosts of what the world used to be.

i've been around so many fallen angels
(more or less like jack kerouac wannabes!)
i've shared hope with so many blessed vagabonds
that i've become one - the world did this to me.

so please, honey, leave my paradise to me.
i need to do it, but i can't be set free
(even if my heart is willing to go all the way)

because this is my salvation in a bottle
and no one else here bothers if their sons and daughters
are left alone, enslaved in shells no one can see.

My Two Lovers

I have two lovers in my life
and i love them both too much
to let foolish feelings such
as jealousy cause me strife.

I've seduced them both -
used on them my little charms
like linking fingers and arms
and other kinds of skin touches.

Anyway, my lovers are so sweet
that between them i cannot choose.
In this situation I'll certainly loose,
walking down the loneliness street.