Souza e Silva

Eu nunca tinha visto tanto sangue
Ainda mais num lugar igual o nariz
O olho retorcido também me assustou
O pai estrebuchando no chão
Igual quando a gente pescava
E o peixe mordia a isca
E a vara envergava
E o peixe estrebuchava fora d’água
O sangue respingou no papel branco
O pai escrevia uma carta
Ele não conversava comigo
Ele só falava da carta de Portugal
Do tio que morava lá
Que ia ajudar a gente se mudar
Mas a carta não chegava nunca
E os olhos do pai cada dia mais vermelho ficavam
E as garrafas de pinga se amontoavam
E as lágrimas da mãe aumentavam
Eu não sabia usar o telefone
Mas a vizinha ouviu o cachorro latindo
E eu só chorava baixinho
O pai engasgou
E a ambulância não chegou
Morreu
E a carta de Portugal ninguém nunca recebeu.

You’re living the dream, girl!

You walk around all sassy and sarcastic, you can display those legs that you love so much when it’s hot and you can wear your expensive trench coat looking so fancy when it’s cold, you earn a whole lot of money for someone so young, you wait for the sunset smoking and laughing with your friends and you wait for dawn smoking and drinking and making out with them too, you flirt around with your big dreamy eyes with those long eyelashes of yours, you read good Literature – you’re all worked up in the canon, girl! you listen to your alternative bands that no one’s ever heard of – and that makes you so interesting! you’ve moved out from your parents’ house, you eat good food and drink good beer, you go out at night, hook up with whoever – you sleep with men and women and you’re good with both. You’re living the dream, girl!

So why do you look so sad?

Is it because you never know what you’re talking about and people just assume you’re being sarcastic? or is it because you like your legs so much ‘cause you’re fat hence that’s your best feature? or is it because you still haven’t paid your credit card bills – the one you blew up buying that trench coat? or is it because you know you can get cancer out of all that smoking but the cool kids are doing it so it seems about right to follow? or is it because you are so desperate to be loved that you do those sleazy glances? or is it because you don’t get most of those books you read? or is it because you’re so ignorant that you don’t appreciate your own culture? or is it because you miss your family so much it’s  embarassing to say it aloud? or is it because you eat and drink so much to calm down your insecurities? or is it because all of your relationships never last and no one’s ever really loved you?

Oh, don’t you worry about it! You’re living the dream, girl!

etc.

I loved you, Guinevere

On my way back home that evening, one question was stuck on my mind: what is it that people like to watch me sleep?

*

I panicked. Pain in my chest, lack of air in my lungs. Still, I lit a cigarette. It didn’t make me feel better, nothing would. I know my eyes looked mad. My chest hurts while my lungs fills up with smoke and pride. I yell so hard to get it out, but it doesn’t relief me, I just feel worse. DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR PROBLEM IS? Do you? I KNOW WHAT YOUR PROBLEM IS. I DO!

I didn’t. I thought I knew the truth, I thought I was so good at reading people because I judge everybody so well, and I recognize the look on their faces. The thing is, did I know what MY problem was? I didn’t. I don’t.

*

I got home. I needed someone who would know the right thing to say, someone who would place the hand on the right spot, someone who are always there, someone who knows me the best. I needed someone who would not judge me the way I judge others.

I stared at my face in the mirror for hours. I just sat and stared at it. It looked so tired and so confused. Tired eyes, pale skin, crisp hair, dried mouth. I get up all of a sudden and I take all of my clothes off. I need everything off, everything out. I couldn’t bare the mask anymore. The masks.

So I stare at my full naked body in the mirror, and I can’t see anything. There was nothing written, I couldn’t read myself because of all those layers I created.

 

*

You’re a self-righteous ass. You’re a self-righteous ass. You’re a self-righteous ass. You’re a self-righteous ass. YOU’RE A SELF-RIGHTEOUS ASS. THAT’S YOUR PROBLEM!

[But what does that make of me?]

*

I wandered alone in the house. I stood in the porch, lit a cigarette. Someone touches my shoulders. It was me, just like the image from the mirror. The same tired eyes, the same pale skin, only the mouth was different. It was inviting. We kissed. The other me rubbed my back, and kissed my shoulders. It was so relieving. The one person I needed was there. Me and myself, engaged our bodies in lust. We were perfect lovers; we knew exactly what to do.

*

While the other me was sleeping I realized what was it that people would like to watch me sleep: only there, in deep sleep, it was able to read the truth on my face.

 

 

Rapariga

Acordei cedo, obstinado em ir até ela. Tinha meu discurso. Resolvi treinar no espelho. Enchi os pulmões com as palavras: “Você é uma rapariga!”. O espelho me mostrou os olhos loucos. Tive medo de mim.

O pensamento de que pudesse escolher entre o sentido de lugar de origem e o sentido de lugar de exílio me deixou cabreiro. 

Passei o dia todo controlando o pensamento e os olhos loucos. Peguei no sono. Sonhei que me dizia “Me sinto tão só que quando suspiro ouço o eco dentro de mim”. 

Fiquei com os olhos tristes.

Curta-metragem

Plano geral. Enquadramento estático. O casal na cama. Tons pastéis nas paredes e no jogo de cama. Dois criados-mudos brancos. A cama: king-size. O casal sentado, encostado à parede. Plano americano: os dois. Close-up no ator. O ator com cara de bobo apaixonado. Close up na atriz. A atriz sorri. Plano americano: “eu te amo”, diz o ator. Close-up na atriz: ela abaixa os olhos.

 

Corta.

 

Plano geral. Enquadramento móvel. O casal na praia. O casal de mãos dadas caminhando. Pôr do sol. Praia deserta. Close-up na atriz. A atriz com o olhar perdido. Close-up no ator. O ator com cara de bobo apaixonado. Plano americano: “eu te amo”, diz o ator. Close-up na atriz: ela abaixa os olhos.

 

Corta.

 

Plano geral. Enquadramento estático. O casal no restaurante. Velas e vinho. Ao ar livre. Close-up na atriz. A atriz com o olhar perdido. Close-up no ator. O ator com cara de bobo apaixonado. Plano americano: eu te amo, diz o ator. Close-up na atriz: ela abaixa os olhos.

 

Corta.

 

Plano geral. Enquadramento estático. O casal na cama. O casal deitado de frente pro outro. Plano americano: os dois. Close-up no ator. O ator com cara de bobo apaixonado. Close-up na atriz. A atriz sorri. Plano americano eu te amo diz o ator. Close-up na atriz ela abaixa os olhos.

 

Corta.

 

Plano geral. Enquadramento estático. O casal no campo. Amanhecer. Plano médio: o ator ajoelhado segurando as mãos da atriz.

Close-up no ator: o ator com cara de bobo apaixonado eu te amo diz casa comigo sorri.

Close-up: na atriz eu amo outra pessoa.

Resolutions

So, end of year usually makes us look back, put events on a balance, measure happiness and sadness. It also makes us look forward, set up goals, feel hope, make up resolutions.

 Well, I say to hell with all that. I think I have come to a point in my life in which I understand that resolutions are crap. Resolutions won’t do anything for you. No ones gonna force you to spend money on useless things. No ones gonna put a cigarette on your mouth. No ones gonna shove liquors down your throat. No ones gonna take those books you’ve bought but never read away from you. Loosing weight? Don’t even get me started on that one. You make the choices. You are responsible for them.

 But there is one thing, though, that I’ve been thinking about this whole year, and I’ve questioned myself whether it is worth of being a New Year resolution or not.

Words and silence.

I don’t know how to deal with them.

You see, I’ve always believed in the power of words and still I say a bunch of crap all the time. I talk, talk, talk and never say a word. I say things I don’t mean all the time. I talk behind people’s back. I swear but don’t go through. I tell lies, white lies, little lies – but still, lies. And always with the best of intentions, which is worse.

 And silence. I never know when to be silent. I’m not familiar with it. I don’t know how to differ comfortable from uncomfortable ones.  I don’t know how to make a look on my eyes say more than words can tell. I don’t know how to deal with silence.

 I was wondering especially because this year I ruined something great in my life over words.

And all I got was silence.

I need to use words that mean my true feelings.

And you need to show feelings with words.

I can’t stand silence anymore.

 (You didn’t even said “merry Christmas”)

 (I got you a Christmas present)

 (I’ll put this behind me) 

(I’ll stop talking)

 (now)

 

Happy New Year.

O brinco – o fim

Carlos: Desculpa, a conexão caiu e só consegui acessar hoje. Fiquei pensando que é melhor cada um seguir sua vida, Natália. Queria que aquela fosse a última vez que te chamei de Pretinha, sem precisar te chamar pelo nome. Você quer que eu te envie seu brinco por correio?

Sent at 08:23 pm on Monday

Guerra nuclear

Ainda com medo de abrir os olhos, passo a mão sobre meu peito, meu pescoço, e sinto a coisa se mexer. Suas muitas patas articuladas sobre minha pele se movendo e querendo cavar uma cratera em mim, afundar-se em minha carne e mergulhar no meu sulco, beber do meu sangue e minha vitalidade. Seus pequenos membros pressionados sobre meu corpo, tateando o tórax liso. Sinto nojo e repulsa. Sem coragem para abrir os olhos e verificar se aquilo era uma barata ou então qual outro inseto insistia habitar em mim, berne, apenas dou um empurrão nesse bicho que se movimentava ali. Não conseguia mensurar o tempo nem espaço em que eu estava, talvez havia caído no sono no meio da rua e, em uma esquina entre botecos ou padarias, supermercados e açougues, eu estava deitado embriagado, jogado às traças e sobre o lixo, um lugar confortável e séptico.

Tive a impressão de meus olhos estarem pregados e não se abrirem por vontade própria, minha vontade. Provavelmente estavam cheios de remela ou cola, costurados. Movimento contrário era o de minha boca, que insistia em se arreganhar e querer abocanhar o primeiro alimento do dia. Como focas ou golfinhos de circo ou parques esperando pelo peixe ainda vivo jogado pelos treinadores. Sardinha fresca descendo pela garganta, sinto suas escamas e espinha passando por esses túneis dentro de mim. Rasgando-me por inteiro, eu comendo o peixe e bebendo meu próprio sangue. Engulo o espinho e a plateia aplaude. É assim que funciona.

Não tinha coragem de abrir os olhos e espiar se era um rato de esgoto que estava sobre mim. Mas, penso, pelo peso deve ser um inseto, uma barata qualquer, talvez um besouro ou algum desses invertebrados alados, não menos repugnantes e sujos. Me vêm um desejo e lembrança à cabeça: a vontade de pegar o bicho entre os dedos e arrancar-lhe o tronco com meus dentes, mastigá-lo e passar a língua no seu corpo decapitado, senti-lo ainda se contorcendo, a sobrevida de um ser desmembrado, se debatendo na minha mão, tentativa infeliz de recuperar sua vida e liberdade, integridade; e a história daquela mulher que mata a barata em sua casa e sente o incontrolável desejo de comer o tal bicho, e o faz. Insistia na ideia de que poderia ser um rato talvez, camundongo pequenino e sutil, tranquilo sobre meu peito, querendo roer o pedaço de queijo que caiu do lixo em cima de mim, se fartando desse laticínio e sem ter que dividir com os outros membros de sua sociedade. Querendo comer minha carne até chegar no sem fim de meus ossos, que roeria eternamente. Mas eu, relutante, sentia o peso de não apenas quatro patas sobre meu corpo. Eram seis, oito, e mais algo se debatendo. Concluo que não era uma ratazana.

Um sono interrompido de repente, da calmaria de minha cama e quarto, por uma intervenção, infortúnio de um inseto que surgiu não sei de onde e veio direto para mim. Sanguessuga, percevejo, pernilongo modificado em laboratório, gigante de membros pesados, totalmente articulado, me furando e penetrando mais fundo para sugar minha vitalidade, controlando meu sonho e sentidos. Quase um ladrão, vampiro, estuprador que prende os meus pés e braços, me imobilizando todo, e me invade, abusando de mim e me possuindo. Estou entregue ao invasor, à sua mercê. Escorpião com sua cauda pontiaguda e fatal, seu veneno injetado nas minhas veias, fazendo-me delirar e variar os pensamentos. Tarântula, caranguejeira, viúva-negra me ameaçando, minha repulsa e imobilidade. Nem consigo entreabrir os olhos, esforço-me mesmo assim bem devagar, sutilmente, para tentar descobrir quem me provoca e me possui.

Mas talvez eu esteja num deserto delirando, sentindo minha pele ser deformada e se desidratando. Ou dentro de um caixão. Laudo obituário falso ou precipitado, e depois de alguns dias, vermes subterrâneos já me perfuram e apreciam a carne tenra e perfumada que jaz imune e sem vazão para a sobrevivência pós-enterro. De qualquer jeito, corpo putrefato e violado. Nada mais a ser feito.

Depois de tudo isso imaginar, fazendo suposições e percebendo que realmente eu estava acordado e que sentia algo sobre mim, fui seguindo por essas linhas anteriores, roteiro ou diário,  tateio meu peito, aquele ser ainda ali, barata no meio da noite. Pego-lhe entre os dedos, meus olhos não se abrem e minha boca se arreganha. Aperto o bicho sem indulgência e, mecanicamente, arranco-lhe a cabeça e mastigo.

Missing Calls

Thursday night. 7:08 P.M.

First

(“Hey, what’s up? It’s Dan. Please, leave a message.” Tone. Short breath. Sound of rain falling down. Noise of horn and cars passing by in the street.)

– Hey, Dan. It’s me. I sent you some messages but you didn’t reply any of them. When you want to talk about what happened, please call me back. Bye-bye!

Second

(Tone. Sound of rain. Footsteps. Noise of cars in the street. Unidentified conversations. Laughs and ovation. Sound of glasses and people drinking a toast. A distant music is heard from a bar as soundtrack while Tamir calls Dan again. The singer meows: “Love will make you drink and gamble, Make you stay out all night long, Love will make you do things, That you know is wrong…”)

– Hello, it’s me again. I called you many times earlier but you didn’t answer. Hope that you’re okay and still wanna talk. You know, I’m afraid you do something crazy because of me. So, as soon as you listen to this message, call me back, ok? Bye.

Third

– Dan, can you please answer the damn phone? I’m getting to your apartment right now and I’m gonna wait you there the time you need to get home. Where are you?

Fourth

– For God’s sake, I’m sitting here in your doorstep waiting for you to come and catch you when you show up.

(Short pause. Unidentified noise. Long breath. Sound of boots stamping on the ground. Tamir continues talking, his voice is a little emotional and angrier.)

I can’t stay in your apartment without you anymore. I knocked the door many times but certainly you’re not home ‘cause I can’t hear a single footstep or any other sound from there inside. I brought my keys but I couldn’t get into there knowing that you’re not home. This loneliness I feel is painful. The only thing I see here besides me is my shadow, and I don’t want it to be my only company. I fucked up, I know. But, please, let’s try to talk and see if you can possibly forgive me. Don’t you know that I regret what I’ve done and miss you so?

(Short pause. Tearful breath. Unidentified noise. Sound of key unlocking a door. Voice is cut off.)

Fifth

– Alright, as you don’t want to call me back and hear what I have to say, I’ll explain you here. We had that awful fight like others and I was so angry for your pressure over me, all this distrust you put in our relationship. You know I never cheated on you before, this whole time we spent together and I always been yours, just yours. Even in my short trips I never slept with other guys. But you were as usual so jealous of me for things I never done.

(Long pause. Hoarse noise of a door being opened. Footsteps. Sound of somebody taking his shoes off. Footsteps. Unidentified noise. A slowly song is heard being played. Footsteps. Sound of somebody lying somewhere. Tamir’s voice is softer and lower, cut off sometimes. Long sigh.)

Your look and tears were not enough to make me realize that I should hold you in my arms and let your cry be the only sound. How was I to know I’d break your heart? I thought I was a strong man, but I am weak. I took your love for granted. My feelings are truly sincere, you should know. My passion is like a disease, a fire that burns brightly inside of me and it’s all for you, all because of you and not anybody else, baby.

(Sweet and melodic voice singing: “Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough, I don’t know why…” Unidentified noise. Long breath. Voice is cut off. Silence.)

Sixth

– Hun, don’t play with me! I know I deserve it, but your silence and distance are killing me so deep. I can’t live without you anymore, without your love, without you by my side. You are my one true love. Maybe it’s too late to say that, but please, forgive me. I beg you!

(Short pause. Long breath. Only the song is heard: “I know that love is mean, and love hurts…” Long sigh.)

Amidst all the mess you left behind in your bedroom I found that CD I gave you right after we started dating. I let it play. The days we were so close and in love with each other came to my memory. Right now I’m lain on your bed, our nest, waiting for you to come, smelling your pillow and sheets. And now a song tells me the whole truth about what I’ve done: I hurt you! I know you’ve always hated betrayal, but I was outta my mind for the things you were accusing me of, and I didn’t do by then. And, mixed with a couple of drinks I had, it all made me act like that.

(Long pause. Tearful sigh. Footsteps. The music stops. Unidentified noise. Footsteps. A slowly song begins. Sound of somebody lying somewhere. Crying breath.)

Hun, I want you, can’t you see? But I really need that you forgive me. Let’s forget this fucking thing, my damned mistake. I’m a fool, a stupid dumb-ass. And maybe it’s too late to tell you so, but I love you and I want you so bad in my life,  darling!

(Tearful breath. Pause. A song in Spanish is heard. Voice is cut off. Silence.)

Seventh

– Don’t be such a drama queen and answer the damn phone! It was just a guy. I don’t even know his name. This fuck doesn’t mean anything to me but just a fuck. I was outta my mind and wanted to do something to make me turn off a little. Can you just call me back and tell me that you hate me, that you want to kill me, or that you don’t want to see me anymore? Shit!

(“Será mi gloria personal, Nadie, ni tú, me la podrá quitar, Verás…”)

(Unidentified noise. Voice is cut off.)

First

– Hello, Tamir. I just saw your calls right now. And oh, you’re so pathetic to think that I’d act like crazy and maybe cause me a tragedy. Hun, you really think I’m so depressing to end my life because of you? Ouch! You’re such a depressing jerk!

(Breathless voice. Sound of water falling down from a shower. A distant male voice singing is heard: “Padam… padam… padam…”)

As you may be listening by the sound around, I was unavailable to reach you ‘cause I was fucking a guy I met in a bar. He was with a couple of friends drinking some beers and then he started flirting with me. His name is Jacques,  he’s younger than you, and you know, he has an unstoppable hunger for sex! So cute and hot. He works as a model and travels a lot. He’s so fresh and handsome, also so elegant. A charming lad! I could stay staring at him for hours, admiring his beauty, his whole sexy body. And oh, he’s not a bitch like you!

(Sound of a man taking a bath, whistling and singing a French song: “Padam… padam… padam…, Il arrive en courant derrière moi, Padam… padam… padam…, Il me fait le coup du souviens-toi, Padam… padam… padam…”)

He just moved to his own place, as told. We were talking for a couple of minutes and drinking some tequila, then we went to his home. He’s so fucking hot and I was so horny! You better than anybody may know these things happen, huh? We fucked all night long. He’s really a great man, a great fucker, you know? I just took a shower and may be going home soon. So, fuck you and get outta my life! You bastard!

Friday, 8 hours later. 3:24 A.M.

O brinco – parte II

me: ficou pensando oq?? ja to morrendo de saudade… que bom q vc chegou bem!
me: ahh, eu falei pra vc! eai, ta mto frio??? arruma internet logo pra gente conversar! foi muito triste acordar sozinha na minha caminha hoje…

Sent at 10:24 AM on Friday

me: nossa, meu bem. saí hoje a noite pra encontrar os meninos, mas rolou uma coisa muito tensa. vi um motoqueiro ser atropelado na minha frente… eu demorei um tempao pra perceber que era uma pessoa voando na minha frente. foi muito angustiante.
me: eu tava saindo do banco pra tirar dinheiro, nem teve barulho de batida, nada. só o derrapao da moto e o cara voando por cima dela. eu nem tinha percebido nada, ouvi pá pá pá, assim, tres vezes e depois que fui perceber que era o capacete dele batendo no chao. quando entendi a situacao sai correndo igual uma louca.
me: depois fiquei pensando que eu devia ter ajudado, chamado a policia, uma ambulancia, sei la… mas o cara que atropelou parou pra ajudar, pelo menos
me: me deu uma coisa mto ruim no estomago. imagina se o cara morre na minha frente?? queria que vc tivesse aqui pra ficar comigo… te amo tanto…

Sent at 03:04 AM on Sunday

me: cade vc??????
me: ti amo, ti amo, ti amo

Sent at 9:58 AM on Sunday