julho 31, 2009
i'm coming home- pt. IVso i moved. ok, more like took a dirty bus and feared the risk of infection and death by swineflue and stayed at bella's for a while. she was away visiting her folks, and left me keys under the mat and CDs in a cookie jar.
made me feel respect no more
her creepy argentinian roomate had cleared the map a month prior to my arrival, so i was all alone and tranquil. bella thought of everything, she really did. all i had to do was wake up and open the window and feel the ''awful suicidal breeze'' as she calls it. makes me giggle every time i open the window to her bedroom.
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i can smell bella's shampoo all over the bathroom still. she left the bottle on the sink, green and a bit sticky with no label on it. she always peels the labels off every shampoo bottle. it started when she moved to a new apartment for the fifth time. the floor is still a bit wet from her taking a shower just before leaving. a long, red string of hair: hi, bella.
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so it was a castle or a monastery in portugal or the netherlands or bahia or any of the fifty states. a tall creature staring at me, ambling closer, she's got the longest hair, some ancient kind of blinding bright eyeshadow and shot silk around her slight figure which i can distinguish quite clearly through the gown and all is emerald green and those long purple flowers the liberal shepherds give a grosser name and my black hair and her yelllow hair and braids of arms and fingers and at last black and yellow hair and emerald green eyelashes entangled growing thicker and tearful teeth and suddenly nothing.
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bella's alarm clock. her mirror next to the bed. bella's black eiderdown. my hair is red again. like hers. my hair is red? what day is it? my throat feels like duck feathers and rain. the sun coughs and i hear the light, her CD playing all night repeatedly cause i forgot to turn the damn thing off. i need to call richard about this. i could have never woken u- richard's dead. richard is dead, i remember now. and this is why i came here, and this is why i'm going out for some fruit and water and not thinking about him, not thinking about him, not thinking about him.
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i come along, but i don't know where you're taking me
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holy heavens, it is still that time of year. that time of month. that cursed time of day when the cars all start, the engines all grin, the trees all bend. they bend in curtsy for you to walk by, my dear. it would be almost unbearable if it weren't delightful. i know you well. you're coming back, if not from the dead, from the halted hourglass of was, which is really just a profound sleepiness. but no, not until another week. for now i should only wait, and walk to the bakery with a friendly smile and say: g'day, sir, may i have, sir, an excuse to stay outdoors, sir? and not going inside will be a kind of triumph, and sitting at a park will be a kind of allegiance not to some flag sewn in a whorehouse but to the sweet scent of shampoo, and bread, and woodfire smoke.
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maria 6:30 PM 1 vociferando estavam