agosto 22, 2009
i'm coming home- pt. Vso i said, crashing for the third consecutive week at bella's (i had never done this before): love is what you may or may not find in that deep and black hole-ish gap between your head on his chest and the minute the words that come out of your mouth in hope of communication get sucked into large black space.
she euphemismatically told me that i was becoming a boring sentimentalist with no depth or vision. whatever in hell did she mean by vision? i promptly agreed, though. bella, thou art my salvation. she laughed at this ejaculation, but i know she was really just thiking: i've always been, dear. then she gave me some toast, jelly, peach tea, old books, notebooks and torn pages from books and notebooks. her way of saying, i need to go check on my dad at the hospital, you'd better stay here but don't worry for these things will surely entertain you.
---
i need the fuel to make my fire bright
---
i was entertained indeed. there were letters, dozens of them, mostly from old suitors. and yet we were still so young. i felt the urgency of youth swirling in my diluted blood. the more water there was mixed with the red stuff, the easier it would reach the boiling point was my guess. in less than half an hour my whole body was simmering, not at the fiery words written by sweaty palms but at my own reminiscences and feelings of wasting time and getting it back. as if time were such a thing you could get ahold of, my own dad would have said. such a dreary subject i thought damn these ancient poems and photos.
then i had a brilliant idea: if i would just smell and listen to and look at today i wouldn't feel so goddamned sour.
i went over to the window but something prevented me from opening it.
---
and i know that you feel it too
---
can i be sure about all the coincidences? i'm not convinced. whether you can tell: this one was the hand of God, whilst this was more of a premonition, but this one, oh, this one was a mere coincidence, nevermind it. since i could not open the window i decided to just go downstairs and get some fresh air.
---
you'll know that it's warm inside
and you'll come running to me
---
i saw him land. my red feet on the grey pavement. young, necktie, blindfold. or was it the tie looked like a blindfold. a smashed vase of gardenias. yellow checkered pullover. the blooming fabric intact till oh hey, it still looks intact. trees all around in silent judgement. trees know a lot about these things you know. to proctect themselves from a slow death by boredom they have made this their area of fucking expertise since the first sucker drowned himself in porridge. it keeps them amused. so young and fresh. not anyone's suitor yet. peach-looking little boy, landing is a way of saying he did make some awful noise but i had on my headphones and did not dare to remove them. i felt their pressure in my ears. i could have accidentally dropped my cellphone into the sewers from the shock and stuff but this was no melodrama. i sneezed instead, it was chilly and i had no jacket. i usually sneeze under such circumstances. looked down at my feet again, not the red shoes, but the yellow sneakers. which brought me to putting them on before leaving the apartment, which brought me back to bella. i'll carry a gold filling for you through acres of cruel snow. this is what the song said. i said nothing. bella (thank god) was nowhere near. red. blue. sirens sung not so enchanting. they're just bird-women after all. some birds sound really annoying to tell you the truth. but after a while: keys: strings: finger holes on ceramic: the sound became pleasant enough. so i followed, a hallucinating homeless sailor. they almost hit me, i couldn't see their lights. a few steps forward. and there they were.
---
don't fight it anylonger
---
maria 3:26 AM 2 vociferando estavam