Your face is way too rosen to be on the dark of your darkness

I will not lie little sister (thou shall not fall)
Come come to your brother (thou shall not die)
Unchain me sister (thou shall not fear)
Love is with your brother (thou shall not kill)

.1.2.3.

I

would

perhaps
put
her

even

worst

.

!

Porque ser bom não chega. Não basta tão só fazer parte da excelência...

Tinha de ser!

Corvos - Suspiro Nocturno

Punkts über Leben

Raios de um leito

Uma safira alaranjada
Cor de pele e muitas cores
Entre sombras, apagada
Sorrindo máscaras e furores

Um tumulto, longe farda
Uma obrigação, um querer
Dois em um na livre estrada
Desta sina nossa que é viver

Olhas-me de cima e no tempo do saber
Por entre fragas, lutador,
Prendes-me às cortinas, vês-me falecer
Boémio de morte, mal-feitor

Entregas-te ao todo da alegoria
E dizes em voz alta que a Natureza trouxe a luz
E tu és origem Santa de tamanha magia
Um corpo eterno que teu olhar seduz

No nono leito barafustei
No décimo sorria com medo
Até às sete badaladas fui ninguém
E tu fonte de letal segredo

Leva-me contigo na eternidade
Seja Amor ou poeira de tempo
Leva, leva, fria deidade
Leva-me e vive, queixume de fingimento.

07-05-07

Bah!

O país morreu com Camões...
Cinco séculos de utopias e dramas inacreditáveis...
O degredo, o fim de uma glória sonhada, de uma conquista retraída...
Hoje, somos vácuo...

E as armas e os barões assinalados
Bem longe dessa área lusitana...

E assim escreveu Shakespeare:

Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts. Unsex me here! And fill me from the crown to the toe full of the direst cruelty. Make thick my blood. Stop up the access and passage to remorse that no compunctious visiting of nature shake my fell purpose. Come to my woman's breasts and take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, wherever in your sightless substances you wait on nature's mischief! Come thick night, and pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell that my keen knife see not the wound it makes, nor Heaven peep through the blanket of the dark to cry, 'Hold, hold!'

Apocalyptica e Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - A companhia de hoje

Por vezes romantismo nada tem a ver com amor.

Baús metafísicos - esboços de nada

You hear the clock. Something's there. Outside, somewhere. You hear its wind, that unfathomable hag, that ecstatic incubus. Between each word a ballad and a drop. The torrential rain doesn't forgive. Through the crags, the serpentine hollows are martyred secrets of reason and power. Between each of them, a satire, an abyss. And you hear those unhumanly poorly appreciated voices, among drops of colours, of sins, painting mixed figures of haggard wings. You just stay there. You hear it. You close your eyes, smell the rain, tremble each pore of your skin, feel the darkness, embrace yourself on it, absorb it and when you try to see it your tears turn to blood and each painting avoids your deepest dust. You stay there all by yourself trying to figure out what may it be, what may you be, what may you may...
...
A single lady by the stairs. She is starring at you with those sad eyes of a lived life and those iron claws pointed at you. With a single shadow upon her waiting for her to live, simply the will of travelling to the other side for someone else to be killed. You stand there, day by day, trying to see her leaving but you just can't, you just can't go, she just can't want to. The hatred tells her to kill you, to rip each tendon of your skin, explore each muscle, eat each poisonned vein, smash each bone of yours. But she can't move already. The pain is even too high to breathe. And you just can't move. Any second is like an hour and you can't move. Your dying with her. Your hands are painted in black, your fears are filling your thoughts and your will turns to sand, blows in pieces of paper, on clouds of wax. Storms by her. She dies. Heart is still beating. You take it, swallow it, move it and open your eyes. The heart is still there. Your blood is comming from it and suddenly all world is gone. You're the one. You're the only one. And you're dying.
...
A music box is singing your name. You touch the brands of the world and something blows outside. You run. I, the deepest you, want you to fill me in. You dry. Run, run, run. You dry. You can't feel a thing 'cause you're too sentient. You move, you cry, you tremble, you chill, wizen. I shout it louder. Deepest self prays your secret and shout it louder with words you can't tell. Light turns to black. Iron. Always iron. Sometimes wax, sometimes olive. Roses came by. They fall. Your hand freezes. I shout it louder. You don't feel. You don't even hear. You run. Everything else smiles at you. You fill you in. I scream for you. Ignoring field I start to climb the mountain of silence. You cry. Everydody smiles. You forget. I die. You move. The rock drops by, you swallow it. I die, you move. You seek, I shout.
__________

Three pieces of a main dream. It has nothing, it means nothing. Even if it does, it doesn't matter. I heard that, i lived that, i just can't remember what connected which and how exacly that staff came to me and mainly how exacly it did circulate through my brain. And the subjects, think of them as noone 'cause i haven't seen a single body on the dream. Only shells of selves.

Breaches of blasphemic desecrations