Adam and Life

      And Adam, sitting upon his throne of grass and trees, wondered about what it meant to love. For a long moment he thought of art and fiction, and deemed them precious, for in his opinion nothing surpassed them. And yet he longed for life, plain, unbound and beyond measure. He yearned for love in all its forms, for the ending of all kingdoms, for the liberty that life and love bring, and then he paused, briefly. He paused all his thought and in that curt moment nothing came to his mind. It was a most marvelous instant, one he did not deem lightly of. And then, when he resumed his imagination and reflections, all that came to his mind was the immense desire for life to imitate art and fiction. Yes, that was what he desired and craved and proceeded to procure. It did not matter to him how he obtained such strenuous reality: it began to shift the moment he thought what he thought. And the sun in the Eden skies shone ever more brightly upon him. 

love is not enough

I need to have sex with someone I love, someone who loves me back.
Is love feasible?
It could.
Nothing in this world is sacred.
Innocence is. Just as sure as its perversion is profoundly profane.
And yet we always hurt the ones we love.
The ones we shouldn't hurt at all.
Do you love me?
I don't love you.
I love you.
I love you not.
I thought that could be enough.
It's not. But I do wish it were so.
Wishing is half the work.
Not really, no. Wishing is wishing, non plausible; if wishing was in fact half of what is wished, then it wouldn't be wishing at all.
Yet otherwise negotiable.
Perhaps.
It is. Wishing for something is getting up and getting it.
Unless you can't afford it.
Love can't be bought.
Can it be measured?
Perhaps, with the right ruler.
Should we just throw a coin into the wishing well, then, and hope for love to come flying to us?
Just make sure you grab it as it's coming up.
What if I don't?
If you don't, it's gone, it might fly too high and burn its wings.
How melodramatic.
That's what and how love's supposed to be.
Are you measuring it, then?
Maybe I have the right ruler.
I wish I could love you.
But you love me not.

Para Antuérpia, sem esperança

"Talvez pudesse ouvir passos junto à porta do quarto, passos leves que estacariam enquanto a minha vida, toda a vida, ficaria suspensa. Eu existiria então vagamente, alimentado pela violência de uma esperança, preso à obscura respiração dessa pessoa parada. Os comboios passariam para sempre, E eu estaria a pensar nas palavras do amor, naquilo que se pode dizer quando a extrema solidão nos dá um talento inconcebível. O meu talento seria o máximo talento do homem e devia reter, apenas pela sua força silenciosa, essa pessoa defronte da porta, a poucos metros, à distância de um simples movimento caloroso. Mas nesse instante ser-me-ia revelada a essencial crueldade do espírito. Penso que desejaria somente a presença incógnita e solitária dessa pessoa atrás da porta. Ela não deveria bater, solicitar, inquirir."

Herberto Helder, "Os comboios que partem para Antuérpia" in Os Passos em Volta

das vozes

      E a multiplicidade de vozes a vociferar concomitantemente. Calar-se-ão. Põe-se apenas um ponto final, não aqueles pontos finais que refletem uma afirmação ou negação, mas um ponto final que não sabe se o é ou se é uma interrogação.

shut your eyes and see.

Na caminhada pela noite, a faca
corta a luz dos carros e dos postes -
alvorada de um alvor de pneuma,
os rostos desenham-se com a mão esquerda,
a menos sagaz.

Fica na sombra, cerra os olhos ao frio
e observa,
cinza do meu abraço,
como perdi os membros nos lençóis
sujos de seiva e saliva,
como o meu rosto, fechado,
limpa os restos já podres
daquilo que já foi visto,

Vê, cego de olhos abertos,
como o teu autorretrato se
dilui e aumenta
nas trevas de quem sabe ver.

da redundância

"The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new."

Samuel Beckett, Murphy