Metastabilidade

A gata

da cabeça às patas

do rabo aos bigodes,

se acomoda

_temporariamente_

raionante de pêlos ( tacteis antenas )

sinuosa coluna

siamesa num repouso de garras

penetra no sonho

a self-portrait

I choose a blank landscape. I am a dreamer, I am a dancer, I am a poet who unfolds petals of sensibility in touch and motion. I am a observer, a contemplation agent of nature processes, I make life tremble as I decide to take breath and dive. I make life glow from inside. I observe the vibrations of a my cell replications, the watching agent that I am. Noticing the position of my body in space. I don’t have the truth, I handle paradoxes. 

Kabir, oh, Kabir

Between the Poles of the Conscious
 
Between the poles of the conscious and the unconscious,
there has the mind made a swing:
Thereon hang all beings and all worlds,
and that swing never ceases its sway.

Millions of beings are there:
the sun and the moon in their courses are there:
Millions of ages pass, and the swing goes on.

All swing! the sky and the earth and the air and the water;
and the Lord Himself taking form:
And the sight of this has made Kabîr a servant.
 

Le passage de la sirène

Je l'ai vu
Le passage de la sirène


Irène Ireine
Irina  Ireina
Anira Anna
Arena
Araignée
Règne
Ivre


La clarté héritée

Crustacée ouverte

La chair douce

Comme un oeil qui pleure


La clarté persiste
dans le bruit de la mer
dans la bruine de la cité

Infinito

Tudo cabe dentro de mim


Do meu pai perdido 


À minha avó sereia

Here I am

In the fluid state of dream waves.

I smell your presence on a dew drop...

My fingers, perceptual entities of your deep surface.

Charged particles,

In this glowing medulla of mine.


.
.
.
.
.
.
.
My spine shines with joy.

I'm a flower, undressed in my petaled skin

I'm a stroke, silently crossing the sky

I'm a spell, unravelling and weaving time to time

As your sound moves the space around,

As the birds shape the flexible boundaries of the sky,

We make love flow

We make life bloom

In a blink of eternity

In this infinite instant 

Staring us back

automatique writing: to forget, to remember

Hey lets dance she said, and the whole world started to spin around a cup of coffee as she walked away from that strange pool filled up with crabs and tiny fishes. Mark was a friend, but she couldn’t let him guess what was going to happen, so she went up the stairs and created a drawing inside the drawer so all the flies would fly away. Mostly, the clouds were a bunch of dusty screaming eagles, and the sky blue red, in the sunset. The earth was far away, the birds were screaming songs of war and the wind blew violently. There was no future. There was only one left to help. But forests stayed untouched, and trees and flowers. A plastic sunset. A plastic dream. A silicon valley, as they say. Poor little girl, so suddenly awake, in the middle of the night, as the chorus sang a song. Throw a ball of fire, step in the mud of days, for a love that is close, for a friend that is dead. Spring comes, it always comes, serpent single thee. Layering, the quantities of matter create systems. Interrelated systems of noise. Part of all of this is true. It was said that night when the hurricane came. If you try to make a noise, if you try to scream a word. Special when the day starts at four o’clock. Its after midnight. It was a whole junkyard filled with sand. Swords are sharp. The shark in the shack. The wood so holy. And my mouth whispering a whipped sound. Go to hell, go to bell, go to sterling dancing cloud. Arthur and Malthus two boys, to care. Shape of laws, strange surprise. I don’t think words have to rime. In the still point in the middle of the heart, in the still point in the middle of the earth. Reasoning resonate rising sun. Play with stupid arrows. Dare to care. Splash spleen. Gardens of love. Gardens of pray. Gardens of stones. Gardens of dandelions. Gardens of lurkers. I like this software that let me write what exists already. But I think it should be possible to write as we can paint an abstract painting. For example, to say astribdle should be possible, or grouvitle or primparte why not? or even sounds that we can’t identify, as shseut or whatever. And the flux of thoughts would be so calm, so vibrating with the sounds and the distance of a galaxy part of my lungs. I said, for you, to me, and I think you should listen to me. The day I die, I don’t know what is going to happen. And I will walk slowly into the deep darkness. And it could be today. Or it could be tonight. And I think I would like to die dancing or sleeping or writing or meditating. I know how the body can hurt. And I think the death is an reversed breath. And then the consciousness go away, but the matter continues to work, as the blood cools down and the rigidity installs another mode of work. Microscopically all the engines of the cells collapse, and the air doesn’t transport the qi anymore. My part is played, my role is finished. And I would try again. And I would live again. And love and suffer, and understand, and forget. Because this is the way it is, or the way we think it is. To forget, to remember.