Saturday, March 12, 2011

farewell [or the spiral]





Unfortunately. That little boy. Lying on the ground. Dismantled. Unstable. [Lunatic.] 10 years gone. Probably. A little less. Since his last smile. His break-down. [Inborn.] His motives. [Which?] His shot-down. [Why?] Such impetus. Against. Such distress. Reminiscences. His pain. [Revenge.] Or just. A lack. A misunderstanding.
Mother Father. [A farewell.] No limits. But chains. That little boy. His loss. His struggle. Against. [Un]motivated? No friends. No lands. [The spiral.] A light. But again. His torments. No voice. A cloistered. [Evasion.] Environment. His death. To life. A beginning. [A dead end?] Recurrent. Turmoil gate. No one. No place. Or just. A shame.
Everybody knows but no one — indeed. That little boy had his motives — a possibility. His struggle against this demon — of solitude, of deceit. His pain for having suffered — a way to dismiss. And no one, not even himself, being able — to turn down. A shame that this boy had decided — to wreak his revenge. Maybe he didn’t find — a way to understand.
But there was someday a person who was so willing — their acceptance. The boy, feeling panic [or indifference], was however incapable to understand. And refused, with uncertainty, the hand, the support coming to him. A pity, a gesture, an attitude of despair, of pain. Maybe…

Dedicated to nobody but everyone who wakes up in their early morning, day after day, and just thinks — it has nothing to do with my torments...


2 comments:

Structurally Diffuse said...

Das demonstrações que nos vão ficando incorporamos inúmeras incertezas, quando li este texto lembrei-me de imediato do meu vaguear entre cidades até tarde, final da noite… sobretudo Olhão e das adolescências forçosamente perdidas, lembro-me das ruelas e das pessoas de vidas menos fáceis, mas tudo propositadamente desacelerado ou chegando a tornar-se distante, em tudo na vida fotografamos apenas aquilo que queremos, fiquei com a memória de "crianças" de 8 -10 anos a snifarem cola colocada dentro de sacos de plástico, hoje em dia continuo a pensar no que lhes terá acontecido, e a outros.

Larissa said...

"fotografamos apenas aquilo que queremos". Amei essa frase do Pedro. Verdadeira. Mas não eterna. Não necessariamente. Não se pudermos e quisermos enxergar. É preciso.
Carol, amei o texto e amo seus textos-críticas que sempre me tocam profundamente e me fazem refletir um pouco mais sobre esse mundo, sobre nós, sobre mim.
"Ou toca ou não toca", já dizia Clarice. Bem, dizeres seus sempre me tocam. Obrigada pelas palavras que me tocaram profundamente.