Archive for the scribbles Category

Pessoa’s madeleine is poisoned, not dipped in tea.

Posted in scribbles, Uncategorized on October 14, 2009 by chamome

That’s all. Essay to follow. Maybe.

Poema I

Posted in scribbles on July 8, 2009 by chamome

Bati na janela duma loja e olhou-me mordaz.

Derrotado, fui-me embora.

Rota olhou-me com ironia.

Pois, parabéns.

Os amigos mandam-me um postal,

Nele escrevem que viram a minha cara na areia

Mas que logo uma criança gorda caiu nela…

Criança-apagadora.

Vou parecer-lhes pouco sincero

Vou ter dois nomes, mais

Vou desenhar figuras acima de esquinas

Até que me disserem que nunca pude desenhar.

Tenho derramado o fígado nos copos

Tenho consumido os pulmões nas baforadas.

Agora não bebo mas sigo sendo maior,

E tu pareces ter um carácter real.

Sinto a falta do gémeo que nunca tive

E rabisco frases na neve:

O que tenho, tenho e o que não tenho,

Pois, nunca saberei…

Corto o bolo, acho que

Cada porção, oferecida com sorriso,

Há-de ser um bocado de mim

Com cada pedaço, o orgulho come-se.

(Porque partir duma festa-

Que importa o que disse aquela rapariga! –

Para só voltar? E porque não deixar

O sombrio dos sonhos a porta?)

REVISION additions

Posted in scribbles on November 28, 2008 by chamome

Revision

From darkness sprung,
And devils plucked
From lines of snow
And bugs below
The belt which bite.
Yes, I was saved
By Beauty and
A youth worker
And also by:
The Angel of
The Clinic of
The people who
Fucked up their Life
In the night-time.
And she spoke so:
‘You are still young,
Not yet a man-
Yet not a boy.
My little man,
How has it been
To live like you?
Twice tested clear
Yet can you smile.
But badly of
Yourself think you?
So seemly bright
In smile and mind.
So clearly charged
Behind closed door.
Your beauty falls
Far short of mine,
As angel I;
Still can I see
With ease how you,
As spilt sweet zone,
Attract the bees,
The bitter wasps,
The mindless ants.
They flock to you,
Through dirt they creep,
To taste, and bring
Your sweetness home
In words of lust,
To others droned-
A testament
To their great skill:
They sniffed you out
And smelt your youth,
Destructive power.
They planned it out
And learned by heart
Just how to make
Good sense depart
Your clothes depart,
(Though some with less
Did find their fill.)
My little man,
Can you not see
How dull your blade
Shines out in depths
So low that no
Star can there reach?
Naivety!
But tell me child,
Do badly of
Yourself think you?’
So spoke she and,
Content in self
And quite relaxed,
She waited for
The right reply
That swiftly came
Though through closed eyes:
‘I thought I sought
What they would give.
I thought, then sought
What they did give.
And all the time,
I wondered how,
Despite my plans,
They had me so.
Dear angel mine,
Thank you for this.
I can now tell
How low I am.’
My angel smiled
And took her phial,
Her needle too,
And took my blood.
And as she sucked
This did she chat:
‘So say you that
You read the Arts?
My daughter too
Does study them.
You seem alike,
Strange thing, to me.’
In quiet mind
I did reply:
‘Let’s hope it ends,
The likeness, there.
What mother would
Say of her child:
“She seems alike
To you dear boy
With needled arm
With fears of death,
Of puss, of lack
Of any child.”
Bad blood, for what?
“Oh yes, my own
Is much like you.”
What mother such
Would stain her child?’
A thoughtful hum
Was my reply.
As I went back
Some seven months,
The white room died
Like faded shine,
A brilliance
Quite gone in time.
But in a beat
To me it seemed
And walking through
A sleepy town,
I found myself,
From work to school
But not my own.
The day was hot,
Men beaten down
By sunshine beams
Renewed in Spring-
A March heatwave,
The twenty-third.


I took two spoons
From home sweet home
And ice cream bought,
To my new friend
I sped my walk.
First thing was to
Apologise
About our clothes.
My bloodied jeans
Fake blood it was.
His what-he-wore
‘My clothes are packed,
I’m going home.’
‘And where is that?’
‘Hell/India;
You know we are
Illegal there.’
And off we set
The heavy sun
Did make more strong
Reality
With light and smell-
His scent which could
Full knock me down
With sick desire.
And as we walked
Our dialogue
From mums, to sun,
To plays, to sex
Did swiftly flow.
“Cookies n’ cream”
Our favourite food
And plaything soon
Became and all
Since likeness was
Established first
With it and then
The other small
Significants
And quirky tastes
That make a match.
Most of that time
We were alone
And blending our
Minds ever more
And ever more
Till it would be
Terribly hard
To say goodbye.
One day it came,
It came too soon
And now I feel
That due to this,
“Love you!” said I
Not thinking how
Or what but now
Just now and now
It was the time.
It was the time
For him to leave.
Hell/India.
Oh how I fought
And how I dreamed
I’d rescue him!
I’d fly there, be
His rescuer,
Messiah then.
I’d slow his mum ,
With my quick words,
Then bring him home
To my small bed
Which we would share
That night and then
Off! We’re off and
now by ourselves…
But “Dinner’s done!”
Would bring me down,
Slingshot me back
From Hyderabad.
“Love you! Love you!”
And chaste I was.
And then the call.
The Internet.

I’d see his face,
Train doors would shut
The tears and sick
The sobs that rack
The awkward smiles
From others too
Who would not know
If I was who
Or how to cope
Would they wish to
Ignore me on this
Train of dreaming.
I did tell him,
Yes, I did it.
How can you not?
Have you done it?
I scream: “How? How?”
How? at you screams.
Love? and Fail? and
Still Keep Silent?
Fucking monsters.
We patched things up
Easy enough.

“How could you lie
So easily
To me, your own?”
“That you with ease
So deftly put
To hear them all
And gorged yourself
On syllables
Struck on my chords
Not thinking of
The words they made.”


The white room lived
As memory
Caught up with life.


Each word became
A needle thread
Through my bled heart
And on each thread
Red drops did slide
To fill my heart
Back up again.
But shame! The shame.
My heart had holes
Through which his words
Fell fast and stained
My childish soul,
I couldn’t bear
To patch anew.
As such, so weak,
I shied away
And now I’ll tell
What depths my mind
Resorted to.
That present passed
I can assume
Subconscious fault.


Childish hisperings
Into his ears:
Subtle he needs
Be must who would
Seduce angels.


And it jarred.
I’m sorry
You thought I’d lied.


My head still numbs
As it rages:
How could you call
That man your friend?
Who did I choose,
Have I chosen
Some gross body
With dark background
Of drugs and sex
More like complex
Wanking? (Loveless)
But then I think
If he loves me
Does it matter?
Can it factor?
Old habits die
Or I’ll kill them.
But love does too
I know, you know.
And if love died
But still remained
Convenient,
Think of what then:
“My boyfriend is
Not here/unwell/
Busy/ Working/
Too tired/ Too drunk/
Smoking/ Snorting/
Fucking someone
Else, someone else.”
Stop, Neurotic.
Silly rabbit.
He loves you much
Though it’s true that
Expression is
Sometimes lacking.

Pity he stole
My heart. I stole
The fucker’s tie
Though, and it’s a
Really nice tie.


Son or daughter
Does not matter,
I want a child.
I want a child.


I almost faint
When thoughts of you
So heated and
So scented and
So sweet, command
My breath and blood.
My god, your eyes…
I always said:
‘Your eyes will kill,
Pretty gorgon.’
And now I see
That I was right.
My love, our life,
That love, your eyes…
I will not write
Anymore.

your words reach my ears through all time (2006)

Posted in dug up stuff, scribbles on March 2, 2008 by chamome

Memonholod-thi fand t’inkrh-u bit ágana.

kix do kix-u la-u,

Heb thi mendrh hoummemonholod la;

Vim la-u shot e thi shod xop.

Hellenikrh shl main: arh-mendrh to shodrh la.

Hod-u-éth shot-u e tel-u ta zha kafdinala,

Em ta-thi, arh-u.

Cha tel-u mavalyariyadanot e dot,

To vamolidgaa-u arh-mendrh aat kebekeb kebmemon

Kix gratkilkanma e aat eth ta ágana.

Vam rhotullitkefdo-í-Zheth kebmemon-mendrh.

Eth zha fanditvi… thi an, arh-u?

“you try working with an imagination like mine mine mine mine” (2005)

Posted in dug up stuff, scribbles on March 2, 2008 by chamome