when it suddenly
came like a ghost
and you suddenly
feel like the most
idiot in the world.

when it goes
down and down
it never show
the bad side
of being alive.

now you're walking on
a lonely road
just trying to find a way
to save your soul.

that's the way
the way it goes.
that's the way
they told you so.

and in the end
you'll be down in your knees
praying for something or
someone to squeeze
right up to your chest
right beside your heart
hoping it never,
return to feel
apart.

Reflecting Light - Sam Phillips

Now that I’ve worn out, I’ve worn out the world
I’m on my knees in fascination
Looking through the night
And the moon's never seen me before
But I’m reflecting light

I rode the pain down
Got off and looked up
Looked into your eyes
The lost open windows
All around
My dark heart lit up the skies

Now that I’ve worn out, I’ve worn out the world
I’m on my knees in fascination
Looking through the night
And the moon's never seen me before
But I’m reflecting light

Give up the ground
Under your feet
Hold on to nothing for good
Turn and run at the mean dogs
Chasing you
Stand alone and misunderstood

And now that I’ve worn, I’ve worn out the world
I’m on my knees in fascination
Looking through the night
And the moon's never seen me before
But I’m reflecting light

um dia
a gente ia ser homero
a obra nada menos que uma ilíada

depois
a barra pesando
dava pra ser aí um rimbaud
um ungaretti um fernando pessoa qualquer
um lorca um éluard um ginsberg

por fim
acabamos o pequeno poeta de província
que sempre fomos
por trás de tantas máscaras
que o tempo tratou como a flores

Paulo Leminski

E como condenados, estamos enclausurados em nossa própria consciência, perdidos em nossa pequena cidade, onde todos se encontram em tediosas noites de lamento e torpor juvenil. A noite é cruel, as pessoas são crueis e não há grandes acontecimentos como em filmes nova-iorquinos da década de 70. Artur Rimbaud, os Rolling Stones e Chet Baker salvam desesperados jovens angustiados e desesperados por um tanto de emoção caótica generalizada em cavalares doses de alcool e excitação noturna. E o mundo continua girando, enquanto em uma cidade esquecida no meio do nada meia dúzia de jovens desesperados escrevem poemas ruins, compõem músicas agitadas e choram suas dores e incompreensões amalucadas que rodam e rodam em constantes círculos intermináveis de devaneios desesperados. A juventude é a mesma em qualquer lugar do mundo. Afeto desperdiçado e lamentado, músicas de corno e sangue latino americano correndo em veias jovens e despreparadas para a crueldade do mundo. Sonhos inalcançáveis e páginas de livros completam o cenário de uma peça repetitiva e desesperançosa. Épicos trágicos estão reservados para o ato final. Uma grande balada também. Talvez seja isso que mantenha as coisas funcionando. Talvez seja isso que mantenha a vida seguindo. No final, no final... as cortinas se abaixarão e tudo estará finalmente acabado. And that's all, folks.

Never say the next year can't be worst than your last one. It'll problably be.

will never know

ugly babyes
never seen that cute
funny faces
never seen that good.

people living
riding bikes
running on the streets,
people dying
smoking pipes
laying on the bars.


that's the way it goes
that's the way it is
is not about what you say
is about what you see.

it's not about what you want
is about what you need.

empty bottles on the gutter
ashtrays full of pain
maybe you're not going further,
maybe you're just getting insane.

what about that old pretty song,
that your grandma used to hear
on the local station, one evening in
1933, when she was just a girl
and never wonder you'll be here?

it's part of past
and on the past there it is
and like that evening of your grandma
all these lonely nights will dismiss

like the waves of the ocean
blowing on the rocks
and returning to the sea

despite the flow
you'll still wonder
why do things in these life
come and go?

and the truth is
that in the end
you and no one
will ever know.

time spending

I spend so much time
alone in small rooms
watching old italian movies
listenin old songs of blues.

i spend so much time
alone with myself
some books under my arm
searchin for some help.

and you better believe me
when i told i spend so much time
alone in the bars
drinking scotch, smokin cigars
and wonderin why the world could be so bad
wonderin when i'm gonna get mad.

but you never will know
how much time i spent,
how much time i spend in the dark
writting poems by the moonlight,
wonderin why life is so mean
why do people like spring
and why you're not near.

and most importantly of all
you'll never know
what I know
about don't know nothing
at all.

and you'll never know
how is to fly
with your feet on the ground.
and how is to die
listening to such a good sound,
of the angels
coming down to save you,
when there's no one who'll
do it.

algumas pessoas dormem por medo de morrer.

e o mundo vai girar e minha vida não vai sair do lugar.

e que não venham dizer que eu fui um santo quando eu morrer.