SY

Aurora, entretanto eu te diviso, ainda tímida, inexperiente das luzes que vais ascender e dos bens que repartirás com todos os homens. . Sob o úmido véu de raivas, queixas e humilhações, adivinho-te que sobes, vapor róseo, expulsando a treva noturna

“A Noite Dissolve Os Homens” - Carlos Drummond De Andrade 

Cover to Wolfram Von Eschenbach’s Parzival—featuring an illustration of Wolfram Von Eschenbach by an unknown artist from the Codex Manesse circa 1300 CE (unknown designer, early 21st century).

(via Books of Cíbola)

Depois que uma pessoa perder o respeito de si mesma e o respeito de suas próprias necessidades – depois disso fica-se um pouco um trapo.

Clarice Lispector, em carta a Tania Kaufmann. 06.01.1948. no livro “Correspondências”. Rocco, 2015 (via temploculturaldelfos)

Arthur Edward Pillsbury, Footage of Roses, 1925

when I was nine

I begged God to cease my existence.

in that cold night

while I looked at the yellowish street lights

that came through my windows

I felt ignored by the Creator

tears streamed down my face

I passed out hoping to be a child again

or to be

nothing

I thought God hadn't listened to me

but now I realize he did

everyday I get smaller and weaker

pound by pound, I disappear

everyday my memories get blurred

as if I was an empty receptacle

of a soul that has never been beared

my lust was everything I had left

but it's slowly making its way out of my flesh

ripping my body, breaking my ribcage

trying to get away from the hell

I have became

virtues and sins are disgusted by what I am

I am becoming a cold shell that

kids throw back on the ground

when they can't hear the waves inside me

like the shell,

I am what's left from what once existed

my duty on earth is to disintegrate

so when I look at myself in the mirror,

perceive I'm slowing fading away

and my bones are popping out

I finally feel like I have accomplished

something

Jennifer Durrant & Adrienne Rich

IV

Vuelvo a casa de estar contigo a través de la temprana luz de la primavera

que destella sobre paredes corrientes, el Pez Dorado,

el baratillo, la zapatería…Voy cargada con mi bolsa

de la compra, me precipito hacia el ascensor,

donde un hombre, tenso, mayor, afectadamemte sereno,

deja que la puerta casi se cierre ante mí. ¡Por Dios, sujétela!,

le grazno. Histérica, murmura a mi paso.

Entro a la cocina, descargo los paquetes,

hago café, abro la ventana, pongo a Nina Simone

que canta Here comes the sun… Abro el correo,

mientras bebo el delicioso café, la deliciosa música,

mi cuerpo aún a la vez ligero y grávido de ti. Cae

del correo una fotocopia de algo escrito por un hombre

de veintisiete años, un rehén, torturado en prisión:

Mis genitales han sido objeto de tal despliegue de sadismo

que me mantienen constantemente despierto por el dolor…

Haz lo que puedas para sobrevivir.

Sabes, creo que a los hombres les encantan las guerras…

Y mi incurable indignación, mis irreparables heridas

revientan en lágrimas, lloro desconsolada,

y ellos todavía controlan el mundo, y tú no estás entre mis brazos.

 - Adrienne Rich, de Veintiún poemas de amor. En El sueño de una Lengua común. Poesía Sexto Piso. Versión de Patricia Gonzalo de Jesús.

- Jennifer Durrant, Ghirlanda Series, Sighs to sing Nº 1

Lee Ranaldo of Sonic Youth’s old notebooks

Saprophyte growing on a decaying banana peel. Encylcopedia Brittanica Films. Introduction To Biology. 1952.

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