Emil’s Lake

The search built on and the craze was set
She’d been swayed by dawn and amazed by sunset
The spring soon loaded but the trap soon clashed
The light has beamed but her dreams have splashed

Feelings bludgeoned by thrilling waves
At times afloat in poisoned slack tides
Or drawn to rocks shaped like graves
And colorful rainbows in calico skies

Swearing pitiful, frosty swirling whirl
Sea of fools and woeful creatures
Once a damsel of righteous features
Now a lost, yearning fearful girl

Three feet of water, seven feet of foam
Fleeting honor, the rescue bird has flown
This imminent drowning has one escape
A gentleman in white has drawn her fate

He walked and followed the yellow brick road
And traced a destiny of no ambiguity
Will this man of mellow dignity
Tenderly treat her tricky load?

Derailed thoughts dragged through blocks to no avail
Balloons of dreams strung to seams on bloody nails
When the wind and the ground yielded a blissful weep
The merciless lake deafened the beast to sleep

So do not forget this lesson learned
Buried wishes should not be yearned
For mad waves will make you blind
And wake the turmoil in your mind

Forcing soul and trends to make amends
For the sake of sailing stranded
Unconscious lake in the consciousness fence
Sail through whence you once landed

The Pied Piper

No truth in you shall make me lie,
no laugh in you shall make me cry,
no stoke in you shall make me dry,
no life in you shall make me die,
no wit in you shall make me wry;
No sad in you will have me smile,
no shout in you will have me sigh,
no tease in you will have me spy,
and no faith in you will have me high.

No peace in you must bring me war,
no stroke in you must make me sore,
no wall in you must make me floor,
no act in you must make me bore,
no less in you must make me more;
No seed in you can turn me bloom,
no blue in you can turn me gloom,
no earth in you can turn me moon,
and no heaven in you can turn me doom.

No late in you has brought me soon,
no thief in you has brought me goon,
no bang in you has brought me boom,
no bark in you has brought me bite,
no sun in you has brought me light;
No talk in you should bring me spite,
no blind in you should bring me sight,
no fool in you should bring me bright,
and no brave in you should bring me fright.

No black in you will bring me white,
no wrong in you will bring me right,
should you have a good night.

Sound and Vision

Each piano note is a thing. Each chord is a set, each melody a city. There’s a movement in every moment. Each key is a season and a mood. You can swap and mix different instruments. You can make Allegros, Andantes, Rondos, Nocturnes, Prestissimos, Adagios. Make a symphony. Then make another one. Create your Magnum Opus. That’s music and that’s life and it’s all an act, whether it is improv or a meticulous composition.

Primavera

Astonishing
Perplexing
Time-freezing stimulus
Amidst the heat waves
Caravaggio’s technique wouldn’t reproduce
such amateurish subtlety

Care to smile to me?
Care to bear a pleasant conversation
to the tune of Dixie New Orleans’ Jazz brushing your soft long hair?

Two green lamps by the old bookshelf
Scape the nod of your head
Exiting as playful piano plucks
Two suns disguised as orange earrings
Harmonies of seduction
Harnessed senses

Light my cigarette
Your cigarette holder,
Your blue eyes play
Boogie Woogie in my head
Blues in my heart
Jazz in my jizz

Orange
as Primavera
Competing the sight
Waking the inner Botticelli
You are the painter
And the picture

Burst me
With your laughter
Scrub me
With your dance of the sight

Ad-libs?
Lights!
Saxophones, Piano!
Trumpets and Clarinets!
Conduct the orchestra!
But silence the violin
In your back
And strum goosebumps on my spine
Later this evening

Take a closer walk with me
Among Armstrong’s rough soothing voice
brushing the foreground
Uncontrollable urge
Builds in the soul

Kiss me now!
Wait
Take your time
Make it
Slow
As the swing ups its tempo
Piano! Swing! Dance!
Squeeze my heartstrings

We will make the saints
dance with the devil
in a rodeo
To the jazz of a
bouncing duet
And your subtle hand
Callously waving the cigarette smoke
off the perfumed hair

Inhale my presence
Stroke the air with innocence
Seduce me
All over again

If you can

Sem Assunto

Sem voz
Sem arquitectura
Sem silêncio
Sem palavra

Raciocínio emparedado
Olhos cabisbaixos
Ouvidos boquiabertos
Roda em surdina
Small talk desesperado

Lacuna da moral
Barreiras linguísticas
Labirintos
Logísticas
Da fome do saber
Do savoir-faire

Cores descascadas
Cidades embriagadas
Museu de paredes vagas
Desdobrando a alma
Em corredores de calma

Trancam o Dogma
Espancam a saída
Colorida
Desbotada
Engasgada
Enamorada
Namorada do pensamento
Antítese do conhecimento
Sedimento de informação

Índice de abstracção
Publicação de valores
Expedição de essência
Desgastar dos sabores
Resgatar da decadência
Défice de atenção

Degustação de amores
Em lábios de prudência
Língua de inocência
E saliva de odores

Small Talk at the Wall

The bathroom had a pharmacy – one of those you find in 30s bathrooms with that faint amber light on top. It made a shadow on the toilet bowl, which looked like an astronomy atlas open on the page with the orbit of the moon across the sun. I noticed that while I was peeing. The eclipse, as the toilet hole descipts, was either about to enter the sunny area of life, or – in a reverse analysis – it had already phased out of itself and just now into darkness.

The only remaining question is where I am on it: do I sit in Sunnyvale on a field of lavender with no shit or have I just flushed my existence down the swirling toilet bowl?

Meã Mia

Cabeças entretidas desgraçadas desengonçadas
Orelhas comidas pelas ondas do Pimba, olhos ressabiados pela deselegância das bailarinas, em coreografia cada uma estimulando cada córnea dos pastores desta aldeia. Homens e mulheres dançam para esquecer a Segurança Social e as contribuições em dia. Eu há pouco vi a colmeia que abriga estas abelhas tontas mas sem a força para a abanar com medo de me picar. Resta a esperança do ideal, condições em minha mente de içar capacidade de abstracção para além da poluição sonora, arrancar o zumbir dos ouvidos. Independentemente de frustrações sociais, cá habitam residentes pessoais que dançam ao som do Jazz, unindo mãos em roda, vista de cima com forma de coração pulsante. Tu e eu estamos em cada um deles, a agitar em surdina as razões de viver e morrer, sentar e correr, derreter ou ceder incondicionalmente o cubo da jaula berrante em fluído orgásmigo dançante na íris de teus e meus olhos brilhantes.