Não uso preto

O meu cabelo não vai crescer mais. Vou cortá-lo sempre.

Não tenho medo de viver aqui sózinha, nem mesmo à noite : tenho os cães e as estrelas quando se deixam ver, como companhia.

Vou pouco à vila, só mesmo quando não o consigo evitar, toda a minha vida está aqui neste monte. Cresci aqui sózinha, com os meus pais enquanto foram vivos, sem irmãos e sem gente por perto, as minhas companhias : os bichos e as plantas...as pedras também.

Os anos da escola, só me interessaram pelos livros e por ti. De resto, nunca me interessaram os outros, as suas intrigas e brincadeiras vazias. Os professores nunca me chegaram a impressionar, por vezes havia um que chegava e parecia trazer dentro um pouco do fogo dos livros, alguma paixão das matérias - depressa se cansava e rápido se via que desistia daquele bando de campónios desinteressados e desinteressantes.
Logo se sabia que andava a tratar de fugir daquela vilória longe de tudo.

O que eu gostava mais era de voltar da escola pelos campos até ao monte. Gostava da parte em que caminhávamos juntos, dos banhos que tomávamos no rio, dos bichos que perseguíamos, gostei de começar a gostar de ti. Nunca mais saíste de mim.

O mesmo com os livros, comecei com os da escola, ganhei o hábito de ler e naqueles tempos, li tudo o que havia para ler na biblioteca da vila, durante anos foi uma das razões para lá ir, procurar mais livros para ler. Para isso, também já lá não vou mais.

A escola acabou, não ia continuar a estudar como tu e alguns outros, ir até à cidade, ficar por lá e ser como as pessoas da televisão, viver sempre entre quatro paredes fechada, usando roupas que nos apertam e obedecendo a convenções que nos tolhem, não, isso não era, nem é para mim.

Um dia encontrei-te por acaso, ainda os pais eram vivos, tinhas voltado disseste, conseguido um dos poucos cargos que a vila podia oferecer, estavas bem e tinhas familia, quiseste ir ver o rio comigo. Voltaste.

Com muitas cautelas encontrávamo-nos junto ao rio, acho que nunca ninguém descobriu, não sei como, tinhas maneira de adivinhar que eu andava pela vila, via-te de longe e pelo teu olhar sabia, que era dia de te esperar junto ao rio.

Os pais morreram, contra todos, recusei ir viver para a vila, continuei no monte, arrendei as terras de lavoura, fiquei só com o casario para mim, o jardim, a horta, o pequeno pomar e as capoeiras. O meu mundo, ocupa-me os dias desde então, alimenta-me e dá-me um excedente que uso para as ofertas que as convenções obrigam.
Sabem que como os meus pais, sou espartana, dura e suficientemente instruída para não guardar riquezas junto a mim. Nunca despertei cobiças, sou assim apagada.

Poucos dias depois da morte dos pais, apareceste-me uma noite, a pé, silenciosamente olhaste-me, soltaste a minha trança, libertaste o meu cabelo, só depois me abraçaste, entrámos. Passou a ser assim, quando podias vinhas sem te fazeres anunciar, era sempre igual : olhavas-me silenciosamente à entrada, desfazias a minha trança e só depois me abraçavas e beijavas.

Passou tempo, o Inverno inteiro e a Primavera já estava quase Verão, desde esse tempo que não aparecias. Vi a tua mulher ao longe e já não era ela. Agora é uma viúva, mais uma das velhas de negro que são dos poucos que vão restando na vila.

Fui cortar o cabelo, o meu cabelo não vai crescer mais. Não uso preto.

Uncomplicated

so much easier without words :
uncomplicated...

Portraits

Bacchiacca 1525 - Commerce d'art New York

Caligrafia

Long story

It is a long story, still being written, it is a long story and we're all part of it.

Portraits

what are little girls made of ?...

no dreams.

No dreams, only the thunder of rain
No dreams, only the noise of running water in the street
no dreams, have to get up, face the music and dance, take the morning train
no dreams, gotta work all day
no dreams.

Should I get married? Should I be Good?

Marriage

Should I get married? Should I be Good?
Astound the girl next door with my velvet suit and faustaus hood?
Don't take her to movies but to cemeteries
tell all about werewolf bathtubs and forked clarinets
then desire her and kiss her and all the preliminaries
and she going just so far and I understanding why
not getting angry saying You must feel! It's beautiful to feel!
Instead take her in my arms lean against an old crooked tombstone
and woo her the entire night the constellations in the sky--

When she introduces me to her parents
back straightened, hair finally combed, strangled by a tie,
should I sit knees together on their 3rd degree sofa
and not ask Where's the bathroom?
How else to feel other than I am,
often thinking Flash Gordon soap--
O how terrible it must be for a young man
seated before a family and the family thinking
We never saw him before! He wants our Mary Lou!
After tea and homemade cookies they ask What do you do for a living?
Should I tell them? Would they like me then?
Say All right get married, we're losing a daughter
but we're gaining a son--
And should I then ask Where's the bathroom?

O God, and the wedding! All her family and her friends
and only a handful of mine all scroungy and bearded
just waiting to get at the drinks and food--
And the priest! He looking at me if I masturbated
asking me Do you take this woman for your lawful wedded wife?
And I trembling what to say say Pie Glue!
I kiss the bride all those corny men slapping me on the back
She's all yours, boy! Ha-ha-ha!
And in their eyes you could see some obscene honeymoon going on--

then all that absurd rice and clanky cans and shoes
Niagara Falls! Hordes of us! Husbands! Wives! Flowers! Chocolates!
All streaming into cozy hotels
All going to do the same thing tonight
The indifferent clerk he knowing what was going to happen
The lobby zombies they knowing what
The whistling elevator man he knowing
The winking bellboy knowing
Everybody knowing! I'd be almost inclined not to do anything!
Stay up all night! Stare that hotel clerk in the eye!
Screaming: I deny honeymoon! I deny honeymoon!
running rampant into those almost climatic suites
yelling Radio belly! Cat shovel!
O I'd live in Niagara forever! in a dark cave beneath the Falls
I'd sit there the Mad Honeymooner devising ways to break marriages, a scourge of bigamy a saint of divorce--

But I should get married I should be good
How nice it'd be to come home to her
and sit by the fireplace and she in the kitchen
aproned young and lovely wanting by baby
and so happy about me she burns the roast beef
and comes crying to me and I get up from my big papa chair
saying Christmas teeth! Radiant brains! Apple deaf!
God what a husband I'd make! Yes, I should get married!
So much to do! like sneaking into Mr Jones' house late at night
and cover his golf clubs with 1920 Norwegian books
Like hanging a picture of Rimbaud on the lawnmower
like pasting Tannu Tuva postage stamps all over the picket fence
like when Mrs Kindhead comes to collect for the Community Chest
grab her and tell her There are unfavorable omens in the sky!
And when the mayor comes to get my vote tell him
When are you going to stop people killing whales!
And when the milkman comes leave him a note in the bottle
Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust--

Yet if I should get married and it's Connecticut and snow
and she gives birth to a child and I am sleepless, worn,
up for nights, head bowed against a quiet window, the past behind me,
finding myself in the most common of situations a trembling man
knowledged with responsibility not twig-smear not Roman coin soup--
O what would that be like!
Surely I'd give it for a nipple a rubber Tacitus
For a rattle bag of broken Bach records
Tack Della Francesca all over its crib
Sew the Greek alphabet on its bib
And build for its playpen a roofless Parthenon

No, I doubt I'd be that kind of father
not rural not snow no quiet window
but hot smelly New York City
seven flights up, roaches and rats in the walls
a fat Reichian wife screeching over potatoes Get a job!
And five nose running brats in love with Batman
And the neighbors all toothless and dry haired
like those hag masses of the 18th century
all wanting to come in and watch TV
The landlord wants his rent
Grocery store Blue Cross Gas & Electric Knights of Columbus
Impossible to lie back and dream Telephone snow, ghost parking--
No! I should not get married and I should never get married!
But--imagine if I were to marry a beautiful sophisticated woman
tall and pale wearing an elegant black dress and long black gloves
holding a cigarette holder in one hand and highball in the other
and we lived high up a penthouse with a huge window
from which we could see all of New York and even farther on clearer days
No I can't imagine myself married to that pleasant prison dream--

O but what about love? I forget love
not that I am incapable of love
it's just that I see love as odd as wearing shoes--
I never wanted to marry a girl who was like my mother
And Ingrid Bergman was always impossible
And there maybe a girl now but she's already married
And I don't like men and--
but there's got to be somebody!
Because what if I'm 60 years old and not married,
all alone in furnished room with pee stains on my underwear
and everybody else is married! All in the universe married but me!

Ah, yet well I know that were a woman possible as I am possible
then marriage would be possible--
Like SHE in her lonely alien gaud waiting her Egyptian lover
so I wait--bereft of 2,000 years and the bath of life.

Young and wild

Young and wild at heart, our David, like it should be.