I gaze into the abyss.
It looks back, pleased:
Another fool to chew.

I find a quote,
I love it, frame it.
It fits on my waIl,
It's always there.
Its **** to think
I know what it means.
I am wrong about this, but
It can only be known if
I live through the situation.
If the quote was not there,
if I hadn't grown to it,
if too many too late, then
I would not be the same.
It would be a shame.

nights like static      unwinding
through prescription bottles and empty
notebooks    the doctor says
my heart is wearing thin    but what
does he know about hearts

there's ink in my veins now    replacing
what you drained    and it's going to take
you people decades to recover from
all of the damage    these pages
will burn clean through your hands

my alarm clock tried to unionize today
so I replaced it with three raccoons in a trench coat
(they're much better at time management
even if they keep stealing my emotional stability)

you think morning people are *******?
I've evolved beyond the concept of time zones
my circadian rhythm is just
interpretive jazz at this point

i have conquered the mornings
the evenings and
everything in between
(that's code for "I haven't slept since 2019
and now I can taste colors")

productivity blogs say to make your bed
but I've transcended that concept
by turning my entire existence
into one continuous unmade bed

the sun and moon are just spicy frisbees
and I've caught them both
with my bare hands
(they're in my pocket right now, wanna see?)

ps: time is a social construct
pps: so is my sleep schedule
ppps: the raccoons agree
(they're my life coaches now, obviously)

going to sleep already with morning breath
because time is a circle drawn by a drunk
and my body has declared itself an autonomous collective
voting against the tyranny of basic hygiene
this is the ultimate expression of freedom
to taste tomorrow's decay in yesterday's mouth
while the universe expands like a yawn
and somewhere in Lisbon a statue is questioning
its commitment to permanence
I have become the architect of my own deterioration
building empires of unwashed sheets
and calling it a revolution against the orthodox passage of days
this is what the history books won't tell you:
every great civilization began
with someone too tired to brush their teeth

Strands of keratin brush the brass
of a seat in the morning bus.
A metal voyage of burning fire,
releasing ancient sun prior.
Pheromones travel the air,
reaching my sense of smell bare,
starting a chain reaction inside.
Now there is nowhere to hide.
Photons from the star hit the keratin,
bouncing to my retina I see a heroine;
The golden color signalling my brain
how hopeless, how vain,
any interaction is to attain.

my dad's
old chair
sits empty
while I
still catch
myself
saving
stories
he'll never
ask to
hear

hope waits
in empty
rooms like
light that
hasn't found
its shadow
to prove
it exists

social feed
refreshes
like slot
machines
teaching us
to hope
luck knows
where to
look

bluetooth
headphones
dying to
reveal
the world
still makes
the kind
of sense
we hide from

A stranger looks me in the eye:
4.1 billion years flash by.
An old choice arises,
automatic, precise,
like a laser cut knife,
sharp, unkind.
I look away,
I live to die another day.

swipe right into
the void

        ghosted by
        possibilities

                    everyone's
                    a maybe

time stamps on blue checks
hearts reduced to metrics
                    while skin
                            forgets
                                    touch

distance    
    is a
        currency
            we spend
                like water

& love?
        (loading...)
                please wait
                        buffering
                                between
notifications
        of almost
                connection

funny how
we keep
building
homes in
people
who were
always
meant to
be
temporary

All the pretty beer bottles on display, and the distinguished kids going in for a drink
Inferno used to be a falafel joint
With the cheapest falafel in town
Nineteen crowns
And they would give you a free sample while you waited
I guess cheapness doesn't stand the test of time
Even if laced with kindness

'''
we are all b̷̨͎͌o̵͚̊r̴͇̆e̷d̨͠
we are all
searching for the algorithm of flesh

I watch my thoughts
(they taste like stale beer)
while the universe keeps
its digital spam folder
full of prayers

everything is corrupted data
even the w̸̝̎ō̶͜r̵͎̈́m̷͚̐s̸͇̃
even the way light f̵͔̂ä̴́͜l̷̝̔l̶͎̒s̷͓̈́
through smog-filtered consciousness

the women. the men. the parking lots.
all of us
running expired versions of god.exe

and still
the young girls in supermarkets
price-check their dreams
while I stand here
d̸͎̒ë̵́͜l̷̝̔ë̵́͜t̷͚̐i̵͚̊n̷͚̐g̷͇̃ myself
'''

three am
and these
bills won't
pay themselves
but my
hands keep
typing
stories
instead of
giving up
on dreams
just yet

two months later
and it already feels
like a distant dream
the slowly growing hair
the only reminder
of what I've been
through
there is a small sense
of hope
and dreams
like it was a warning sign
even if I did nothing
to deserve it
I just was
and will continue
to be
part of me
thinking its overcome
but another part
still afraid
that this was a trial run
for the real thing.

power         |     creates     |     its        |     purpose
systems       |     preserve    |     their      |     problems
guardians     |     maintain    |     sacred     |     wounds
solutions     |     become      |     new        |     chains
institutions  |     resist      |     needed     |     change
patterns      |     protect     |     their      |     survival
crisis        |     feeds       |     old        |     orders
freedom       |     breaks      |     through    |     walls
truth         |     dissolves   |     false      |     answers

I hate you

I hate your prettiness,
your height
your physical shape
I hate your indifference

I hate you
because of what you make me feel
I know it's in my mind to stop this,
So I hate you for my laziness

I hate you with all my heart
Why? Because of hatred
Just hatred of yourself
'Cos I just hate you

I'm glad you were born
This way my life is richer
'cos all of this hate is healthy, you know?
All of it, it’s healthy

Na primeira parte da viagem,
descobri os sistemas e tive de os aprender.
Na segunda parte da viagem,
fiquei preso nos sistemas sem os compreender.
Na terceira parte da viagem,
ultrapassei os sistemas, que excitação de viver.
Na quarta parte da viagem,
flutuei para além dos sistemas,
sem controlo e vulnerável,
algo verdadeiramente impensável.
Na parte final da viagem,
aprendi a estar dentro e fora dos sistemas,
optimizando quando necessário,
e ultrapassando caso contrário.

A silence so great
I cannot escape.
Family and friends,
now other moments in time,
like memories, intertwined.
A love that was warm,
it too just past.
This silence is calm,
but alone, a sham.

I bring you the message, but the messenger brings no pain
I've been around, I know this town
The weight of the carry all the same
As roots of okra pull us down
The message, still, goes forward
No more, no less
Than what you can handle today

The superficial
Versus the intent
To cruise comfortably
Or feel the dents
To float above
Or dig deep
To be detached
Or love to see
To skip some parts
Or intently be
To quickly scan
Or needlessly focus
For all that there is
There is more if you want
And the want can be wanted
Deep down as a seed

three am
playlist
hits different
when the
algorithms
know you
better than
the people
you text
goodnight

and throughout Liminality,
a clear emergence:
the space inside transition
that once was uncertainty
could instead be
exploration and freedom;
less control and more agency
as paradoxical as it feels,
in this wild state
in which evolutionary conditions
struggle to adapt
to such frantic
realism

Beware the allure of war
you second-hand soldier
that enjoys its spectacle
from screens
where it all makes sense
no fog, just narrative
the threat predictable and
trainable
it seems obvious what to do
from the vantage point
of posterity
But for every new war
it was a new terror for the soldier
no two wars are alike
no preparation possible
no wisdom attainable
no perspective bearable
and as the fire-breathing drones of today
and the kamikaze drones
and the grenade dropping drones
and the jammer-resistant drones
and the ICBMs being used
and perhaps even tactical nukes
will seem rudimentary for the
spectators of tomorrow
you too will be so lucky
to experience brand new horrors

I think they fumbled
when they said
we should pursue happiness
I now think that's something
you stumble
upon
like tripping down stairs
(and equally as painful)
except the bruise
tells you
a secret that neither
the floor above
or an elevator ride
could have told you
from trigger to response
stimulus intensifies
but you cannot stumble upon
without carving a gap
inside
to slow, to ponder
to chew without rumination
to wonder without
expectations
especially from ourselves
that's how you may find it
without hurry, without
anxiety
it'll be a gentle knock
least expected
that has finally
arrived

its not easy to start a diet
when your life depends on it
and when the world might end
in just a few weeks
and what a waste that would be
all that extra fitness
covered in a blanket of jealousy
slowly eaten by the bugs
(which hate the lean meat)
with no one to see

The little foam of my beer
ever so gently sizzles.
Its softness reminds me
of skins I used to brush
ever so slightly
with the tips
of my fingers
on past nights.

Not even this
amber bitter beauty
can dare rival your
own bitter moans,
as I remembered
they'd be over
before we even
got it on.

It was never really
the same;
both that first sip,
and that first kiss.
It doesn't matter.
all that was given
was fully received.
The aftertaste lingers,
then fades away.
Otherwise it wouldn't be
the same.

The perfect hate
Fed by the perfect bait
Constantly
Relentlessly
You can't resist the Lure
The boiling inside
Itself feeding your Rage
Until, energized, you Take
Onto the keyboard
Like a true warrior
Except
In this war
The only casualty
Is your agency

He died in ninety four
but these poems are from ninety two
he had two years left
but didn't know it
I was two years old
and didn't know him too
sixty six years of difference
now I'm thirty four
I feel like I have two years left
or even less
two years ago I read him less
while I traveled europe
careless
and a single cell
a seed of death
began to spread
and if I had done nothing
I too would only have
two years left
what a difference
two years can make
I'm almost afraid
of the next two
but how peaceful he looks
on that garden tomb
in this internet picture
on this monday afternoon

life is about the small concessions
we make to friends and family
my niece, twenty, turns and says
"uncle, you need a style makeover"
so she gifts me a sweater for Christmas
"alright", I said
so now I wear it
I suppose if it was as easy
as changing clothes
even I would have figured it out
by now
I hope she doesn't get too sad
when she figures out
it's not enough
herself

there is a timeline
in which I'm a father
to a six year old
in this timeline
my grandmother doesn't annoy me
with grief and sorrow
every time we videocall

there is a timeline
in which you did not break my heart
several times
in front and behind the back
with the secrets spilled
in your message chats

there is a timeline
where we never met
where your smile did not infect
me so badly, and the promise
didn't flower fully
and I never got lost biking back
from your cul-de-sac

there is a timeline
in which I never came here
escaping recession fears
with a promise of opportunity
as the prime minister
gently invited us
to gently leave the country

there is a timeline
where I stayed in Spain
rooted, secured, in my domain
confident, arrogant, insane
at least, slightly more than now
an art in the simplicity
of someone who couldn't comprehend
when each branch was splitting
and a new reality
came.

It was a year
Not unlike the rest
A particular burden
Saddened by a test
One could be tired
Or demoralized
Or about to give up
One could glow, instead
And step up
That small ladder
Which is only rather
Symbolic, but reminds
Of the gain
That each new day brings
As one then looks back
At all the small days
That made this year
In the end
Not unlike the rest

I am the misaligned gear
(precise in my imprecision)
counting revolutions in the dark

I am the misaligned gear watching
other misaligned gears
romanticizing their rust
their grinding
their decay

We photograph our dents
We bronze our scratches
We guild our gathering dust

The machine requires no celebration
The machine requires no validation
The machine simply
turns
turns
turns

I am the misaligned gear
(precise in my imprecision)
counting revolutions
in the honest dark

"keeeey-koh"
said an excited high pitched voice
and then came the bouncy
floppy ears
and the flowy hair
dip-dyed.
from the chaos of the
optimized box
to the quiet YTS
you're too young...
you shouldn't be there
this is full of monsters
it's better to be lonely
than with them
I wish your parents were better
as I wish for mine
I wish you grew up in my time
Mostly, I wish you make it out
alive
it's okay, expected even
to get very hurt
but it only takes one moment
to end it all
forever
the finality contrasting highly
with the casual presentation of this
universe (metaverse)
a shock shaking to the core
a lesson learned heavily
that cliché of moderation
could end up saving your
life
I'm no angel and cannot look over
forever
I cannot even teach everything needed
for there is no time
and you wouldn't listen
just as I didn't
before my own
prime

Once upon a time in Lund
The kids party
But now I'm the creep
That is okay
We all had our time
To shine
Now I can afford to Be soft
While I wait for them To join me
In this paradise
Of inner peace

Someone has to kick Disney
out of all our heads
and break the bad news
to all those poor young girls
now in their 30s and 40s
still waiting for prince charming
But let's not forget
the poor young boys too
who have been broken so many times
they'd rather stay alone forever
The true romantics
for they tried to make things happen
rather than waiting for things to happen
To
Them
Which makes the shock of reality
All
The
More
Devastating

Recuerdo un tiempo en el que
Un móvil era solo un móvil,
Y no mi identidad.
Un tiempo en el que yo
Era un jóven de carne y hueso,
Y no apéndices de electricidad.
Un tiempo en el que nosotros
Teníamos lazos de fraternidad,
Y no correas de competitividad.

Tiempos no corrompidos
Por sueños de Disney;
Promesas no quebradas
Por un desarrollo individual;
Y amarte no era tan hartante
Como estos pasos todos atrás.

Recuerdo aún, una internet jóven;
Una tribu global, iluminando
Todos los huecos de la oscuridad.
Un sistema de entrega
De contenido de calidad,
Desordenado e incompleto, sí,
Pero auténtico y real;
Todo ahora perdido en el raudal
De ruído total,
Mientras los algoritmos nos sirven
El nuevo menú feudal.

It's all a shot in the dark
Either you make it, or become a civilized 9-to-fiver
Now the nine-to-5er is the shot in the dark
But that doesn't seem to be making us
want it any less
Marriage and children?
Be content with a situationship and a dog
And pity those that only have **** and plants
But pity more
those that don't even have those
Except, perhaps, it's for the best
It's all for the best

How seriously
Do you want to know the time
Because I will seriously
Look it up
If that's what you really want
And even if this
Sounds rather unserious
I will seriously help you
If only because I also know
How unserious one can get
When that unnatural feeling
Of time running out
Envelops one's mind
And yet we could just simply
And unseriously
Ignore the time
At all

professors dust their degrees
while TikTok prophets
spawn instant wisdom

            truth splits &
                        splits &
                                    splits

until knowledge is
        just pattern recognition
                in digital noise

everyone's an expert
            in their own
                        algorithm

& somewhere Plato
laughs or cries or
            both while
                    wisdom drowns
                            in data

who knows?
            (everyone)
who knows?
            (no one)
                    quantum
                            certainty
                                    of doubt

do you still remember who you were
when you first fell in love
and that ball of healing light
cured it all?
and the promise overcame
doubt
and the challenges a chance
to shout to the universe
"you can even take it all,
but this right now,
this one is never gone"
a simple change in
perception and focus
changes everything
you don't have to call it love
again
but you can
get well
from it

Funny how simple choices go
When you stand between the wall
And the sword
To risk suffering or die soon
That's as simple a choice
As they come
They don't make them like this
So often
Anymore

One of the few places where you can escape the tech is the sauna
Its just you, the heat, the meat, the sweat
The bathrooms used to be such holy dens
Where you could sit at peace on the porcelain throne
And oversee thy kingdom flow down the drain
But people started bringing books and magazines
Then consoles, and now phones
There is no peace left
Just brief distractions
And even if you just use those to try and relax
Someone will complain you're taking too long
Can't be having any fun or peace
Can't be alone for too long
We'll all suffer together
And drag everyone with us
As we get flushed
as someone else's
brief distractions

Imagine how crazy
You'd have to be
To think you could write a poem
About wastewater
And all its ****
And smells
And textures
And showers
And the ******* sensors that never worked properly
Crazier still
Would be to think
Someone would read about all this
At a toilet
Right before everything
Began again
Down the drain
And through the pipes
Just as my day
Begins again
Imagine

brace brace
but this is not a plane
but my mind
and this place can be quite
unforgiving
as the doctor explains
if it's gonna be surgery or chemo
but even he's not sure
so there will be a conference
and more doctors will look at my case
and I feel a sort of race against time
and I wonder what my face is looking like
but I brace, I brace
two more weeks
on top of the other three
following the months from surgery
it's a chase for certainty
and I can't keep the pace
so I brace, brace
distract myself in cyberspace
as a catgirl, playing horror games
with friends, looking for just a little
grace.

another glorious day
in room twelve oh six
managed to only get up at seventeen thirty
a new record I believe
I should, of course, rise early
and be productive
work on my business, maybe write
before this sickcation ends
it could be worse, worse, worse
I n e e e e e e e e e e d to be
g R a t E f U l
k I n D
g O  e A s Y
but time is running out
the time of tastes
the timing of markets
the time of culture
the interwar peacetime
the timing of my mood, energy
before degeneration kicks in
the ageing and patience
the slow decay of details
before it is all replaced
before the bottom line erases
me

Another game, Squad
as I press the map
colors everywhere
as a colorblind, I sigh
the complexity is reaching unprecedented levels
and this is still a simulation
perhaps this will be the ultimate situation
it's not world war two
so there are no bolt actions
but there are drones and helicopters
and we started sprinting across the desert
as if we were in Iraq twenty years ago
and suddenly I am alone after everyone died
I was the medic, and I failed them
I try to go back
my character moves slow
I don't know who's friend or foe
shots nearby make everything blurry
explosions in the ground and the sky
and the more I played it, the more I really felt it
I don't want war
I don't ever want to be in a war
and if there is anything I could to stop war
I would have done it many times over

we all think we had
the wrong starter pack
to explain this mess
this eleven year old
explaining me how her mom was ***** young
and her mom's husband, her dad,
is abusive and narcissistic
and she spends her time in vrchat
getting rejected by strangers
for being too young and therefore
dangerous
but witnessing also all the weirdos
hunting this jungle
while her parents argue
instead of warning her
this seventeen year old
adopted
moving from state to state
by her mom's job
stuck in eighth grade
adopting dad in jail
lifetime punishment for driving
and killing one poor soul
but at least she is six months older
than her boyfriend
and can meet him virtually
and not feel so alone
even if she could be better alone
than with unwanting biological parents
or a hateful adopting father
or more weirdos on the internet
there are many more
wrong starter packs
perhaps all starter packs
are wrong be definition
because nothing could ever be
perfect
and if it was
what would be the
reason?