I watch a man passing by
Doing nothing more with my time
Counting his steps,
Hearing the wooden-like sound of his shoes,
His walk was my walk,
My eyes followed him,
My mind slowly melted his.

With my body standing still
And my wandering mind,
I could exist in two places at a time,
I could see myself from far away,
While remained tied to the chair by the window.
I could open my safe of secrets,
Old rusted chambers
Where I long ago hid my shames,
My fears of exposure,
My incompleteness,
My anti-hero inherent in myself.

I saw the beauty and the ugliness inside,
I saw a oneself, myself, ambiguous,
Duplicated and conflicting,
Incoherent (but not less real),
I heard musics never written
For their lack of sense,
I found meaning within sands of logic,
I discover flaws and shouted them
Testifying my own matter.

But all from a distance,
In the walk of a stranger,
In the innocent look of shoes tapping the asphalt,
In the confused thoughts of a suddenly awaken child.
All of that can only be done
In a delusional state of being
For distance
Is our only weapon
Against ourselves.

I'm happening in between
The real and the nothingness,
Divided and undecided,
Waiting for the ultimate prove
Of a sure choice.

I'm caught between
The wheels and the leather,
Cotton and glycerin,
Fruits and caramels,
Meats and grains,
Wind and coal,
But existing in all of them at once.

There's pain, passion and desire
In the seek of gold,
In pursuit of patents,
In achieving medals.

There's a unique relaxation
In the void of beings,
In dematerializing that inner voice,
In decharacterizing oneself,
But still self recognizing simultaneously,
An identity stored in the clouds
Like Theseus' ship.

The subtle finding
Is to realize that the actually real stuff
Are the ones that can't be touched;
Everything in matter
Are nothingness, perceived only
Through the illusion
Of the senses.

I'll eventually die for it
Whenever life ceases to be interesting,
Or experiences starts to feel dull,
The mysteries of beyond shall drag me into it.

I hope that takes a long time,
I'm happy that now
All it takes away
Are my resting and sleeping hours
In trade of knowledge gluttony.

There is a big "no"
Dividing, mutilating
The feelings of a fatherland,
Turning a home into
A sum of rooms.

There is a "no"
To the fundamentals of civility
Whenever it is said
Criminals must die,
Queers must be content,
Whenever racism is defended,
Although hidden into lamb's costumes,
Of the paladins of Order and Justice.

A country cannot be built
Under so many tearing premises,
We, more than ever,
Need to rescue
What it means
To be Brazilians,
To be Us, again,
Not the imbecile crusaders
Against a self nightmare
Of the enemies dreams.

Underlying all ruins,
All chaos and all lack of trust,
There, untouched,
Stands an indian-african-european child
That, without any comprehensible words,
Will present the chromatic yarns of our fabric
In which any shred
Dissolves everything.

For union, never unity.

Sometimes we have to stand
Upfront the immensity and the abyss of nothing
To realize the only greatness
Lies inside.

I keep moving
Not to understand
Why I'm going.

I keep moving
To be moving
To change landscapes.

To smell is not a choice,
But to select what is good
And what is not:
That is an option!

Whenever I'm remembered
I'm forgotten in fact.
What I am remembered for
Are my outter world,
My shell with its impressions,
I'm remembered for my image,
Nothing more.

All I can be to others
Are visions, icons,
Messages,
All encoded complexly,
A sign not to be understood
For thinking about it
Is to be farther,
To gain distance.

Whenever my name is said
It shuts the voice
Encapsuled by my body,
And whatever I say
It's not me anymore
For my words have not
Ten percent of the real meaning
I intended them to be:
They lack colors,
Texture, roughness, softness:
They are digital and plain.
We're more, multi dimensional.

Whenever I'm recognized
For some work or accomplishment
It's just the manifestation
Of my inability to be authentic.
He who sees himself in anything mine
Steals my bits of identity.

There's no fame
But in anonymity.

The world expands irreversibly
With every new event
Thus, the only way feasible
Is into the unbounded
possibilities of the future.

Between you and me
There's this layer,
This crust that avoids
The real me to fuse with
The real you.

How thick I am?
The exact distance
In foots and thoughts
We're apart.

But there are bits of me
That will never belong to me:
My eyes hold visions
That are no more than borrowed;
My nose grasp the world's souls
In the form of smells -  
A permission of use.

I am just a part of me,
I have my body, with a mind,
A strength and a reach,
But I also have my thickness
And my image captured
Through others' eyes,
My reflex in mirrors,
Shells that represent me,
My very own brand logo,
Glued and stuck
Without any consent.

We grow new layers of skin
Only to realize the more covered we are
Farther we are to those bits of ourselves
That do not belong to us.

To be thick is to mutilate ourselves.

A chromatic beauty
Composed into a complexity
That can only be heard
By simple ears.

The only way to express
The lightness of a tormented soul.