FFW (2009)


I woke up a Winter morning and I burned all my poems. I did it, so there would be no words, like the ones that Torga* missed, and how I felt it back then. But there was nothing dramatic, but simply unwise, a total lack of logic, of the kind that reminds us of some God, full of irony, playing tricks on us.

I don’t wear a watch anymore, and got rid of diaries and calendars. If I can’t control time, I’m gonna trick it instead. So you push life forward, so it happens at any cost, but just don’t stop. I pray to every God, me, who believes in none, that it please won’t stop.
Invisibility was always an expensive but easy art to me, and that’s how I realized there were these lost people who made the days move through a lens. I couldn’t tell you anymore but I was sure. I suspected people like I did (suspect) poems, and if I heard them was for pure condescendence, some kind of modern altruism to which escapes all romanticism.

Life goes by in fast forward. I carry in my fingertips an unrepeatable strain. I insist in making life happen, I’ll keep insisting until all my energy is exhausted.

And I swear, out loud so I can hear me, that all of this is true.

*Portuguese poet, reference to the poem “Denoument”.

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