I call friends
Those who
I have been drunk with,
But not only that -
That'd be too easy.

To be my friend
One has to have seen me
Dressed in womens' clothes,
Or have watched Juno for the first time,
Or have watched Lion King over and over,
Or have seen bright new colors together,
Or crossed an ocean with me,
Or shared during 5 years dreams of a lifetime,
Or dragged me out of a downward spiral,
Or have been invited to my parents' house,
Or new it had no locks (most of the time),
Or have played 16-bit games with me,
Or have me sleeping out of home,
Or traded a party for a school work,
Or fought with a friend to leave to the party,
Or took me for a brother, and still does it,
Or sheltered me when I was desperate,
Or took me in for a job,
Or partnered in an enterprise with me,
Or shared all toys with me,
Or hold me when I was all cracks,
Or adopted street cats with me,
Or have known me for more than 25 years
(and endured me at least 50 days a year),
Or introduced me to movies and music,
Or expanded my horizons with philosophy,
Or criticized my guitar playing,
Or have been a sister to me,
Or have jumped from a moving car,
Or shared a 16-people house with me,
Or have shown me underground culture,
Or have played in a bar with me while 5 years old,
Or have played football (Brazilian-like) at least 30 times,
Or have changed a name for a Pokémon,
Or have lived with me in a hunted house,

Every bit I am
Somehow, I owe it to you.

There is nothing to define
What's old is old,
It's in the past,
It is no more,
It is a memory,
A phantom,
The mess after a party.

Its beautiful lies
In its absence.

Its character
Is a reflex,
A reflux,
Everything it can no longer
Be.

The new
Is everything
That remains.

We are nothing
And every attempt to be
We lose bits of being
Into our void.

Like a river rising itself
Losing water,
Losing power,
Remaining only scratches on a plain.

We seek grandiosity
But we are already to big to cross
The cracks of peace, of rightness,
We are too rigid when we ought to be fluid,
We are humans but we run from it
Whenever we forget
Every little moment
Should be taken care
Like an injured bird:
At the end, it must fly
In order to see a shrinking world.

The distorted mirror
Can look inside,
Can translate inner horrors
Into real actions.

Yet, we look at it,
Unbelieving,
Discrediting,
But it is out there:
We've seen it
And now that we know it,
There's nothing else we can be.

We are what we put outside,
Combined with what we nurture inside.

Now I need
Things that heal.

The distilled poison
Hidden beneath the purity mantle,
Disguised with the smell of perfume,
Can't be distinguished from pure air.

The monster of insanity,
Fed by fear,
Grew larger than ourselves.
Bravery is the only way
Whenever danger is out.  

To heal is to resist.
The absurd is to succumb.

I am tired of truth,
Of certainty,
Of data,
Of arguments,
Of news,
Of memes,
Of catchphrases,
Of ads,
Of cursing,
Of judgment,
Of coherence,
Of passion,
Of sharing,
Of exposing,
Of convincing,
Of fearing,
Of discussing,
Of trying,
Of holding the world on my shoulders,
Of hating,
Of eloquence,
Of pretending,
Of believing,
Of disbelieving,
Of being alert,
Of being numb,
Of hearing,
Of seeing,
Of being in the same places over and over again.

The time is right
To move on, and move on only.

If we have never discovered sinusoids
Any repetition would be unnoticed,
Time would be linear,
History would be unnecessary.

But every now and then
Numbskulls attempt
To awake buried ghosts
As if memory would only serve
To revive the past
Rather than being
An instrument for learning.

**** you mathematicians
For exposing the ups and downs
Beyond any logic of continuity.

**** anyone who can look at it
And still not see the pattern.