Um fio na cabeça
Irritante e então
Puxo à pressa,
Tentando aliviar a comichão.
Sai mais fio donde tirei,
Uma corrente sem fim
Aparente, um jardim:
Com raízes e flores
E cores e aromas.
Puxo mais e repito;
Aqui está algo bonito
Que nem sempre se revela.
Há que buscar a tela agora
E pintar tudo o que dum simples fio
Começou.

I gotta be honest with you folks
I am not looking forward to the start
of this glorious new year
of our mythical lord
of twenty twenty five
I have an existential weariness
that has been slowly grinding me
and my batteries are drained
and I keep forgetting their names
and I don't want any more syringes
things going wrong
precautions within cautions within
causes
and did you know I only had a
zero point zero one two per cent
chance of getting in this mess
that's one in every eight thousand
and three hundred men
Christ, a man this lucky
oughta be playing the lottery
yet the only ticket I want
is getting out of this ride
as soon as possible
and if I can help it
relatively unscathed
except for the scars and memories
from this very strange place.

the couple of times per year
when I return to Lisbon
I wish for my mother
to again be my alarm clock
just as she was
when I was little
I suspect this annoys her
for I am much older now
I should know better
but I cannot quantify that comfort
of her voice, lifting that burden
if only briefly
even if she does so
chiefly
I couldn’t explain it well
that feeling
and admittedly
not much time has passed
since then
except now
when I brush my hair
the first white strands
leave my head

The supermarket's automatic doors
(do not)
slide open at 2 AM
for no one in particular.

I count empty shopping carts:
one for each failed first date,
one for each unanswered text,
seventeen in total since October.

The night manager
(which does not exist)
counts bottles,
writes numbers in columns
that mean nothing to anyone
except the corporate office
where everything reduces
to profit and loss.

Some nights I drive past your house
accidentally on purpose,
counting bicycles in the driveway,
while my own storage
holds only winter tires
and questions about statute
of limitations on guilt.

The cashier's monitor
(it's off)
blinks error codes in red.
I pretend to understand
the mathematics of fair trade:
your happiness for mine,
plus interest accumulated
over five years of insomnia.

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

De repente acordo
para além da realidade;
Vejo tudo
e não sou nada,
um passageiro
na própria cabeça;
Lúcido
e sem pressa.

Assusta
sentir-me assim,
fora do conforto,
algo tonto
da experiência,
nem vivo nem morto.

Uma ilusão
anormal e descarada,
a vida fica parada
enquanto volto
a mim. Fica só
uma sensação
estranha
e a tentação
de tentar concluir
algo da visão.

therapy
taught me
big words
for all
the ways
I learned
to survive
before
I knew
what to
call it

There is this matter of perspective which cannot be resolved through conventional means and I have considered it thoroughly through countless hours of observation the way the specimen sits before me neither moving nor acknowledging my presence while I document each detail with scientific precision though what authority do I have really to claim I understand anything about its reality when I paint a frog and wonder what he sees because surely there must be some truth in those eyes that regard me with such ancient patience and I who pride myself on methodical documentation must admit that every brushstroke only confirms how little I comprehend of its world which exists parallel to mine separated by nothing more than the thin membrane of consciousness that divides all beings who study each other across the vast distances of their own realities and still I continue to paint as if somehow the next stroke will reveal something essential about the nature of seeing itself

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

cities
breathe
different
at 4am
when even
lies look
beautiful
enough
to keep

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

Um buraco para entrar
um buraco para me libertar
Uma inquietude sem fim
Um desejo sempre aqui

Uma caça avante
Uma sedução constante
Umas semanas de busca
Uns minutos de loucura

Um estranho ali
Umas roupas ouvi
Uma paixão crescente
Um fogo ardente

Uma vez dentro
Uma vez fora
Um padrão repetido
Uma conclusão dura

Um risco sempre presente
Uma protecção aconselhável
Uma descendência evitada
Umas doenças rejeitadas

Um sentimento estranho
Um fim precipitado
Uma vergonha íntima
Um prazer estreitado

Um fim alargado
Um futuro com significado
Uma esperança promissora
Tudo um sonho num fado

watched my
mother's
hands shake
while
folding
laundry
and finally
understood
what time
does to
dreams

I saw
how much
that small
moment meant
to you—
your eyes
bright with
the kind of
hope
I outgrew
but still
remember

wisdom comes
dressed as
failure wearing
everything
we tried
to throw
away

the human dream
balancing on the thin thread
of moloch atomic fire
fueled by the scarcity of evolution
it just couldn't have been
any other way
for the gift of progress
forged from competition
will never rest
whichever direction
it cascades.
No bravery or caution
or planning and intelligence
can control such force
unleashed by the very binding
of this universe
and to know this or not
makes absolutely no difference
or sense at all
and all the sacrifices made
and all the things lost and gained
to disappear instantly
with everyone
and no one in particular
to blame.

Words fall like copper coins in empty wells.
They make good sounds. They mean nothing.
The young must touch the flame themselves,
Each hand learning its own kind of heat.

I have seen better men than me
Try to pour wisdom into unwanting cups.
The cups were good. The wisdom was good.
But youth knows only its own thirst.

Each morning brings its own new light.
My shadows will not match their shadows.
My victories will not fit their wars.
My maps lead to countries that no longer exist.

They stand straight and proud and right,
The way I stood, refusing the hands
That reached toward me with ancient truths.
Now I am the hand. Now I am the truth.

The silence is better than the telling.
Time is a better teacher than tongues.
Let them build their own ladders of scar tissue.
Let them earn their own way to knowing.

I speak this to the empty room.
The room holds what it wants to hold.
And somewhere, someone younger listens,
And decides not to listen at all.

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

I watch puddles form
in parking lot craters,
count the ripples
from each raindrop's fall

my reflection fragments
into twenty versions
of the same tired face
attempting miracles

someone once said
walking on water
wasn't built in a day
like it was supposed to help

I keep trying anyway
watching my feet sink
in these midnight puddles
building impossible bridges
one step at a time

watch my
little niece
scroll through
life like
she's looking
for something
that hasn't
been invented
yet

waiting room thoughts branch like veins!

    future divides:
        before treatment;
            during treatment!
                after treatment?
            during treatment!
                before treatment;
    present loops back...

cells multiply (like fears) in darkness:
    each division a new timeline|
        each moment splits into maybe~
            and what-if!
                and please.

time curves through the white room:
    yesterday's blood count;
        tomorrow's possibilities~
            today's needle!
                memory fires: age seven,
                    first bee sting;
                        now thirty-three,
                            first infusion?

thoughts spiral into patterns:
    statistics become prayers!
        prayers become bargains;
            bargains become acceptance:
                acceptance becomes hope~

mother's hand on shoulder transmits:
    courage through skin!
        fear through bones;
            love through time...
                strength through blood~

waiting room clock ticks sideways:
    past and future collide|
        in this sterile now!
            where moments branch
                like veins
                    like choices
                        like cells
                            like hope~

READ DURING PRECIPITATION
Barometric pressure: 29.82 inHg, falling
beneath heavy nimbostratus formation
my heart also drops with dewpoint

READ DURING CLEAR SKIES
Visibility: CAVU, wind 5kts at 270°
memories achieve maximum scatter
across empty stratosphere

READ DURING STORM
SPECIAL WEATHER STATEMENT IN EFFECT
thunder speaks in dead languages
probability of emotional precipitation: 100%
seek immediate psychological shelter

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

Não se pode apressar o amor,
Mas eu tenho onde estar;
O mundo vai acabar.
Há que aproveitar o calor
Enquanto se pode.

Tão assombradamente belo,
Uma visão cegante,
Distante, porém.
Aceno ao afastar-se;
Há que seguir em diante.

Amanhã é outro dia, dizem.
Não se prevê o futuro.
Fico desconfiado, contudo,
Quando encontro mais amor
Num sonho profundo.

morning and I make your coffee twice today once
from that hollow space where I need you to need
me where my hands shake with the weight of
tomorrow's promises where every clink of spoon
against cup sounds like warning bells sounds like
run sounds like hide but later after the sky
broke open after I remembered how to breathe
after finding that quiet place beneath my ribs
I make it again same beans same water same
motion but now watch how the steam rises like
prayer like possibility like the way light
bends through windows and I'm no longer
trying to save us with caffeine and careful
measurements no longer trying to fill the
spaces between words with sugar and heat now
it's just this just my hands moving through
morning air like birds through summer sky like
thoughts through silence like love through time
and maybe this is what they mean when they
say it's not what you do but where it comes
from where it comes from where it comes from
this place of open hands this place of let go
this place of already enough already whole
already here already here already here

I remember certainty
Reading Atlas Shrugged on the beach,
and getting a ***** from Dagny
rather than the bikini ladies all around me
Arguing with commies on revleft
until they sent me to a literal
virtual
gulag
I remember the free state project
seasteading
dreams of industrialists
and gold over fiat
I remember believing
global warming hoaxes
9/11 conspiracies
zeitgeist movies
the early brain rot feeds the worm
I remember the imminent economic collapse
dreams of perpetual motion machines
while escaping engineering failures
I remember the crypto dream
FIRE and decentralization
all so tangible, so manageable
the moral bankrupcy preceeding
the physical one
I remember the red pills, PUAs, so suave,
so fedoras
the promising apps, the market unleashed
the never ending competition
grass-greenerism
I could say I miss the certainty
but what I miss more is its concept
its idea, pure, untainted, filled with potential
the power of arrogance
in unblocking action
the boldness of ignorance
being blind to abstraction
Perhaps caution makes me wiser
while the weight grows heavier still
no longer a burden to shrug
but a truth to bear and feel.

left my
tea
cooling on
the balcony
watching it
learn the
temperature
of giving
up

indifference used to be
the prison,
but now
it is
the
fuel.
it used to be a heavy weight,
but now I can fly
far
away;
in short:
weakness
into
strength.
and for those
still trapped,
I say,
everything can be
an asset:
fear,
pain,
weakness of will,
or of the physical.
all from Nature,
at your disposal,
night or day.

grocery store
tomatoes
politely
pretending
to remember
what summer
tastes
like

I'm getting my gold tonight
I want to bribe your soul
Knock! So let me in
So I can get my hopes high

Theory in practice
experience's first time
I'm years into months
but with instinct as my enemy

Intelligence, compassion, attention
poor ***** going by
poor humans living around
don't forget the locker next time

but they keep on trying
the condition rising
and a morning coffee

What a beautiful tragedy
That life is.
The rundown streets,
The hurting faces.

Those that think it's simple
To fix all that's bad.
Those same that will see
The complexity of that task.

The bottled anger,
The hurtful words,
The children learning
Right next door.

Depression, anxiety,
The environment and its tragedy.
The homeless, the land,
In-between those that make a stand.

Whatever happens,
Whatever is tried,
This beautiful tragedy
Will continue as planned.

simulacra and simulation
the performance and the stage
as we jump from platform to platform
seeking connection
authenticity
genuineness
briefly, we bask in such light
before the masses arrive
and change the economics
that makes fakeness profitable.
With each new cycle
the jading creeps in
latching like a limpet
thus no matter the waves
we poison each new sea
in this beautiful theatre
sinking reality

Fluído, flexível,
em alerta constante.
A oportunidade em resgate,
nesta economia dos biscates.

Pensar na incerteza
é cometer um disparate.
Um passo em falso,
um retrato alto
dum admirável mundo novo
sem debates.

Olha, mais turistas a chegar.
Quanto irão pagar?
O horário não perdoa,
mas há que tentar
fazer o melhor que puder,
antes da maré recuar
e a austeridade,
até então escondida,
voltar.

the cicadas are crawling around
it's 4 am and I cannot sleep
their faint buzzing vibrating on my skin
if only I had a camera
in my brain, to show you all this
maybe you already believe
sleepless nights are no one's secret
the cicadas crawl some more
and many Great Ones fall
from the constant buzzing
that teeth grinding melody
that often follows a day
but its at night that the sound
grows on you, begs of you
something you can't give
I was never a good at negotiations
and the Universe knows
You have all the leverage
the cicadas show no consideration
all the little feet, steppity step step
twitching skin from that noise
all poised to make me twist and turn
many lose the battle like this
exhausted falling into REM
then mayhem, the next morning
but not me, I know them well
so the cicadas comfort me long
long after, and I pay such good tributes
that I suspect they're crawling on
these letters right now
for you to keep

we just want a little originality
something that hasn't been said before
something not repeated
something given
It is great, because it isn't
consistent
there was risk, perhaps even danger
of ridicule, of denial, of betrayal
but it paid off, and now everyone wants to copy
to walk the trodden step
without the thorns of critics
or the puddles of mediocrity

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

i'm a beautiful sculpture of a cutiepie
hunk of a powerful figure of a man
carved of mcvegans, french fries,
asahi beers, kinder maxis, ciabatta
sandwiches, popcorn, lemon-flavoured
pepsi max, macadamias and pistachios
green and red wine, occasional carlsberg
(folköl), aglio e oglio, snickers bars,
salted lays, bashmati rice,
and cheap frozen pizzas from Willys
bought ten minutes before closing time

Today I leveraged my core competencies
by successfully utilizing the office microwave
without burning my lunch
(#grateful #blessed #thoughtleader)

My strategic pivot from
desk-facing-wall to desk-facing-window
has resulted in a 47% increase
in pretending to be productive
while watching pigeons mate.

Excited to announce
that my morning anxiety attack
has been optimized
for maximum efficiency:
now hyperventilating
in only 2.3 minutes
(a personal best).

Thrilled to share that my
"crying in bathroom stall" initiative
has attracted key stakeholders
from Accounting and HR,
creating synergistic opportunities
for collaborative breakdown sessions.

Looking forward to disrupting
the traditional paradigm
of actually doing work
by innovative implementation
of staring at spreadsheets
while thinking about death.

#OpenToOpportunities #HumbledAndHonored
#ThrivingThroughChaos #AlwaysGrinding
#ThoughtLeadershipIsMyPassion

Posted 1h ago

summer arrives in february
                    while winter
            forgets its own name

& the bees         the bees
                are dancing wrong
coordinates to flowers
            that bloomed too soon
                        died too fast

migration patterns torn
            like old maps
                    while satellites track
extinction's                     slow
                                    applause

somewhere a forest
            drinks plastic rain
                        & teaches its seedlings
                                    how to burn

the coral writes
            its last will
                    & testament
                            in bleached
                                    calcium

        numbers climb
                    records fall
            records fall
                    numbers climb
                            & the heat
                                    keeps betting
                                            against itself

oceans           swallow
            islands whole
                    & spit out
                            refugees

while we measure
            tomorrow's tomb
                    in parts per
                            million

& still    the wind speaks
                    in extinct
                            languages
                                    to empty
                                            nests

a writer is not only what he writes
but also what he keeps to himself
taste acquired
perhaps on long walks on the beach
its a conquered skill
and a beautiful savoring
of a fine diet
that reminds him
of the body he needs
judge them not for their drafts
also not just their hits
judge them for what's attempted
despite the pressure of the ink
and that inner critic
echoing voices of family meets
the escaping of their self
shall feed the escape of others
may they meet on a lovely sunset
making love to the imagination
that could only become free
from light, carbohydrates, liquid metals

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

my phone
lies face
down now
while tea
grows cold
and quiet
fills spaces
algorithms
never knew
how to
understand

Las emociones son hechiceras;
traen ambiente a una experiencia,
pero me transportan fuera
de mi cuerpo, por un momento,
hacia ese espacio que no es real,
pero se siente a veces mal
dentro de mi mente, donde sólo,
lucho contra vergüenzas,
contra furia y tristezas.

Parece fácil, piensa lo racional,
escapar de algo tan fútil como
lo emocional.
¡Contrólate y pórtate!
Que nos haces pasar mal.
No tenemos tiempo que gastar,
en estas aventuras de lo sensacional.

Pero sí que son hechiceras,
estas emociones malditas.
Sin varitas o incantaciones,
me dan tentaciones,
cambian mi comportamiento,
mi pensar, mi humor,
y sin aliento me entrego,
para que pasen pronto,
y las vea lejos al fondo.

every
friend's
wedding
feels like
watching
doors close
on versions
of me
I never
got to
try

The coffee shop still serves vanilla lattes
I still sit by the window
The barista still writes names wrong
The chair across stays empty

Tuesday afternoons remain
precisely what they are
The clock moves exactly as it should
The seasons change on schedule

My phone shows no notifications
that need to be answered
My calendar keeps its neat rows
of ordinary appointments

The route home passes
the same street corners
where traffic lights change
their predictable colors

Sometimes I notice
how the sunset
doesn't remind me
of anything in particular

My friends don't ask
why I've been distant
My schedule hasn't changed
My routine stays unbroken

The world continues
its measured rotation
around a center
that never existed

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

the worms in my bin
old, divine, likely thin
are probably wondering why God
has left the leachate stinking so long
it was two-thousand and fifteen
when I first got their ancestors from Gunther
and a fine pedigree of vegetarian scraps
with occasional mixing of paper traps
makes them think I may be God
a force of nature as nourishing as rain
and as violent as wind
occasionally they may be keen
to explore, often dying dried in my
bathroom floor
I don't blame them, it's a fine instinct
so when my food waste has become bedding soil, I often bring many of them outside,
to the balcony raised beds
so they may leave if they so wish
or get eaten by the lurking magpies, crows, ravens
In repurposed Ikea polythene boxes
they've moved from Kämnärs, Limhamn, and Nörra Faladen
they've heard many guests, witnessed fights and love
as well as an occasional **** outside the bathroom door
they're no Shai-Hulud
that much is for sure
and I wouldn't recommend eating
the spice they do produce
but these worms in my bin
heartless and pure
which I dare not pickup
for my skin is like flame to yours
might someday find me
alongside the roots and ugly leaves
rotting nicely to the core.

the ancestral Man
content
mingling in communal tribe life
the contemporary Man
alone in his car
enjoying a McDonald's burger
on the empty parking lot at two am
the true paradise, peace
heaven on earth
technology, industry
art in the execution
the culmination of human evolution
the right of independence
convenience
specialization breeding a weakness
we call bliss
a comfortable bubble
with radio, heat
moisture condensing in the windshield
light from the phone, LEDs
a blip in history, exceptions to rules
return to the mean, eventually true
a carbon pulse realizing itself
a collapse of complexity
a distant memory
of the individual versus the cosmos
surrounded by metal and rubber
which could go anywhere
but was still and total

workplace
chat shows
everyone
pretending
keyboards
make the
same noise
as thinking

you scroll on tiktok while taking a ****
I write poetry
and scroll too
and read
productive as fluids leave
and art and boredom creep in
the answer to the age old question
of why men spend so long in the bathroom
most men don't know what to do
and I pretend too
as our assess speak to one another
via our sewage connection system
the farts whisper softly
"no matter how much you try to forget"
"you are this stinking imperfect body"