Rethinking Bliss

Started pondering about bliss this night...
Trying to digest what I feel...
Don't think the feeling has ever been so great,
so powerful and so ill-timed as it is now...
Words escape me, like the sun-born rays burning my skin...

It has been silence, sweet, wonderful silence!
Her eyes breathing on my neck in the dark of night..
A lonely smile... Perfume polluting my bed...

Swatting Flies with chocolate and guilt

I've wished for things to say that made some sort of sense.

That drunken epiphany that translates into poetry!

Nothing comes to mind other than my hand catching air, searching for that fly I feel buzzing around here.

Myself in the mirror of the forgotten honor, of the unspoken gesture. That buzzing, annoying and unheard.

So I buzz around my reflection, trying desperately to grasp all that I see, all that inadequacy filling up my everyday!

Now I buzz, here and there, wishing I could have someone around to care enough, to take a second and try swatting me from the air...

Just a fly buzzing around, undignified and unheard. So quick and foreseeing.

My reflection looking back at me, hairy and strange, lost in the vomit of disparity and wealth, all things not beautiful and free...
... All things not in the my niece's world, free of politics, religion, dogma, envy and greed.
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I gave her some chocolate before lunch once (she was 4) and mom found out right in the middle of her first tasting of it, oh such ecstasy and delight! After a few hard words of "your uncle is in deep trouble for giving you this", that little girl holding her newly tasted chocolate, proposed that if I could be left out of trouble she would gladly put it down and wait for her salty lunch.

I can't think of a better example of pure ethics..

Continuo acreditando que tenho uma verdade para vir.
Sei que tudo é merda hoje em dia, e sei que não sou o resultado do belo.
Sei que vejo total abstinência da ética, me consumindo, nos consumindo.
Fico querendo apostar em minha indignação.
Fico querendo apostar em minha "apoética" (ou dispoética?).
Não sei mais ser poeta nesse mundo de vômito. Não sei mais.
Tenho raiva e desgosto por essa roubalheira. Por essa amnésia do trabalho digno.
Da politica digna.. Do verdadeiro amor pelo certo.

Hoje tive uma pequena renovação... Uma renovação espiritual pode-se dizer.
Uma musica... Um mantra:

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Musica por Leo Fressato e A Banda Mais Bonita da Cidade

Meu amor, essa é a ultima oração pra salvar seu coração..
Coração não é tão simples quanto pensa:
Nele cabe o que não cabe na dispensa.
Cabe o meu amor, cabem 3 vidas inteiras!
Cabe uma penteadeira...
Cabe nos dois, cabe até o meu amor...
... essa é a ultima oração para salvar seu coração..

Ghosts in the machine

Can't really think of a reason for being seen in this world.
Much has been said about the value of friends and the like, but seriously, what is real in there?
What else can I expect, other than the occasional favor or loan?
What else is there in this social realm that I should be counting on?

People talk about this answer to loneliness as if it were set, like a clock.
This empty faith in the will of some deity as a replacement to their lack of true companionship...
... True love...
True will towards a better tomorrow. A swift and hard shift in what defines us as a race.
Something beyond Kant.

How high is the cost of this before us as a global community?

I think that being understood for who I am is over rated (or over stated in my silence),
especially when considering the alternative: being right about it all in a vegetative sea of men.

I know I have no answers to give. I know my ideas aren't answers on their own.
Much less my questions; just as much as this is not a poem or comeback.

This is a statement. A statement of my lack of things to say when looking at the world.

Our wrongs are so obvious to me and yet I feel like I am insane and alone in my thoughts.

I feel like there is no one else around to echo my horizon, my soul.

All the things, all shortcomings of us, all the reasons...
All unheard, unseen, or worst, driven to the oblivion of "the socially inadequate and insane".
The ghosts in the machine.
The socially inapt and distinct, flying under the radar, never braking laws,
never committing any crimes and never, ever, ever being moral.

The atheists.

My father: myself.
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Based on this video