~só quando me penso como instrumento é que consigo dormir. Quando vou longe e esqueço do espelho vejo montanhas num plano de fundo bonito. E por elas algo passava, vários, que eu não podia identificar, só sentia e já nem sabia como podia tal nessa intensidade. Montanhas mais perto e mais longe e eu via quão longe passavam de mim. Às vezes passavam tão perto que entravam e era tão bom. Tão ruim ter que agüentar voltar a ser sem. Os pêlos da minha alma se eriçavam de lembrar. Existem as lembranças e as almas. Nem as almas escapam às lembranças. Vivo nesse ciclo de derrubar placas, empurrar ares, fazer de mim mala.

I woke up in another cloudy Day, everything was okay to open the curtains and see the big White though the window. I don’t have that much time for thinking in the morning until going to work. But I still had a little. While looking I touched the bottom line of my chest, where I used to place my fairy in the right middle. It used to be brown as the whole thing, she was getting white and less invisible to the poor eyes. Maybe she just appeared to be gone. And I only took it off to be on me. Cold clouds, suns inside, fairies, feelings, we never really understand them…they’re just there. At the second I realized, she was beating her tiny wings in a different land and I felt sad. I don’t know why, because I needed somebody to come all the way down from Pacific Ocean with tons of people in here to be myself in the essence.


Para minha amiga taitiana, Tiai.