The hermit´s eye place stands with the scent of a regular motility even if the kick in the eye is made of stone, as this individual has a great passion for what it lasts on his mind like the prunes he collects from a selected dream where he finds its living. The pavement is making a don´t stop cycling engineering of polluting sweat on which the hermit has the necessary thought that no one could sleep with two virgins with an immaculate repose in a natural fresh place. It is possible for the chant of one man, to drive his breathe in the union from himself around the dance of gestures that flies with a human touch going aside in the gutter of minimalism acts where all can be good. The souvenir from the bad, being taken from the emotional rescue of the partners as respect for the species where the hermits eyes can endure the travels with the concrete assumption that things go well, if the grasp is under ourselves being seen in time and being able to think twice, then common speech would have the maturity of vocation. There are no untamed byes, the losses take one out and we have to find what we got as attention everywhere, where our street perused sweat hits the front of the faith in order to park our movements with the anxious relief of reaching a safe, true and pure magnificence.
We are all young at heart deep inside and we stand but what have they done with the effort to extend the rope in the times when a hero was needed? Why the little man stands on my way without telling me why does he act like a ferocious figure on his minimal knowing of what I stand as being young? For now, no promises and no demands because we are strong and searching from the inside and going ahead from anarchism with the ethic whistle of excitement in every level of winning more and more inner worlds around and inside this search.
The dreaming of lying upon a smooth morning operation where the roses appear red as the nursery kiss from the maiden Miss who pitches some truth from will, going well and standing in the front of no misery and carrying the union wall of this kind of entering with the eye and saving this morning for the town where the hermit had grew.
You can be lost at the local moll and no longer guarantee what came from the edge of living on the first ever feeling, a especially full closeness living in here with the scarlet idea born from a loyal love that has vestiges in this soul and the morning kiss was into her, a spontaneous offer that my eyes had settled to curl the paces into your ballroom dance on the Universal shaving of each langour and the calenture of the subsequent dream is a healthy naturalization to feel like the sun and the air. It can be our day over the muses and their subsequent seeking across the pearl dew drops on each duty. The act in a riding will as purpose to make from a stone a prosper way of praying since the body needs kindness in a free association of words in order to be close of a friendly enigma. We are on our own being when the inside spells a looking in the shining night vision where the eye in contact with wars has to escape from day light nightmares and the sleep has not the quality of the hermit who has two virgins to repose with. He uses the leafs of oaks on the verge of a sweet ride because the rhythms waxes and wanes, going on the horizon of this decal with seasons and away from wars but still with the head on thinking of the wasted eyes so much of being always somewhere but always in the presence of beauty. Picking the flying seagulls in the way out where the hermit wishes to go on the end of a day gone by, had the safe face of a feminine seductive power, over the common man which cannot hide himself of catching fire from his dirt flying in another pornography place. So it does not concern much into the cosmic anniversaries with the powerful pneuma to think about it or to live as an hotbed of inspiration and then comes the kiss of fire with a fresh lucidity.
The feeding of a mortified culture in the passage from the last 3 decades of the 20th century and the first decade of the 21th century is an hysterical and irritating mimesis still accepted as a natural outcome of creativity where the difference is been told about sins; in the first, the last and sometimes always. Culture precipitates with irrational cannibalism phenomena and the primordial instinct becomes a vacancy of the nervous system which should be qualified as a noble care to handle like a baby. A mortified culture accepts to condemn a man whose wisdom is denied; he does like to be alive and he had faced death since he took his words to the laughing tale of the drank heart where truth stands like a winter´s heavy sweat and it is partially a deal with a scaring feeling that can take his distance from the world in order to be prepared for him in his secular conditions beside the killing jokes of the periods of the 2 referred centuries. The living games can be taken like a sick dream being weak to the transference on the free association of speeches where the inner voice acts like wanting nothing more than her. No need for a gospel refugee but a sacred kiss on the life of he and the virgins would not say yes, not even on a summer´s bungalow where the maestro rents his hands to the good sleep in every urban pollen where the love has to exist in touch with the reality of someone who dares to be on the underground of the lower activity of these crowd music that hurts even their memories. So it is up to the hermit to feed time with a kind of magic to care about you under a blue moon and in the faraway trenches where you and him can feel what is the highlight of full relaxation after a conceptual maiden was tuned to be a woman with the best world flag day, some candy peace around this blue flower.
The silence throws in the hermit´s rock cave the necessary realities to form a legible piece of life. Some whistle to see if he is alright. At the time of the rainy days, the hermit differs from his activity with more speed in what was lacking during the summer with the mothers of convention whose food was always welcome but to make something together with the catholic block was like asking permission to be in front of the origins of understanding. The later life of discipline presents an abandonment of a memorial in the name of philosophic random market places. Who seeks the ways like a child, crying the creating awakening of publishing the adequate basis of a literally moral functionalism upon the moral classic that confines humans and should be replaced by an intelligible experience and not only pleasant to each individual truth, tough more above all that condition where the transcending illustration of the protagonists that endorse the large symbols of musical associations on which the dance within the absolute vitality, has the answer got by surprises of living on the edge of ever the whatever can be as clear as a readable cloud. It is a valid spirit inside the philosophical opening strategy to object the walking out in the coldness of the Universe. The prose that discusses a new community regarding the attraction into ideals as a conquered fury from ourselves and the choice on it, keeps breathing on every turning presence under the surface of matter where the hermit also lives; it concerns the walk in too much isolated furies where the crowd paradox has no attention to question the original translation of the calenture of this kind of active silence and this was the souvenir from a scarlet dream…
Dedicado ao Senhor Lee
Ali à Calçada da Pampulha, na Rua das Janelas Verdes, corria o ano de 1996, encontrei um
amigo, de nome Lee. Tinha um restaurante, que ao primeiro olhar, parecia uma tasca. Era um
restaurante chinês, entre muitos outros estabelecimentos que vasculhava, na altura em que
trabalhei numa loja de conveniência. O Senhor Lee tomava conta das mesas e a esposa
cozinhava. Ficava perto de um posto da GNR, muitos soldados iam lá, assim como alguns
casalitos enamorados. Eu tornei-me cliente habitual, como amigo pessoal do Senhor Lee.
Gostava de falar com ele, do seu passado, do seu filho, de ler o Correio da Manhã, com uma
Coca-Cola, enquanto esperava o meu prato, nos meus 45 minutos de refeição. Mais tarde levei
lá a minha mãe e um amigo dela e o meu amigo, fazia um preço muito baixo, para três pessoas e
ainda me guardava a maior fatia de bolo de bolacha. Um dia estava no largo do Cais do Sodré
e pontapeava uma lata, o Senhor Lee, ia dentro de um autocarro e acenou-me com simpatia. Na
refeição seguinte, disse-me: ‘Alexandre, que alegria estava naquele dia!’ Muito depois a esposa
adoeceu e ele teve de fechar o restaurante. Era um homem bom. Voltei lá a perguntar por ele,
mas ninguém sabia do casalito. Obrigado Senhor Lee.