segunda-feira, 7 de novembro de 2011
O Rui Chafes dizia que estas palavras são para ser ouvidas, e não lidas, contudo esta é a única partilha que me é permitida.
Apesar de tudo ainda trago a voz da Orla Barry a ecoar-me nos tímpanos.
I remember memory as if it were a memory.
I remember standing outside myself, outside the world.
I remember my brain continually obliterating the words to describe existence.
I remember thinking that thinking is a chameleon,
changing with the conditions that go on around thought.
I remember being too full to remember...
I remember recounting,
I remember, remembering without images,
I remember rehearsing memory through voice.
I remember speaking a poetic language.
A language that is removed from speach,
one that does not allow for communication
but for interpretation and reinterpretation.
I remember the colour of the air
and the sun burning through my clothes.
I remember the brain sunburn.
I remember looking for a place where I could extend my thoughts,
but they hung in the air around me.
I remember words leaving my mouth without me.
I remember someone with a fairground style enlightenment.
I remember them saying:
'What does a mirror look like when it is not working?'
I remember when presence started to lead to absence.
I remember overdose cities, where people really thought input always led to output.
I remember the cities stinking air, as warm and smelly as the air from a tire.
I remember not being allowed to take a joke to the point that it might have gotten funny.
I remember forgetting how to joke.
I remember the blankness.
I remember suspended meaning.
I rememberun-framing memory and every image I ever had collapsing into the dark.
I remember loosing the image of the recently departed.
I remember ringing the wrong doorbell and being cornered by the unknown.
I remember a permanent compression of energy.
I remember a dream that to get married you needed five rings.
I remember someone asking me: 'Can you do something you can not say?'
queimado a ferro por gonçal∅ incendiàrio