April 25, 2011

Angels in America

From the interpretation, to the script to the editing this is what reality is all about: the feeling-- That realization that comes to you in an instant: the moment of revelation. Those small moments where your life completely changes so rapidly that you cannot possibly deal with it.

April 21, 2011

So many! So many people I have left behind already and yet their faces burn in my memory as an exploding star, brighter then the sun in the sky, brighter then the coldest star in the universe and yet, so dark as the darkest pit of the galaxy.
The emptiness is so vast that there is nothing I can do to stop it. All around me seems to spread like a virus. And yet I remember.
What have I forgotten? Who can’t I remember? What is the face that is missing in my memory and that now seems so important as life itself? That unknown face burning on my mind as the stars collapse and, right there, in the end of Everything is with me? I know you. I always did. But, who are you? Who are you? Who are you?
All this time I’ve been searching and yet I feel you. It is you who has always been here, close, watching, not interfering. Watching every tumble I take and patting my head every time I cry. And yet I cannot see you. Cannot remember you. I can only feel the lightness of your touch when I breath, when I see the most beautiful things of the Universe, those things that only I can see. Only We can see. But I cannot se you. What am I missing? Is it you that I am missing?
The room is empty and yet I feel all the air being drained. My sanity with it. Where to? What is happening? I can no longer feel what was. I can only feel everything: what was, what could be, what will be; the vastness of nothing and everything. The whole fabric of space and time and matter. My brain is racing. I am racing. Towards nothing and everything. No one racing with me. There has never been. I run too slow and too fast at the same time. And yet I’m stopped. Stopped in time and thought. Suspended from existing. Suspended from knowing the real you. Who? No one and yet Everything!! How can this be? What is it? Is it real? Where does it end? When will I start dreaming or wake up? When will I fly? Is this it? What can I do? What should I do? When? Where? When am I? Who am I? will I not die? Will you die with me? Please! Do not let me travel alone. Not anymore! Do not breath or see or touch! Just touch me again and breath wind into me. Let me breath, let me see, let me fly and watch over me. BURN ME! Burn yourself against my MIND! INTO ME! Let me see all of you! Let me be all of you! For all eternity! Let my name be burned into the stars! Let then weep for the loss of someone Important! Let them cry! Cry as hard as they can! Cry until the rivers boil and the trees rot and burst into flames and become ashes and dust and nothing! BURN as I do Every single moment of my existence! Burn of sadness and emptiness and moments of happiness! Burn for running away! For running from a Soul as old as the Dust and time itself! From running from yourself! From YOUR Reality: you do not want to be happy. You do not want to be who you are! You just want to keep the same you ever were! Not letting yourself go! Not giving yourself to me but taking me from myself with no protest! Shame on you! Shame on you all who do not know they are burning! And that they’ll always be burning! Burning all of you inside my mind. Inside me! Leaving nothing but ashes and the void. No water to cry, no food to eat, no eyes to see. Just fire under the cold dead skin. Under the cold and dead mind!
Where the cold and the boiling combine into one. And the Tower falls. The point where Reality collapses and there is nothing. STOP looking at me! Stop seeing me!! Stop knowing me! Forget me. Forget what we were! And know that I will never!! My curse is to carry the thoughts and moment and Time itself with me to the end of Time. To the time where none, none of you remembers me, if you ever did.
My curse. MY CURSE! My curse is that I will never be remembered. My curse is that, at the end of Time I will never have been. A Paradox so real that the consequence is obvious. There is no time. There is only one eternal moment. One moment that never was. A person that never was. One million moments of emptiness and nothingness. An explosion of emptiness as big as a thousands Supernovas combined. A never ending moment.


Maxwell R. Black
April 21, 2011
06.40am

April 20, 2011

How do you mourn someone that did not die?...

How do you mourn someone that did not die?...

You hold on tight to your heart so as to not to let it fall apart into a thousand pieces. You think of a good memory with that someone and try to absorb the old feeling of happiness that now seems so light as breeze in an evening sky. For a moment that may last forever your breathing stops because the pain of every breath is as if your chest is filled with iron spikes of words and the emptiness. And, for a moment something may be born. Something as simple as a silver drop of water born out of pain and emptiness: out of you. The old image is now burned into the flesh of your mind and it will be there every single time you close your eyes or go to sleep. It will be your ghost, your past and your present. Because from now on you will have to face that the person you once knew is no longer with you.


To all of those who have felt the loss.

Maxwell R. Black
April 20, 2011
05.11pm

April 17, 2011

Aos Anéis de Saturno (Navegando de mãos dadas.)

Navegamos juntos, pelo silêncio da noite
e, do fundo do mundo ouvimos
os ruídos trazidos das crateras mais profundas
de onde rugem as flamejantes labaredas azuis
em que a força da água se perde em vapor.

Pela via, por de baixo do Gigante Branco
seguem os teus castanhos de avelã
mirando-me com placas de ouro em todo tú
e cujos sorriso curioso esboçado em pergunta
me faz sentir que a verdade é não mais
que uma palavra tola largada ao vento;

ribombando com a força de mil trovões
em pano de seda amarrado na dura madeira de carvalhos.
Oceâno cortado à proa
com a força de centenas de soldados brancos
marchando casa a casa de objecto de mármore.

A brisa sossega enquanto miro por lentes
que em deante se vistará a Tormenta de Apollo
ajudado à ira de Zeus e largando sobre(,)
os Céus quando Atlas vacilar no seu pedestal.

Mão segura à tua, lanço-me em frente.
É bom ver-te sentir o vento quando a liberdade
te não mais chega se não em brisa.
É bom ser eu a dar-ta à boca e tu a mim
num beijo tão simples e vital como o líquido
de sangue e cor tão pura quanto tu e eu.

Quando em nébula não mais há: pára.
E quando os Anéis de Saturno sossegam magicamente
da su inércia milenar quando, por breves instantes
a tua visão cruza os meus olhos de oliva cintilante
por te ver; navegando de mãos dadas.


Maxwell R. Black
April 17, 2011
05.32am

April 15, 2011

Agora.

Eu não procuro mas também não quero ser encontrado. Não me quero apaixonar nem me quero dar a mais ninguém. Parei de me dar. Parei de querer sentir. Agora vivo aquilo para que fui creado e depois morro, sem deixar marca. Resigno-me a viver isolado na multidão. Sempre assim fui e apenas estaria a enganar-me pensando o contrário.

Maxwell R. Black
April 14, 2011
11.37pm

April 02, 2011

O nosso pedaço de pano.

Vazio.
Perdi-te quando te sentia tocar-me
e, agora, pouco mais resta que o teu cheiro
tão familiar e tão distante num pedaço de pano
que se perde a cada segundo, a cada lembrança.

Se pelo menos visses o que sinto talvez percebesses
que nunca te quis magoar.
O porque de não te querer dizer que te amava.
Porque eu tenho que ter a certeza do que digo
e, a partir daquele momento senti-o com certeza.

Não passa uma noite que me não atinja o salgado
doce da amargura de quém perdeu;
Não há um mommento em que me não parta
do único pedaço físico de tua Alma que ainda me resta.
O único corpo de ti que dorme comigo
que me vai na bagagem onde quer que eu vá
para que, a qualquer altura eu te possa cheirar
e pensar que, pelo menos enquanto os meus olhos
se cerram por instantes estamos juntos.

Não mais me posso pegar a memórias
embora te receba e receberei sempre
minha magia, perfeição,
É hoje a ultima vez que te deixo o negro pano
partilhar dos meus sonhos.

Esperar-te-hei ainda, porque vamos ficar juntos no fim;

Despeço-me numa lágrima
esperando que as tuas palavras não sejam elas parte da minha Utopia.

Maxwell R. Black
April 02, 2011
05.09am

Ninguém.

Há quando se pensa se vale a pena viver.
Porque cada pessoa que conhece deixas de conhecer.
Cada vida que tocas é uma vida onde nada
mais és que memória.
E do Real? No real todos partam com falsas promessas.
O meu dilema é, afinal, tão trivial e
ainda tão pouco percebido: memória. Lembranças,
que te forçam sem querer fazer mais.
Estou cansado de memórias falhadas,
dos momentos que foram apenas isso,
da forma tão leviana com que reciprocam ‘Amo-te’.

Mais uma vez, desilusão.
Não com uma pessoa mas com uma espécie a que
se chama de Mundo.

Perdido em terras de Ninguém
sem guia para mim próprio;
Cavaleiro com cavalo de pau,
uma miragem, fantástica, Ninguém.


Ninguém. . . Para sempre. . .

Maxwell R. Black
April 01, 2011
08.56pm