A alguém que não conheço, nunca vi nem falei mas que sei que entende cada palavra.
Maxwell R. Black
August 25, 2011
10.31pm
August 25, 2011
Eu? Animal.
Estou suado. Há semanas que não toco em mim. Há semanas que não sinto a carne, o calor. O tesão de sentir algo a agarrar-me (ainda que seja apenas eu). O toque… O toque é do que sinto falta. O sexo em si, o orgasmo não me diz muito. Nunca fez muito sentido. Mas o toque de lábios, o sentir duas caras encostadas, o calor de um corpo tocado de outro, trespassando a roupa e enchendo o ar com o cheiro estranho e, ao mesmo tempo familiar. Mas a vontade… O corpo pede sempre mais. Mais toque, diferente toque. Vontade de despejar a energia com outro corpo sem perguntas, sem complicações sem ter que perceber que posição gosta e apenas fazer o k tenho vontade. Isso ainda há mais tempo. Não um 'até amanha' ou um 'liga-me'. Mas depois de algo vem sempre a pergunta, a vontade e o querer tocar. E um orgasmo já não chega. Quero outro. E outro. E outro. E o corpo já não acompanha a insaciável mente; vontade. E aí? E aí nada mais resta que reprimir a vontade e, quando a janela de oportunidade se abre aproveitar tudo o que se pode enquanto se tem. A mente manda sempre no corpo. Mas às vezes até a mente manda na própria mente. A mente controla a vontade de sexo desenfreado porque, se assim o fosse, nada mais existia. É apenas uma tentativa de controlo, e a isto se resume a vida.
A alguém que não conheço, nunca vi nem falei mas que sei que entende cada palavra.
A alguém que não conheço, nunca vi nem falei mas que sei que entende cada palavra.
August 19, 2011
Rodando qual Nave.
Para, escuta, olha
Sente o peso do metal que no metal ressoa,
qual martelo de Ferreiro de brasa empunhado
à força bruta como metáfora
De vía perdida mas sempre recta
e onde os desvios são coisas abstractas:
um contínuo apenas, um talvez de mudança.
Com um regular pulsar de organismo
aguardo cada batida como de primeira;
uma nova, e outra, e outra…
que para ti que não vês te soam iguais
mas que cada uma é única ao Tempo.
Única, é a palavra.
De viagem em metal se cobre tal paisagem
sempre inconstante mas sempre bela
Realidade única como cada instante
fugaz em liberdade de vida
ausente em significado mais que o que se vê (sente)
e cujo verso é tão efémero e impossível
quando o soar da buzina que se perde
em ecos por entre os vales cobertos de verde
e de onde surgem pequenos vultos
mascarados pela distância e perpétuo movimento
pela via.
Cada metro torna-te mais senhora
de imponente importância
e a cada único sentido
Range, contorcendo-te pela dor que
te assenta em cama a cada instante.
Sente cada batida por entre soltas
de saída e entrada constante.
Freia-te quando em vêz para que não mais
te desgovernes adeante e, por fim,
quando o ponteiro negro tocar o outro
será a tua entrada pela velha pedra de moldura
que te resguarda e de onde te sentirás leve
uma vez mais, sem que os pecados estranhos
te assolem, largados ao vento da agora calma visão.
Se teu Braço de Aço roçar alguma vez mais
a plana do passado então terás em ti teu propósito.
Sente o peso do metal que no metal ressoa,
qual martelo de Ferreiro de brasa empunhado
à força bruta como metáfora
De vía perdida mas sempre recta
e onde os desvios são coisas abstractas:
um contínuo apenas, um talvez de mudança.
Com um regular pulsar de organismo
aguardo cada batida como de primeira;
uma nova, e outra, e outra…
que para ti que não vês te soam iguais
mas que cada uma é única ao Tempo.
Única, é a palavra.
De viagem em metal se cobre tal paisagem
sempre inconstante mas sempre bela
Realidade única como cada instante
fugaz em liberdade de vida
ausente em significado mais que o que se vê (sente)
e cujo verso é tão efémero e impossível
quando o soar da buzina que se perde
em ecos por entre os vales cobertos de verde
e de onde surgem pequenos vultos
mascarados pela distância e perpétuo movimento
pela via.
Cada metro torna-te mais senhora
de imponente importância
e a cada único sentido
Range, contorcendo-te pela dor que
te assenta em cama a cada instante.
Sente cada batida por entre soltas
de saída e entrada constante.
Freia-te quando em vêz para que não mais
te desgovernes adeante e, por fim,
quando o ponteiro negro tocar o outro
será a tua entrada pela velha pedra de moldura
que te resguarda e de onde te sentirás leve
uma vez mais, sem que os pecados estranhos
te assolem, largados ao vento da agora calma visão.
Se teu Braço de Aço roçar alguma vez mais
a plana do passado então terás em ti teu propósito.
Maxwell R. Black
July 31 and August 19, 2011
05.26 am and 2.49 am respectively.
July 08, 2011
Homenagem ao Space Shuttle.
Damas e Cavalheiros, hoje é um momento de viragem na História: Realiza-se hoje o último voo do programa Space Shuttle, o programa com que grande parte de nós cresceu a ouvir falar, ainda que do outro lado do Atlântico. Criado pela National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) há trinta anos, o Space Shuttle era o programa americano de exploração espacial, como resposta à 'corrida pelo espaço' entre os regimes comunistas (USSR/Russia e China) e os estados capitalistas com origem na Guerra Fria. O programa de natureza científica consistia em pilotar um dos 6 veículos (Enterprise, Columbia, Challenger, Discovery, Atlantis e Endeavour) até à orbita terrestre (pouco antes do primeiro ponto de Lagrange, penso eu) onde eram conduzidas experiências sobre o comportamento da vida num ambiente cem por cento artificial. O programa como um todo foi uma ferramenta excelente não só no objectivo principal (através do SkyLab) como no aperfeiçoamento do próprio voo espacial e voo espacial tripulado. A muito se ficou a dever este programa e, nacionalidades aparte, há que congratular um grande programa que, apesar de raízes na guerra simbolizam o apogeu humano da Era Iluminada.
Vimos nas últimas décadas a decadência e o desinteresse pela exploração espacial: o fim de vida da Estação Espacial Russa MIR, o fim de vida do Telescópio Espacial Hubble (anunciado para 2011 mas prolongado até 2015) e agora o fim do programa Space Shuttle. Vimos, contudo surgir interesse, ainda que bastante menos ambicioso, pela Europa com a criação da European Space Agency (ESA), a criação dos programas espaciais Iraniano e Chinês e a manutenção do programa espacial Russo. A criação da International Space Station (ISS) é agora o único investimento a nível global, apresentando potêncial para crescer. O transporte de bens e passageiros à ISS (antes realizado pelo Space Shuttle e o Soyuz russo) é agora assegurado apenas pelo segundo.
All in all, é um dia de mudança e talvez alguma melancolia para os que, como eu, são aficcionados pelo Espaço.
Pormenores sobre a missão e veículos pode ser consultada no site oficial da NASA
A reportagem do EuroNews:
All in all, é um dia de mudança e talvez alguma melancolia para os que, como eu, são aficcionados pelo Espaço.
June 27, 2011
True
Do you mean all the things you are?
Are you pleased with the way things are?
Wear that dress to protect this scar,
That only I have seen.
Do you give just to please yourelf?
Do you wish you were somewhere else?
Justified all the things you tried,
said that it was all for me.
And be near,
Just for the moment,
Stay here,
Never go home.
Did you know that everything she ever does is for you?
So it goes, the story of a broken heart comes true,
It comes true.
Have you learned all the secrets yet?
Will you burn by the things I've said?
Took the dive just to feel alive,
but never heard the truth.
Now I'm in love but I don't know how
I'm in pain cause I want it now
As I sit watching her eyes close,
I slowly open mine.
And be near,
Just for the moment,
Stay here,
Never go home.
Did you know that everything she ever does is for you?
So it goes, the story of a broken heart comes true, comes true.
I am so confused by this.
I know that life is hit or miss.
Days are stung by too much sun,
I think that you may be the one.
Cover yourself up in me,
Shrouded in what could have been.
I will listen to your pain,
if you listen to me.
Did you know that everything she ever does is for you?
So it goes, as the story of a broken heart comes true,
Did you know that everything she ever does is for you?
And I know, the story of a broken heart comes True,
Come true,
True,
It comes true,
True.
Are you pleased with the way things are?
Wear that dress to protect this scar,
That only I have seen.
Do you give just to please yourelf?
Do you wish you were somewhere else?
Justified all the things you tried,
said that it was all for me.
And be near,
Just for the moment,
Stay here,
Never go home.
Did you know that everything she ever does is for you?
So it goes, the story of a broken heart comes true,
It comes true.
Have you learned all the secrets yet?
Will you burn by the things I've said?
Took the dive just to feel alive,
but never heard the truth.
Now I'm in love but I don't know how
I'm in pain cause I want it now
As I sit watching her eyes close,
I slowly open mine.
And be near,
Just for the moment,
Stay here,
Never go home.
Did you know that everything she ever does is for you?
So it goes, the story of a broken heart comes true, comes true.
I am so confused by this.
I know that life is hit or miss.
Days are stung by too much sun,
I think that you may be the one.
Cover yourself up in me,
Shrouded in what could have been.
I will listen to your pain,
if you listen to me.
Did you know that everything she ever does is for you?
So it goes, as the story of a broken heart comes true,
Did you know that everything she ever does is for you?
And I know, the story of a broken heart comes True,
Come true,
True,
It comes true,
True.
June 22, 2011
June 08, 2011
Um dia, por entre rosas vermelhas descobrir-te-ei e, por fim sentirás que nada mais existe que não as sólidas areias do tempo cristalizado e que o metal que não mais tornará. Apenas ambos em tão intenso sentido que as estrelas em redor colapsam em fogo de artifício com as cores do Universo e as cadentes resplandecem em enxame por tecido de Orion.
Maxwell R. Black
June 8, 2011
02.42 pm
May 28, 2011
Tempestis.
Calor. A savana africana ressalta nas gotas de suor da minha branca tez aquecendo-me como Sol. Mistura-se da minha àgua com a que jorra de cântaros aos céus e cuja intensidade gradual augmenta, accompanhada ao de leve pelo pouco intenso trovão, também este parecendo vibrar cada vez mais alto. Plúvia bate em chão de pedra soltando-se em mil pedaços e largando ao ar cheiro de terra e de noite enquanto se não esccorre e absorve o pó do ar. A cinza branca, condensação sem abertas, é tapete para ti, irregular mas de onde a Divina do Trópico canta em voz tão profunda quanto a gargantua em Mar revolto de Tempestade; tu és.
Maxwell R. Black
May 28, 2011
03.10 pm
May 21, 2011
One thought.
Às duas da manha, a caminho de casa, ver um sapo na calçada saltando de um relvado regado para um arbusto. São coisas destas que me fazem feliz!! Um sorriso rasgado e uma sensação de equilíbrio. A razão porque acordei de manha.
Maxwell R. Black
May 21, 2011
03.25 am
May 10, 2011
May 06, 2011
The Lone Traveller.
As I look behind and walk forwards
I see nothing but a blur.
Something that one was as sharp as a knife
and yet it forced itself out of existence.
The sound of steel against steel
and the light ahead, in the darkness of night.
For the sun has long set
and now, only the void of Space and the stars
shine in the sky.
The traffic lights shine against the black velvet
and yet, here, in the far end of the platform
you are as small as a snowflake on a white blanked.
Our goodbye was a simple hug
of ‘see you later’
and now I cannot bare that that was the last time
I’ll ever see your face.
And you-- like so many before
moved on.
Just--moved on--
How is it possible that none of you misses me?
Not a single soul wonders what it is like to be
the one looking, wishing--
How could I be a fool believing
this time it would work out,
that I had found The One
even though I’ve seen there’s no such thing out there?
Shame on me for believing in such nonsense.
I’ll keep the memories but I’ll finely let
everyone go.
I am DONE. I’m done running. I’m done walking.
I’m done wishing and dreaming and thinking.
Done hoping every new you will be different
and that it is time to be thought of.
I’m trying so hard not to care, not to feel
that I end up feeling what is not supposed to be felt.
I want to burn every memory of you.
The bridge, the rose, the scarf, the dance on the top of the world
I try so hard to make them just good memories
of two people that shared a week of pure love.
and then I remember it is no longer real.
So hard to be strong.
Because, in the end you also teached me something;
so much.
I see nothing but a blur.
Something that one was as sharp as a knife
and yet it forced itself out of existence.
The sound of steel against steel
and the light ahead, in the darkness of night.
For the sun has long set
and now, only the void of Space and the stars
shine in the sky.
The traffic lights shine against the black velvet
and yet, here, in the far end of the platform
you are as small as a snowflake on a white blanked.
Our goodbye was a simple hug
of ‘see you later’
and now I cannot bare that that was the last time
I’ll ever see your face.
And you-- like so many before
moved on.
Just--moved on--
How is it possible that none of you misses me?
Not a single soul wonders what it is like to be
the one looking, wishing--
How could I be a fool believing
this time it would work out,
that I had found The One
even though I’ve seen there’s no such thing out there?
Shame on me for believing in such nonsense.
I’ll keep the memories but I’ll finely let
everyone go.
I am DONE. I’m done running. I’m done walking.
I’m done wishing and dreaming and thinking.
Done hoping every new you will be different
and that it is time to be thought of.
I’m trying so hard not to care, not to feel
that I end up feeling what is not supposed to be felt.
I want to burn every memory of you.
The bridge, the rose, the scarf, the dance on the top of the world
I try so hard to make them just good memories
of two people that shared a week of pure love.
and then I remember it is no longer real.
So hard to be strong.
Because, in the end you also teached me something;
so much.
Maxwell R. Black
May 6, 2011
01.43 am
May 01, 2011
The little boy who Jumped.
It happen one day
on a land as far as the imagination can bare
a young boy, who had always lived in his small
village by the sea wondered
how wonderful it would be
if it were possible to navigate
the stars as you navigate the sea.
In the wet sand of the shore
he sat at nigh and look up.
And he thought
‘How can it be that no one sees what I can?’
for he had always been told
that the sky up above was just mere
point of light far into space.
Yet, when he looked up he saw not that.
The array of colours was as spread
as the eye could see.
Like fireworks flashes of red and green and blue
rushed across the sky in a twinkling ray
that seemed as strong as fire against the deep canvas
of dark. As close or as far the gravity
of the movements could be felt as a little tingle
all over the body.
You could almost see the belts of ice and primordial rock
float in perpetual harmony in vastness
going from light to light.
You could hear a constant low buzz
in your ears that was Light passing you by.
Ancient light as old as the Earth and the Sun
that, for that impossibly short moment was you.
You could almost touch every corner
of the Celestial Dome, caress with your bare hands
the flames of a Star.
It was as if a magical symphony was there
constantly changing forever.
There to be heard and seen and touched.
For one moment and one alone one note sounded
and forever it was lost, not to be played ever again.
He wondered how was it possible
that no one was aware of this impossibly big thing
they were part of! How can it be
that something so obvious and simply beautiful
could be discarded as trash, forgotten
and simply called Utopian.
How can people go about their lives
thinking of clothes and when to eat
and what will someone think of me if I simply stop
to look when there is this noise
this music playing al time above us?
Deafening sounds and feelings every split second.
He got up so suddenly in the rush of sea
that died on the sand.
looked up and then to the horizon
took a deep breath while closing his eyes.
A gush of wind rustled against him
hair moving with it
and then he jumped.
Just a small jump in hope
that the Laws no gravity for once
stopped in gratitude to let him fly.
but to his surprise the feeling of relief
in his feet was but a moment
and soon he felt the air flowing up as he
fell back to the sand.
He felt disappointed in himself
for not trying hard enough
not jumping high enough, with enough strength.
Not believing enough.
And he gadder his thoughts and strengths
and jumped once more
with all his will power.
And fell again.
And so he tried to jump as high as the sky
over and over and over
thinking that, that time would be the one,
that this time he would be able to go back home
and travel among the intricate fabric of Everything.
The little boy who Believed.
The little boy who Jumped.
on a land as far as the imagination can bare
a young boy, who had always lived in his small
village by the sea wondered
how wonderful it would be
if it were possible to navigate
the stars as you navigate the sea.
In the wet sand of the shore
he sat at nigh and look up.
And he thought
‘How can it be that no one sees what I can?’
for he had always been told
that the sky up above was just mere
point of light far into space.
Yet, when he looked up he saw not that.
The array of colours was as spread
as the eye could see.
Like fireworks flashes of red and green and blue
rushed across the sky in a twinkling ray
that seemed as strong as fire against the deep canvas
of dark. As close or as far the gravity
of the movements could be felt as a little tingle
all over the body.
You could almost see the belts of ice and primordial rock
float in perpetual harmony in vastness
going from light to light.
You could hear a constant low buzz
in your ears that was Light passing you by.
Ancient light as old as the Earth and the Sun
that, for that impossibly short moment was you.
You could almost touch every corner
of the Celestial Dome, caress with your bare hands
the flames of a Star.
It was as if a magical symphony was there
constantly changing forever.
There to be heard and seen and touched.
For one moment and one alone one note sounded
and forever it was lost, not to be played ever again.
He wondered how was it possible
that no one was aware of this impossibly big thing
they were part of! How can it be
that something so obvious and simply beautiful
could be discarded as trash, forgotten
and simply called Utopian.
How can people go about their lives
thinking of clothes and when to eat
and what will someone think of me if I simply stop
to look when there is this noise
this music playing al time above us?
Deafening sounds and feelings every split second.
He got up so suddenly in the rush of sea
that died on the sand.
looked up and then to the horizon
took a deep breath while closing his eyes.
A gush of wind rustled against him
hair moving with it
and then he jumped.
Just a small jump in hope
that the Laws no gravity for once
stopped in gratitude to let him fly.
but to his surprise the feeling of relief
in his feet was but a moment
and soon he felt the air flowing up as he
fell back to the sand.
He felt disappointed in himself
for not trying hard enough
not jumping high enough, with enough strength.
Not believing enough.
And he gadder his thoughts and strengths
and jumped once more
with all his will power.
And fell again.
And so he tried to jump as high as the sky
over and over and over
thinking that, that time would be the one,
that this time he would be able to go back home
and travel among the intricate fabric of Everything.
The little boy who Believed.
The little boy who Jumped.
Maxwell R. Black
May 1, 2011
05.40 am
One Drop (origin)
There are thoughts that, even if you try to hide them inside a box, on the darker corner of your mind they refuse to stay and come back to haunt you. Because it is they who you are and it is to them that you live. Saiiling the Universe and reaching the furdest of star. There is no way I can live a normal life. Not a chance I'll give up the Planets for anything on this Earth. I am a dreamer, a seer of what Could be. Yes, I am not real and I don't think I'm ready to give that up. I don't think I'll ever be.
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