Maxwell R. Black
May 28, 2011
03.10 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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