All the kisses I’ve ever been given, today I feel them on my mouth. And my knees feel them, the reckless ones placed there through the holes in my jeans while I sat on a car hood or a broken sofa in somebody’s basement, stoned, the way I was in that day, still amazed that boys and even men would want to lower their beautiful heads like horses drinking from a river and taste me. The back of my neck feels them, my hair swept aside to expose the nape, and my breasts tingle the way they did when my … Continue reading All the kisses…

Chico Buarque, vencedor do prêmio Camões 2019. #chicobuarque Meu caro amigo, me perdoe, por favor Se eu não lhe faço uma visita Mas como agora apareceu um portador Mando notícias nessa fita Aqui na terra tão jogando futebol Tem muito samba, muito choro e rock’n’roll Uns dias chove, noutros dias bate o sol Mas o que eu quero é lhe dizer que a coisa aqui tá preta…🎼🎭 Sketch: Chico Buarque, o poeta da alma feminina ❤ Continue reading Chico

It requires tremendous courage to no longer take refuge in any idea or concept to tell us who we are and what this life is. In the uncertain, ahistorical, acausal heart of reality, there is no confirmation for personal identity. There is no “awakening” here, no enlightenment for me, no magical stories of how I’ve “shifted” from this to that, no “final” and “permanent” “states” where we’re protected from conflict, safe from the burning fires of intimacy. There is no longer a landing place for the separate self; none of this has any meaning from the perspective of love. The … Continue reading Burning up in the raging furnace of love…

At the end of the day, we invite ourselves to the sorrows, so that we always remain naked before who matters the most: to ourselves. For it is life characteristic of itself to request such nudity for us to know how to dress ourselves with new clothes and dreams, since sadness is the precise symptom that addresses us and to tell us among some things that the clothes we have are no longer fit in us. But we insist in refusing such advice and request; and how easy it is to find rags through the streets we cross daily. Among … Continue reading We are naked …

Each of us is an instrument of Life itself to make it reach its fullness. By “coincidence,” it will reach its goal when all of us, being its parts, reach ours. When you cry, Life cries with you. When you love yourself, Life loves you too. You are happy and all Life celebrates. You take a step toward Life and it takes ten steps toward you. You win and you conquer a entire existence. You lose and it sets the next step. There is no difference between it and us. There are no differences between you and me. Only dimensions, … Continue reading Instrument …

There are many poems which touch us through the years. Poetry has the ability to say what we feel. It’s rhythm sometimes comforts us as a child can be comforted in a rocking chair. It lays bare the soul and pretense and pride are burned away by the fires of yesterday. It comforts us when we feel sadness and despair. It inspires us when hope is almost lost. The night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes And the heart … Continue reading Poetry

You amuse me, my dear. You make me laugh with my eyes wide open, blood-red champagne frothing from my cherry blossom lips. Have March gone away as soon as you greeted me farewell with kisses and charming smiles along with your written love letters on my pallid wrists? Oh, pretty one. Take them back, for the saddest poems have sold me out and buried me six feet under ground. Take the scraps and pieces you left on the floorboards as you pack your worn-out suitcase with my heart stitched on its handles. You’re the kind of man who collect broken … Continue reading March has gone ..

I drink from your lips the words you speak. Words are the elixir of life. How your words nourish my soul. My tongue runs over each verb. Suckling upon each noun. I draw inspiration from each syllable. You are like ambrosia, becoming more addictive with every delicious phonetic.   Lips part and a sigh is released. I pour over your words again and again. Feeling each symbol as it vibrates from my lips. The very core of my existent trembles. There is an unspoken kinship that resides between us. I can feel the haunting want that is inside of you. … Continue reading Elixir

Art, writing, drawing, painting, the basic bones of creating anything — it is like being able to press pause on every tiny moment I have ever loved or hated; every second that ever scared me or excited me; to be able to record every breeze that ever reminded me of all those moments I thought I was never going to remember again. Then, I hand it all over to the world, hoping that someone presses play. That is why I draw and write and work so hard till the muscles in my hands go numb — I want everyone to … Continue reading Creating anything…