Excerpts from “Nostos”

Excerpts from “Nostos” – 109, 181, 228

Excerpts from Nostos

109.

I wander through dreams in which I see evergreen meadows breathing in the wind, all while a soft tingling lyre whispers the thoughts of ancient nymphs, and the sun shines bright for you today... It casts cool, dancing shadows all through the olive tree of your comfort. And so as to evade all and any pain, I wish for you to imagine my lips upon your cheek, as I will imagine yours upon mine, and nothing more. All else fades away with each touch... Your beauty, forever fleeting, and mine, that never was, and then the moment becomes but a shadow too, the pleasure turns to bitter pain, and all the rest, a grave disappointment. For the beauty of a goddess is beseeched and dreamed of amidst the calm sleep of the naive soul, never to be truly embraced. We gaze at each other's lips and no more, so that this shall be our everlasting secret, the desire to kiss. For we never begun what was bound to end. All we had was ours, for we had nothing.

181.

I spoke with a depressed girl once. She told me that, among a myriad of issues, she felt extremely ugly and often could not stand to look in the mirror. I knew all the platitudes to say to her but I wonder if I meant any of them. Truth is, I became afraid of what she might look like. What if she really was ugly? And in the strictest sense of the term too? I'd likely lose any and all interest in her, I'd become almost incapable of talking to her, incapable of saying all those vain healing words that could maybe lift her from her sadness, I'd become incapable of helping her, and worse, I'd become capable of hurting her.

Then it dawned on me... The world is not ugly and people are not ugly, only I am. I suddenly felt I should have no pity for myself. And yet I do... I can't help but wonder if there are two of me. One is a scared, lonely, quiet, sad and ugly little boy who doesn't leave his house for days and days, and the other is a confident, charismatic, happy and almost charming guy. The former is hypocritical, the latter is delusional. The hypocritical one, however, is the little boy who wants to write little books such as this one.

It now occurs to me that I should live my life so as to know love but to never truly experience it. Maybe then and only then I'll write something good. Right now I can think of only one instance in which I wrote about feeling happy. It's almost as if my life has to suck so that I can write something down. If those future pages are shallow and weak then I would have lost nothing except perhaps a slim chance of happiness I'd be too afraid to take anyway. Because I don't always wish to live, I only want to remain alive, just for a little while longer. But in all honesty, I have no idea what I expect to happen at the end of that little while.

228.

Let your knees fall to the ground, and rest. There was a time when you traveled, now you wander, having lost the destiny you never really had. In truth you never had anywhere to go to, you just had people to follow. And those people you followed have left you already, and though you still carry sword and shield, there is no further use for your arms. For what good is one soldier amongst many? Your legion has carried on, marching through the desert in chase of ever-lasting visions. But none of them awaits you, and verily, from now on you'll see none of them. You have come to know hunger and thirst, sun and moon, warmth and cold, but none of it made you a wise man, no, not even close. You're still a baby in the reeds.

And now, all abandoned and lost, you have dragged yourself here. Cast away your weapons and let your weary shoulders find rest. The blood on your blade is a thousand-year-old song, for nothing has changed and nothing will change. So hush now, tired one, hush, son, citizen, warrior, lover... Hush away the little you had, and worry not for what you will never have. These blazing sands will bury your sword and no living soul will ever know of your presence. Let your pain be no more. Smile upon the breeze and let it smile back at you... So yield, young soldier, yield.

This has been a sample of three texts from Nostos. The book is a collection of four hundred texts, most of which are in portuguese, while only twenty-one of which are written in english. As such they will be periodically published here, in full.

You can find out more about the book here.

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