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Showing posts with the label Nostos

Sete Excertos de “Nostos”

Ainda assim, quero ser feliz, mesmo entendendo toda a realidade como incoerente com os desejos dos seres humanos, dos quais, infelizmente, eu faço parte... Sim, mesmo assim quero ser feliz, mas e se fosse? E se a partir de agora aparecesse na minha vida tudo aquilo que quero? Se eu tivesse agora uma casa grande e bonita só para mim, tão calma e sossegada, ficaria eventualmente aborrecido. Não teria qualquer interesse ou vontade em a manter bonita, e o sossego azul de estar sozinho eventualmente tornar-se-ia mais do mesmo, dia após dia após dia, e talvez de noite eu quisesse abdicar de qualquer sossego em troca de alguma companhia. Se eu tivesse agora um bom emprego, algo no qual me sentisse confiante e útil para com o mundo, porque produziria algo mais relevante do que os meus livros, ficaria frustrado ao fim de duas ou três semanas, ou talvez nem isso, porque a ideia de ter de acordar todos os dias à mesma hora e deslocar-me ao mesmo sítio e fazer a mesma coisa para o resto da minha v...

Old Shoes

Am I the only one who thinks that the sight of old shoes so often gives way to an indistinguishable sense of pity? There's nothing else quite like it in this world, at least for me, and it don't matter much what kind of shoes they just so happen to be, whether they be simple or strange, whether they were worn by an old person or young, someone rich or someone poor, or even by no one that I ever saw, they can just as well be abandoned on the side of the road or along the dusty train tracks. It's just that when I see a sad, lonely person I can't help to look at their shoes and feel so damn sorry, and I don't even know why... They're just these weird cloth and plastic things whereon a person stands and with which they then walk through this world. I have heard it said that it's the shoes that make the entire outfit, meaning that no matter how well-dressed a person is, if the shoes are old and ugly it instantly ruins their whole style, and I suppose it's tru...

Hail, Master!

Hail, master, and behold thy servant! Or would I presume to call myself thy friend? No, no I wouldn't. The best for one such as me would be to never have been born. Didn't you say that once? Yes, I know you did. And yet here I stand, of mine own accord too, but none of mine is mine. For all things belong to the Father but where is he? The world is silence, and your spirit moving upon the face of the waters is a breeze over a rain puddle. Maybe all things belong to the Son then but I make no sense of any of his four strange biographies. Still, why do I keep on trying? Is it even smart to do so? I don't know... That leaves only the Holy Spirit, which I never once understood nor has it ever moved me, and as for those who profess to have been moved by it I both greatly despise and envy. So what am I even saying here? Why am I even talking to you, again and in this darkness? I suppose I fear the hour, yea, the hour cometh when the world shall scatter, and shall leave me all alon...

Lay Me Down in Gethsemane

Lord, take this cup from me, I can't drink it anymore... I drank so much of it already, and my cup runneth over still. There's just too much I have yet to drink and to commit inside me, inside this sickly vessel that is my body. It burns as it gushes through my throat, like burning oil, it twists and churns inside my belly, it swells and deforms me. What I drank so far remains inside me and won't vanish, it simply won't pass from me, Lord. There was a time when the spirit was willing, but now I falter and I fear. The spirit is indeed weak, but the flesh is weaker still, riddled with demons and serpents. And they whisper to me... They tell me I just can't take it no more, they strike me with heavy blows, they whip my back, they chain my wrists, they leave me out to wander through these desert sands. When my very soul hurts, when even you have forsaken me, only then do they come to soothe me. They perch over my shoulders and tell me not to drink anymore. And their wor...