quarta-feira, 23 de setembro de 2009


Mulher pequena, homem grande. O esforço é mínimo.
Já diria o sábio sr. DeLarge:
-If you want pretty Polly, you take it.

segunda-feira, 21 de setembro de 2009


O foco não é mesmo tão raro assim. Os sorrisos involuntários e as tentativas ridículas de agir com absouta naturalidade... juntos... são.
Eu me altero ou sorrio, é completamente diferente.
E isso, demora quanto tempo pra sumir sem deixar vestígios?

XVIII. Sylvia Plath - Lady Lazarus

"I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it —

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify? —

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The Peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot —
The big strip tease.
Gentleman , ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

"A miracle!"
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart —
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair on my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash —
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there —

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air."

quarta-feira, 9 de setembro de 2009


Meu egoísmo é uma coisa chata, mas só porque é muito pertinente.
Fora isso, tô cansada de separar pessoas por quem eu sinto carinho de pessoas com quem eu me embaraço por aí. Só porque não muda nunca.