goat

everyday i wake up for a new etymology. i don't know which one it will be. maybe skylight, the light of the sky or nausea, which comes from nau, or boat in greek. as much as i look for it, it finds me and, when it calls me, i answer its call. it's me the one who is being found and i find, in my origins, roots coming from the arab and the japanese. i leaf through dictionaries, comparing pasts and divining the derivations, concluding that etymology is, as much as a science, is also a story, a case and a convenient foreseeing of memory. for instance, philologists suppose that the word tragedy comes from tragos, or goat, but they're not sure about it. i think to myself: i want it to be the goat, because this way the scapegoat would be the utmost tragic fact. and, as i want it to be so, so it will be. i lie the certainty of the goat. i betray the readers and i wait, peacefully, that they forgive me or get mad at me. may you figure us out.

cat

cat

do you know why my cat is so beautiful? because she doesn't know she doesn't know; because she knows, without this knowledge having an object; because she looks at things as if things were her and she were the things; because, in this very moment, it is this very moment and this moment is complete when i look into her eyes; because the consistency of her body carries a cat that coincides exactly with the limits she draws in space; because she loves me without thinking that she loves me or knowing what is love; because she is beyond, and for this very same reason also before alberto caeiro and drummond; and even before e.e.cummings, that wished he had gotten there; because she's just like any other cat but different from them all; because she is a lady comparing to my dog that, on her turn, is a tramp and that's also why i love her; because she explained to me what is elegance and i didn't understand it quite well, but now i have an unreachable model; because her tail moves differently for every single thing and, finally, because she really likes strawberry yogurt.  

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obvious

i write because i want to recognize the obviousness of the obvious. i write because i want to unknow the obviousness of the obvious.

gap

to disorganize the agreeable scripts of the same and speculate the stars of the abracadabric nothing of the gap.  

nothing

nothing

sometimes i think, i feel, i'm almost scratching the non name, the non center, the center of almost nothing, the nothing of almost, even there. but, soon, then, i resist. i return to the wrong name of things that are almost things, almost words, almost real. i remain here, where you can, by little, still do some thing, almost no thing, for what was not, is not, may be. who knows if there, where i almost went, which i foresaw, maybe i also could, maybe it would work, but there is so far, so near, i'm not going, no. 

socks

in portuguese we say " menos vaidade, menos meias". in english, less vanity, fewer socks. i so much prefer the portuguese, in which vanity and socks are not divided into countable and uncountable nouns, as in english. who said socks are more accountable than vanity? i'd say it's the very opposite. socks belong to the order of the abstract, the conceptual and vanity is rather pedestrian. but what i really like is this indistinction between sugar, love, granulated sugar and anguish. everything less. 

someone

everything is always in a state of coincidence, inciding always at the same time. for it to become a sort of miracle, it's enough for someone to gather it into a story. coincidences are the love of someone for a narration.