Untitled (Reward), 2009, de Charlotte Dumas 19 de novembro de 2009
vou escrever toda a verdade com esta caneta que me cansa
Sei do que a minha caneta precisa para escrever bem. Compreendo a minha caneta. Conheço-lhe os hábitos, por isso poderia inventar uma melhor. Hei-de inventar uma caneta melhor, porque sinto o que é preciso. Não gosto de carregar no papel, mas uma caneta de tinta permanente gosta que se carregue no papel. Estou habituado a escrever a lápis, porque me canso menos. A caneta de tinta permanente cansa-me a mão, porque tenho de carregar no papel. Hei-de inventar uma caneta que não obrigue a fazer força. A força que a caneta de tinta permanente exige não dá beleza à letra, por isso não se devia ter de fazer força. A força que se faz não deixa escrever bem, mas não vou pôr a minha caneta de parte enquanto não tiver inventado outra. Se a caneta se partir, mandá-la-ei concertar. Se a caneta se cansar, comprarei outra. Não deitarei fora esta caneta enquanto ela escrever. Não largarei esta caneta enquanto não tiver inventado uma nova. Quero que as pessoas trabalhem para se aperfeiçoarem, por isso escreverei com esta caneta. Gosto dos objectos aperfeiçoados. Não gosto dos objectos. Gosto dos objectos se são necessários. Não gosto da publicidade, porque a publicidade mente. Gosto da publicidade porque a publicidade é a verdade. Gosto da verdade, por isso vou escrever toda a verdade com esta caneta.
em Cadernos, Vaslav Nijinski, Assírio & Alvim, 2004
4 de novembro de 2009
1 de novembro de 2009
8 FRAGMENTS FOR KURT COBAIN
1/
Genius is not a generous thing
In return it charges more interest than any amount
of royalties can cover
And it resents fame
With bitter vengeance
Pills and powdres only placate it awhile
Then it puts you in a place where the planet's
poles reverse.
Where the currents of electricity shift
Your Body becomes a magnet and pulls to it despair
and rotten teeth,
Cheez Whiz and guns
Whose triggers are shaped tenderly into a false
lust
In timeless illusion
2/
The guitar claws kept tightening, I guess on your
heart stem.
The loops of feedback and distortion, threaded
right thru
Lucifer's wisdom teeth, and never stopped their
reverberating
In your mind
And from the stage
All the faces out front seemed so hungry
With an unbearably wholesome misunderstanding
From where they sat, you seemed so far up there
High and live and diving
And instead you were swamp crawling
Down, deeper
Until you tasted the Earth's own blood
And chatted with the buzzing-eyed insects that
heroin breeds
3/
You should have talked more with the monkey
He's always willing to negotiate
I'm still paying him off...
The greater the money and fame
The slower the pendulum of fortune swings
Your will could have sped it up...
But you left that on an airplane
Because it wouldn't pass customs and immigration
4/
Here’s synchronicity for you:
Your music’s tape was inside my Walkman
When my best friend from summer camp
Called with the news about you
I listened them…
It was all there!
Your music kept cutting deeper and deeper valleys
of sound
Less and less light
Until you hit solid rock
The drill bit broke
and the valley became
A thin crevice, impassible in time,
As time itself stopped.
And the walls became cages of brilliant notes
Pressing in…
Pressure
That’s how diamonds are made
And that’s where it sometimes all collapses
Down in on you
5/
Then I translated your muttered lyrics
And the phrases were curious:
Like “incognito libido”
And “Chalk Skin Bending”
The words kept getting smaller and smaller
Until
Separated from their music
Each letter spilled out into a cartridge
Which fit only in the barrel of a gun
6/
And you shoved the barrel in as far as possible
Because that’s where the pain came from
That’s where the demons were digging
The world outside was blank
Its every cause was just a continuation
Of another unsolved effect
7/
But Kurt…
Didn’t the thought that you would never write
another song
Another feverish line or riff
Make you think twice?
That’s what I don’t understand
Because it’s kept me alive, above any wounds
8/
If only you hadn’t swallowed yourself into a coma
in Rome…
You could have gone to Florence
And looked into the eyes of Bellinni or Rafael’s
Portraits
Perhaps inside them
You could have found a threshold back to beauty’s arms
Where it all began…
No matter that you felt betrayed by her
That is always the cost
As Frank said,
Of a young artist’s remorseless passion
Which starts out as a kiss
And follows like a curse
em Void of Course, Jim Carroll, Penguin Books, 1998
Genius is not a generous thing
In return it charges more interest than any amount
of royalties can cover
And it resents fame
With bitter vengeance
Pills and powdres only placate it awhile
Then it puts you in a place where the planet's
poles reverse.
Where the currents of electricity shift
Your Body becomes a magnet and pulls to it despair
and rotten teeth,
Cheez Whiz and guns
Whose triggers are shaped tenderly into a false
lust
In timeless illusion
2/
The guitar claws kept tightening, I guess on your
heart stem.
The loops of feedback and distortion, threaded
right thru
Lucifer's wisdom teeth, and never stopped their
reverberating
In your mind
And from the stage
All the faces out front seemed so hungry
With an unbearably wholesome misunderstanding
From where they sat, you seemed so far up there
High and live and diving
And instead you were swamp crawling
Down, deeper
Until you tasted the Earth's own blood
And chatted with the buzzing-eyed insects that
heroin breeds
3/
You should have talked more with the monkey
He's always willing to negotiate
I'm still paying him off...
The greater the money and fame
The slower the pendulum of fortune swings
Your will could have sped it up...
But you left that on an airplane
Because it wouldn't pass customs and immigration
4/
Here’s synchronicity for you:
Your music’s tape was inside my Walkman
When my best friend from summer camp
Called with the news about you
I listened them…
It was all there!
Your music kept cutting deeper and deeper valleys
of sound
Less and less light
Until you hit solid rock
The drill bit broke
and the valley became
A thin crevice, impassible in time,
As time itself stopped.
And the walls became cages of brilliant notes
Pressing in…
Pressure
That’s how diamonds are made
And that’s where it sometimes all collapses
Down in on you
5/
Then I translated your muttered lyrics
And the phrases were curious:
Like “incognito libido”
And “Chalk Skin Bending”
The words kept getting smaller and smaller
Until
Separated from their music
Each letter spilled out into a cartridge
Which fit only in the barrel of a gun
6/
And you shoved the barrel in as far as possible
Because that’s where the pain came from
That’s where the demons were digging
The world outside was blank
Its every cause was just a continuation
Of another unsolved effect
7/
But Kurt…
Didn’t the thought that you would never write
another song
Another feverish line or riff
Make you think twice?
That’s what I don’t understand
Because it’s kept me alive, above any wounds
8/
If only you hadn’t swallowed yourself into a coma
in Rome…
You could have gone to Florence
And looked into the eyes of Bellinni or Rafael’s
Portraits
Perhaps inside them
You could have found a threshold back to beauty’s arms
Where it all began…
No matter that you felt betrayed by her
That is always the cost
As Frank said,
Of a young artist’s remorseless passion
Which starts out as a kiss
And follows like a curse
em Void of Course, Jim Carroll, Penguin Books, 1998
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