blood
half carcass bleeding out at the slaughterhouse the wound too wide to stop the haemorrhage
Mensagens
we hoped it wasn't a metaphor
during the last week of your life you said (and kept us hoping): when I get out of here I want to swim in a large calm pool of warm water. get my swimming suit ready we made plans
honeydew melon
arguably, Santini makes the best ice cream in Portugal. on Friday, the 10 th of February 2012, I went to Lisbon to register at last the copyright for the album I wrote and made for you, Inês. on my way to Rossio station, I decided I’d buy you your favourite ice cream: Santini’s honeydew melon. I bought a half-litre styrofoam box, which would keep the ice cream for an hour. I caught a taxi and instructed the driver to rush to the hospital, for I didn’t know how much longer you’d be alive. the driver understood, and screeched and honked us across Lisbon traffic, and then like a mad bullet down the motorway. in under 20 minutes, he got me to the hospital, where I ran down the endless, freezing hallway towards your ward, your bed no. 12. and found you asleep. alive. the bed not nightmarishly empty. I awoke you with a dash of honeydew melon, and you sucked on it, breathed it in, a sunbeam in your fading mind. my tears blended in with the flavour. there was so little of you then. you nev
what you taught us
(the light shone on me between the preserved foods section and the fresh fish counter. bling. nonetheless real. bling.) through all the pain and all the sorrow through knowing that I’ll have to live w i t h o u t y o u for a score of years, I see this now: the time is here to master my tomorrows to become my masterpiece to determine my freedom. when tonight's night falls I shall look up at Orion & Mars and shape my future you always said so, I could always've done this. I am the power now.
farewell
you were my country you were my religion now you're in the grave where I shall lie too and one day our atoms will recombine into a new possibility