Also published in: New Visões
Moment in the coffee December 30, 2008
Six and half one. It looked at for the clock. It was seen in it. It made already some time that the noon did not frequent its routine. Strange place. , It was not what it waited. One sat down. Photographs. Many. It caught them, with care.
It did not make reflections. It did not try to recognize places, nor people. It did not want.
- Einen Kaffee, bitte.
For the window, it observed intent those that walked without looking at for front. Pseudo-losers. Of this form if it found. It did not perceive what it came ahead. It did not have courage. To feel the taste. August.
- A coffee, please.
It erased the hurts in the tip of the cigarette. It did not have ressentimentos. But empty. One swallowed and forgot. Almost the last one. It did not remember. It does not smile, as of the last time. It lost its sense of auto-mercy. It tried to move. Still it had resquícios of hope in that fragile body. Badly it obtained to support itself. The legs, already fatigued, gave fatigue signals. It saw reverse speed (fle) had in the mirror its air blasé.
- Einen Kaffee, to bitter.
Without people. If (m) ntimentos. If (m) nsações.
It was what it needed. Bitter taste, please.
Schlechtes Mädchen November 5, 2008
More it was not recognized. Its fragile innocence became it indeed vulnerable. It was hidden. Not from fear, or distrust. But for not revealing. They looked at it with disdain, as if its lips were scythes to cut them of tip the tip.
- The comfort of this position bothers me. My feet donate. My occult cálido pleasure my feições. I am as an amorphous mass of flat singularidades.
- What you it said?
- Nothing. The life always nails parts to me. My smile does not intimidate it. Perfidious enemy.
End of
Translation
It happens frequently is the stream bed where regogiza its purer sins. Não farei, só para irritá-la. Eu, que achava ter encontrado nas Flores do Mal a cura para minha insegurança. Pobre Baudelaire. Mal sabe da incestuosa vida que o alude. Não o lerei mais. Fa-lo-ia se o amanhã não me esperasse. Mas lá está, com a insegurança da incerteza de sua própria existência. Amanhã mandei minha saia para a lavanderia. Ontem irei pegá-la. Preciso me sobrepor a mim mesma. A começar pelo tempo.
Fassbinder Julho 30, 2008
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