Tic Tac

[anyone lived in a pretty how town]

BY E. E. CUMMINGS

anyone lived in a pretty how town

(with up so floating many bells down)

spring summer autumn winter

he sang his didn’t he danced his did.

Women and men(both little and small)

cared for anyone not at all

they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same

sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few

and down they forgot as up they grew

autumn winter spring summer)

that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf

she laughed his joy she cried his grief

bird by snow and stir by still

anyone’s any was all to her

someones married their everyones

laughed their cryings and did their dance

(sleep wake hope and then)they

said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon

(and only the snow can begin to explain

how children are apt to forget to remember

with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess

(and noone stooped to kiss his face)

busy folk buried them side by side

little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep

and more by more they dream their sleep

noone and anyone earth by april

wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)

summer autumn winter spring

reaped their sowing and went their came

sun moon stars rain

Such sweet nothing

Muitas vezes não é nem o peso dos problemas. 

Eles acabam por se resolver ou se modelar, eu sei.

Muitas vezes é apenas a incapacidade de entender o que se tem de bom. 

É difícil de se entender que é feliz.

"...Não sei por que eu tô tão feliz
E já nem sei se é necessário ter um bom motivo
A busca por uma razão me deu dor de cabeça, acabou comigo
Enfim eu já tentei de tudo
Enfim eu quis ser conseqüente
Mas desisti vou ser feliz pra sempre

Peço a todos com licença
Vamos liberar o pedaço
Felicidade assim desse tamanho só com muito espaço"

Sigh

You never know where some people will go
Yes some people been hurting me
You can tell by a look, by the slightest clue
Can the night pull a blink of an eye
Well then we’ll say what they say
And we’ll do what they do
But it doesn’t mean a God damn thing
You can listen if you want, you can listen if you don’t
Get a talk, yell and even sing

sinuca de bico

Palavras não ditas nem sempre são silêncio.
Atitudes vestidas as vezes se perdem no jogo da sedução dos achismos.

Despir.
Falar.

Quem sabe um dia assim se entenda do que as pessoas estão querendo tratar.

addiction

'Oh, just like the other times, dear... Peaceful, but painful.'

Are those beating drums
Celebration guns?

...Goodnight, sleep light, stranger.

Period

Ah! O enebriante e sedutor ar das facilidades...

Mas (como sempre tem um 'mas' comigo) eu tenho medo de vícios.
E coisas fáceis são as mais viciantes.

Talvez seja um efeito muito tosco de um episódio aparentemente banal... (Pausa para limpar a garganta): Uma certa vez li em algum desses horóscopos nem um pouco confiáveis que eu deveria ter cuidado com os vícios... Et voit lá, desde então tenho uma cisma com essas coisas. Essas coisas viciantes.


Prefiro assim. Com a cara limpa, sentindo até a última gota.

Todo mundo.

And she fights for her life
as she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
as it pours
And she fights for her life
as she goes in a store
with a thought she has caught
by a thread
she pays for the bread
and she goes…
Nobody knows