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A little girl, came from a hard learning curve,
Became a woman of eccentricity, hard steel
Inside, remained the child, acquired a cold feel,
Decided that kill the cursed is a good thing,
If it gives us adrenalin, Franco-Italian fashion,
And essentially calmes the beast and its urge. 


Refuses to speak Russian, they traumatized her,
As elite Hit Girl she has all she ever dreamed,
Except that love that still empties her days,
Except that love that voids her bed at night.
She prefers nice twain females, but goes both ways,
Her
Posture is provocative and stops at nothing, 

Although she is still in chains by her master.
Although she is getting faster and smarter,
Life in the fast lane, Big City, town or country,
She follows her assignments, gets the payments. 

Then she meets her nemesis, falls for her.
She sends her exquisite clothes, flowers,
She often thinks of her while she showers.
Both are in love and hate, what a rush,
Both follow each other across Europe
Her superiors doubt of her loyalty and push. 


Villanelle is a painting of the highest value,
But at some point satisfaction is due.
She is always two steps ahead, killing is art. 

So she's an artist that always changes her style
And that's the most important aspect of her creativity
And hopefully the one thing to prevent her captivity. 

We become tied, entangled with both lovers,
We praise their characters more than actors,
But give support to those fantastic actresses.

We hoped for their recognition
As a long, strong premonition.
Lady Luck, smiling, gave their prize. 

So, we rejoiced as tears filled our eyes,
Knowing is not yet time for goodbyes. 

Je traversal le chemin vide de vie,
En écoutant les oiseaux qui chantait.
Dans mon coeur Il y avait de la musique,
Silencieuse, mon âme effacé et mystique,

Je n'écoute plus le bruit blanc du monde
Je ne sens pas les eaux de la rivière
Sensibilité réduite à sensation de misère
Le trou dans le chemin vide est profonde.

Et, malgré tout, le soleil, se permettait d'apparaitre dans le jour qui commençait.

Il n'y a pas, ni le jour, ni le soleil,
ni les mots vides, mais enchantés, 
échos du passé que mon âme vécu
Dans une langue perdu, que j'appris 
dans un jeu joué il y a étoiles passés, 
gaz concentré pour gérer êtres évolués.

Mon âme mystique a éons de longueur.

Tant fine en épaisseur comme les moeurs du temps

Cette persistance d'un comportement, aliéné,
Une volonté subtile que je ne sais expliquer.


Foda_se editing

Words are just painted impressions,
And the world has taught us how
They go astray and turn, or still.
We stand upon this tainted hill
Of diverted intent and call it History.

A layer upon another in a giant pill,
Like a palimpsest and we say Culture,
Some dominant, others compliant.
But each, not a predator but a vulture,
Scavengers on each others’ feelings,
Both calling it to collaborate.

New culture name to the Takers arrive.
Now History will call them Makers.
For some time the perspective will thrive,
As truth or evolution of social interaction,
When they putted us all hovering
Over an uneven Time-line,
A global pissing contest, new rules
Of engagement, no time to grief,
The decay of personal inner belief,
Substituted by forms of legitimate slavery.

Growing Inequality, rise of acceptance
Group therapy, everyone is a hero,
A special subject overcoming obstacles
Stay politically correct, get your tattoos,
Use your piercings, LBGT+, all is permitted,

Except to steal hope, the actual opium of people,
Except close the temples,
Were a guilty society catharsis happens,
Except suppress health addiction, a productivity condition,
The many serving the few, nothing new,
For now, yet,
Happy us there isn’t enforced curfew.

Have you noticed the growth of yellow lines?

(New enlightenment VS coercion)

A citação pode ser uma dos meus esdrúxulos versos
Ana Carolina pode ser citada como uma deusa da MPB
A citação pode ser um extrato dos inócuos textos dispersos
A citação será o ato mais formal, inicial, da família das notificações, o quê?
Não sei a que se referem
Mizaru, Kikazaru, Ivazaru...

A Terra, azul como uma laranja, a que chamamos casa,
No plano da eclítica, plena de agressôes radioativas,
Onde gente como Éluard  se vai cedo, Mallarmé,
Hoje falou comigo, e renovei minha admiraçâo,
Sobreviveu a Rimbaud e Verlaine, eu que ainda duro,
Testemunha sem alcunha, apenas existo na orla,
Compartilhando o horror do Lycée, porque continuo
Nesta estrada sem bermas, descarrilado,
Todavia ainda lúcido e coordenado?
Todavia ainda lúcido e coordenado, apenas vago e alheio?

Shinto, mistificadores, sejam celebrados no ano do Macaco,
Os très proverbiais, discretos, controvertidos proverbios,

E meta eu minha língua, minha incongruência, no saco.

This force compelling me to write,
Even in the most nubilous mood,
I left scattered, unchecked characters,
Things said no one eventually bears. 

Do what?
Go and get a PH. D. to convince by degree?
My friend or foe already knows that's not me.
Indeed. 

My life is asunder unified by fantasy,
With the belief that no one will miss me.