catkins (english|portuguese poetry)

CATKINS AMENTILHOS Again, not quite as potent as I would have it; writing compositions over days (or, at times, weeks) allows for a more refined method of writing, but some assaulting sensations end up becoming elements of works where they don’t necessarily belong, which makes the process muddy. Sieving said sensations, percolating them, becomes aContinue reading “catkins (english|portuguese poetry)”

dusk (english poetry)

DUSK I haven’t been writing poetry quite as much, often opting instead for prose or even the marvelous lassitude of notes and aphorisms, and that is mostly due to this strange bout of ineffective thought. I contain the outlines, the emboss and image of a poem, but my mind is rather accelerated and disperse thereafter,Continue reading “dusk (english poetry)”

(Droplet) neuro-dialectics (english|português)

While tinkering with some experimental forms in a poetic manuscript in Portuguese and listening to Henosis by Joep Beving (which is a terrific album for writing), I came across his track “Noumenon“, which involves a rather minimalist piano piece, some synthetic organ elements, and the voice of a man in the background with drowned speechContinue reading “(Droplet) neuro-dialectics (english|português)”

(Droplet) – mozambique – (English | Português)

A toy © Gökhan Kayal in Clam Collectors of Maputo Luís Carlos Patraquim lives, but I read him as if he never lived. When I cogitate of his life, I sight odd coppery faces and calcined terrains, the hollowing of plasters in the decrepit walls and fences of Lourenço Marques, a sublimation spawning the vividnessContinue reading “(Droplet) – mozambique – (English | Português)”

(Memnos I) – Alluvium

        I was vanished; A most egotistical subterfuge, but naught without its proper cost. Approaching my date of birth by last December, I suffered a massive plunge in my mental integrity, followed by some level of tragedy, anguish, and some sparse instances of recuperation. This is most common to me since my early childhood, yet,Continue reading “(Memnos I) – Alluvium”

⌉|⌈ – Arboretum

                Days are colder. Men stroll with long coats and laden heads, guarded from the rain, women grip their catatonic hearts, gazing into their reflections on the sultry train windows. I don’t remember the last time I cried. I’d swear I’ve seen sunlight in the past few weeks,Continue reading “⌉|⌈ – Arboretum”

⌉|⌈ – Irrigation, friends.

        Leaned against the customary elm tree, some would take aim at nouvelle psychologies, others would echo life-bound lessons at the bottom of a plastic beer cup. If elation existed on summary, little else would be needed to describe the happiness blooming from friendship. I’d spent my few years of breath on fighting prejudice andContinue reading “⌉|⌈ – Irrigation, friends.”

⌉|⌈ – Sunken Soul, debris.

“Sad is what I am — what I will always be,  an artist is born in form of a shipwreck,  and henceforth, that same sunken soul  shall live from scavenging the debris.”           Existence is often homogenous with the ebb of an ocean — composed of movements, violent thrusts against the shore, soothing hymns thatContinue reading “⌉|⌈ – Sunken Soul, debris.”

My Grandmothers Carnations

I know this is not a photo blog, but I make a ton of references to my grandmothers carnations in my poetry, especially in True-Ultra, so I thought I would show you why they are so inspiring to me. They have received no editing and come directly from my lousy phone, so the quality mightContinue reading “My Grandmothers Carnations”