Status Updates From Água Viva

I thought this would be a quick short read and it’s proving not to be

We—faced with the scandal of death.
I am leaving—says death without adding that he’s taking me along. And I shiver in panting breath because I must go with him. I am death. Death takes place in my very being—how can I explain to you? All I can find are heaps of bones.I live from an underlying layers feelings: I am barely alive.

I am inside the great dreams of the night: for the right-now is by night. And I sing the passage of time: I am still the queen of the Medes and of the Persians and am also my slow evolution that throws itself like a drawbridge into a future whose milky fogs I already breathe today.

For now time is the duration of a thought.

I express to me and to you my most hidden desires and achieve an orgiastic confused beauty. I tremble with pleasure amidst the novelty of using words that form an intense thicket. I struggle to conquer more deeply my freedom of sensations and thoughts, without any utilitarian meaning: I am alone, I and my freedom.

I go too far and only then do I exist and in a feverish way. What a fever—will I one day manage to stop living?woe is me, who dies so much.I follow the tortuous path of roots bursting the earth, I have a gift for passion, in the bonfire of a dry trunk I contort in the blaze.To the span of my existence I give an occult meaning that goes beyond me.I’m a concomitant being: I gather in me time past, the present & future,

...what I know is so volatile and nearly inexistent that it is between me and I.
Though I sometimes scream: I no longer want to be I! but I stick to myself and inextricably there forms a tessitura of life.

As if ripping from the depths of the earth the knotted roots of a rare tree, that’s how I write to you, and those roots as if they were powerful tentacles like voluminous naked bodies of strong women entwined by serpents and by carnal desires for fulfilment, and all this is the prayer of a black mass, and a creeping plea for amen: because the bad is unprotected and needs the approval of God: that is creation.

And when the day reaches its end I hear the crickets and become entirely replete and unintelligible. Then I live the blue daybreak that comes with its bulge full of little birds—I wonder if I’m giving you an idea of what a person goes through in life? For I want to feel in my hands the quivering and lively nerve of the now and may that nerve resist me like a restless vein.

Yes, this is life seen by life. But suddenly I forget how to capture whatever is happening, I don’t know how to capture whatever exists except by living here each thing that arises and no matter what it is: I am almost free of my errors. I let the free horse run fiery. I, who trot nervously and only reality delimits me.

But I take risks, I live taking risks. I’m full of acacias swaying yellow, and I who have barely started my journey, I start it with a sense of tragedy, guessing toward which lost ocean my steps of life are leading. And madly I take control of the recesses of myself, my ravings suffocate me with so much beauty. I am before, I am almost, I am never.

I am in a stupefying, trembling, marvel expectation, my back turned to the world, ..bluebottle flies glitter in front of my window open to the air of the torpid street. The day seems like the smooth stretched skin of a fruit that in a small catastrophe the teeth tear, its liquor drains.