Itens

even before going to sleep I read so as not to give it space. But today while I was waiting for the tram that shouldn’t be long, I got distracted and here I am, obliged to look. I don’t know what it was, because before I saw it I already recognized it and without giving me time to

let me ask it-give it a name I kneeled fell to my knees before it, like a slave. My heart was beating and what had to happen was happening. What is it, what is it? asked the wings of swallows because I myself did not have any more courage

That is how the deepest presentiment came to me: not even I am your master. The others knew more about it. Whatwasthat? ask the tree [branches]. And what happened to me answers only for the voice

of space. And if the trees understand, I continue blind, deaf. Like a child who Like adults gathered in a group talking about a child.
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I call this malaise [before] things meditation.

I hate that they wait for me. It’s not out of politeness or fear of disappointing. It’s that someone waiting for me is a fear of not being alone.
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There’s a place I go when I want to really think, or sleep or see. If it was [+] close, I would say that it is in the left corner of my head. But it is so much

further, it is much beyond where I end. The worst part is that I am still me. I know that it is taken from the left and it is dark and that one gives up taking anyone or anything with. It looks like a place to sleep, it is between heaven and earth but, heaven and earth are so close and tight that there is only room lying down. It’s there where one dreams. But I don’t dream

of poetry either dreams of impossibilities or of unrealized desires— dreams that are the deepest way of looking, hard dreams, in fact. One goes left, although it is less a direction. After the first time, it becomes addictive. The others

I’ve always been running in front of myself, stepping on my heels.
[drawings]