quinta-feira, 27 de outubro de 2011


it's ridiculous to say that ulysses is better than the divine comedy, than shakespeare, than homer, because ulysses is so good, that it would be an insult, both to ulysses and to the other works, to read it viewing at comparisons or competitions. but it so happens that it's hard, in order to describe the sensation, not to resort to this foolish device. ulysses is the best thing in the world and that's it.


patience can be nothing but the mask of anger.

domingo, 23 de outubro de 2011


my parents were born in the old yugoslavia. how i loved to be a descendant of yugoslavians and how it hurts not to be able to say this and, every time i say this name, to hear the inevitable question: but from which region, as if it made any difference to the listener. yugoslavia, yugoslavia, where are you? neither in servia, nor in coratia, in slovenia, or in macedonia. yugoslavia of dalmatia, dubrovnik, herzegovina, voivodina and the adriatic sea. yugoslavia where my father saw a woman slice a bread and a chicken inside a train. don't fight anymore, yugoslavians, let me say i'm yugoslavian.

segunda-feira, 2 de maio de 2011


we had a discussion. i got angry and he did too. on the following day, in the morning, i felt sorry. when i was leaving the supermarket i bought a little vase of yellow flowers to give it to him. when he was coming back from the veterinarian, he bought a vase of yellow flowers to give it to me.


i bought a small porcelain one sided grater. it seems that its main function is to grate ginger. it's beautiful and it looks like a japanese tool from the no dinasty, in which the imperial cooks were accurate in the preparation of rare meals, full of fine spices. i then decided to make a pumpkin soup with ginger. i was ready to grate the fresh ginger, still moist and perfumed, and all the fibers of the root got stuck in the grater. i needed to beat it against the sink and withdraw the fibers with a toothpick. but while i carefully removed the fibers with a kind of knife i invented with the toothpick, i thought about many good and bad things, blended to the appeal of the detailed task, the strong smell and the expectation of the soup. of course. that's what this grater was made for.

sábado, 23 de abril de 2011


i had to have an inhalation at the hospital. right in front of me, a guy in a red shirt, portable phone in his hands, was singing endlessly, out loud, an unknown song. to me, it sounded like a derivation of russian. he was slowly having his blood tested and he made comments on the syringe and the wires. he made comments to no one, only for himself. we were all in that room, inhaling the air, gathered, and the guy was singing. to rro li shat la kav nin to plis. the nurses passed by and asked: are you feeling better? from one to ten, how would you rate your pain? would you like to take the inhaler home with you? no. poor inhaler. nobody wants to take it home. at the same time that i felt like the most solitary of the victims of cold, i also felt part of a group of breathers, lullabied by that strange song. man of the strange song, you saved me from the bureaucracy of the flu and you've transformed it into a russian mass.


today i saw a yellow car just like the yellow pudding that my grandmother used to make.

quinta-feira, 21 de abril de 2011


a silence of something that is not being said, different from the silence of nothing being said, the silence charged by itself, the silence of all being said. one is power, the other is apathy, the other is autonomy, the other is agreement. there's no dictionary nor method to learn it. in order to communicate with silence the access language is time. when facing some silences one must watch out. others wish no care at all. for a hermeneutics of silence, the best measure is to breathe.


i was in a state between slumber and awareness. she got to my room and said: mom? i didn't answer, but i felt as if a sheet had come from the air to cover me. in that moment, i felt i had been born to hear this sentence.


time passes and the body, son of time, wiser than the soul, follows on its journey downwards. the breasts and the buttocks fall, the column falls, the skin eases. the body stops resisting and approaches the earth, its final dwelling. the mind, stupid, tries to rise.


i kept all the material for a contest I wasn't approved in, in a box under the stairs in the living room. it's all inside a big paper card box, which contains wide thick folds. mia loves to remain in this corner, where she scratches her fingers to sharpen her nails. the box is well past destroyed. i want her to destroy the whole thing. it's my revenge against the institution that didn't approve me and, after all, the box is serving a much more useful function than passing a contest.


three foods above good and evil: french fries, popcorn and fried steak; three musiciand above good and evil: stevie wonder, rita lee and jorge ben jor; one painter above good and evil: paul klee; a writer above good and evil: anton tchekhov; a pesrson above good and evil: laerte.