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segunda-feira, julho 01, 2019

Mercurius - part 1/2 (English version)

(This is a rush translation. The version may not be in its final form.)


Mercurius - part 1/1 




I could not understand; I had taken the material to my friend Jonas, a know-it-all. He was one of the victims of recent events: gone, just like my father. All I needed now was his, and my friend Lorena, whom I had hurt. And thinking about it, I remembered the witch named Luisa. An innocent man had also been murdered.

I tried to erase from my mind what I had seen in the games room. I felt feverish, delirious, the train shook. I thought that with some effort he would restore the laws of nature to the world, everything would be explained. Our perception, after all, was a heap of bundles of sensations, deceptions, opinions.

I remembered my father and how he had not trusted me. Since the age of eight. I had become the little fool. And I had taken refuge in my inner life. I remembered one of the texts, perhaps written by my grandfather.

He said:

The divine water is brought by the winged Amnaël, says the "Isis to Horus", séc. I. I am the egg of nature, the old dragon; the sages create from me the microcosm, says the "Aurelia occulta".



The Anthropos, the fire that gives life to everything: The Alchemist, so he wanted to be called, worked in the vas, countless nights, even having to stop to meet the request of a friend astronomer and calculate. The old magic will help me talk about the attraction. Who would have thought he was in science as the god of the mechanism? Damn calculations, did not anyone know Euclid? Writings of Art, full trunks.



The artificial Trinity hides the unique structure of Solomon's Temple. The universal force: the omnipresence of God the Father; the vegetable actions in the micro-craft: the look of Christ. Atman, purusha: as Mephistopheles was a spirit, it was from him that could come, from antiquity, the homunculus. The sun with its tentacles of divinity. It was a microcosm: the stone walls seemed alive, there were nightmares, skeletons came out of the earth. Inside the dome, they lived, so tiny they could barely be seen, plant, tower, land, lake. Spirits.



At night he heard the laughter of Wotan's mates, legions of souls, winners of the battles, or woke up to the cry of Merlin, who came out of the woods after leaving the human world beyond and beyond reason. How to penetrate the whole? The nature of matter, God himself. The Tower began to lose its sharpness. Dark clouds covered the glass. Green burned, poisoned liquid. The theologian did not sleep, the stars were spinning. Come on, overcome the friction of the earth, extract the inherent logos in the dense mass. Why is life so fragile? Collapse.


I remembered a conversation with my grandfather, the times he had gone to his farm, around the age of twelve. We were in the library - where I spent some time reading Shakespeare, Montaigne, and other fables - and wrote a book with a picture of Catherine de Medici and the caption: "The Sorceress Queen."

My grandfather commented:

- Do not believe what you see. In the Renaissance, it was thought that the king should be an initiate in the secrets of the universe, leading the people to the correct way of living and loving God. Today, science thinks it has this secret. Adoration toward the center: an Inflexible God, a wise-tyrant, a dominant culture. Wisdom exists but belongs to the gods, a few mortals. There was in Athens, shortly after Plato's death, in 347 BC, a group of sages called the College of Surveillance. They kept young atheists, supposed witches, and depraved in jail, under torture, in what they called the House of Return to Reason.

It was by things like these that I was a little afraid of him, though I also saw him as a sage emanating a sort of incomprehensible serenity.

The game room. I saw the scene yet. Are you coming for me? But what would that be? My father had sent an e-mail saying he had to travel by surprise, I had not any news from him for two days.
I'd walk into the living room, wake up in the middle of the night. I had seen two figures. The creature does not turn me around, but it's as if we've mentally talked to each other.

I say creature because, despite the human form, there was something insane, savage: was he bent over a woman? Was he attacking her? It seemed to me to glimpse his face, a spasm of pain. I had had several times the sensation of "leaving the body" and flashes of scenes that showed me something. I was exhausted, I felt sick. Without having been noticed, I had run away, taken all the money I could, clothes, credit cards, and gone.

The train simply shuddered, as if the ground had moved. I was surrounded by a dark cloud of unpleasant smell. I looked out and it seemed to me that it snaked from a dark, wet thing that moved quickly, and I could hardly think what it would be like when the very roof of the car opened, a blinding light all invaded and I saw something which condensed in my direction, grabbing me and snatching me. I lost consciousness.

I woke up in a place that looked like a cave, but it was definitely out of time. An old man, naked, his body covered with symbols and staff, was watching me; the walls had ancestral paintings.
- Shamans all over the world make a family. They are the beings that fly and apprehend with the gods. What is the reason? How many reasons are there? The reason is jail? Is there only truth or falsehood? What to do? How to find the way?

- Who are you? I finally managed to articulate.
- Drink in the Water where life flows. The tribe. Get together. Earth educates. Accepted. The meaning is imprinted on the fire. Everything is one thing: the forest speaks. Everything here is a dream, the shadow exists only with the real. They were many people, of stone, of clay, of fish, of the forest. Word-arrow, being of language. Tune the light body. The sound calls the four elements, Mother Earth, Father Sun. The emptiness within us. We are not divided into parts and groups that do not communicate. Men of pleasure, of knowledge, of spirituality, of wealth. Your body is energy. Now I can transmute your atoms. You will never be the same again. It will never be yours. For this way, there is no turning back.

I feel as if I have fallen from a great height.
- Ask. I'll answer if you want. There is a lot you need to find out and not much time.

It was still a cave, but it felt like the world as I knew it. There were several shelves and a fireplace. In the background, behind a passage, I saw ancient instruments, like a laboratory. A man with long beards, in an old-fashioned coat.

- Yes, there are forces you still do not know. When you were younger, those three men convinced your father that you were crazy, lived in the fantasy world. Your father is not evil, but has an inflexible personality, and was used. You wonder about the murder. Where is the man, how could he have disappeared from the face of the earth? I will tell you about M., a sage who in 1617 published the book Atalanta. At the time, in the Italian courts, after presenting the rules of the game, an emblem, a painting, a poem or a saga were motes for the discussion of a theme. Extract the hidden virtues of things and overcome emanations from evil. Festivals, paintings, tombs attracted similar forces from the universe. Atalanta was a Greek princess abandoned by her father in the forest and suckled by a bear. Crafted by hunters, she despised marriage. Because she was very fast, she swore she would marry only someone who would beat her in a race. The protege of Aphrodite, Hipomenes, overcame her by dropping the golden apples the goddess had given him. Aristotle said that at first dense vapors created stones and minerals, and moist vapors, the metals. This story illustrated the relationship between invisible mercury and sulfur. A papal decree forbade anyone to speak of alchemy in Venice, and M. changes the name of his art by publishing the treaty under papal patronage. Soon after, it disappears without a trace. I know what you're thinking. Take this little book. Inside it is a man's hair.
I opened my mouth to ask something.

- Lord Kevin has a newspaper, you know. It has to do with a terrible political force that penetrates the judiciary, the parliament, and the executive. They legislate everything from education to prison work, free labor. They divide the planet into niches. We need maintenance, expansion, they say. They lay down thousands of employees, and things go unrepaired. It is about buying members of Parliament with consultancies in exchange for support in passing laws. There is something being prepared. It is the end of the water, of fish. This project will destroy people, a way of seeing the world.

- Who are they?
- Yes, in a deeper way, it is also a matter of creating an idea of ​​reason, of intelligence, of chosen people, of development - also the erasing of the Phoenician and Egyptian structures of Greek construction; the erasing of magical research and imagination as the foundations of modern science. The myth in reason. A Platonic Structural Analogy between the State and the Human Soul.

I remembered a conversation with my grandfather when watching TV, we saw the shocking case of a pregnant girl, who, being very weak, prostituted herself to maintain her addiction. The client, in a violent sexual fantasy, threw her on the wall, and she died.

- Have you heard of that group that invades funerals of young gay men with plaques reads: "Fags, go to hell?" It is the world of fear. How to enter the world of the other? How can we believe that we do not unravel everything without falling into fanatical sectarianism? Empiricism is a fable, like any other. We live an unstable identity, constantly depending on our professional success and consumption. Can science answer everything? Kant, the German philosopher, said that the spiritualist Emanuel Swedenborg was a fraud. He had, for example, had a vision and told those present that a fire was occurring in his distant city, which was later confirmed. Thus "reason" closes the circle of the real. There has been a closure of the human sciences in themselves, people, lost, companies and consultants create better or worse theories to explain the human.

- We, young people, see the gray future, I said. The world seems so dangerous. I'm always afraid of people.


- The world must be rebuilt, my son. Young people with the hikikomori syndrome, more than 1 million in Japan, are 8, 10 years locked in their rooms, playing online at night and sleeping during the day. Their mothers leave food outside the door. The educational world has become sinister and oppressive to them. Even though the Japanese government has taken many steps to make education more sensible, parents tend to put their children in even tougher schools. Traditionally, a child who does not have "success" is viewed as a shame to the family. Salvation comes from knowledge. Of course, antiquity also bequeathed other ethics, of the collective, of the love of nature, of meditation. But the great educational force today is an avalanche of propaganda for the external, goals, sensory pleasure, appearance, speed, individualism, forgetfulness. It is a time of intolerance. But we know that those who overestimate material success are more likely to be depressed than those who build an inner world, values ​​creativity and exchange with the group, the city. We live the metaphysics of the experiment and the onychompetence of quantitative science. (...)

domingo, junho 30, 2019

The body (English version)


(This is a rush translation. The version may not be in its final form.)


"I am a recipient and have no form
Because I am sand from the bottom of the sea. "

Container - Author: Mauricio Pereira, Skowa



- It's not something you did. Well, it's what you are.

She -a red-haired, Christian woman- did not realize that it could still affect her. Not after the government has made yoga a mandatory practice across the country and finished with the instability of mind.

The attacks had been so mysterious that they had called him, an ex-astronaut. Since her return, her body has been constantly changing. That damn black hole.

- The leftwing is dangerous, we need not doubt that it would have done, that it would have done, that it had made these attacks," the old cop said.

That's what strategic planning does, she thought as she drove home. A parade in honor of Towel Day blocked traffic. This was well after the children were forced to celebrate Mickey Mouse Day in schools and sing the Frozen anthem at the beginning of class.

Suddenly, everything we know as the world - because managers and technicians were rich nerds and wanted to change things - had been inspired by the books of the "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" and "Blade Runner."

She would wait the other day - when she would be a black man and adopt Islam for fun - to search for that distant neighborhood, where she knew there was a sect that preached about the "national body," the threats of the environment to the homeland.

 The black Muslim man entered the agency. The director was waiting for him.

- I know you snoop all the movements of these people, you snoop we all, actually.
- No.
- Yeah. I need to get in there. Do you have any contact?
- I do. We can make an appointment. I do not think they have done it.
- If I am understanding, they're trying to buy buildings, a whole neighborhood, and there foster far-right thoughts.
- Do not try to go against the tide.
- Why do you allow the whole police body to delude itself about the attacks?
- I am an authority, my role is to lie all the time.

 The Asian trans arrived in the house with her golden peep. A room looking like a bunker from the end of the world. The chief looked quite at ease in his chair made of human bones.

 - Smart of you, yes. You'd think it was not the lefties. But of course, if we take the whole into account, multiculturalism is killing our identity and homosexuality spreading pedophilia.
- You're not that different from law enforcement, after all. A lot of people usually study to be dumb.
- They're also in the business of insecurity, are not they?  If all is well unsure, we will need malls and we will need private prisons. And, of course, it will be us, heterosexual white men who are best qualified to take care of everything.
- Do you really think? Are journalists, trade unionists, and artists a force against the social organism? A threat?
"A dispersive force, yes. At any given time it may still not be an antagonistic force, but potentially it may come to be.
- Please find out if they are young people in your community and where they are.

She breathed trying to keep the instability of the mind. She never wanted to stop changing.
Four young men were arrested near the border when the sun had not yet disappeared.


Afonso Jr Lima
https://afonsojunior.blogspot.com/2019/06/o-organismo.html

Livro: "Good Omens" - Gaiman e Pratchett


O organismo

"Sou recipiente e não tenho forma
Porque sou areia do fundo do mar".

Recipiente - Autor: Mauricio Pereira, Skowa




- Não é algo que você tenha feito. Bem, é o que você é.

Ela - mulher ruiva, cristã - não imaginava que isso ainda a podia afetar. Não depois do governo ter tornado a yoga uma prática obrigatória em todo o país e acabado com a instabilidade da mente.


Os atentados tinham sido tão misteriosos que a/o tinham chamado, um/a ex-astronauta. Desde que voltara seu corpo mudava constantemente. Aquele maldito buraco negro.

- A esquerda é perigosa, não precisamos duvidar que ela teria feito, que ela faria, que ela fez esses atentados, disse o velho policial.


É isso que faz o planejamento estratégico, pensava ela enquanto dirigia para casa. Uma parada em homenagem ao Dia da Toalha trancava o tráfego. Isso foi bem depois de as crianças serem obrigadas a festejar o Mickey Mouse Day nas escolas e cantar o hino Frozen no início das aulas.

De repente, tudo que conhecemos como mundo, porque os gestores e técnicos eram nerds ricos e queriam mudar as coisas, fora inspirado nos livros do "Mochileiro das Galáxias" e "Blade Runner".

Ela esperaria o outro dia - em que seria homem, negro e adotaria o islamismo por diversão - para pesquisar sobre aquele bairro distante, onde sabia haver uma seita que pregava sobre o "corpo nacional", as ameaças do ambiente ao organismo da pátria.

O homem negro muçulmano entrou na agência. O diretor o esperava.

- Eu sei que vocês espionam todos os movimentos dessa gente, de todos, na verdade.

- Não.
- Sim. Eu preciso entrar lá. Tem algum contato?
- Tenho. Podemos marcar uma entrevista. Não acho que eles tenham feito.
- Pelo que entendi, estão tentando comprar prédios, um bairro todo, e lá fomentar pensamentos de extrema-direita.
- Não tente ir contra a maré.
- Por que permitem que todo o corpo policial se iluda quanto aos atentados?
- Eu sou uma autoridade, meu papel é mentir o tempo todo.

A trans asiática chegou na casa com seu quipá dourado. Uma sala parecendo um bunker do fim do mundo. O chefe parecia bastante à vontade em sua cadeira feita de ossos humanos.

- Inteligente de sua parte, sim. Você pensar que não eram os esquerdistas. Mas é claro que, se levarmos em conta o todo, o multiculturalismo está matando nossa identidade
e o homossexualismo espalhando a pedofilia.
- Vocês não são tão diferentes dos agentes da lei, afinal. Muita gente costuma estudar para ser burro.
- Eles também estão nos negocios da insegurança, não é? Se tudo for bem inseguro, vamos precisar de shoppings e vamos precisar de prisões privadas. E, claro, seremos nós, homens brancos heterossexuais os mais qualificados para cuidar de tudo.
- Você acha mesmo? Os jornalistas, sindicalistas e artistas são forças contra o organismo social? Uma ameaça?
- Uma força dispersiva, sim. Em um determinado momento pode ainda não ser uma força antagônica, mas potencialmente pode vir a ser. 
- Por favor, descubra se são jovens de sua comunidade e onde estão.

Respirou tentando manter a instabilidade da mente. Não queria nunca deixar de mudar.
Quatro jovens foram presos próximo à fronteira quando o sol ainda não havia desaparecido. 


Afonso Jr Lima 

sábado, junho 29, 2019

Contos de (assustar) fadas - infantil


Contos de (assustar) fadas

Afonso Junior Ferreira de Lima


Biblioteca Nacional
535801, em 03/08/2011



A CABEÇA

A seca castigava a Cidade. As crianças da vila estavam passando mal, não havia água encanada. Havia só um córrego fino que passava por entre as casas, mas ali era jogado todo tipo de coisa, lixo, esgoto, tudo. Na mata ali perto tinha uma fonte de água, as pessoas faziam fila para pegar. Então o dono da terra, que era homem muito ambicioso, decidiu fechar o terreno, e botou guardas para cobrar por cada balde de água. As pessoas não podiam pagar e fizeram protesto na frente da fonte, mas os guardas deram tiros pra cima e todo mundo correu. A seca não perdoava, e as pessoas começaram a desmaiar. A mãe de João Pedro ficou tão fraca que ele foi ate a mata, onde havia uma pedra com um buraco no meio, onde se havia posto uma imagem da Senhora coroada de estrelas:
-          Santa Senhora, se existe mesmo, faça minha mãe ficar forte e ter água de beber.  
E ficou assim rezando um tempo quando ouviu um assobio
-          Hei, menino. Hei, você ai.
-          Quem esta falando - olhou João Pedro para todos os lados.
-          Sou eu o João de Barro. Eu ouvi seu choro e vim lhe ajudar.
-          Seu João de Barro veja meu problema, não tem água aqui na vila, somos muito pobres, e o dona da terá, malvado, fechou a fonte que tinha.
-           Na verdade esse não é um dono de terras, é um feiticeiro. E os guardas não são homens, são cães que ele transformou em servos. Mas à noite, eles voltam a ser bicho, e o homem tem de tirar sua cabeça e pendurar em um gancho na entrada de seu casarão. Vá de noite a sua casa e roube sua cabeça, que e apenas de encaixar, enquanto a cabeça estiver longe do corpo, nem a cabeça nem o corpo podem acordar, ate o sol nascer, e cante e seguinte canção:

Cabeça minha cabecinha
Veja bem que vou lhe levar
Durma, durma sossegada
Pra sede do povo eu matar

Depois vá ate a fonte e cante para os cães a seguinte canção:

Eu sou homem – sim senhor
Mas vocês são bichos, que eu sei
Durmam agora cãezinhos
E água daqui levarei

Depois coloque a cabeça do homem no casarão e volte com a água, cantando a seguinte canção:

Cabeça de feiticeiro
Tão malvado e ambicioso
Deixe eu levar essa água
Que salvará o meu povo

Assim o menino fez. Pegou a cabeça do feiticeiro, cantou para os cães, pegou a água em sete baldes, levou até a vila, devolveu a cabeça no castelo. O povo da Vila quando amanheceu, percebeu sete baldes cheios de água e cantou de felicidade:

Salve, salve Santa Senhora
Que milagre será este!
Ontem o sol nos matava
Hoje matamos nossa sede

O feiticeiro ficou furioso e mandou que os guardas vasculhassem as casas da vila procurando se alguém guardava alguma pista. Em vão, pois não acharam nada. 

 Na próxima noite o menino pegou a cabeça do feiticeiro, cantando:

Cabeça minha cabecinha
Veja bem que vou lhe levar
Durma, durma sossegada
Pra sede do povo eu matar

Voltou à mata e cantou para os cães:

Eu sou homem – sim senhor
Mas vocês são bichos que eu sei
Durmam agora cãezinhos
E água daqui levarei

Pegou a água em sete baldes, levou até a vila, devolveu a cabeça no castelo, cantando:

Cabeça de feiticeiro
Tão malvado e ambicioso
Deixe eu levar essa água
     Que salvará o meu povo

O povo da vila quando amanheceu, percebeu sete baldes cheios de água e cantou de felicidade, novamente:

Salve, salve Santa Senhora
O milagre se repetiu
Ontem o sol nos matava
Hoje cantamos no estio

Depois de sete noites, o feiticeiro, já possesso da vida, resolveu ele mesmo se transformar em pássaro e ficar por sobre a àrvore observando se alguém se aproximava do castelo.
Mas deixou em seu lugar um boneco de pano, transformado pela mágica em uma cópia quase perfeita de si mesmo. Entretanto, quando o menino chegou perto do castelo, ouviu um assovio diferente:

Cuidado meu menino
Nada é o que parece
Na vida é preciso cuidado
E olhar com olhos abertos

O feiticeiro, que estava como pássaro, ouviu o canto do João de barro e, em um vôo rápido feriu de morte o passarinho.
João Pedro se lembrou da voz do João de barro e decidiu ficar de olhos bem arregalados. Quando chegou perto da cabeça, que era a do boneco, percebeu que algo estava errado. Portanto ao invés de cantar a canção, criou outra mais adequada.

Cabeça minha cabecinha
Vim aqui todas as noites 
Pedir a ti com carinho
Que me dês um pouco de água
Para o meu triste povinho.

Toda noite você me diz
Que posso ir lá pegar
Que odeia o feiticeiro
Que gosta de lhe usar
E que depois de sete dias
Vamos juntos lhe matar
Você me disse o feitiço
Que lhe hei de fazer queimar
Eu guardei lá em um tonel
Antes da vila sair
Vou pegá-lo agora, cabecinha
Para o mago destruir

E, dizendo isso, foi até o fundo de sua casa, fez uma pequena fogueira ali perto se escondendo entre na mata. O feiticeiro voou até a vila, procurou o tonel no pátio e transformou-se de novo em homem colocando a cabeça no tonel. Neste momento o menino, usando uma vara comprida, deu uma marretada no pescoço e fez a cabeça rolar. Pegou a cabeça correndo e jogou na fogueira. A cabeça transformou-se em fumaça vermelha enquanto cantava.

Queimar-me era minha esperança
Era uma vez um feiticeiro
Feito de fogo e de fel
Cortou minha cabeça

E me fez um mago cruel
Agora acaba a maldição
E minha alma descansa

Neste momento João Pedro ouviu o assovio do João de Barro, que ganhara vida de novo, e o latir dos cães, agora livres para sempre.

Parabéns menino valente
Aprendeste a lição
Coragem e prudência, juntas
Nunca serão em vão.

The song of the Red Bird (English version)

(This is a rush translation. The version may not be in its final form.)


He tells a story to the grandchildren, who are in bed:


The ghosts are over the mountains of ruins. The bird with red feathers arrives - feathers that once fell in China and to this day a song is sung about them.


- Red Bird, who knows the empyrean and throne of God, tell us how the city on the other side is.


"A million under siege." Soon, without food, fuel, and water.


A ghost woman cries, repeating:


- Three thousand years before Jesus! Three thousand years before Jesus! Already trading in this city! Ha-lam! Ha-lam!


The poisoned ghost hugs her.


The ghost without a head points to the tower from where it was wounded behind the fog:


"I realized we were going to die when I realized we had no drugs, intravenous fluids, antibiotics, pain medicines, suture sets, and doctors.


"We hear people in the tunnels of hell, only small units," says the woman pouring blood.


"Four months without food. Plunged into chaos, and the regime will remain in power - says the Bird.


The ghost without an eye asks:


"Is it true that those who spend the most on bombs also have people who are hungry?"


The Bird opens its wings:


"Yes. Many years ago, half a million people died from chemical weapons in the East. Now, with that excuse, the bombing began.


The headless ghost asks:


"Is all this a fear of fundamentalists?" They were trained in Persia. I remember when black gold was nationalized long ago in Persia and invading armies took over the country. Conservative religious rebelled. Hospitals on fire. Children killed in the streets. Bombing the city of the Silk Road is the first step.


"Silence," says the Red Bird.


A line of ghosts arrive from the city and the bird sings a sad song. None of them can hold back the tears.


Afonso Jr. Ferreira de Lima, 2016


terça-feira, junho 25, 2019

Mercurius - part 1 (English version)

(This is a rush translation. The version may not be in its final form.)



Poor devil,
What will you give me? (...) You have delicacies
which do not kill hunger; gold that flickers,
but equal to mercury escapes the fingers (...)
What I need,
if you have it, they are fruits to put of top
always leafy, and that before being caught
do not have the rotten and the worms inside already.
Goethe, Faust.

I thought, "I fall asleep." Now I was on a train trying to escape to my grandfather's farm in the south, of something I did not even know what it was. As if the whole world were dark, silent and wrapped in the shadows of the night. The landscape, a cold gray that turned dry trees, sharp stones and solitary birds into a great ruined ruin. Heavy clouds seemed about to strike with lightning and storm.

What had I seen? Was it attacking a woman? Were there even beings who fed on blood? I had read from childhood about uncovered corpses intact in their tombs, earth tossed over tombs, coffins found open, nails and hair growing after death, bodies with blood in their mouths, and families that died shortly after the departure of a loved one. My strange drawings frightened successive teachers.

It did not help my day-to-day humiliation, "know-all", "daddy's boy", "fagot", "library mouse", because, in addition to being quiet, I did not like football. In fact, I had not realized very much such things, cause I was living in the other world. "He's rich, but he has no mother," one girl said once. Lucky to have a friend, Jonas - very clever. I always had an indomitable imagination, but I was now saying to myself, "There is a limit." My psychologist thought that I was both too adult and fled into fantasy to avoid the pains of reality. What reality?

Lord Kevin, my father's great industrial friend, was a frightening figure to me: as a child, I imagined seeing him by my bed, at my window or perched on the tree in front of my bedroom, in a sort of parallel reality in which I tried to move and could not.

As a child, I had often dreamed of this tall, blond man with hair on his shoulder: in one of those horrifying dreams, we were in a dark forest, surrounded by other macabre men. The delusions that the cruel dream fairy imposes on us! I seemed to see in the shadow monsters with bluish faces and fangs, some pale with claws, a feline-eyed woman with a tiger skin. 

Prisoners were tortured. One of them, who looked like a policeman, had around his neck specters with animal faces that bit him. Another, a dark-skinned man, perhaps Arab, was bitten by a dog in the leg, kicked by a young man, while another beat him with a staff. Lord Kevin threw him into a fire.

Now I was afraid to return to this state of conscious sleep, where he would be easy prey, like a fickle candle, a book not well open, a church in ruins, watching the sea of ​​sleep, unusual logics as if the real were a veil of the look.

I had always been a sort of prisoner in my father's dark mansion. I felt lonely and felt the world more and more frightening. It seemed that somehow a mantle of violence had covered all souls, who could only communicate through aggression. The terror - visible and invisible - was very concrete. Subways exploded, offices ruined, storms and snow created by pollution, waters carrying crowds of fragile slopes, ambitious politicians dying the public thing rotten, the state seemed helpless against the proliferation of robbers and white-collar criminals.

Besides, my life had turned upside-down recently. Since the death of my grandfather.
That's when I opened the chest. There were some documents, scrolls, letters, and texts - plus the medallion I carried with me - that seemed to have been handwritten by him with a large bird's feather.

My mother died when I was ten. My father never wanted to marry again. He became a sad, business-oriented man. But he was kind to me, though I thought I should make money, conquer realms, "win." The problem was his sinister friends. Maybe someone says that everything has already been explained. This is not the case, even when it comes to what we can call the domain of the visible. More: people are strange.

I, for example, remember my mother leaving to work and me crying at the door. I should have less than a year. The world is strange.

I remember at twelve when I entered the room and saw my father surrounded by his three best friends whom I never liked - Lord Kevin, Augusto Coligne, the arrogant journalist, and Marcos Toledo, the astute executive secretary - kind of glass heart, filled with a red liquid, on the table. That scared me, but I did not even dare ask.

I sensed there was something between this macabre man and my family. Inside my grandfather's chest was a gold ring with an engraved symbol, which I carried on my finger now. But why should my grandfather have a trunk with such strange texts? One of them said:

And since these things are properly dealt with, it does not appear from the phenomena that there is an incorporeal, living, intelligent, omnipresent being, which in infinite space (as space would be in its sense) sees things in themselves intimately, and perceives them totally, and fully comprehends them by their immediate presence before them?

A parchment showed an Egyptian lion, next to the goddess Bastet. Or two lions and the sun.

Another, looking like an old Latin print, which I discovered meant:

 We drink Sum: we become immortal
We went to the light, we met the gods
What can hostility do to us now? (...)

*

AJr, 2011
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terça-feira, junho 18, 2019

The Other World (English version)

(This is a rush translation. The version may not be in its final form.)
*
"The strength, the spirit of attack, the decision must prevail over useless mental activities and colonies of peaceful and degenerate aesthetes. Beautiful and strength are the way to Progress," said the Prime Minister.

Then we went shopping at the Universal Exhibition. I was 16 years old, I was happy.

"The fascination of the body," my white-haired friend said. "Is there a flaw? I mean, in our world."

I watched a parade of young men rushing inside of external skeletal prostheses. She was a "confused radicalized." But coming from a noble family, she can never be arrested.

"The intellect project as a race leader did not work, our academy created a problem.

I hated it when these dark reflections began. I dismissed the subject for the show that started on stage. "Sex and Freedom" was a group of young black men who had achieved success recently.

My friend said quietly, "Of the native you can not encourage more than physical strength."

She had always been a financial failure. In her house, full of cats, digital archives of interviews, icons of primitive cultures, she lived as in another world.

She disappeared - "Kidnapped by terrorist radicals," police said.

*

Wide avenues. The steel, the gardens, the glass of the Temple of Tomorrow.

Long line of bureaucrats watching over labor camps.

At birth, my fate was given as the secretary of the Artificial Life Nursery.

At the Academy he studied Law, the issue of summary judgment, the sub-race, the banishment of enemies.

But I visited a protective custody camp.

One day, I woke up screaming. My family was called at the police station. I ran away.

*

All the things that the words hide.

Discourse is not in speech.

I wrote in the classbook: "There is something missing."

The little boy who cleaned the windows of my building (before the progs) wanted to be a soldier. My brother wanted to be an entrepreneur.

All written information should be quick, "accurate, agile and audacious information."

We laughed at people who wanted to write without purpose.

"Only work is Wealth."

"The ideological enemies bring poverty to the nation."

"Together we are stronger".

"The police are your best friend."

"Homosexuality is a plague to the nation."

"The traitors of Liberty must pay for it."

There was a time when there were street protests. When its leaders were arrested and charged with misappropriation, their "moral degeneration" was widely reported.

If you ask strange questions you will be reported and you can stop at a protective custody field.

If speaking "utopian" things in public space can go to a field of work.

If you join for suspicious reasons you will be a "disappeared".

We need to move forward.

At our enlarged reality congress, the hymns, the flowers, hand in hand repeat the traditional songs on Saturdays in the sun.

Receive the "New Age Hero" medal.

My mother took me to the clinic when I felt anguish. There was no registered disease.

There must be something else.


*

I was fighting. I was beautiful.

They taught me Proverbs. In the old days, there was a way out.

The book talked about a hotel-environment in which one could live the war.

The book talks about "The Native Mind," as read by soldiers later accused of torture.

The book about the slaves who - after a revolt - ended up returning to the moors and idolizing the oppressors.

The book on the War on Terror and how the president planned to eliminate images of dead victims of "shock and awe," bombing broadcasters and killing journalists.

The fire broke everything. That was early on.

*

In the temple, beside the silver river, the priest hands me a strange object.

I knew it was not just quick feelings, impulses, propaganda or joke to human life.

I've never seen anything like it before.

I realize that a thought is complete there.

*

I was gone, like a dead man.

Summoning the invisible spirits.

Descending into the world of the dead.

Walking in the darkness.

Heard the Lord of the Underworld.

-

Afonso Junior Lima, 2018
https://afonsojunior.blogspot.com/2018/09/o-outro-mundo.html