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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Dorothea Lasky - If You Can’t Trust the Monitors

If you can't trust the monitors
Then why do they have the monitors
If you can't trust the cars
Then why have the cars
If you can't trust that I think you're hot
Then why do you look so good
Turning me on that way that you do
If you can't trust the people
Then why have the people
If you can't trust the cards then why have the cards
If you can't trust this room then why have the room
Why not just an open space
Where you can be naked and fascinating
If you can't trust the milk in the bottles
Then why have the bottles
If you can't trust the wine the song
Then why have the country
If you can't trust the kangaroo
Then why go jumping
If you can't trust the sky
Then why have the sky at all
If you can 't trust the stars
Then why look out
Why not just sit in your room
It's dark and safe anyway
If you can't trust what's dark and safe anyway
Then why even bother
Then why even be here at all
I don't know
I just went and walked
But desire is hopeless
If you can't trust the windowsill
Then why put the flowers there
Why not leave it bare
Oh I did
And then what
After a while
That old sun
It burned it green
The windowsill
And when I
All I returned to the room
All I saw was green
Grass green
Like grass but greener than
A halting hue of it
And I forgot the flowers
And I forgot you
If you can't trust the daybreak
Then why have the daybreak
Why not sit
Let the night come
It won't stop itself
The hormones
And all

Year of Love

‘Year of Love’ is taken from Jenny Hval’s forthcoming album ‘Classic Objects’, out 11th March via 4AD.

Directed by Jenny Berger Myhre, Annie Bielski and Jenny Hval
Artwork, rooms and 2d animation by Annie Bielski
3d animation by Jenny Berger Myhre
Thanks to Notam & BEK

We were married on a rainy day, isn’t that how the song goes?
I wore black jeans and codeine,
I guess I wanted to make sure I seemed “relaxed”.

“It’s just for contractual reasons”, I explained, signing the papers,
as if I truly believed that a contract was further from the institution
than the industrial happiness complex.

In the year of love I signed a deal with patriarchy.
Now watch me step into the place where you can see me: Look at me.
You think I’m different but I’m a stagehand.
Look, it’s there, under the ring, the imprint on my skin.

A year later I’m on stage when a man proposes to a woman right in front of me,
in the middle of a song I thought I knew what was about.

I am holding a disco flashlight.
It is meant to make the audience feel like multitudes of colours
that belong to nobody in particular, that they share between their bodies,
but now all it does is light up a proposal, a normcore institution.
I am giving it my voice, but then again, I already did.

In the year of love I did what I never thought I would,
and you may think I’m different, but listen,
all contracts can be sung with my voice,
I’m just a stagehand.
Look, it’s there, under the ring, the imprint on my skin.

One-Minute Time Machine

Every time the beautiful Regina rejects his advances, James pushes a red button and tries again, all the while unaware of the reality and consequences of his actions. Directed by Devon Avery. Selected for the Sploid Short Film Festival, a celebration of the coolest short films and the filmmakers that make them.

Anne Sexton - The Fury of Sunsets

cold is in the air,
an aura of ice
and phlegm.
All day I've built
a lifetime and now
the sun sinks to
undo it.
The horizon bleeds
and sucks its thumb.
The little red thumb
goes out of sight.
And I wonder about
this lifetime with myself,
this dream I'm living.
I could eat the sky
like an apple
but I'd rather
ask the first star:
why am I here?
why do I live in this house?
who's responsible?

KV 581

On Tuesday, December 28, 2021, violist Amihai Grosz and his friends from Berlin shone in a musical spectacle of the highest level during the International Chamber Music Festival Utrecht. Due to the lockdown, the original program of this edition of the IKFU (Dec 27 - Dec 30, 2021) unfortunately had to be cancelled. However, the organizers and musicians did not give up and realized a beautiful concert via a live stream.

W.A. Mozart – Clarinet Quintet in A major, KV 581

Clara-Jumi Kang, violin
Daishin Kashimoto, violin
Amihai Grosz, viola
Claudio Bohórquez, cello
Wenzel Fuchs, clarinet

Brenda Hillman - Time Problem

The problem
of time.          Of there not being   
enough of it.

My girl came to the study
and said Help me;
I told her I had a time problem   
which meant:
I would die for you but I don’t have ten minutes.   
Numbers hung in the math book   
like motel coathangers. The Lean   
Cuisine was burning
like an ancient city: black at the edges,   
bubbly earth tones in the center.   
The latest thing they’re saying is lack   
of time might be
a “woman’s problem.” She sat there   
with her math book sobbing—
(turned out to be prime factoring: whole numbers   
dangle in little nooses)
Hawking says if you back up far enough   
it’s not even
an issue, time falls away into
'the curve' which is finite,
boundaryless. Appointment book,   
soprano telephone—
(beep End beep went the microwave)

The hands fell off my watch in the night.
I spoke to the spirit
who took them, told her: Time is the funniest thing   
they invented. Had wakened from a big
dream of love in a boat
No time to get the watch fixed so the blank face   
lived for months in my dresser,
no arrows
for hands, just quartz intentions, just the pinocchio   
nose         (before the lie)
left in the center;            the watch
didn’t have twenty minutes; neither did I.
My girl was doing
her gym clothes by herself;         (red leaked
toward black, then into the white
insignia)                  I was grading papers,
heard her call from the laundry room:   
Hawking says there are two
types of it,
real and imaginary (imaginary time must be   
like decaf), says it’s meaningless
to decide which is which
but I say: there was tomorrow-
when I started thinking about it; now   
there’s less than a day. More
done. That’s
the thing that keeps being said. I thought   
I could get more done as in:
fish stew from a book. As in: Versateller   
archon, then push-push-push
the tired-tired around the track like a planet.   
Legs, remember him?
Our love—when we stagger—lies down inside us. . .   
Hawking says
there are little folds in time
(actually he calls them wormholes)
but I say:
there’s a universe beyond
where they’re hammering the brass cut-outs .. .
Push us out in the boat and leave time here—         

(because: where in the plan was it written,   
You’ll be too busy to close parentheses,
the snapdragon’s bunchy mouth needs water,   
even the caterpillar will hurry past you?
Pulled the travel alarm
to my face: the black
behind the phosphorous argument kept the dark   
from being ruined. Opened   
the art book
—saw the languorous wrists of the lady
in Tissot’s “Summer Evening.” Relaxed. Turning   
gently. The glove
(just slightly—but still:)   
opened Hawking, he says, time gets smoothed   
into a fourth dimension   
but I say
space thought it up, as in: Let’s make
a baby space, and then
it missed. Were seconds born early, and why   
didn’t things unhappen also, such as
the tree became Daphne. . .

At the beginning of harvest, we felt
the seven directions.
Time did not visit us. We slept
till noon.
With one voice I called him, with one voice   
I let him sleep, remembering
summer years ago,
I had come to visit him in the house of last straws   
and when he returned
above the garden of pears, he said
our weeping caused the dew. . .

I have borrowed the little boat
and I say to him Come into the little boat,   
you were happy there;

the evening reverses itself, we’ll push out   
onto the pond,
or onto the reflection of the pond,   
whichever one is eternal