Sooner or Later & the Politics of Deception

 

From the "oh, I'm going to get fired up!"... From the roundabout circumnavigation of the Costa Cabral, passing through the story of the madragoa that can be seen on the side of the river that God made, Lisbon is so damn far away! The sea current pulling the laces of my slippers. And I'm going to end up at the Leixões dock. It's a lot of "gasoil"! Grandpa Rodrigo used to say: A lot of dynamite, for such a small fuse. I'm like a chaimite, returning to freedom by license, a borrowed bill of exchange! I'm committed, but not a fool! I'm going to take a self-defense course and then, of course, I'm going to take another course on agriculture and livestock, because I'm from April and from these freedoms taken, from rakes and hoes, I'm going to get involved in agrarian reform and I'm expressing to the east and downstream what I feel and what they feel! That little evil is a cough! What's the thing, what's it? Exactly, that whole thing, the brochette of bib in the toilet of the musiquete! And don't come to me with complaints that I didn't take my medication, there are no injections for my pain in the ass! And if it's cold, put your coat on your back or the thing will get warm! :D

Oh, the 16th century discoveries have done me in (in the other life), I still feel a pain in the bottom of my hip, but it must be dandruff or maybe it's asthma! And after the honorable commitments, my hand falls on the anvil of the vehicle's steering wheel and, even though I find everything ridiculous, the theater, the consolation, the wall, the brick, the chamber pot, I manage to hold on to the titanic that hasn't sunk yet! Look, it's for a feedback! And omessa, I can't swallow either one or the other, not even with "lineage" olive oil, not even with mashed potatoes, I'll go to the fado of the madman, what I like is unicorns, because when they come in pairs, I run away from them! And even I wander with direction. Everything always has a purpose. Except when I return to the "hotel". There, I wander without direction, in my mind, at the wheel and, above all, in music, which has always been the best of prognoses. My planet of sounds is biased. The first CD of six that is playing at the moment is Pink Floyd. The second, Camel. The third, Leonard Cohen. The fourth, Supertramp. The fifth, Sixto Rodriguez. The sixth, Peter Gabriel.

The Supertramp album is Something's never change. Sooner or later, they'll all be gone, so relevant to what I think, nowadays, about situations, things, people, places. And while the boat rolls, over the asphalt and cobblestones, while the breeze reaches me already on Fernão de Magalhães, I, perhaps a descendant of its adventures, travel through the Pacific, and I think I'm reaching the crucial point, the so-called Strait (commonly known as the narrowing, or VCI), together with the entry of Jupiter into Cancer. I'm sorry, but I believe that 9. Then it will be au revoir, à tout à l heure, sayonara and mercy beaucoup, arrividerci, goodbye, without the aforementioned refrain love is amour, mein lieben, love of my life. The politics of enigmatic deception have consumed me in recent years. The challenge has me in the pits and I'm sailing, taking advantage of the wind (or is it the lift?) of the storm (brainstorming action unplugged). Che agrees with me. I'm left here wondering if in degree, kind and number. I'll never know. As far as he's concerned. I miss my dogs and cats. Not the rest. It was a case of seeing you soon. I'm still on the edge, balancing between the nausea of ​​vertigo and the usual jet lag of the rising tide.

To the holidaymakers of old and before, I show you the creed of the Piglet without fear and without uprisings! Strawberry-flavoured kisses from the "je" of Cascais, and the other who lived on the mountain of winds, and those who watch other people's lives (who only catch the corn the first of the sparrows, there in the lamprey area), with binoculars and who, without knowing it, help us drive, without going through the toll booth, without going through the monopoly, back to our path, in the old-fashioned trolley, tlim tlim Areosa, go with your fingers, straight to that finger (the yellow pages of the enigma) in the middle that I have left, as a support, of being from Puerto and being from Porto!

For me, I have this idea, I'll still get to Canedo in one piece, have coffee with Vitorino, perhaps in Ilha Verde, to see if the disco has turned into a vegetable garden and Hernâni is stiff and fearless! This is a real hassle, wanting to ruin my life and me on the route of discovery, without fear and without old men from Restelo! My tribe is of the stars! They won't catch me barefoot, only wearing a yellow shirt.