terça-feira, 16 de agosto de 2016

An English Tale

She had the outskirts surrounding her. She had the outside men, the forehead agains the wind, the smoke, the odor and the men. She used to live in a terrible building where the inward walls were painted with the most disgusting writings, also writings of invitations from prostitutes along with the number of the apartments where they served the men. No doorman, no security cameras, no freedom at all. No bird could fly high over that factory of feelings without choking and falling to pieces.

It's funny how the lacking of cameras can mean absence of freedom. She slept on it, and she realized something must have been twisted on this very world. But she had the men, and nobody really knew those men. Like phantoms they persuaded the long corridors, they did not live, they dwelled like lost ants without a queen. But she was a queen, and this is not a slang at all.

Every morning she dressed nicely to get breakfast, even tho there was just a piece of bread for her. The nice dress her mother left her was the only legacy in a heart. And she dressed very tightly so to make sure it really touched her heart. That made her feel like her mother was somehow still there, still around.

Her mother was a strong lady. She built that building with her bare hands and some fuzzy sexual excitment. She was called "The Way". Everybody in the neiborhood  knew what that meant. She lived close to the worst train station of all, and I know - because I know all of them - that she fed herself bananas and cheap rice for long years until she could save some money and start building the future dirty walls of that creepy place. There is no man in this town that she had not slept with. Well, it surely worked. When she achieved her dream she was an accomplished dead woman - her mother, i mean. I say.

That's why her daughter became such a disturbed person. I would go furher on that and say that she was disrupted. The mind is the longest leg we all have. It can take you to the moon or it can strive against your whole body. But she never became a prostitute. She had her proud, but if you think twice pride does not mean a lot, for her mother built that dream carved on unworthy english bricks.

One day she escaleted the very top of the ten floor building. She climbed the last ladder towards the very roof where she could observe the entire neighborhood altogether. She opened her arms like a nightingale and she thought of flying. And I gotta tell you, my friends, she did fly beautifully. She could see the whole city. She felt mesmerized by the straight line streets, as well as the curves, and roofs and from the top of the world she saw no poverty, she saw no prostitution, she saw no uglyness, and she considered life something utterlly absurd and beautiful. I believe with no cameras glued anywhere on she actually really felt completely free.

Thats when she realize she had not put on the magic dress! - Oh my God, what it will happen to me now!? - she cried. Until today nobody knows. Only that she fell brutally against the wind downwards. Some say the wind did save her. Some say the wind was her mother. Some others say she felt over the joint arms all conected as one,  and that those arms hold her and saved her from the certain death. Those amazing arms from the prostitutes.





Nenhum comentário: