"Soraia" será meu primeiro livro consistente, escrito em primeira pessoa, apesar de suas primeiras fatias, no blog, estarem escritas na terceira. Leia uma fatia/ rascunho dele em Soraia (esboço), e no final de "Pronta para a vida" (parte da cachorrinha; primeiro post).
...........................................
Belíssimo:
We skipped the light fandango
Turned cartwheels across the floor
I was feeling kind of seasick
But the crowd called out for more...
7.5.10
Soraia (esboço/ mudando, inacabado)
Quando Octávio alisou-lhe o pulso com sua espada de esgrima clássica, Soraia reviu-se criança, vestindo-se de anjo para acompanhar a Maria Madalena na procissão de Semana Santa, "Está linda, mas vista um agasalhinho por baixo da túnica, para não sentir o gelado do cetim", "Não, a túnica é mais linda sem agasalho por baixo"; armazenando todas as suas lágrimas infantis em tacinhas, como uma pequena oferenda, desde que soube que um santo o fizera; estudando com energia. Lindíssima, frágil, esnobe, forte. Octávio nunca a compreeenderia, tampouco seria complacente com ela, como quando era uma criança de cinco anos e a família soube que a amiginha a unhara impiedosamente na piscina por causa de um pouco de filtro solar, "Não empresto meu filtro, Heleninha, porque você tem!".
6.5.10
Fluxos da consciência
Reflexão adicionada à "Naveta de prata", agora "Pronta para a vida". Leia-se!
E, de uma cartilha antiqüíssima:
"__ Bonequinho Doce, de onde vieste?
__ Do moinho!
__ Que trouxeste?
__ Pão e vinho!
__ Me dá um pouquinho?"
De Marguerite Duras (não a li em francês, mas em português e inglês, e achei-a mais linda em inglês):
"Hélène Lagonelle’s body is heavy, innocent still, her skin’s as soft as that of certain fruits, you almost can’t grasp her, she’s almost illusory, it’s too much. She makes you want to kill her, she conjures up a marvelous dream of putting her to death with your own hands. Those flour-white shapes, she bears them unknowingly, and offers them for hands to knead, for lips to eat, without holding them back, without any knowledge of them and without any knowledge of their fabulous power. I’d like to eat Hélène Lagonelle’s breasts as he eats mine in the room in the Chinese town where I go every night to increase my knowledge of God. I’d like to devour and be devoured by those flour-white breasts of hers.
I am worn out with desire for Hélène Lagonelle.
I am worn out with desire.
I want to take Hélène Lagonelle with me to where every evening, my eyes shut, I have imparted to me the pleasure that makes you cry out. I’d like to give Hélène Lagonelle to the man who does that to me, so he may do it in turn to her. I want it to happen in my presence, I want her to do it as I wish, I want her to give herself where I give myself. It’s via Hélène Lagonelle’s body, through it, that the ultimate pleasure would pass from him to me.
A pleasure unto death."
E, de uma cartilha antiqüíssima:
"__ Bonequinho Doce, de onde vieste?
__ Do moinho!
__ Que trouxeste?
__ Pão e vinho!
__ Me dá um pouquinho?"
De Marguerite Duras (não a li em francês, mas em português e inglês, e achei-a mais linda em inglês):
"Hélène Lagonelle’s body is heavy, innocent still, her skin’s as soft as that of certain fruits, you almost can’t grasp her, she’s almost illusory, it’s too much. She makes you want to kill her, she conjures up a marvelous dream of putting her to death with your own hands. Those flour-white shapes, she bears them unknowingly, and offers them for hands to knead, for lips to eat, without holding them back, without any knowledge of them and without any knowledge of their fabulous power. I’d like to eat Hélène Lagonelle’s breasts as he eats mine in the room in the Chinese town where I go every night to increase my knowledge of God. I’d like to devour and be devoured by those flour-white breasts of hers.
I am worn out with desire for Hélène Lagonelle.
I am worn out with desire.
I want to take Hélène Lagonelle with me to where every evening, my eyes shut, I have imparted to me the pleasure that makes you cry out. I’d like to give Hélène Lagonelle to the man who does that to me, so he may do it in turn to her. I want it to happen in my presence, I want her to do it as I wish, I want her to give herself where I give myself. It’s via Hélène Lagonelle’s body, through it, that the ultimate pleasure would pass from him to me.
A pleasure unto death."
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