Novena para pecar em paz
Guidelines for diving
I woke up longing for snow and other things that I know very little about. For Iceland, sea animals and the tail of a blue whale. I longed for wooden benches sitting inside an old church in central Germany, for winter nights in the Arctic Circle, and I missed the temperature of your body being warm in those days I lacked both blood and proper heating.
I woke up longing for snow and other things I know very little about and wish I could remember your voice. In my tiny apartment, five thousand kilometers from yours, one can find a leg taking the whole bed, the world outside the window is apparently working alright and I close my eyes while the muscles of my right leg get stretched. Foot soles ankle shinbones knees femur blue whale flippers crossing over my left shoulder, salty water
my tongue in your lacrimal gland.
Frozen water currents, seaweed and fishes. My cetacean dive. On our way back home.
Novena (October 2017; Portuguese) is a collection of short stories written by 9 contemporary female writers from Brasília. Upon invitation from the publisher Penalux (Rio de Janeiro), I authored the illustration in the cover as well as the little story Manual de Mergulho (“Guidelines for diving”) – you can find an excerpt of it right above. The presentation was written by Natália Borges Polesso, and my partner writers in the journey are Beatriz Leal Craveiro, Cinthia Kriemler (org.), Lisa Alves, Lívia Milanez, Mariana Amélia Elói, Patrícia Colmenero, Paulliny Gualberto Tort and Rosângela Vieira Rocha. The book can be purchased through the website of editora Penalux. Press reaction: Brasília na Mala, Hendrix War. And here’s the Novena’s booktrailer produced by Molotov Produções :
Dearest R. (Oct., 2017)
Write me a love letter in a tiny piece of paper, fold it and leave it by a tree of your choice.
Tell me anything you feel like saying as long as it is true. That which you kept to yourself for years, your most hidden resentment. Yell at me, speak to me in huge letters. Or it can be that you may prefer the whisper – so reveal your secret, my ears, your shame. I want to touch your voice from faraway as if we were undressing, your upper lip against my shoulder blade, one letter after the other.
Write me a love letter, anything (it doesn’t matter), anything you really wish, a phrase is more than enough. Even if I am not me and you are not yourself. Even if it is all about us: write down your imagined dream, the unspeakable. Sometimes that which you dream from within an unknown universe is way more real than your body, more real than mine, more real, even, than anything we have dreamed ourselves to be.
Write me a love letter. I crave your old cliché, the very one you have repeated a million times before. I will wear it whenever I miss you. Give me the annoying phrases, the rotten ones stinking just as you do, so that I will know you are inhabiting myself in the most ordinary of days, and I will quickly reside inside of you, too.
Write me a love letter I already know everything about, and I will visit you next Tuesday wherever you may be.
Write me a love letter as if I were your best friend.
Write me a love letter as if you missed me.
Write me a love letter as though you did not know me
or knew me too much
as though we had just met
pretend this is our last day
or the first
as though you regretted
as if you could not forget
as if you were trying to lie
, then fold it and leave it by a tree of your choice.
The text-love letter Querido R. (“Dearest R.”; 4p; Portuguese) was published in the 4th issue of the literary review Zzzumbido (October, 2017) – a publication specialized on contemporary experimental literature by Brazilian writers. You can download the #4 issue for free here: zzzumbido_04. For detailed information on Zzzumbido, check their website here.
Letters from the inside
And then silence descended upon the house. The heat turned the wind dead, gone is the pulse of air – and I myself take a deep breath. You and me alone in the bedroom just like we used to do over thirty years ago. The low whispering of only one of us breathing.
“This blog is here to tell you stories of becoming”. The Letters from the Inside journey began in the first days of January, 2016. Back then I was returning to Brazil after 4,5 years living abroad. My landing back coincided with acute political turmoil in my home country, unexpected death of family members and friends, and an equally unpredictable separation from my partner. As a result, I started to write letters to myself as an attempt to both expurgate the pain and investigate if/how the creative process could work as a spiritual tool across those stormy winds.
Weaved and anchored in the present, the texts are experimental, intimate and raw. The website was updated (almost) every week with a text and an illustration of my own. The project covered the whole year 2016: www.lettersfromtheinside.com