# MENTAL PENDULUM THAT THE SKULL HOSTS @ GRAÇA FONTIS: PAINTING Manoel Ferreira Neto / Graça Fontis: POETIC PROSE

I assert the exceptional argument of the dense shade, when to avoid the dilemma of tones and perennial gray colors, what an ostentatious gallantry is shown, projects on the man the outline of the winding path, through which it meanders between the silver dunes and the pillars of gold.

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I hitch dreams at the arrogant steed

That shoots and neighs and makes me dizzy:

In the past he nurtured petulant "rubble"!

Now another pasture supplies it.

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Now your bristly manes

Of pleasure that the wind and filly

Gallop in moonlit freedom

Shaking his glossy hips.

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Once a blind trot and the harness

It was cilic at the waist: the pain

Spurs and whip and the brake.

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Now this strength, this momentum

Of poem that is prancing

For another soul that has the name of a horse.

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I bring euphoria in me, watching memories, memories ... I believe that there is no longer any possibility of distinction between the waters and the words in me. If they are not always founded ... - what? The waters? The lines of me? I don't know. The description of a situation by the river, then the speeches, but these that I carry within me, those that bathed my illusions, a distant time, in them the lightness of the soul of the winds, the spirit of the drizzles and dews, although not me this intimacy would be possible if it had not been on the verge of one, it often is, and it is enough that it is founded on real experiences, without identifying the place, and in what situation, to justify the others that were not.

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The secret cause of not describing the nature, the situation, I don't know. From a distance, it seems that I am escaping what I have explained, I have some hidden fear. As if everything changed, describe it. There is what it says in me not to be. It lacks experiences to come. Maybe due to something that escapes my naked eyes, a look that looks at the nudity of things, feeling their clear sensuality, with age they lost their natural sharpness, sharpness of details and details. The soul only lyrics new or unexpected happiness, when Rio Paraúna comes to mind.

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I plunge into the imagination and then emerge, as if from clouds, from the lands not yet possible, oh it is not yet possible to describe them with care, to say them simply. Of those that I lack the ingenuity to imagine, but that are real. Lands of the sublime engulfed in the lush grass, in the cozy tops of the trees, in the hills of ruminating wolves of their prey lost under the waning moon, between howling moments of past nights.

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I walk, slide, continue ... Always without stopping, causing me surprise and admiration, distracting the euphoria that invades my chest for having seen other new lyrics being made, read by me, and this is where the important thing lives ... They serve as waters to quench the thirst for conquests, peace, happiness.

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Distracting the thirst tired of landing at the end, first the waters and the divine messages, was it not through them that Moses crossed with his unworthy people towards the land of freedom? Wasn't it upon them that Christ walked? Syllables and terms to expect. The intimate appeal is for them to be clear, transparent, to expose the liquidity of the spirit of existence to memories.

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I would think myself crazy if my sophist-poetic

From the mouth he would not be released,

The tongue was not solemnly contrived,

If my fingers locked

When night falls,

If my eyes, rain and lights,

Surroundings ... no longer glimpsed,

Awakening serene, tender sensations,

And if the mental pendulum

That my skull houses

Do not frame white flags

To the posthumous monuments that I built,

To the perpetual castles I created

Within hours and time not dissociated

Contained in my instinct for perpetuity

Emerging from the waters to flow

In the nakedness of symbols and emotions,

In the appeal of metaphors and signs,

At the request of metaphysics and metalinguistics

Orbited in complicit hands

Of the words to surround

Ideals, longings, truths and searches ...

Absurd beauties of this "Life"

Incapable in a single "POEM",

Whatever style and language

To the indescribable eyes,

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There is a sad song of melancholy,

Song of burning chimeras

Warming up faults, lapses of the sublime

In my silence, audible and noisy

Transpose cracks and gaps

Against scorched faces

Repressed symptoms of outrage

Without uprising, hiccups are swallowed

In the refuge of the soul

So that scrutiny searches

Disguise the disruption of the long maelstrom of nightmares

And new faces rise in peace

From other paths to eternity

Before your steps drag

Repulsions and disgust of this world

In the transfer bringing damage to divergent souls

To the amazement of shadows assumed in the face

From everyone who offers early winter.

Then my gaze gets lost there, way ahead

In history still suspended in opposites

Of the abstracted reasons,

Metaphysical, exegetical intellects,

In the refinement of my prudent words ...

Sometimes impudent,

After all, ... still don't know

Ahead anything can happen and ...

In it, the (Winter), the Sun for all will shine?

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Nevertheless, he remained attached to that life as if under the control of some obsession. That was how I lived because I had no other choice and because if I didn't, I wouldn't know what to do with me. I was afraid of being alone for a long time, afraid of the many tendencies of tenderness, honesty and affection to which I felt continually inclined, afraid of the tender loving thoughts that so often assaulted me. The wind was strong. He had looked at the drops that floated in the air, the waves that glided in the lightness of the continuity of the journey. I called them Paraúnas.

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Serene waters that droplet from heaven

Spilled from heavenly weeping ...

There are light waters in my corner

For the sea waves that, of hope, slide! ...

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Treasure of waters undulating the mantle

From the green woods to the threshold,

Whose beaches caress and fertilize;

Oasis of water that deserts mine as a holy cradle ...

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The waters are of perennial life source

Guiding us beyond, across the horizon

That will bequeath us to live free of resentment, heartache ..

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To contemplate, in the utopia of the sublime, the river of life

The heavenly homeland, loved by me,

I miss the shallow eyes of water! ...

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For this reason I come to ask you, to beg you, to plead with you back that instant on the banks of the Paraúna River, with everything we live, feelings, sensations, emotions, even to inscribe on the pages of destiny the lines and waters that awoke in me talking about us ...

#RIO DE JANEIRO, APRIL 22nd 2020, 14:19 p.m.#