Eduardo Alexandre Pinto

My lips are the element that fade for the gloomest look that holds your breathe and when i see a true spirit out from across the darkest shadow, the moon rises for the way to pass with a glove that traces the cold and haunts the beauty of your nature in a good way, being the clothes that we take out to swim. Yes, with every first electric sound we are much more than skin and bone, we seek for the healthy roots in each step to stop the scientific sun from the killing from the friends and humans we love and have, cause we belong to the non-stop gracefully people with virtual top secrets, smashing the government with our energy on the way of moving the psychologic strenght coming from a powerfull story in the true reality that is close in sensbility for the union of the open eyes, cause me and you can make the difference if humankind is having fond of the brave people that is telling that revolution is the true and no apology for cheap riots, so come, feel,so come, sacred friend, my life energy trusts on your soul, like the rainbow warrior on the dirty waters, cause all of us can be released from the pain and i give these words for whoever thinks his/her life, behind every second after all the time to have faith in anarchy…

In the whishing of some knowledge there is a sharpened song that goes for the green valleys so fresh there in that colourfull dress just like a never knowing about what could be the love from the top roof in the head, when it shouts for your name, all the speach turns blue again cause the secret sorrow of a morning tear is on the dream trown into the land of emptyness, that is a sad light but the laugh will strike again on you without your confused and lonely fight, it’s us all, so feel free to invoice my heart and i will write you a song, in honour of our garden flirts, swinging a dozen of kisses in your black trousers, just when the rain took us into your car and after the travel you belly danced to me on my room, it was a safe shore for both, so keep my eyes clean, dear friend, making of this a certain straight stage of a convertible name, meaning you heating up my body by the dream academy where i scratch your body.

I hit my wonders taking the lure of the ocean to flow across that mirror of the deep blue sky, reaching some of hidden treasures of the universal mind, which is for me all the people with a big injection of self doing it against the fascistic imperialistic capitalism on their tricky money living games, so the holocaust turns dark again with the mutual consent of body and soul of people who just let it go, not let temselves go in a sexual way, so the alienation and the popular histerism are coming from consumism which has no serious basis on the dream department and so i and a few more wide world resist and fight back with solutions and facts that are not televisioned and in my case a year of living in a anarchist commune made me aware that is possible if that mutual trust goes further into a group with open discussions and pacts of non agression and self help, cooperation and will power, built with the inner work made together. This is nothing new,i spend some time, writting mostly in portuguese things that the majority doesn’t know still, but is known by some of the libertarian world front or maybe not, so i took the step and i will further on this, beside my poetic world, which is my space, free for that perfect kiss.

Slowly the night ends and down at the 7/11 I gave him his best breakfast in the life of he, cause he sang no confusion, the expression was found so free along his way away from me and i keep going making the day an event of good feelings even if she was scared by the things that freak her out by those days, so a lovely invitation came and i went with her to feel her way of exposing her mind, she was blonde i was shy, it was all ok, we went back to work, it was a weekday and all the people were passing and later on i met a parisien young woman that was lost in her heart and now it was me who made the invitation to cross The Tagus by boat, I was looking at her eyes so sad with the wind blowing on her, then we got there on the other side, bought some cherries, looked at the city and talked about what could it be poetry if the refrain could be changed in both hearts and the transmission was settled for the way back to Lisbon. We were touching the distance of what it was a smooth melody, but it was not it was too tough for both, even then, we walked and took coffe to run from our bloody dreams and arrived to the Park, seat and no more routine was more than a memory. A long love song was taught and she felt good, i told her that for some time that love could be like the mighty ocean, when it was warm it would be it. And because she came along and i came with a song, we almost were the same mirror with a naked joy in both natures, then the journey end it up in a farewell kiss that fell from a gentle goodbye untill now since the year of 2000, dear Marie Soula.

Inside you and far where my shelter turn the night visions of my soul in your lines that no one erases from my fist and if i am away i also take leaflets of something gathered and up on our fate by so much outside world, when i took you, i have hold you to the surrealistic awareness of my sky, so you have meet my eyes down by the stone seat becoming our moon’s nest, now my attention paints what was a thought in a letter and the long words of pain can be tamed by this tumbledown so divine if it is not a social conflict for you, so that i can bang bang more and more and no one is stuttering around here, cause your face rises into this place and i make the talking for things that i turn into the waiting room of our awake by the call of the smile…

Ela teve sua inocência ultrajada,um dia recorreu a mim que era punk e ia para onde os becos deixam muros e no cemitério de Benfica, era o lugar predilecto para incursões nocturnas com o Eddie e a Fénix, até sermos baleados com uma pressão de ar que era sal; pois mais tarde já a minha roupa não era negra e hoje em disfarce de quem cantou e tocou viola baixo pendurado no meu 3º andar, para estupefacção dos utentes do meu primeiro lar, que hoje questionado por uma venezuelana, qual o local de Lisboa que mais gosto (estávamos no Largo da Bolacha em Campolide) a que respondi de imediato que era o meu quarto e eu soube que o antigo local das águas do Vimeiro, junto às Amoreiras, questionando um homem desconfiado, será mais uma vez para construção de um prédio, quando em criança via as camionetas cheias de garrafas de água, ia eu no elétrico 24 para o Carmo, junto à janela, que várias vezes saltei e também no 28 a que andei à pendura com as crianças e onde me abastecia de lâmpadas.
A inocência de Margarida, foi refeita com amor e devoção total durante dois anos e meio e se falo do meu quarto,foi ela quem melhor o ocupou, num colchão comido mais tarde em 2001 por um Husky a quem salvei da morte, ferido e de cabeça aberta, mas Margarida tinha um corpo tão belo que lhe massajava até ela não querer mais, tinha uns seios pequenos e sensuais como gosto e para mim era ela a rapariga mais bonita de Lisboa, quando ainda punk inside, lhe ofereci cerca de 250 cartas manuscritas e ela a mim, 177 cartas de amor, à rapariga mais inteligente que até hoje conheci e as memórias doem e se na minha condição de poeta anarquista, ainda a evoco, é como disse anteriormente, por amor à beleza, que uma vez vista jamais é esquecida.
I didn’t like jazz
I didn’t like funk
I turned out a Punk