Eduardo Alexandre Pinto

A direcção mais fluente da liberdade, tem por confronto, uma oposição na acção inconsciente do colectivo social, que é anónimo mas nada fluente. E se eu atraído pela corrente romântica criada em tempos, num tempo onde não se o refreia e por conseguinte, o amor em colectivo anónimo não adivinha porque a razão incansável do pensamento é tão significativa, nos lugares chave do voo que pelo estudo humano do céu pedinte, há um ardor crítico tão ébrio de sossego nas minhas noites, quando Z. dorme comigo e esse balanço bélico para qualquer receio e no que advém enquanto consequência que dormita em mimese e no levantar dos ombros como das palavras mal aradas. As minhas paisagens delicodoces no comportamento incompreendido neste tempo pouco comparado e tão parqueado, que as necessidades humanas, percorrem cultos e uma voz activa, dirige-se pela verdade, num assinalar sensível, devolvido com o pudor da privacidade egoísta que meu labor incessante, deprecia e corrige nas coisas que chegam ao céu ouvinte e tudo em mim é desejo. Por vezes minha alma deambula fogosamente pelos assuntos totais e no broar urbano, não cede e antecede a preparação do fluir, pois é pensada com coragem e na corrente social, é saqueada e não posso deixar que meus actos no seu rasto intuído, tenham uma interpretação de má utilização e sim uma deixa real ao que se eleva no âmbito da vida em harmonia.

It went smoothly that heart on the meadow when the rabbit looked me, the colors had a road and for us a certain fun, we were crossing the excitement, me and the skinny blonde girl. I told her jokes, she drove me in the van, I bought her chocolate, she smiled and wave goodbye for that road and stood in the street telling me secrets with a cigarette and my calm way of talking to her and to whom I told stories of the unknown and there was no fall but a rising life, up on the lips, up on her hairs then clumsily the cigarette fell down on her bro and she open him to my delight and we touched in the eye by those little tender breasts where the erected nipples were in my lips and nowhere could we go again than inside of our bodies with the rain and some tasty scent in locomotive motion of the mystery gathered in green eyes and a slow motion of the tenderness. Near the botanical garden we continued with the flowers inside our scent, a blonde silvered hair with a chemical kissing and in touch with the release from the electric charge on the excitement of a day gone by were a kind of fire by the desire blowing substance of both.

En lisant tes lettres mon désir sourrit comme les oiseaux en vol d’un chant parfumé et nous sommes l’ouverture do soleil en mangeant des petites cérises du printemps. L’existence chaque foi devienne absolute, l’air et les nuances du corp sont parfois une langage trés délicat si la condition du vol ici pensé, est en train de voler plus loin de q’on sais comme un élixir et comme ça, notre nature est douce et leur tendresse deviant un térritoire de la paix.

Sabendo da frescura das horas cristalinas, onde o conteúdo do contentor embarca odores marinhos e a sua convicção é passível de ser visionada na laranja da aurora que agora chega com seus cabelos. Lembro que em Lordelo, jogávamos com uma bola e as bojardas do Manel chegavam muito alto. A baliza era um portão cor de rosa e o largo entre o tanque do Ti Miguel, irmão da minha avó, estavam duas estradas e um caminho para os lados do que chamam de Telhado, e aí passávamos horas dominicais recreando-nos e pensando no futuro e sempre que se nos acossava uma dúvida, nós na nossa linguagem de crianças, sabíamos o que fazer antes e em jeito de preparação, tanto que todos se cumpriram.

Alex met a brave, human and generous man, this man was a hard working one and very intelligent as diligent, this man was embracing the rights for children and Alex joined his commune, Alex was in and felt the grace of being close to this man. He learned so much with him that when they were separated, Alex always thought of him for many years. So 20 years later they met again and now Alex knows that he loves this man in respect with the sense of being close to truth life

I left my personal mark on every little corner of Campolide, of Lisbon, Portugal and Europe, but I belong to my thoughts and not into this place. I’ve built my dreams inside me by thinking and pulsating sexual energy as I’ve produced light years of thoughts. I grew and lived by intuition, following my free nature and fulfilled that natural condition by living and consequently explaining what is the best feeling of life, that is to feel love life energy running clearly in every person veins but sadly my generous nature met an emotional plague among the people I’ve met of every age. People fear, Campolide fears me, the worlds ignorance fear but my work will go on like every mark on the people in trouble, because my nature fought like titan to every blood sucking of my life as a physical child/poet that I am and will be no matter where I will go and will make or on future acts. Nothing is better than to live by the scent of our own spirit and to be brave to resist traumatic abandonments for example on my life, there was one, the first, coming from my parents. When I was 2 years old I was left alone with my grandmother. My father had a white Opel and every time I saw a white car, I was happy, thinking that were my parents, but they weren’t, so I cried… I guess no one here belongs and here is Earth and my best love feelings are going to Z. and www.akkak.de in the name of Klaus. Like Wilhelm Reich wrote, ‘you cannot treat everyone but you can make prevention’. I will run deep and I belong to life with or without my fighting back fury and will put my senses in action. People will have my support still, cause I am a good friend even to the ones who attacked me by irrational legacy of what they didn’t fought over and my work is to serve humankind with everybody and preserve the child in me and as a free poet I am and belonging to existence, which no one can deny this proud portrait of freedom cause it’s Life and you can be an angelical upstart too.

I could write thousand stories about social cruelty that I attended trough life, or to tell them publicly. Now I see people dying in living rooms where human energy is being directed into nothing valid so to describe the actual harassment in social interacting can be explained by the theory of ‘The Social Erection’, by www.akkak.de which of what I know is the need of an immediate fuck, the immediate pleasure, like consuming someone.

I remember when I could lay down on the middle of the road, back in the 70’s in the countryside where children lived with nature and now their also have their dead lines. To verify the presence of the adult structures on children is a big cruelty, I could accompany many lives on their growing, regularly I found a strong emotional rage by these observations where there was purity as a natural stage.

My actual rage has the same basis, cause when you give all from you and later kicked by the neurotic work of people in between those real events that marked many lives where I was present. I feel complete terror in the actual social way of acting, sometimes I fear for example in Portugal to go out cause this so called hosting country, but if you go deeper, the border between sympathy and violence is extremely tenuous. I experienced this violence and persecution on my life in Lisbon, mainly in the quarter of Campolide where the same people who were loved and whom I got jobs, money, sleeping place, shower, food, tenderness, gifts, attention, devotion time, friendship, loyalty, all this was vanished completely because no one knew what being human meant.

Conclusion, the fact of being a truth human tear me apart from these mechanical humans, yes I was there for you, when you were hurt by the same things I am explaining you.

 I was in a small river covered with a little forest and crossed a little wooden bridge, I felt so delicate in that moment, like a virgin boy who lived in secret world to everybody, my hands were calm, my eyes were involved in the trees and in the shadows. Like the prince from a story from Dostoievski. In 1997 I was in Galicia and played with the children for a while in a small village.

Today I discovered what it means for me to be free, it’s my way of perceiving life in a secret and solitaire discoveries of what I am going trough. It’s a very sensitive nature and like the Unicorns I also in my writings like to feel aesthetically beautiful and to work under this appearance and of course out from being alone, I seek for people and I had intense stories as sad stories and now I trace them to order my present life.