XIV Fragments

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By AIRTON PASCHOA*

four short pieces

romantic love

She went by Monique and dragged out all the r's and mistakes you could imagine. It had the warm freshness of the early mornings in the fields and made one think of everything that was against Civilization. Shade, fresh water... and children, so many that she was always pregnant and died early. Disgusted, we would go to the whorehouse and engage in revolutionary politics. Alderman, mayor, caudillo and scalded, had a bust erected in the main square, duly covered by morals and good customs, in honor of the First Lady, patroness of the city. So, champagne in hand, we spoke with red eyes and from above, with only us watching, Monique spread her legs over us. In an expected suddenness, the fanfare harassing him, he broke the bottle on his head.

 

Appendicitis

I had signs that existed far from me, in any black hole in the cosmos. A friend, news, and where there is smoke, there must be gray. We spend a good chunk of life together. More than together, glued together. He never tired of telling me that it was his life, hanging on my arm, and with so much conviction or persuasion that I naturally swelled, swelled, until I had an appendix crisis and found myself dumped in the hospital again. Again because the same thing had happened five decades ago. But there was an excuse for my mother, God had called her. Not her, the devil beckoned! I can't say that I really suffered, but there's no denying a certain weight around the arm, a certain almost palpable absence. That's why I opted for the cane, which serves as a support and which I also use as a hanger when I need to use both hands. For convenience, I gave her the same name as the dissolute woman and I am sure I am not afraid of another challenge. Where I drop it, it sticks, and I don't usually leave it very far from me. Sometimes I run my hand over her head, and if I say that I almost bow with gratitude, I know they won't believe me. I didn't believe it either until I married her. Fe is the perfect wife. Besides the cafuné or scratching my back and, without a word, my toes, alas! with such plump little fingers! he already manages to catch my slippers from a distance. And there will be a day, I have no doubt, a day when, finding her, the perfidious namesake will spare no effort to make her feel all the fury of our righteous wrath. As sure but as sure as one day after another, one cane after another...

 

Kiki

Two lovebirds, two beaks sipping from heaven what God gave. And the Creator didn't haggle, he gave them the terrestrial paradise, the ether that inspires, the blue that inebriates, the lymph that consoles the sun, the odor that the bud trescala, the apple that disagrees with the crown, the phyllomella that leaves songbirds, the candor that of beasts et caterva, cascading Eden, in short, and without a rattlesnake. And through such clouds, the two always so united that, the Lord decreed, they were not born for each other, they were born from each other. And so it was. At what point in the work they got tired, or were satisfied, in such a sublime case of Edenist xyphopagy, is a source of speculation. What is not speculated is the full name, Valquíria e Quirino, and the hypocoristic, by extension, Ki & Ki.

What they achieved, what they bequeathed, was never known. They didn't sing, they didn't paint, they didn't embroider, they didn't write or nail… except for the infamous tombstone: “Here lies Kiki”. The devil that the… pardon, that the… amen: O – leave!

 

Motion for tolerance

Mister President, where to spawn the seditious semen today the honest and devout man of the public cattle? Attending republic of dubious friends proves reckless. Attending human steakhouses violates the most elementary principles of republican decorum. Going down to huts, we suspect that not even health authorities do.

The general renewal, Mr. President, the renewal of men, of customs, of the Nation, is not achieved, as a rule, if not by nudging, pardon me, by cultivating the good tradition of the land. In other words, globalization has a limit, President, and who gives it to us is the house of tolerance!

In view of the above, we appeal to Your Excellency to make total efforts, budgetary and totalitarian, in order to provide the social body, from top to bottom, of this beautiful ranch that once owned brazilwood — DECENT BORDHELS, appropriate public places to the free and suzerain (without prejudice to the suberanus, Excellency, just as pleasant) exercise of power with ph, Mr President, a practice that must be guided by respect for the most primal and venerable institution of national copulism, namely, the insinuation... art of ring the bells, if poetic license is lawful, without opening the chapel wide. This is because the nude and the action itself, Your Excellency, can be perfectly fine, the door locked and the agenda unlocked, on account of our valiant compatriots.

I make it known, to whom it may be interested, that public policy is maintained and maintained, that continuous acts I was called to Brasilia to take over the Interior Relations portfolio, in order to disseminate the income distribution program throughout the fundão, until we reach the minimum income.

*Airton Paschoa is a writer, author, among other books, of see ships (Nankin).

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