Filme do Desassossego Page #8

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amid clearing in the leaves,

coming from and going to

we don't know where!

Go, go, and let me forget!

Faint breath of what never dared live,

dull sigh of what failed to feel,

useless murmur of what refused

to think,

go slowly, go slackly,

go in the eddies you have to have

and in the dips you're given,

go to the shadow or to the light,

brother of the world,

go to glory or to the abyss,

son of Chaos and of the Night,

but remembering

some obscure part of you

that the Gods came late

and that they will also pass.

The man in the corner of the dance-hall

dances with all the dancers.

He sees everything, and because

he sees everything,

he lives everything.

Since everything is ultimately

our own sensation,

to have actual contact with a body

counts for no more than seeing it

or just remembering it.

I dance, therefore,

when I see someone dance.

How is your colleague doing?

He passed away yesterday.

Flatly answered the barber's voice

behind me and the linen cloth.

The whole of my irrational good mood

abruptly died,

like the eternally missing barber

from the adjacent chair.

A chill swept over all my thoughts.

I said nothing.

Tomorrow I too will vanish from the Rua

da Prata, the Rua dos Douradores,

the Rua dos Fanqueiros.

Tomorrow I too,

I this soul that feels and thinks,

this universe I am for myself, yes,

tomorrow I too will be the one that no

longer walks these streets,

whom others will vaguely evoke

with a "what's become of him?".

The highest stage of dreaming is when,

having created a picture

with various figures

whose lives

we live all at the same time,

we are jointly and

interactivelly all of those souls.

This leads to an incredible degree of

depersonalization and the reduction

of our spirit to ashes.

And it is hard, I admit,

not to feel a general weariness

throughout one's entire being.

But what triumph!

This is the only final asceticism.

It's an asceticism without

faith and without any God.

God am I.

Let's go gentlemen,

I want to close in five minutes.

Can you please stop playing

with that sh*t?

I can't look at the blade

it reminds me the history of Rome!

Thank you Mr. Pessoa.

I'll see you tomorrow.

Good night.

Take care. I'll be right back.

Mr. Pessoa, Mr. Pessoa!

Distracted, as always!

That isn't mine!

It was left on a chair at your table.

It isn't mine.

I have no idea what this is.

Who else has been sitting in that

table today?

You sir, nobody else.

Keep it. It may interest you somehow,

who knows?

If someone claims it,

I'll warn you Mr. Pessoa.

Okay.

Have a goodnight sleep Mr. Pessoa!

Ah, to sleep...

Excerpts from "The Book of Disquiet"

according to Richard Zenith's translation

bSubtitle Rip; TheHeLL/b

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