Deep in my thoughts still remains the only trace of a ghost voice always coming back to me when I write poetry to say "this isn't genius, this isn't well written, something is missing, it's poor". But at the end of the day I don't write poetry to receive praise for a brilliant brain that I don't even have, nor for recognition, I write poetry to purge something from my uterine soul, nobody needs to understand what it is, I do.

When I was younger, I wrote in code and called it symbolism. I didn't understand what all the abundant feelings were and they all mixed up in blind despair. I picked up words in the dark. It was a seed of pain wanting to be sprouted and so it was. Back then I really thought I wanted praise, but now I know what I really wanted was for my despair to be acknowledged and then exorcised. It never happened, I had to bleed and I still do and to bleed is good, to know that what intoxicates can come out is good (perhaps it is for this idea that I have a certain fascination with trepanning).

My writing is not constant, it takes time for the ingredients to mix and take the form of something that will flood. When they do, I know exactly what they are. I'm a good cook to myself. I don't know when this page will be updated because of this inconstancy, but I don't see why not to post it here. I have poems in english and portuguese, when I find the right feeling I will translate them from one language to another, for now they will only be in the respective languages in which they were made. I think the english is broken, I'm not that good at english, but it will stay the way it is, even if it's wrong, when the right feeling comes and there is a need to change I will do it.