2012!
The year!
The apex!
The milestone!
The arrival of the great Age of Aquarius
The moment when masks fall from the eyes of the truth
The period that transcends disguises, farces and destructive beliefs
A new chance to be reborn into the living world of timeless Art
To awaken the divine, full, pure, expressed, creative consciousness
With manifestos against the many faces of limited, alienated, empty beings

Humans or manipulated animals?
Before, everything sounded false in this dual, fragmented world
Me?
I was marked with fluids from the crowd
I was
I was imprisoned and became the social reflection 
The reflection of chaos itself
Bitter, entrenched, strange, thirsty
The collective unconscious represents the sum of all evil

Fear?
Fear is the squeeze of resentful compassion
In the depths of disillusionment
In the abyss of madness
Memories are recreated by a reborn past
In the whispers of naked, raw, trashy, repeated, decadent memories

I hear it
I hear the sound of the ego reaching the highest notes of the psyche
Where pains emerge on the shores of subtle, universal love
The tunes of fear attract
Symphonies of love are not found in mental alleys
Alleys where emotions remain fresh, without drying out
On the dark paths towards the “Midnight Sun”
And they go
They create shapes in space
Loops and steps moisten square, grotesque, bizarre thoughts
Bizarre are the shadows of the Theater in motion
Bizarre are the shadows of the fractal universe
Darkness only dusks on collapsed stages
Scenes attract what we are repressing or vibrating in space

Would space be scenic?
A cognitive space made up of audiences, ideas, energy, pulsation
Maybe yes, maybe no
It’s like being in a hall of transfigured mirrors
Fragmented, shattered, riddled with “intent”
Inside a depressing show that opens without an appointment
And everything keeps coming up
The rehearsals, the struggles, the glories and all the memories linked to fear
The source of the deepest, most insane, petty, animalistic desires
The source behind all the “illuminated” shadows
And on the poster is written the summary of the unfinished work:
On the Paths of Eternal Fascination

And so I go on
I go on acting
Like a movie star in a primitive script
The reels of this tape still don’t have the end
And what I do from the backstage changes the very scene of addiction!
And I make that drama!
I cultivate the instant to the plot!
Precipice!
If the terror of this soap opera becomes a comedy movie
If children’s literature becomes an impure play
Where artists politicize forgotten texts
Of ideological finites reduced only to the world of ideas
Only the ideas on that tape won’t die in the physical world!
All this would be mystical!?

Yes, it’s the power
It’s the power of the creative mind, only temporarily unhealthy
The same mind of so many manipulated labels and dogmas
False as clowns’ tears
In that scene
In that circus of horrors of the alienated
In the tomb of lost loves
Lost in the arena of the time of living poets

The poet?
The poet is born
The poet is born dead
The poet is born dead when
The poet is born dead when the ego
When the ego
Dominates the mind
Dominates mind
“Dominantly”…
The poet is born dead
When the ego dominates his own weakened mind
Of the poet forgotten by time
And the essence is repressed by the veil of oblivion.

Marcelo Moreira