The body is living art. Your movement through time and space is art. A
painter has brushes. You have your body.
- Anna Halprin
JOÃO VICENTE
Eu lembro que, quando eu escrevia poesia pequeno, eu era muito dramático.
"Ai, como é triste ser triste", sabe?
GREGORIO DUVIVIER
Uma melancolia estética.
Não Importa, 11/06/2026
GREGORIO DUVIVIER
[Eu] 'tava [com] uma mente muito fragilizada, claramente, ali. Eu caí na poesia.
JOÃO VICENTE
Você caiu na poesia? Graças a Deus.
GREGORIO DUVIVIER
Que é uma forma também de abraçar os derrotados.
JOÃO VICENTE
É uma forma de você sofrer com alguém sem ninguém.
Não Importa, 11/06/2026
LA Express Carwash
Ross John Farrar
I’ve been losing so much lately. The designer sun glasses, only had them
a week. I lost the keys to my office, then a library book, The Dictionary of
American Slang. A page dog-eared at “Garbo: Half an English muffin.” So,
I bought ginkgo biloba & tried to stop drinking.
I’ve almost given up caring about what I have, since it’s just going
to be me until I’m no longer. Someone said we only lose things we don’t
care about, but I’ve lost hair & skin cells & so many perfect days.
We were saying goodbye. You were soon to drop me off for good, but first
we had to visit the car wash. Mercy, I thought.
Men in green & white jumpers motioned us in, the wheels catching track,
which made us feel like floating, so we floated through like a submarine.
A machine came down like the leafless organs of climbing plants, giant
soapy tendrils licked the glass.
All I wanted was for the car to stop, for us to sit there in the dark, watching
bubbles on the windshield grow & pop. We bobbed forward, still trapped,
while water evaporated all around us.
Please, let me keep this.
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