Sunday, November 25, 2007

Invenção masculina

A Betty, ao telefone:


Toda essa mística à volta do amor é uma invenção masculina, despropositada e perfeitamente infantil; nós, as mulheres, temos os pés bem assentes no chão e não perdemos tempo com parvoíces; vocês são cansativos e nunca mais crescem nem abrem os olhos.




Eu:


Yeah, right, Betty!


(Caderno Azul)

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Dúvidas

Creio que não tenho paciência para continuar a explorar velhos cadernos. Que interessam as nossas (minhas) histórias sempre iguais, repetição do repetido? O melhor não seria queimar todos esses cadernos com capas de cores diferentes onde provavelmente tentei perceber ou ocultar a mim mesmo as razões de acontecer o que acontece? Se serviram para reforçar a minha crença na unidade e coerência do eu, essas páginas cumpriram o seu destino e podem agora apagar-se. Se não serviram para nada também não quero que sirvam de depósito de memórias que alguém (e eu próprio) pode usar para reconstituir erradamente o passado, ficando escravo dele nessa versão duvidosa. Vou pensar no assunto. Bem sei que o silêncio só os deuses o podem praticar com convicção e sem esforço. Mas nós, pobres humanos, só nos engrandeceríamos na nossa modéstia se ficássemos calados mais vezes.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Procura e encontra

Irritado com a insatisfação da Betty, que acha que as nossas relações amorosas não correspondem às suas expectativas iniciais, escrevi-lhe um bilhetinho: se achas que o que existe entre nós não é amor, viaja, procura, experimenta até encontrares melhor - e se encontrares diz-me qualquer coisa para eu poder beneficiar da tua experiência e me aperfeiçoar.


(Caderno Azul)

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Dia cheio

Dia cheio. Fomos a Portobello, depois fomos à Tate ver a exposição de Lucien Freud (também vi os quadros de Turner que lá estão). Depois a Betty não queria ir para casa e fomos a Richmond, ao parque, andámos a pé no belo jardim, perto do rio, no campo. Tirámos fotos. Foi bom. A Betty diz tontices: "tu és o meu amante eterno". Depois, mais tarde, diz que gosta de mim mas que não poder falar de mim aos pais estraga tudo. Além disso tem medo de ficar sozinha. O criador de éguas que lhe anda a fazer a corte não lhe diz nada, não lhe inspira nem paixão nem desejo particular, diz ela. Acredito? Claro que não. A parte dela que é sincera e a parte dela que é manipuladora são impossíveis de distinguir. Se eu tivesse algum bom senso já tinha terminado esta relação absurda há muito tempo. Mas falta pouco, ela no Verão fica em Portugal e vejo-me enfim livre destas inquietações permanentes.

(Caderno Azul)

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Que paz

A Antónia e eu amamo-nos como duas crianças. Eu fico comovido com a alegria dela, o entusiasmo dela, a ternura dela. A nossa relação não vai durar sempre, eu sei, ela é muito nova. Como eu não quero impedi-la de viver a sua vida, um dia destes tenho de obrigá-la a distanciar-se de mim, a voltar à realidade. Que pena. A minha vida fica vazia de novo. Mas tê-la conhecido fez-me acreditar que o amor ainda é possível. Eu gosto de mulheres, mas prefiro as raparigas. Claro, há mulheres que nunca deixam de ser raparigas, mas são raras. A energia da Antónia, a sua generosidade, a sua coragem e os seus projectos são um bálsamo para a monotonia da minha vida.

Querido Gonçalo



Hoje de manhã não havia electricidade, entrei em pânico, não podia ver se tinha email teu. Agora por milagre a corrente voltou. Mas hoje ainda não me escreveste.

Vou ter um cãozinho preto, é tão querido. É muito pequenino ainda, um bébé. Apetece-me beijá-lo da cabeça aos pés. Deram-no ao meu pai, um colega da Faculdade. Hei-de tirar-lhe uma fotografia e mando-ta. Mas tens de o ver quando cá vieres, em Junho.



Tu dizes-me para sonhar menos. Não aprendeste comigo que a vida é feita de sonhos?


Que dia fantástico, que paz, que calor.


Adoro-te, meu amor. Love you, think of you all the time.


Antónia

(Caderno Verde)

Friday, November 9, 2007

Mal-entendido

Carta à Antónia, sexta à tarde

Pena que precises de me deixar sem palavras tuas. Não entendo as punições de amor nem o medo do amor. A confiança e a amizade profunda protegem do perigo, o amor profundo até protege do desencanto. Mesmo correr riscos é um acto de amor generoso: pomos acima dos nossos medos e confusões a tranquilidade da pessoa amada, entregamo-nos e dormimos descansados porque o outro não nos trai nem nos fará mal. Não, nem telefono nem escrevo, por ora. Amo-te, mas vai para o diabo durante o longo fim de semana. A solidão também me convém, só que não fui eu que a escolhi desta vez.

Se chovesse no infinito onde caía a chuva? Em lado nenhum. O infinito é o vazio, não há lá nada, só espaço. Portanto a chuva só caía. Ia caindo sempre e antes de ser chuva não era chuva e depois transformava-se noutra coisa que não era chuva. Etc. O amor de um amante sem objecto é um amor semelhante.

Gonçalo


Resposta da Antónia, segunda-feira de manhã

What are you doing? Where are you? You had your revenge because I was mad at you and I forgot to disconect one of our machines before I left to the week-end. I don’t know what to do. Maybe I will be fired. If I’m fired you will never hear from me again because I will no longer have an email.

O que se passa é que eu na sexta-feira tinha-te escrito uma carta à mão e estava toda feliz porque tu me tinhas dado o espaço de que eu precisava. É então que eu oiço a tua mensagem no telefone e leio a tua mensagem no email. Fiquei fora de mim, não podia acreditar que tinhas dito aquilo, que tu possas falar assim comigo. Fui-me embora num impulso e deixei uma máquina ligada durante o fim de semana, inutilizei doze dias de trabalho. Foi isto que aconteceu. Porque é que tinhas de estragar tudo?

A. W.

(Caderno Verde)

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

Acusações

What belongs to a language game is a whole culture.

Wittgenstein, LC, I.26

A Betty acusou-me de só me interessar pelas pessoas para as dissecar e poder escrever sobre elas. Tu nunca amaste ninguém a sério, nem amarás, não chegas tão longe, disse ela, agressiva. Não chegas longe porque vês depressa de mais, entendes depressa de mais, entusiasmas-te ou desinteressas-te depressa de mais. E além disso não acreditas muito no que te dizem, ficas a observar. É isso, as pessoas a ti só te interessam como animais de laboratório, para as observares e interpretares. Ora, respondi eu, deixa-te de teorias absurdas, tu sabes bem que estás a inventar. Ela insistiu: que eu necessito de permanentes estímulos exteriores para escapar ao tédio e me entregar ao meu vício, que é escrever; que o amor, eu só o conheço como objecto de análise, como pretexto para o meu pessimismo existencial; que em vez de perder tempo a descobrir intrigas que escapam a outros, o que não é bom, eu devia deixar de pensar e limitar-me a ser, a estar onde estou, inocentemente. Claro, vociferou ela, todos os amores são imperfeitos. Mas tu exiges perfeição mesmo no amor, queres os cem por cento, não te bastam os trinta, cinquenta, setenta ou oitenta por cento, como à maior parte das pessoas. Mas eu sofro de verdade, respondi eu, o que nega veementemente a tua acusação. Não nega coisa nenhuma, retorquiu ela logo, prova é que até para ti mesmo tu és um animal a observar enquanto decorre a experiência. As relações amorosas interessam-te sobretudo como exemplo vivo do inevitável desentendimento entre as pessoas, um desentendimento que tu não queres deixar passar e pretendes usar como sintoma da inexistência do amor e da incapacidade humana de amar. Não pode ser, protestei eu, o que tu dizes tem pouco sentido, eu já amei e fui amado; estás a querer desculpar-te a ti própria. Ela olhou para mim irritada, calou-se e foi-se embora. Fiquei pensativo. Sinceramente, não sei que pensar, o que a Betty diz tanto pode ser verdade como pode ser mentira.

(Caderno Azul)

Monday, November 5, 2007

Paraíso

Ela escreveu-me. Fico sempre surpreendido com o que ela me diz. Ela idealiza-me. Um dia cai em si e percebe que me amou como quem tem um sonho bonito. Se ambos acreditássemos ao mesmo tempo na inevitabilidade do amor... talvez eu corresse o risco de ter contra mim a moral burguesa. Mas tenho de pensar na felicidade dela mais do que na minha.

I don't know what I feel for you, I'm learning slowly so I don't make mistakes. I know love is not eternal... but who cares, it's good while it lasts. Don't be angry and sad, you will lose something that will never come again.

E agora uma coisa que escrevi há muitos anos (há 6) e que está num dos meus diários: estar apaixonada é como viver no paraíso. Pensamos que vai durar sempre, é tão bom.

Eu podia ir aí lavar-te a loiça, mas é muito longe. Eu acho que não seria muito infeliz como dona de casa, gosto de me dedicar às pessoas, é por isso que é fundamental para mim ter uma família.

I'm glad I'm your baby, you may be sleeping now, promise me that you will take care of yourself and quit smoking.

Imagina agora esse longo abraço em silêncio. É a minha maneira de me despedir de ti hoje.

Da tua

A. W.

(Caderno Verde)

Friday, November 2, 2007

Beethoven

1
São quase duas da manhã. Sento-me na sala a ouvir uma sonata de Beethoven. Não entendo porque razão as notas do piano criam em mim uma atenção tão intensa quando tocadas por Richard Goode. A lentidão minuciosa permite distinguir todos os sons. Mas ao mesmo tempo há rapidez no desfilar das notas. Há melodia, coerência, tensão e poesia. Em vez da agressividade e do heroísmo, sente-se a paciência, a bravura. Resplandecem a força, a limpidez da emoção. Os detalhes, as frases, são luminosamente postos em evidência, num fluir de profunda concentração. A tenacidade, a persistência, são virtudes americanas.


Assim me consolo das melancolias da minha vida solitária: a ouvir Beethoven. Distraio-me da falta de sentido actual dos meus dias, tenho consciência disso. Se se pudesse viver apenas para a arte (a música, a literatura, a dança, o cinema, a pintura) e para contemplar e respirar a beleza dos planaltos desertos e selvagens. Longe dos homens, perto da ideia de Deus provavelmente. Mas eu não acredito em Deus. E sei que sem experiência que do exterior a provoque e alimente, a arte morre. Porque penso coisas assim, então?


2
Na solidão do exílio que procurei, escrevo o diário dos dias de tédio. Anuncia-se a morte na vida monótona e sem amor. Quem não pode conquistar o que deseja, que faz da vida? Quem não se contenta com o que poderia alcançar, como sobreviverá? Rigor das palavras. Lucidez do espírito. O exílio é a situação ideal para o conhecimento da verdade da existência e do nosso destino: os aduladores ausentaram-se ou não os deixamos chegar até nós; os amigos e as amadas estão longe; falta-nos o apoio da casa familiar perto.




3
Entender uma pessoa é uma coisa. Entender uma obra de arte é outra. Não sei explicar, sei que é assim. Talvez o facto de a obra de arte se apresentar diante de nós sempre idêntica (eu sei, é diferente na música, no teatro e na dança) permita que nos concentremos excessivamente na experiência do entendimento e do sentir. Nas situações da vida quotidiana só a memória nos permite voltar ao objecto de investigação - e a memória é imperfeita, o trabalho de entendimento é mais frustrante e ao mesmo tempo depende mais claramente do que nós próprios isolamos como objecto a investigar.


(Caderno verde)

Thursday, November 1, 2007

About love (again)

Do you think I have a theory? Do you
think I'm saying what deterioration is? What I do is to describe different
things called deterioration.
Wittgenstein, LC, I.33




Woman
I loved you,
I really did.
But you know,
it’s time to say
good-bye.

Man
How many times
did you say good-bye?

I am not surprised
anymore.

Woman
You didn’t love me.
Did you do anything
to keep me? No,
nothing. Yet
I will never
forget you.

Man
I am sure
that you will never stop
thinking of me.
You can't.
You don’t believe
what you say,
you just say it.
But it’s the truth.
You will never be able
to put me behind you.
Woman
I loved you.
But I don’t know
what happened,
it’s gone.
You know that
I loved you,
don’t you?
But it’s gone
forever.
There is no
passion
anymore. No
excitement.
God knows how
it happened.

Man
You tried to put me
behind you so many
times. I always accepted
it. I accepted
to lose you,
you know it.
You were the one
who always wanted
to come back.
You couldn't
live without me.
You said it.
I remember.

Woman
You say that.
You didn’t really accept it.
You wanted to own me.
I was your thing.

Man
As I said,
you are the one who always
asked to return home.
I didn’t call you, did I?
You didn’t allow me
to live without you.
That's how it happened.


Woman
You didn’t love me.
But you could not accept
that you were losing me
because of another man.

Man
It’s not true.
I accepted to lose you.
I was fed up
with your childish behavior.
I started to reorganize my life
immediately. It was painful
in some way, but I did it.

Woman
I don’t believe you.
You wanted me back.
Say that it’s true.
That’s how you are,
you men. You cannot
accept losing a woman
to another man.
Is that love? It’s not love.

Man
As soon as you did understand
that I had accepted to lose you,
you would come back.
It happened at least twice.

Woman
How could I know
that I didn’t love
the other man
before I did understand
that I didn’t?

Man
You left,
then quite soon
you discovered that I
in fact was the man you loved.

Woman
Is it so surprising
that we sometimes believe
we love someone and then
soon we discover
that we don’t?
Or vice versa?

Man
Or vice versa? How nice.
You asked me
if I accepted you back
and I said yes.
But I was upset
with you, remember?
Little by little
you destroyed
our relationship.
With your stupid
behavior.

Woman
You see,
you didn’t love me.
You accepted twice
to lose me. I loved
you. I came back.
But again
you were not interested
in loving me.

Man
You wanted to stop
loving me. You wanted it
desperately. I could feel it.
I was tired of living with someone
who wanted to stop loving me.

Woman
You never loved me
as much as I loved you.
Admit it. You told me that.
You asked me to leave your
home. Remember? You told me
that it would be better for me to share
an apartment with a Danish girl
from my school.

Man
I said it, it’s true.
But I didn’t really mean it.
We never discussed it.

Woman
I started to look for
an apartment. You
wanted me to go away.
Man
Yes, that’s what I said
one night. For some reason
I was mad at you. But I never
thought about living without you.
Woman
Yes you did, I am sure
you did. You left me
at home alone several times,
you had dinner in expensive
restaurants with other women.
You pretended that it was work
but I know that it was not.
I was very sad.

Man
You were the one
who wanted to abandon me.
You are the one who said
that you loved someone else.
Then you started to lie
to me. I said I wanted
you to go away.
But you were the
one who wanted to leave.

Woman
Maybe I loved someone else.
That’s what I said: maybe.
Anyway, you didn’t love me.
Did you care when I started
to date the other man? You
didn’t care when I started
to go out with another man.

Man
You were lost
in your boring life,
then you met me.
I don’t think I believed
you could so easily stop
loving me and leave me
for another man.
We had been together
for two years. We were
friends. You don’t believe
that someone who has been
living with you for two years
can so easily run away.
It doesn’t make sense.
Not at my eyes.
You betrayed me.

Woman
You told me
that I was boring.
You wanted to get rid
of me.

Man
Maybe I didn’t know
what I was saying.
But you had already found
another man, true? The stupid
romance was already going on in
your head when I said that it was
better for you to go live with the Danish girl.


Woman
You admit that you said it.
Not just once,
but several times.You
recognize that you said it.

Man
Maybe I knew
that it was what
you wanted.

Woman
No, you didn’t.

Man
You were behaving
oddly.

Woman
No, I wasn’t.
You didn’t have the patience
to listen to me. You didn’t have
the time. We were having breakfast
or dinner and you would tell me to
shut up. I was interrupting
the flow of your thoughts.
I was always interrupting
the flow of something
in your life.

Man
Before you met that man,
you had accused me of loving my
ex-wife. You wrote me a letter
saying that you were sure I was
doing my best to get her back.
You were jealous and insane.

Woman
Never mind.
It’s too late now, isn’t it?
I’m leaving you forever.
This time it’s true.
Didn’t you tell me again
how boring I am? Didn’t
you tell me that you would
be happy after getting rid of me?

Man
I’m sorry. I was upset.

Woman
This time
you will get rid of me.
No need to get mad
again.

Man
I’m sorry.
I don’t know how it happened.
You were sick all the time,
remember?

Woman
I remember, yes.
How could I not remember?

Man
How many times
did I have to take you
to the hospital? Sometimes,
most of the time, I was sleeping.
Then you would awake me, you were
so afraid. You behaved like a child.
You couldn’t breath, remember?
Then you would put your head
on my chest and I could see
your dark eyes, the dark
eyes of a child. I loved you.

Woman
To live with you
made my life difficult.
You never wanted
to understand that.

Man
You were sick
when I first met you.

Woman
Not in the same way.
And then I met you
and I got better.

Man
For a while
you got better.
Then again
you were sick.
Afraid of being sick.

Woman
I was not strong enough
maybe. There was too
much tension. I couldn’t
tell my parents about you.
My mother would die.
She is younger than you.

Man
She is? I am not so sure.
You want to be like her.
You may hate her,
but you cannot think about
being a different woman.
The sickness is in your psyche.
You believe that because
you are going to live
with another man
you will be cured.
But the sickness is in your
character. The sickness is
in your mind. You cannot
get rid of it that way.

Woman
Whatever.

Man
I tried to make you
understand who you are.
You never wanted to
become a real person.
You should stop
lying to yourself.
You should try to understand
why you behave
the way you do.
You are odd.

Woman
Never mind. At least
you will not have to worry
about me anymore.

Man
I will always worry
about you. You know
that. You don't want
to look at reality, you
are living in an dream.
You think you are a
character in a novel.
A bad novel, I tell you.

Woman
You need to believe it maybe,
that you will always love me.
But we lived together many
years and you couldn’t show
me your love, how much you
loved me. You couldn’t.
That’s the truth, isn’t it?
I was real and you
couldn't see me. You were
spending all your time
in front of your
fucking computer.

Man
Was I? And why the hell was
I doing it? You don’t know.
You are not an easy person.
Maybe I need to believe
that loving you is something
I cannot get rid of. Something
I don’t want to get rid of. Something
that will never end.

Woman
And yet
it is not true.
You are tired
of me.
I am boring.
You don't care
about me. I am not
an interesting person
at your eyes. I saw you
talking to other women in
a way that you never
talked to me. It's sad.
It was depressing.

Man
Depressing? Do you
want to know something
about my own depression?
You know what? Maybe
it’s impossible to love you.

Woman
Impossible?
To love me?
Do you really believe
what you are saying?

Man
Yes. Impossible to love you.
You don’t want to be loved.
That’s why you get sick.
That’s why you can’t breath.

Woman
No. It’s not true.
How do you know?
Stop saying that
I am no good.

Man
That’s why you are afraid
that your heart is going to stop
suddenly. You fear love as if
love was a sickness.

Woman
No, it’s not true.
You are tired of me,
you don’t love me,
you can’t love me
and it’s not your fault.

Man
That’s why you cannot
get rid of your sickness.
You do not accept to be
loved, you are afraid
of love.

Woman
Now we will go separate
roads, you and me.
Finally. And you
don’t need to worry
about me anymore.

Man –
I will worry about you.
You know it, don’t you?
Whatever I say,
whatever you did or will do
to me, I will always worry
about you. You are a child.
A lonely child.


Woman

You wanted it
as much as myself.
That we go separate
roads. Say that it’s true.
It didn’t work between us.
Man
Yes, I did want it.
And you know why?
Because anyway you had
already left. You were already
far away. You have always been
far away, it was impossible
to reach you.

Woman
Maybe it‘s not true.

Man
You left me
longtime ago.

Woman
Maybe you are wrong.
How do you know?

Man
You left me so longtime ago.
It was impossible to reach you.

Woman
You like to tell stories.
You need to find an explanation
for everything. Maybe not everything
can be explained so easily. You cannot
know everything.

Man
Maybe not. You are right.
Not everything is what it seems,
not everything happened
as we think it did.

Woman
Maybe I never left you.
Maybe I never wanted
to get rid of you.

Man
I can’t believe you.
I’m sorry
but I can’t.

Woman
Maybe I’m still with you.
You love to tell stories.

Man
It could be as you say.
Maybe you are still with me.
But I don’t believe you.
You are lying to yourself.
You left me longtime ago.
You never came back.

Woman
You got tired of me.

Man
I tried to love you.
But there was nothing I could do.
You don’t want to be loved.
You think you do
but you don't.

Woman
You said so many times
that I was boring. Didn't you?
You never paid attention
to what I was saying.

Man
There was not much
I could do about it.
I got tired of loving you.
I couldn’t reach you.

Woman
I also got tired of you.
You also left me.

Man
You never believed
that I could love you.
You never believed that love
between you and me
was something that could last.
You wanted to get rid of love.
You got rid of love.
What did you get instead?

Woman
You are wrong. I believe
in love. You know how much
I believe in love.

Man
You learned how to deceive
people when you were a child.
You do everything people expect you
to do just to make people believe
that you love them. But you don’t.
You just learned
how to be left alone.

Woman
It’s not true at all.
I care about people.
I want to be loved.

Man
You don’t believe in love.
Maybe you want some love
from time to time. You get it
and then you leave.
Woman
How can you say
such a stupid thing?

Man
You have been living alone
in your small world. A very
private world. You never trusted
anybody and you still don’t.
At least in your small world
you feel protected, you feel
safe. Whatever it is to be
safe and protected.

Woman
I don’t know. I don’t know
and you don’t know either.
But you like to tell stories.
And you want me to believe
that you are telling the truth
and explaining everything.
You are so condescending.

Man
We all live in a small world.
In a small box.
It could be.
Confined in the walls
of our own private prison.

Woman
You want to believe that I am
out of the ordinary, that I am
different from other people.
Then you invent stories about me.
That’s a way of making me worth
your love. It’s nice.

Man
Maybe it’s exactly
as you say.
Who knows?

Woman
In your stories I am
a problematic character.
You see me as someone
who has interesting problems
to solve. Maybe it’s you
the one who has a lot
of serious problems to solve.

Man
Maybe. It may
well be
as you say.

Woman
I’m tired of talking to you.
We get nowhere and you know it.
We are wasting our time.
I have to leave now.
I know that you
don’t have any
envy of seeing me
again. You are
going to hate me.

Man
Maybe not.
Goodbye.

Woman
You wanted to possess my soul.
It’s impossible. You know it,
don’t you?

Man
Yes, I know it.
Goodbye.

(Caderno Azul)