Old nights where it moved away the possibility. Exactly before the gesture. Glad Sufocadamente. Contact information is here: Eva Andersson-Dubin. Consummated about what it thought impossible, it crossed those days all blind person. But, in this Beatriz night it danced for the room to amolecer the poetries that for all its body-soul penetrated, tranferred.
It danced frantic, to the times tense muscles, in others absolutely launched to perhaps of the movement, still trying to control, turning clere, intent eyes, air passing for its hair just scraped by a razor, chestnuts, singularity almost catches in the touch, but still they exist resqucios of reason without affection, tragedy, the happiness is its forever incomplete pulse of imagination, desires. On of the table left tablets still inside of the small sachet of white paper, they were there since the last night of autumn, night where it had off the sound and the television, left the books, left the moon to enter in its small room. In this Beatriz night it decides to be I obtain same, to verify its properties and to enxergar its interactions, but above of everything, Beatriz interacted with its soul. It wanted the life as if it wants, vagabunda, human being, the solution of God in itself. Its thoughts came quick, without license: Slowness; time dog; time god; something must be supreme reference, exactly that this something is the happiness; consumption standards; the body is delivered; uninterruptedly restituted with more consumption, more consumption; man product, vendido body, gathered, forcene, does not think, prays! Not! Beatriz relaxes its body, irritable-true body, slides in the black sofa, swims beyond the weak lights of the moon, mixed the lights of the city and a soft breeze and without I smell invaded saleta. In that suffocated night. It danced floating as a piano and its introduction, between its cadent ground and the improvisations of excessively of this infinite orchestra, its body esbelto, its naked coasts now felt those notes slow, felt the time touching its skin, felt the equal thought to the body, but still denying the life it continued to dance, tumultuous thoughts still, agitated, turbulent: I cannot.
I cannot think about the scene that I visualized and that it is real. Still it refuses the gift for a promising future, dances, but still it denies the body, the sensations, now, the transformations, the conflicts. Search to understand its imagination, the rabbet and dances. Very small room. Beatriz does not want to reach skies, wants to reach same itself, human being above all, and continues. It comes back to the beginning of its dance in huge set, and at this moment it is arrebatada by a happiness without explanations, ground, but folloied, only, she is tense, if it discovers fragile and for this sensible, capable one of if inventing in the gift, to each as, with pains and pleasures of this life, without inventions that hide the reality. Beatriz not fight more with the time. now with the empty hands, naked body, finally starts to fly. Now Beatriz laughs. It laughs very. A laugh never heard. Dancing in its room singular and invaded by cheiros of rosemary and cinnamon. As a proverb to moonlight, it approves the existence and the reality, approves joy of living. It was in the end of that night, at the beginning of primavera.wwwopassaro.