sounds like my kinda job


Possible research topics:

– Semiotics of the dance playlist for eclectic groups

– Mojito and Caipirinha: comparative analysis of lime and spirit-based cocktails

– Sociology of the incidence of non-alcoholic beverages in gatherings of young professional adults

– Reducing waste levels by prolonging the crunchiness of chips and decreasing chewiness of pizza leftovers

– Novel materials for minimal disturbance of neighbours by sub-woofer throb

– Why Wonderwall? Consumer preference for safe choices in chord and vocal performance

found in Euraxess


são órbitas

São órbitas, são.
Parecem caminhos comuns,
Mãos dadas e adiante, mas não.
Órbitas que se cruzam
Ao fim do dia, depois de conceder
Às outras coisas da vida.
Por vezes come-se e fala-se,
Por vezes beija-se e cala-se.
Nada de se enaltecer.

Suspiro, raiva, guarida
Cócegas, abraço mudo,
São instrumentos de diplomacia.
É assim que o trajecto permanece
E que após outro circuito de tudo
O amor se acha de novo
À porta, à mesa, na cama,
No olhar que reconhece
O corpo que se aproxima
Como o tal que se ama.

degrees of relating to books

I’m a novel slut.
I stick with them
Until they bore me
Or I finish them up.
Read’em and dump’em
On a bookshelf,
On a cash-back,
Back to the library
Or whomever lent
Or on to someone who’ll borrow.
Or somewhere along a trip
At a friend’s or the hotel I spent the nights
Hoping they’ll be taken care of
By the cleaning lady
Or the next traveler.

I’m a textbook pimp.
They earn me something
For some time
And then become useless.
Read’em and sell’em
To the next pupil in need.

Why hold on to something
I’ll never hold again?
If you love’em, set’em free – right?

Only with poetry books
I have the most passionate affairs.
Addictions I can’t shake nor sate.
Read’em and keep’em
And return to them, eventually.
I’ll afford one more
That’ll make my heart coil and swell,
Unaccomplished and understood.
I’ll turn the same pages for years on.
Fingers baffled by the last verses
Anticipating the succeeding,
Like when you drag your skin
Over your most intimate lover’s body:
You know what you’ll find
And still your senses fray.

things I wasn’t supposed to tell myself so often

  • What are you, 12?!
  • Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh…
  • I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this…
  • What would Han Solo do?
  • Would my mom scoff or glare?
  • I better check Disney Wiki for this.
  • I forgot I wasn’t wearing sunglasses.
  • Woman up!
  • Was that flirting?
  • Was that an innuendo?
  • Maybe I was humming Backstreet Boys again.
  • Look smug, they won’t figure.
  • Did I already add salt?
  • People are so dumb.
  • People are so much cooler than me.
  • I’ll remember this, no need to write it down.
  • Dammit, how was it again?!