do corpo, não te condeno morta me dou. arruina-me na distância frígida desse nosso encontro e me recompenso com fumaça seca e estridente que preenche esse corpo sem lágrimas sem som.
How is it, when we cannot escape?
When life assumes so incredibly huge proportions that one simply cannot stop it?
That is us, when masks remain for so long over our faces that we forget what is under it.
And here comes my solution: one should appear naked on a blind spot and ask oneself: how do I stack up now?
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