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1. |
Lamento da Inocência
05:30
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Que eu tivesse morrido no ventre de minha mãe. Que eu tivesse morrido criança. Que eu fosse outro alguém, para não ter este fardo. Nada no mundo me alegra.
Que eu tivesse morrido no berço. Podres as frutas entre as minhas pernas. O monstro que eu sou, ninguém pode amar. Que eu pudesse enterrar os ossos desta dor, e para o mundo não voltar.
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2. |
Deprivation
08:15
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Gentleness is really all I have, care and scare, even silly playfulness. Yet as otters too close to the hunter’s tent, I am always on the verge of death. What else could I possibly perform to ensure and prove my intentions? Word travels faster than my steps, and hinder the welcome I am not allowed to have. What shame I bear is heavily forced upon me, the faerie that spoils the virtues of men.
Has my kindness posed a threat to you? Were the morning bells chiming clear to herald my coming here? From out of the swamp I crossed the boundaries unknowing if I could ever be so bold. Now here I stand, and all who see cross themselves, for I am the hexed child of worlds, one step upon each of the sides, graciously in-between the horrors of sex, bearer of fruits that rot the bunch.
Hunters, gather wood and oil, the faithless woodland sprite has come! Dethrone her of her un-gendered scum and keep close watch so she won’t return.
Trusting my good judgment not to say or do the wrong thing, sailing across the waters of unjustified distrust. Will it ever be my fate to live apart from you? I wish that I was dead, entombed in a kinder doom.
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3. |
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Recompose, sister, for these are the sacrifices women make. Do not allow their pain to blur their purposes to you. Bear the hurt as you must, for such is our burden; and from the vessel cracks your light shines (wonderfully) through.
We mother every injustice, our scent is of indignation. We tend for the wounds of the world, and we suffer the blows of its growth. Yet harken, sister, for we must abide to this feminine decree: we care for things that out-love us in the end.
Open yourself to what this suffering means, decipher the mystery of harshened words. Those who leave must fare for themselves. Understand that nothing may darken your will, and whatever you gave as a gesture of truth: for love is patient and wise, and it never goes to waste.
Perhaps not from where you poured it, but love will return to you. We are linked by the bonds of grief, and all our labours will turn to ruin. Yet know, my fair sister, that good will won’t go unheeded. It will find its way back, and your heart will fill once again.
Breathe, sister, even more if you loved a man, for men were born from the veins of our care, and depart with sheer disregard. Our world differs, and we cannot abide there, yet from ours they came, and return before the end.
Stronger, sister, this pain is yours to feel. The only way ahead is through it. Go, sister, and don’t let it make you falter. Our path is a saddening one, but one we must all take.
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4. |
Boyish Blood I
02:10
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In the endless aeons of my loneliness, I learned this spell from mothers old. That after three days of maceration, he would rise from the form.
A cat of dark fur and herbs of strange lore, all neatly stacked inside a coffin crate; leave the fumes to work at their pace, and the Moon to energize.
Yet all witches know this: only sacrifice moves things. To brew wood magic and spells of love, only your hand can be the toll.
But something must be wrong with my formerly boyish blood. And the twitching bones and wet fur, all shed to a disgraceful sight.
Grown all sick and beyond ugliness, what horror have I conjured here?! The enchanted prince of charm and love is but a penis, blood and nothing more.
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5. |
Spring Elsewhere
03:40
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6. |
The Furtive Lover
06:05
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He came with the first light of spring,
When the boughs gently rose from their icy sleep.
He spiraled a ring around my twig-finger,
And said “love, until the day I die”.
He pulled down the curtain of still rain,
And curled upon my breast like a rabbit.
He was the first flush of the season,
The only man I would ever have.
Lulling spells that made him stay
Were weaved by powers beyond my care,
When in the secrecy of loneliness
His gestures somehow waned.
I would be the furthest thing away
From Love’s promise and maiden charms.
As would all the mothers say,
I could not be the vessel for the needs of men.
Yet by the river his raft surely comes
Greeted by the otters’ trust.
And near the hour when no-one sees,
He is content with what I’ve been brewing all day.
Sad is the bane of women such as me
Who harbour the hatred of noble and fragile masculinity,
Ever hiding below the layered skirts
The cruelest apple of immense disgust.
How would I give away a love that is in decay,
The things no-one would care to hear?
Only hidden he comes,
Bearing flowers of his steady pride.
For such is the trade for not being alone,
I must tend for the guarded secret of our bones.
Then, and only then would he enter my den
And share with me the ever-lovely degree
Of the gentleness everyone denied me.
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7. |
Rusalka
06:40
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Arm yourself, boy, and come at once. What is the matter with you, do as I say! She comes with the wall of night, and she’s the disgrace and ruin of us all. Bring your blade lad, be quiet and come! Come away and be done with her.
Some say she’s a wailing girl who drowned herself in the river. Folk used to say she drifts like flotsam, singing of her tragedies. They’d never say what has really come to pass, why her sheeted ghost remains. Few know the truth, the dreadful truth of being brutalized by fear and contempt.
Bring your spear, what is wrong with you?! There be fog on the brook tonight. That which is dead may die again, come away to the rivers’ edge. The critters all do her bidding, beware of teeth and fur-coated imps. There she stays, luring boys like you to their deep, watery graves.
Women’s fate are mingled with sorrow, there can be no other way. To be done with hand and blade out of masculine hate, and become the stuff of tales. Distorted stories and lies abound, there’s no-one to bring light to the truth. No honor, the water signs written backwards, mystified to conceal what lies beneath.
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8. |
Boyish Blood II
02:10
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Na imensurável era da solidão, com mães este feitiço eu aprendi. Que após três dias de maceração, ele se ergueria em moção. Um gato preto e ervas de montão, tudo colocado em um caixão, deixa o vapor fumegar, e a Lua energizar. Mas disso toda bruxa sabe: para funcionar só sacrifício. Para ferver feitiço de amor, só a tua mão paga o ofício. Mas algo deve estar errado com meu prévio sangue macho. E os ossos retorcidos e úmidos descascaram em horríveis visões. Crescido todo torto e feio, que terror eu conjurei?! O príncipe de charme e amor é só um pênis, sangue, que horror...
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9. |
Gentle Spells
02:40
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10. |
The Water Sign
05:10
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To always find a way, even when the boundaries constrict the flow. To find within patience the will to remain, to stand stiller than bones. To transform the matter of emotion, spiraling upwards and further down. To scatter and reach every place at all times.
To run deep when we can’t run wide, to take the forms of the outside. To nurture everything around, and harbour dreads and joys not ours. To envelop and surround, to penetrate and dwell inside. To see the truth in all things, to veil secrets no-one knows.
To find peace from inside the most horrifying states. To quench the storms that disfigure the heart. To guard the birth of waiting things, to be the wells of all waving wills. To understand the love about, and never find love for us. To suffer by fate, forever, forever, forever.
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11. |
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Leaves are raining down
And all critters are fast asleep
The gentle spells that hang upon the wood
Are faint and lost their imposing warmth
Nothing comes this way
Yet out of the shack I venture
Past the rivers and knolls
Where he might be
I follow the trail of stumps
And search for the iron blows of his might
All growing things are hurt by him
Even my growing wish to get near
He tells me amidst the pipesmoke
“Sprite, all dead wood must fall
For new things to grow and thrive”
Such are the perils of his toil
I am the witchbride
Veiled and unrequited
He’s really all I could ever hope for
For I am always relentlessly alone
And at this point I fear
That this might never, ever change
This wooden heart craves for his axe
To cut through the bark and find life within
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12. |
A Minor Surgery
01:25
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Woodcutter, pray tell me, could you cut down a branch for me?
Woodcutter, pray tell me, could you chop off a tree for me?
Woodcutter, pray tell me, could you axe a pesky stump for me?
Woodcutter, this way it is, it grows between my legs.
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13. |
Lobinho
04:55
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Aguaceiro
Rebenta a costa de marfim
Nevoeiro
Esconde em véu quem vem para mim
Ai, saudade
Será que um dia vai mudar
Teimo chorar
Lembrando quem não vai voltar
Lobinho enciumado
Foi embora com o bando
Da minha casa ao lado
Do rio debulhando
De tanta lágrima que brotou
Guardando a sede que me matou
Tu não te lembras
Que um dia de mim gostou?
O mundo gira feito manivela
Como o cantar de uma viela
E eu desespero sem saber
Se um dia acaba este sofrer
Lobinho foi, não volta mais
Sobrou um rombo em minha paz
A casa quieta esfria assim
Como um poço de dor sem fim
Eu lembro bem e clareado
O cílio longo e retesado
No meu seio aninhado
Quietinho, precioso, amado
Um dia quis me ter assim
Depois levou o amor de mim
Broto da falta cultivou
E hoje é árvore, e sombra eu sou
Se eu soubesse que ia ser
A última vez que iria te ver
Ai hanino, o que eu não teria feito
Para te guardar no fundo do peito
Ah, lobinho
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14. |
Shack of Bones
02:15
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How long can these bones wait
To flourish anew
Did their dust ever wonder
They would turn into bones
Building a shack of self-hatred
Did they ever think they would hate
Hate what they patiently built
Pressing themselves against one another
How deep can this hatred delve
How long will this body be quiet
I said, "body it takes me time
It takes me time to learn to love you"
And it sank upon itself
In fawn-like childish shame
And it replied, "I've been waiting
Waiting all my life for this"
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15. |
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16. |
Waiting on a Friend
08:10
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Could it ever be something else?
Something else entirely
For years it has been this tortuous walk
Threading across engulfing despair
No, I won’t be swayed by the lures of empty vowels
You must hold far more than that
I shall not be enticed by a honey-eyéd countenance
You must bring healthier men to your cause
For to pass the gilded gates unarmed
There’s a harder shell that calcified the heart
You must lay bare your desire to come
To stand before the marred girl
All I wanted was to be your friend
For I never had that many
Get me right, it is only friendship that I seek
And truth, and not being something to hide
I am waiting on a friend
In such timeless wait
Here are the bones salt made of your hair
You have gone much too far
Past the encircling bind of the world
Come back, girl, at once
Back to the safety of the loneliest shores
Where you’ve been driven to out of contempt
And starrified this unwanted home
It will never change.
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Through Waves Curitiba, Brazil
Through Waves is the therapeutical art of brazilian vielleuse Raine Holtz.
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