Duke the menace

[Duke of Buckingham]

Our defense is in the preservation of the spirit which prizes liberty as a heritage of all men, in all lands, everywhere. Destroy this spirit and you have planted the seeds of despotism around your own doors.

Abraham Lincoln

[Duke of Buckingham]

I am nothing.
I'll never be anything.
I can not wish to be anything.
Apart from that, I have in me all the dreams of the world.

Windows of my room,
From my room in one of the world's millions nobody knows about
(And if they knew who he is, what would they know?)
Give to the mystery of a street continually crossed by people,
To a street inaccessible to all thoughts,
Real, impossibly real, certain, unknowingly certain,
With the mystery of things beneath the stones and beings,
With death by moisture on the walls and white hair of men
With Destiny driving the wagon of everything down the road to nowhere.

Today I am defeated, as if he knew the truth.
Today I am lucid, as if to die,
And had no more kinship with things
Otherwise a farewell, becoming this building and this side of the street
A row of carriages of a train, and whistled a match
From inside my head,
And a jolt of my nerves and a creak of bones as we go.

Today I am puzzled, as one who wondered and discovered and forgot.
Today I am torn between the loyalty I owe
At Tobacconist across the street as the real thing on the outside,
And the feeling that everything is a dream, like the real thing inside.

I failed at all.
As I had no aims, maybe everything was nothing.
Learning that I was given,
I descended from the window at the back of the house.
I went to the field with great intent.
But there I found only herbs and trees,
And when we had was the same as another.
Walk out the window, I sit in a chair. In what shall I think?

What do I know of that will be, I do not know what I am?
Be what I think? But I think to be so much!
And there are many so who think the same that can not have so many!
Genius? In this moment...
A hundred thousand brains are conceived in a dream of geniuses like me
And the story does not score, who knows, neither one
Not only will many of manure future conquests.
No, I do not believe in me.
In all there crazy insane asylums with so many certainties!
I, who have no certainty, I am more certain or less certain?
No, not me ...
How many garrets and non-garrets of the world
There are geniuses at this time-for-dreaming selves?
How many high aspirations and noble and lucid -
Yes, truly high and noble and lucid -
And who knows if achievable,
Never see the light of the sun will find real nor heard of us?
The world is for those who born to conquer
And not for those who dream that can win it, even if you're right.
I have dreamed more than Napoleon did.
I tightened the chest hypothetical more humanities than Christ
I have made no secret philosophies Kant wrote.
But I am, and perhaps will always be, of the attic
Although we do not live in it;
I will always be what he was not born for this;
I will always be just what had qualities;
I will always be what you hoped it would open the door at the foot of a wall without a door,
And sang the song of the infinite in a poultry
And God heard the voice of a well covered.
Believe me? No, not at all.
Pour me over the head Still Burning
Your sun, your nature, I think the wind in the hair,
And the rest that will come up, or have to come or not come.
Slaves heart of stars,
We conquered the world before we get out of bed;
But woke up and it was opaque,
We rose and it was strange,
We left the house and it is our whole earth,
More solar system and the Milky Way and the Indefinite.

(Eat chocolates, small children;
Eat chocolates!
Look, there is no metaphysics in the world but chocolates.
Look, what all religions do not teach more than confectionery.
Eat, dirty child, eat!
I could eat chocolates with the same truth that eat them!
But I think, and to get the silver paper, which is tin foil,
I lay everything to the ground, as I have done with life.)

But at least is the bitterness than I'll never be
The fast handwriting of these verses,
Broken door for the Impossible.
But at least consecrate myself contempt without tears
Noble at least in broad gesture that shoot
The dirty laundry that I am, in roll, to the course of things,
And stay home shirtless.

(You who consoles that do not exist and therefore consoles
Or Greek goddess, statue that was conceived as living
Or Roman patrician, impossibly noble and nefarious,
Or Princess troubadours, very kind and colorful,
Or Marquise eighteenth century, low-cut and distant,
Or famous courtesan of the time of our fathers,
Or do not know what modern - well not conceive what -
All this, whatever it is, you are, we can inspire to inspire!
My heart is poured a bucket.
As those who invoke spirits invoke spirits invoke
The myself and find nothing.
Come to the window and see the street with absolute clarity.
I see the stores, see the rides, see the cars that pass,
I see the living beings who cross dresses,
I see dogs that also exist,
All this weighs on me as a condemnation to exile,
And all this is foreign to everything.)

I lived, studied, loved and even believed,
And today there is no beggar I do not envy not only be me.
Each eye to the rags and the wounds and lies
And I think, perhaps never lived nor estudasses neither amasses or cresses
(Because you can do all this without actually doing any of that);
Maybe you have only existed as a lizard who cut the tail
And that is to short tail lizard remexidamente

Made me who did not know
And he could do for me I did not.
The domino dress that was wrong.
They met me just for who was not and did not deny it, and I lost myself.
When I wanted to take off the mask,
I was stuck to my face.
When I took it and found myself in the mirror,
He had aged.
He was drunk, did not know how to wear the costume that had not taken off.
I threw the mask and slept in the locker room
Like a dog tolerated by management
For being harmless
And I write this story to prove that I am sublime.

Musical essence of my useless verses,
I wish I could find me as something I did,
And not always stay in front of the front Tobacconist,
Trampling underfoot the consciousness of existing,
As a carpet in a drunk stumbles
Or a doormat that gypsies stole and worthless.

But the Master of the Tobacconist came to the door and stood at the door.
I look at him with his head barely turned deconforto
And with the discomfort of half-grasping soul.
He will die and I'll die.
He will leave the tablet, I will let the verses.
At one point the tablet die too, the verses too.
After some time die the street where the sign was,
And the language in which the verses were written.
Die after the rotating planet where all this happened.
In other satellites of other systems something like people
Continue doing things like poems and living under things like tablets,

Always one thing facing each other,
Always one thing as useless as the other,
Always the impossible as stupid as reality,
When the mystery of the fund as sure as the mystery of sleep surface,
Always this or always or else neither one thing nor the other.

But a man has entered the Tobacco Shop (to buy tobacco?)
And plausible reality suddenly hits me.
Semiergo me energetic, convinced, human,
And I will try to write these verses which say otherwise.

I light a cigarette to think about writing them
And savor the cigarette to release all thoughts.
I follow the smoke as a route of its own,
And joy, a time sensitive and competent
The release of all speculations
And the awareness that metaphysics is a consequence of not feeling well.

Then I lie down in the back seat
And still smoking.
While the Target grant mo, keep on smoking.

(If I married the daughter of my laundress
Maybe it was happy.)
Seen it, I get up from the chair. I go to the window.
The man left the Tobacconist (putting change in pocket of pants?).
Oh, I know him, he is Esteves without metaphysics.
(The Owner of Tobacco came to the door.)
As per a divine instinct, Esteves turned and saw me.
He waved me goodbye, I shouted him Goodbye Esteves O!, And the universe
Rebuilt to me without ideal or hope, and Owner of Tobacco smiled.

Álvaro de Campos, 01/15/1928

[Duke of Buckingham]

[Duke of Buckingham]

[Duke of Buckingham]

The doctors decided after a lot of analyses that I am going to make a surgery and that will be soon enough. I was not posting for a small while and that it is for today also except for this two posts, I just made. Keep on going.

[Fire$torm]

Best wishes Duke. We'll keep the light on for you.

F$

[Duke of Buckingham]

Merry Christmas to all of you.



and don't forget that he was born one day but the main reason he is important, is how he lived and why he died.



Love your brother and shine...

Respect all men, all religions and learn to love

as you wish to be loved ...

Ricardo Ferreira

[Duke of Buckingham]

My ice cream.

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[Duke of Buckingham]

My ice cream.


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[Duke of Buckingham]

The Crazy Duke is back.

Very Crazy Duke

Wake up every morning with the thought that something wonderful is about to happen.