Rio de Janeiro

O único final feliz para uma história de amor é um acidente

Published on February 10th of 2014 by JP Cuenca in Guest Languages.


Não posso vê‐la esta noite

Tenho que desistir

Então vou comer fugu

Yosa Buson (1716‐83)




Antes do sr. Atsuo Okuda abrir a caixa, tudo estava escuro.

Mais que isso: não havia nada para ser iluminado antes do sr. Okuda abrir a caixa. Se o sr. Okuda nunca houvesse aberto a caixa, nada existiria. O mundo só começou a partir do momento em que o sr. Okuda abriu a caixa e disse a palavra. Ele disse: Yoshiko.

E Yoshiko ficou sendo o meu nome.

Depois que o sr. Okuda disse Yoshiko, eu ganhei, além de um nome, muitos começos e um fim. Eu começo na ponta dos meus dedos, nos fios dos meus cabelos, na planta dos meus pés, nos bicos dos meus peitos, na pele que cobre o vazio que há no meu corpo e em toda a superfície … Read More »

The only happy ending for a love story is an accident (excerpt)

Published on February 10th of 2014 by JP Cuenca, Martin Caamaño and Elizabeth Lowe in Fiction.

J.P. Cuenca
translated by Elizabeth Lowe

Before Mr. Atsuo Okuda opened the box, everything was dark.
 In fact, there was nothing to be illuminated before Mr. Okuda opened the box. If Mr. Okuda had never opened the box, nothing would exist. The world began only at the instant that Mr. Okuda opened the box and said the word.

Daniela Lima

Published on November 20th of 2013 by Daniela Lima and Leah Leone in Poetry, Tongue Ties.

translated by Leah Leone

Diary of Vienna

A young boy carries a bucket of water. Its weight seems somehow lightened by the belief that the desiccated tree will come back to life if watered every day. The end of the story is less important than the image of his persistence—and his faith. I cannot conceive of anything more idiotic than faith, especially with respect to faits accomplis.  The tree is dead. The feeling I have is that death appropriates everything, as if taking something back something that had been his all along.

It is impossible to halt the processes that take over the body, after death. The body stops being a body, after death. Death arrogates the deepest, most intimate spaces. The darkness is complete, the silence, the body that continues but does not go on, after death. I am too … Read More »

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