Arquivo da categoria ‘Prosa’

“Oh, meu corpo, faça sempre de mim um homem que interroga!” Frantz Fanon



Minhas experiências de leituras e diálogos

Narrativas Fotográficas & Outras Linguagens

Mac Adams Studio

Lançamento digital da Revista Penalux. Disponível para download:

Cores de Indochina

Publicado: novembro 27, 2018 em Prosa

Livro – Book trailer




Tradução – Thiago Santos




The work was the same every single day. We carried the seeds in large wicker baskets, wore fisherman pants and traditional cone-shaped Vietnamese hats. The seeds were put on plowed, muddy soil. Our feet stood submerged in mud. During working hours there was little talk and no dispersion. Thais are very shy, very dedicated to work. There is a kind of resignation concerning them which is difficult to depict.


I arrived early at the customs post. The controllers and the police looked sleepy and had grumpy expressions. I held my passport on the right hand, on the other I carried a small suitcase with clothes and objects of primary necessity. That was all. The officers searched everything I had in my bag and then the police found my passport and other documents. — Now you pass there at the counter and pay your entry fee to Cambodia -. After that I was released without further problems. While I was walking towards the baffle gates both the police and the controllers stared at me in a not so kind way.



Now I was on Cambodian land. There occurred something that I had already seen elsewhere. People selling trinkets and passers waliking from one side to the other at any moment. An old man smoking a hand-rolled cigarette, his skeletal face and a sad look, maybe circumspect, wearing tattered clothes and a faded, dirty Panama hat. A child wallows on the ground and now she looks like a young Chinese child with powder on the face, while across the street a mother calms down her crying kid and brings a rubber sandal with an elastic strap to hold the baby’s feet.


I was paralyzed when I came across the Ankor Temples. There laid a story that I barely knew.




During a fast barge ride one could see from a distance the stone walls along the Hà Long Bay.


Translated from Portuguese into English by Thiago Santos Cardoso on July 5, 2015,



El Caminante – e-galáxia, 2016

Publicado: setembro 18, 2016 em Prosa


Todos me reciben como se nunca hubiera salido de allí, pero saben que soy un caminante y no tengo parada obligatoria. Navego sobre fuertes tempestades y días imprevisibles. Vivo como un barco a la deriva. Mi camino es sin destino. Soy un caminante y me gusta quedarme entregado al sabor del viento. No uso brújula.


Me dijo que los campesinos trabajan de diez a doce horas por día en las plantaciones de arroz y en las haciendas de té que quedan en medio de una depresión alrededor de un peñasco a lo largo de un terreno accidentado; trabajan debajo de un sol tórrido que algunas veces pasa de los cuarenta grados Celsius. Trabajan descalzos con un pantalón doblado hasta la altura de la rodilla para mojarse solamente los pies, pisan descalzos dentro de las plantaciones, colocan las semillas de arroz o té, con los pies sumergidos en el fango.

Já disponível à venda em ebook nas lojas Amazon, Apple, Google play livros e Kobo, e em breve também nas livrarias Cultura e Saraiva.

Amazon (kindle)