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#QuemPensa é Spiralist: “Death of a Family Man”

#QuemPensa é Spiralist: “Death of a Family Man”

People mourned, trying to find a reason why.

There was something wrong in the household

In that chilly late November morning

It had been building up for ages

But no one could see it or be willing to


Witnessing decay at drying paint’s glacial pace

Excruciating even for the toughest of beasts

And not withstanding the unconscious cries for help

Demanded by his meekly feeble human nature

The man would not wash his misery all over others

Like a teenage drama addict


Rather unidentifiable by any particular characteristic

A consultant for some grey monolithical industry

Going out for sporadical social drinkings

But only in the eyes of the world


The suburbs were a risk

A sense of safety assured, even if false

Linear streets and standardized houses

Promising too much friendly contact and “How do you do?”s

Everyone knowing everyone better than themselves

No good place for evening wanderings disguised as meetings


Those social drinkings were not social

They were as lonely as it gets

The thoughts slumbered by the burning liquor

The body melting inside, common sense disappearing

A ritual hidden and practiced for months by then

Each night walking one step forward and two steps back

No one told him that the first way out

Was admitting that a problem existed

          But his problem was not what he consumed
          But rather what consumed him

And when it did, people mourned

Trying to find a reason why, speculating in uncertainty

Eventually they couldn’t figure it out

And they stopped trying

          Then they stopped mourning


That morning, his wife moaned

Turned her sleep-rusted body endlessly

Attempting to convince herself to seize the day

She called her husband to no avail

She tried a second time before opening her eyes

And realizing she was alone in the bedroom

Little did she know the previous night had been
The last in which her son and her would sleep like stones


Each day was heavier

The mask was too cracked already…

It finally fell to pieces that morning

By the solid, unforgiving grip of a rope

And minutes later a feminine ear-piercing shriek of anguish

Nearly cracked the walls and the windows as well

          It came out only a few minutes too late
          But it was enough not to save anything

The boy would remember that morning all too well

Having woken up by the sound of that shriek

Feeling a shiver down his spine

Laying still in bed for a few seconds

And then rushing like thunder to his mother

Each step and each breath chronicles of pain

Found her on the kitchen floor

On her knees, crying uncontrollably

And when his gaze lifted from the floor

He saw him better and clearer than ever

          Hanging above their heads like a petrified angel

Not a sound, not a movement

Not even a wind to swing his body graciously

          He was just there
          But he wasn’t


The following day, snow-covered streets and backyards

Smoke coming out of every breathing mouth

Though not much burying was needed in a day like that

The man deserved a proper farewell ceremony

Family, colleagues and bare acquaintances

A parade of dark and elegant suits and dresses

Poor boy, he looks so much like his father

Heard he time and time again that day


He knew he’d lost that image he mirrored so well forever

Half of his ground was gone now

It all felt so unbelievably unreal

Now that he stared at his descending body from above

          How to deal with something like that?
          How is a child supposed to do that?

The strangers disappeared as fast as they came

And then little by little so did everyone else

The following days were even colder and spent in doubt

The question was why and the answer found was none

People mourned, trying to find a reason why

Speculating in uncertainty

Eventually they couldn’t figure it out

And they stopped trying


          Then they stopped mourning.


Ana Durão – Nervoso, por sistema V