tânia carvalho Síncopa DANCE   “Heart and guts, legs and mouth get inside the bones. Each pool of blood, each corner of an eye, the sharpened nails, even the gasping nostrils, everything gets inside the bones. The opaque surface of the bones, stony and freezing, acknowledges no one’s presence. Thus you become alone. The confined, the inner gesture, nearly impossible, a gesture which is thought, merely thought, even though it can just about anything. Thus you become alone. Man alone is the dead side of himself that rots the resurrection. He contains the living side in the dead. He lives manifesting death. He becomes subversive, perverse, wrongly sad, wrongly convicted. Man alone fails through pain and will. He says: monster. Because man alone ends up no one and his own voice is incapable of illusion. He endures like someone who dies slowly and slowly devotes himself to the silence or the groan. Until he doesn’t say anything else in order to coincide entirely with whom he is. He does everything through the opposite. The confined, inner gesture touches man alone who handles the world as something secret, subterraneous, spiteful, waiting. Man alone can just about anything and implodes. He receives the house within himself. The rooms, the tables, the ceiling, the slanting window, the trap-door, inside the bones. Man alone touches and sinks down. The heart and guts among the boards in the floor, the knee-caps, the feet, the vanishing point on the horizon from the balcony above. Inside the bones. The stomach, the hunger, the dream within the hunger, the door of the house.” Valter Hugo Mãe