“In my dreams …. I wake up with a bird’s head in my hands, it makes me exhausted, burns my hands, but I can not let go. She leaves my dream, while I try to return to the dream, maybe now let’s get together … trapped between the spaces. ”

“Let the Ritual Begin!”

“Bogorodtze!”

“On a sleepless night with no moon, I woke up in a village, fog, wooden houses, cold and blue on all sides. The cold morning light brought my grandfather, who quietly helped me wake me up and invites me to meet an old weaver, he did not introduce me like this, but she looked like his mother. People were looking at her curiously, fingers fast, looking solemn lake in the mountains, there was a legend that their incomes brought luck and that they said something about future My grandfather abandoned me and let go of my fingers as if I felt every particle of separation. Before me, dark, mysterious, and slightly decadent, like most temples, I penetrated Inside, without people, diffused colors, benches of other ages, there was at the center a priest apparently blind, arms outstretched like a divinity that offered me two images: The first, to my right a cage covered with purple velvet cloth, inside a majestic bird At the other end, on the left, a fighting scene presented me with two large dead corpses, dead with their wings open and limbs up. In one of them there was an egg, half off, half still inside the creature. And then I woke up … ”

“I am my ancestors and they are me. I am in them and they are always with me, because they live within me. I am the ancient people and the ancient people are me. I have lived in them and they live within me today.”

“Around the corner, in the lighthouse of the elephant dunes …”

“They say there was a circus, vinegar, Indians, spells, a golden tooth, a queen, 12 pineapples in one hand, and a Negro hunted to death.” There were people from afar who crossed oceans, there were people on earth! The eyes were many colors and scars, no one was the same, some came from other ages, from other worlds, but I understood what they said as if the years did not matter and the souls could only to take advantage of the brief time they would have together. I knew only the shadows of others, the weight of my hand, the words that bleed war myths, hunger for times, threats and the silence of untold stories that blended with the noise of a place on the corner of the tropics The hope came from paper windows, shadows of a world hitherto imagined The houses were low, they grew with the years, and the trees diminished as did the children. co ntinuam there … I still remember them and following your words, some I follow to the soul! I am part of them and they are part of me. And even when I can not be among them I feel your kiss in the wind. And if someday love asks me to choose … poor and lonely will become. ”

“Bewitched …”

“Head…”

“In my dreams …. I wake up with a bird’s head in my hands, it makes me exhausted, burns my hands, but I can not let go. She leaves my dream, while I try to return to the dream, maybe now let’s get together … trapped between the spaces. ”

Texts: excerpts from the book “The Bird of Fire” by Thiago Cóstackz

Works: “Saga – Spell, Shaman and Shadows”
Performance: Thiago Cóstackz
Photo: Lienio Medeiros and Creative Images.