Cover image: Illustration entitled “Hungry”, by Juliana Fernandes. Part of the book “Essay on the Now”, by the poet Tiago Fernandes.
At Casa Oxente, we believe that art is also about encounters, words and listening. soirees and conversation circles that we promote are spaces for sharing, celebration and thought — and often begin with a text that provokes, inspires or simply invites people to be present.
The text below, entitled “Impossible now”, was read at the opening of the Sarau on May 8th, with the poet Tiago Fernandes, who presented his book “Ensaio Sobre o Agora”. The following poem was written especially for this moment, as a poetic attempt to capture that which, by nature, escapes: time, the instant, the now.
Publishing it here is a gesture of continuity — so that the words echo beyond the night of the soiree and find new listeners, new times, new readers.
Impossible now
I think about the impossibility of now.
Of this illusion of time, which dissolves when touched, and which enchants poets, priests and philosophers.
Consider infinity: that which never ends, as there is always the possibility of a step further.
So is the now — impossible to pin down, because when you try to capture it, it has already become something else.
So where does now live? In just one second?
And what pulses between the seconds — the microseconds, the thousandths, the infinitesimal instants?
How many times fit into time, if at each instant it is possible to go beyond?
Unattainable, the now is also yesterday and tomorrow — simultaneous, jumbled together.
Therefore, I challenge anyone who says that living in the present is a possibility.
That's why I live here and there. I move forward, I retreat, I go up, I go down.
I stagger along the road of life — for centers are infinite and unattainable.
I like the time of physics, where there is no distinction between past, present and future.
At this time, what matters is the body, the space — and the positions it occupies along the way.
What matters is always the trajectory…
Naturally, if the now is impossible and infinite, we write about it in the hope of containing it.
But it escapes us.
He is risky, treacherous.
Maybe we should make a God out of now.
Build temples. Raise towers.
Writing books — with chapters, verses and dogmas.
Light fires. Heat ovens. Sacrifice the moment.
And then we will deny him worship.
We will make revolutions.
And we will all be atheists and agnostics from now on.
by Wilame Lima
(Read at the opening of the Sarau da Casa Oxente on May 8, 2025)