terça-feira, 28 de fevereiro de 2017

Thank you for the mistakes - from now on I'll call them experiences.

The White Stripes - Jolene

Understand

Do you understand how lost we are, how lost we'll remain? Are you still faithful to your hope that life will come to straighten out in the end? Travel and get to know this world. In the end you'll see that I'm not so bad. Then get to work on the hope that it won't be too late - you see, wolves don't stay at the same spot for a long period of time.

The Racounteurs - Broken Boy Soldier

quinta-feira, 12 de janeiro de 2017

Remember to smile


Remember to smile.
Your smile brightens up a room,
It shines brighter than the sun,
They'll all see it soon,
You are the light of men.

Take the toll of your living
And forget your past misgivings,
For you, my beacon, are the reason I'm breathing
And ever day-dreaming.

So remember to smile,
Stay here and let me live for a while,
For many moons have passed and you are gone,
Many ghosts have haunted me to cut me to the bone,
On my many mistakes have I brooded upon,
But now I want to care only to smile
Just to imagine you'll stay for a while.

Take It Back - Pink Floyd

segunda-feira, 8 de agosto de 2016

Death Accepted



Of all the roads I took the less travelled,
Burnt everything along the way,
Paid no mind where the other roads led.

Let nothing in my way sway,
No bugs to drain my blood,
No monsters to devour my will.

Only the shadows stayed along the road,
Danced all the way to express the thrill
Of a dead man walking, drowing in jealousy.

Everything's over, the world is no more,
And here I am, pressing further my envy
For those able still in her skies to soar.

Of all the roads I took the less travelled,
Burnt every bridge along the way,
Laid down in a clearing, death accepted.


Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence - Ryuichi Sakamoto 

segunda-feira, 16 de maio de 2016

Drifting from Utopia


Only those who don't know Utopia write its name. It's land of the equal, the land of the same. Same colours, same rights, same laws. Personality it's a flaw, individuality is banished. You can break the law yet still walk "freely". But you cannot be happy. I've seen it with my eyes. Touched it with my hands. You can feel the shame of the slaves. The indifference of the free. Their wits, abundant, without doubt, are outclassed by their lack of humanity. In that cursed island only despair did I feel. Trapped in land surrounded by water with living dolls. Their eyes are empty, their smiles are hollow. They feel nothing. Only turmoil could conquer that land and make it human again. For it is human nature to crave and cause chaos. To disrupt Nature's order is our own nature. Utopia breaks that basic human instinct. Utopia is not a place of freedom, of perfection, of peace. Utopia is the very definition of human chaos. The standstill of human's evolution.

I dare say, as I slowly drift from the island, free of its torments, that it's a nightmarish sight to see such calculated civility. Meritocracy without doubt. But also the corruptibility of such a perfect life that it has forgotten the basic law of nature. The strong against the weak. Do the wolves not hunt the rabbits? Are the bears not wolves' natural foes? Do we all not turn to dust once we're dead? So quickly and feverish did they look to seek out and erase all that's unclear and evil in this world that they forgot where they came from and where we all end. For mortality is what defines us. We should embrace it. Live with it. But they spurn from this basic law of nature. Immortality is reserved to the trees and skies. Stones, however, can be broken for they are without soul. Stones can be thrown, utopians have done it so when shaping their walls. They are those stones. Without soul. Corrupted when trying to clean themselves of the shame of humanity. Corrupting still when paying their foes to fight their wars and wars of others, to die foolishly while they seat and feast with empty glasses and empty laughter. Maybe this is a hint of humanity. Maybe this is their ray of humanity. Slowly am drifting from their island as the sun shines from between the clouds and I do dare to hope. Hope one day I'm safe from the madness I here saw. Hope one day people will know the true Utopia, the empty and delusional Utopia.

Epica - This is The Time

quarta-feira, 20 de abril de 2016

A queda dos gigantes


É engraçado ver o mundo a desmoronar-se. Não literalmente. Não me refiro à queda literal de pedaços enormes de terra e pedra ou o movimento frequente das placas tectónicas. Refiro-me mais à queda do império da electricidade e internet. Aquilo que foi libertado para o mundo para ser usado como referência de liberdade e para servir como ferramenta para a expansão do nosso conhecimento foi convertido no que mais faz de nós mortos-vivos. O que é irónico tendo em conta a quantidade de séries romantizadas que saem todos os anos a descrever cenários pós-apocalípticos (algo que se aproxima cada vez mais com a possibilidade de Trump se vir a tornar presidente dos Estados Unidos). O mais estranho nesta situação é que as pessoas, estes mortos-vivos que acabei de referir, mais imaginam e desejam que algum cenário pós-apocalíptico aconteça. Como se uma série aligeirada de forma a não ferir audiências mais sensíveis que pinta um cenário mais que negro bastasse, a audiência dessa série (que não é pouca) ainda sonha com a possibilidade de acontecer mesmo. Isto acontece porque todos queremos ser os protagonistas. Mostrar que temos valor. Mostrar que frente à adversidade nos conseguimos superar e ser mais do que somos actualmente. Até nos dizemos que não o somos já porque temos o trabalho e o cão e falar com aquele na internet, estar ao telemóvel com o outro. Ninguém vê a ironia de que nesse cenário não existiria electricidade quanto mais internet ou telemóveis. Isso seria o verdadeiro caos: passar um dia desligado das tecnologias. Será que o Sol tem uma entrada usb? Talvez assim conseguisse carregar o telemóvel...

Não somos todos assim. Sinceramente, gostava de me enquadrar mais no "somos" do que no "são".  Muitos (que não eu) usam a internet de uma forma positiva. Aqueles que conhecem a internet para além da wikipedia e facebook. Esses são verdadeiros heróis. Aqueles que partilham conhecimento ou que simplesmente o procuram, que aproveitam estas novas tecnologias para crescerem tanto como pessoa como financeiramente. Há todo o tipo de pessoas a navegar por aqui (esta é a parte em que imaginam que eu disse algo absolutamente inspirador que vos faz pensar em que tipo de pessoa online são. Força, pensem nisso, eu dou-vos um bocado de tempo).  Aproveito para dizer que sou o hipócrita. É esse o tipo de pessoa que sou. Uso as tecnologias, especialmente o meu computador, para jogar e procrastinar e inventar desculpas para não escrever (isto torna-se especialmente difícil quando não se tem um cão para passear ou não se liga muito aos amigos.) Mas depois consigo vir para o meu blogue online escrever um texto enorme e aborrecido de como se devia largar as tecnologias e ver o mundo lá fora. No entanto. consigo compreender como uma pessoa pode passar pouco tempo à frente de um ecrã. Consigo ver como há pessoas com estilos de vida bastante diferentes ou que já trabalham com computadores e que, quando chegam a casa, é a última coisa que querem ver à frente. Muito honestamente, com o número de pessoas que vão contra mim na rua e nos centros comerciais porque estão demasiado agarrados ao telemóvel até consigo detestar facilmente as pessoas que não o fazem e rapidamente julgá-los sem saber a razão. Só não perdoo os adolescentes, esses não fazem um cu da vida!

Hoje em dia estamos no cume da montanha das possibilidades. Não só do conhecimento. Também de mudar de vida, ser mais e melhor. Há quem arranje desculpas (como eu, que digo que nada sai) e há quem tenha um plano. Infelizmente, há mais pessoas que caem na minha filosofia de vida do que nas que têm uma filosofia de vida funcional. No meio disto tudo acaba por nascer o ódio próprio (se este termo não existir vou registá-lo e ganhar milhões). Nada é funcional com ódio próprio. Mas isto será um problema que lidarei noutra altura. Sabia que tinha de escrever alguma coisa e foi isto que saiu. É sempre mais divertido do que mais um texto de como uma paixão não deu frutos (como se não tivesse escrito o suficiente disso).

Acho engraçado ver o mundo a desmoronar-se e culpo os tablets, os smartphones, os computadores e a preguiça geral que veio com a internet e a forma como as pessoas a usam. É errada. É tudo mais fácil, mas não é por isso que não se deve sair ao mundo num dia de Primavera a cheirar a Verão e perceber que os raios de sol não vêm com "free wifi", só uma energia ilimitada e um mundo lá fora para explorar. É lá que os miúdos devem estar, a rir-se às gargalhadas de andarem a brincar à apanhada, não colados à televisão a ver um dos vinte mil canais infantis ou agarrados ao tablet a jogar o novo jogo fácil e com muitas cores. Não que não possa ser educacional, mas qualquer dia  nascem humanos alérgicos a oxigénio e à luz do Sol. Saiam de casa, bebam um café numa esplanada e deixem o telemóvel em casa. Percam-se uma vez (falo com experiência nisto, o meu sentido de orientação é inexistente) e vejam onde o passeio vos leva.

domingo, 28 de fevereiro de 2016

Withered

The rain is idle from this starry night. The crumbled buildings gave way to shattered glass and dreamless slumbers. The sky above as dark as the ground beneath. Atop the hill one stares at the sky, seeking for answers, praying to some false man-made god. As my world died, so did my beliefs. So I grew in this withered, perilous world. Ashamed of my past, I ran. Ashamed still, I grew to be suspicious and to hate everyone and everything. If only I didn't miss what I barely remember. Sunny days under the cover of bliss. Surely something must've been wrong then. But they hid it. They never told me. I used to go to sleep to dream of the happy day that the morrow would bring. I knew no worries. But corrosive the loneliness was inside me. I never forgot it. I know it still. It's my best friend, never leaves my side. As I throw a smile away I remember that this is just another day. My mind has to end for my soul to fly again. The monumental fell. It will rise again next week. Further silence to be noticed. I dive myself deep within me, exploring deeper still, seeking some place to hide and stay until it's safe to live.

segunda-feira, 22 de fevereiro de 2016

Monumental

Aside what I want, they wish me to conquer! Conquer?, I say, my words full of dismay, still fearing the worst. They expect more. More of me. More than I ever was. More than I ever wished to be. Now I struggle for silence is not an apt answer and no answer is apt to their wishes. The question will remain in the air. But what question? They demand it! If I label it a wish they protest, if I call it a payment they sneer. What to do? Words to say. I am but one man, alone in my universe. Beyond silence, monumental pain, they await me to formulate a phrase, sounds to spill from my mouth. What to say? I cannot escape from witnessing the undoing of my deed.

Mastodon - The Czar

quinta-feira, 14 de janeiro de 2016

Burning bridges

Bridge burning and there's only enough time to cross it by running. Bellow the river runs furiously, a hundred kilometres away, hiding the rocks, involving the darkness, witnessing death. The time to talk is over, the guns have been shown, the teeth in a grin and grinding. Everything went wrong as the west wind blew the sand to cover the eyes. The anger of men, their pride and fury, will their final downfall. I quietly watch the battle run its course from the other side. Can't seem to shake the feeling of being there at the same time. All the talk for none of the action, silence will dominate the bloody battlefield as swords clash.
Bridge burning and I can't seem to grab a hold of anything to save me. Too many ropes have been cut, too many wood planks have already fallen to the abyss. The dark, burnt bridge stands there as a representation of what once was. In its youth it was something strong, something that nothing could shake. As time passed rain came and sun cleansed it of the heavy drops. Degradation became part of the usual circle of the seasons. No one cared, everyone was far too busy burning other bridges and using the remnants to mend others and build new ones. Left to stand alone, the bridge started burning when it finally decided it was time to be forgotten.
Bridge burning and I grab to a rope, pull with all my strength and try to make a knot around the trunk on my side. The rope pulls me to the abyss as the west wind takes flight once again. Eyes closed, facing the darkness. The only light in the fall is of the fire that slowly consumed the bridge, now ceasing its existence as it falls into the water and rocks. In the fall I see the faces of all the deceased that died in the burnt bridge. Their grins, their laughter, the way they scream and shout "you're one us, you've always been one of us" has me shaking my heading and screaming no. The bridge is still burning and I wonder if there's time to put out the fire. There's a river approaching me.

Foo Fighters - Bridge Burning 

quarta-feira, 9 de dezembro de 2015

Tell No Tale

The end of things is the expected death of the soul. Something fades and all of a sudden you're in the fog that gives and takes life. You wish to see it wither, you wish it'd last long after the buildings and the concrete that surrounds you. You're framed by your expectations. One way or another you lose. 

A shadow stands in the middle of the street. The fog covers all and the light is dim. Still the little girl approaches, curiosity conquering the fear. The shadow mumbles something to the air.

- The lines intertwine and form a knot. There's no logic in this. What's the purpose? There's nowhere to go, nothing to follow...

- Hello. Are you lost?

Two white spheres fly around the seemingly round shape of the shadow, finally stopping as if forming two lines looking straight at the little girl. It sees the shape of a little human, hood over the head protecting the head from the falling snow and the cold, gloves on her hands that so strongly hold and protect the brow teddy bear that protects the little girl. The two spheres fly over the shape and scrutinize the little girl.

- An anomaly. A strange anomaly. Hello, little girl. Are you lost?

- No, I live here right there. You're strange. Are you lost?

- Not lost. Confused maybe. Is this life?

- Of course it is, silly. The moon, the starts, the light, even the fog. But the fog is scary.

- Really? I find such a fog a rare comfort in my travels. Would you be kind enough explain to me life?

- Life is a camp of flowers, it's sleeping in bed with teddy, it's looking at the stars at night.

- I heard you only live once.

- Yes, but once it starts it's forever.

The shadows lost its round shape and took on the form a tall human.

- I'm puzzled. How can it be forever?

- Because in life you find one love. Once you love it's forever. And if you lose it, well, then you're really dead. For life without love is impossible.

- Does it hurt?

- Life? No. Love? My mommy says that sometimes yes, other times no. But she always loves me. Death is the worst though.

- And how do you know you're alive?

- Because I love my teddy. He's my best friend. He's warm at night and he's kind to me and he never hits me back if I hit him. He's always there for me, no matter how much I hurt him.

- I see. I am not dead then. For I love something. But I seemed to have reached a point of no return where I can never get it back.

- Why not?

- I don't grasp it completely. But it seems to be one of those grown-up things where if you love it you have to let it go.

- That's stupid.

The shadow seemed to look at the girl with a startled look. The spheres flew over to its back and he mumbled on.

- Not an anomaly. It's but the cold grasp of death pulling me nearer to its side.

With this it disappeared into the fog as if it had been nothing but a strange dream, a tale you should never tell.