Ao Senhor do Adeus do Saldanha

Adeus, senhor do olá
Ao adeus,
Dos afagos no ar
A quem passa,
Solidões que se atravessam
Sem vêr.
Adeus, senhor do olá
Que toca
Sem saber, sabendo
Do amor que distribui
Por não ter a quem o dar,
Tendo tanto.
Adeus, senhor do olá
Que também passa,
Acariciando ao longe
Quem fica,
Passando
Esse amor
Sempre. 
Olá. :')


O Adeus, ao Sr. do ADEUS from João Nunes on Vimeo.

Celebration

If the war breaks
I will fight fiercely.
If the economy grows
I will invest everything.
If a disease spreads
I will treat my peer.
If a child is born
I will tell my stories.
If a catastrophe erupts
I will search for my fellows.
If a friend dies
I will comfort other.
If the world is in peace
I will give my hands.
If chaos prevails
I will lose my mind.
If flowers bloom
I will draw a smile.
If tears dry
I will sing my pain.
But always,
While life wants me,
I will celebrate you.

The Bomb

Absence. bleeding void.
Dry tears soak your soul.
Pictures of time that doesn't exist,
That never happened.
And a touch of smile
To the memories unknown.
Days of joy that are no more,
That never were.
And you're thankful.
Hallellujah!
You look around,
You see the world,
You see nothing.
Dance your sorrow.
Drink your pain.
Let it out!
Did you learn?
What is there to know? 
You've got nothing to lose!
Let it out!
Explode!
Die again...

Suicide Love

The roulette spinning.
He held my hand and said:
"Hi! My name is Suicide."
His sweet cutting look
Piercing the skin of my soul,
Colouring my transparent face,
Undressing my taboos.
The roulette spinning...
We jumped to the gambling table,
Spinning with the roulette,
To the sound of the truthful wine,
Fearless laughs and tears.
Sensing the feelings,
We fell dizzy in our bodies,
Tranquilly asleep.
The roulette spinning.
Before sunrise,
Suicide was gone...
Little children playing
Under the yellow morning light...
Memories of joy.
The roulette spinning
Beyond the clouds;
The world stopped!
He held my hand and said:
"Hey you! My name is Love."

The Love of My Life

I met B. on Chatroulette. We came across each other on the world wide digital randomness. After many "nexted" penisis, there he was, waving insults to all the uninteresting pass by genitals. I waved him back... One month later, I was flying to France to meet him on the real specific chosen place that is his home. B. revealed himself to be exactly who I'd met on the internet: a wisely silly wonderful man, beautiful, full of life, ideas and ideals. B. is the truth I seek in the world. B. is real. In me and on his own. He is my dream coloured by a whole lot of experiences and thoughts and beliefs that go beyond my imagination, overwhelming me. B. is the book that I have opened. We shared stories and music and bodies and food and films and theories and languages and football matches... We shared ourselves. He opened his home to me, I opened my heart to him. I brought him back. He kept me there. We seized the time. We lived the life. We loved.

--

As you grow up you learn to relativize everything. You seize things in due time and space and relate/ compare them with other things in your life. You appreciate, you don't give yourself in. Nothing is absolute or definitive. You're more conscious of yourself, of your life and your choices, of who you are and/ or want to be. And you are your silly friends, your conservative family, your hectic job, your loud music in your apple green scratched car, your singing Deolinda in the shower, your dancing while sweeping, your huge pile of unwashed dishes, your chair that should be taken to be repaired ages ago, your unread books, your favourite David Lynch movie, your peculiar taste for Mali's music, your beers in the fridge, your carpet in the living room, your friend visiting for a week or two, your yellow suitcase, your late nights on the computer... They are all your choices and you love each one. They are your life. And if you love your choices you love your life, you love yourself. But if you love...? Shouldn't you just appreciate? Not give yourself in? Nothing is absolute or definitive. Isn't it? You're more conscious of yourself now that you're growing... Are you? Didn't you just agree that nothing is absolute and definitive? Isn't that a choice too? Isn't it just relative?

--

I was asked today if I had ever found the love of my life: "Yes, I did.", I said, "Many times." :)

‘I Google You’

I Google you
late at night when I don’t know what to do.
I find photos
you’ve forgotten
you were in
put up by your friends.

I Google you
when the day is done and everything is through.
I read your journal
that you kept.
That month in France
I’ve watched you dance.

And I’m pleased your name is practically unique.
It’s only you and
a would-be PhD in Chesapeake
who writes papers on
the structure of the sun.
I’ve read each one.

I know that I
should let you fade
but there’s that box
and there’s your name.
Somehow it never makes the pain
grow less or fade or disappear.
I think that I should save my soul and
I should crawl back in my hole.
But it’s too easy just to fold
and type your name again.
I fear.
I google you
Whenever I’m alone and feeling blue.
And each scrap of information
That I gather
says you’ve got somebody new.
And it really shouldn’t matter
ought to blow up my computer
but instead...
I google you.

by Neil Gaiman

Bandeirinha

My name is A. I am a forty year old woman living in the US. I have two beautiful kids. I am divorced. And that's my fault.

I got married when I was thirty. It just felt right... Everyone my age was settling down. My friends, my sister, my colleagues at work... I felt it was time. And he was such a nice guy... I've trusted him from the beginning. I still do. And he loved me. He still does...

Everything seemed right. Family get-togethers, holidays with friends and their babies and ours, the house, the car, the cats... I couldn't take it anymore!!! I had it all! Yet, I had never felt complete... I carried on. My own parents are divorced and that still affects me. I didn't want that to my babies. I wish I could've avoided all this... Do I? When I decided to marry, a friend at work told me "be aware of who's around you". I tried to ignore. But those words got stuck in my head ever since. Yes, I was going by the book! No, I was not in love! Dear, what have I done?! What sort of person am I?! What am I teaching my kids? I took my decision and carried everyone around me with it. And everyone seemed to be happy about it. It all seemed so right. The right time. The right guy. The right dress. The right house. The right job. The right lie! And that lie was my life. It still is. Do I regret it? How can I?! My dear wonderful children were born out of it! And, being a lie or not, I lived that lie with honesty and truth. But it didn't feel right anymore. I wasn't happy. I am still not... I feel so lost! So human.

--
I've got this anti-depressive tour I take whenever the blues hit me hard. It goes from reading my book facing the river in the Palácio de Cristal gardens and ends up with a stroll through rua da Bandeirinha at sunset. It always works and it has far less secondary effects than Prozac!

A. felt like talking. I sit on my laptop and type, the 10 years Port she offered standing by. I'm sorry I had no time to take her to Bandeirinha...

25 de Abril SEMPRE

Fui, pela primeira vez na minha vida, assistir às comemorações do 25 de Abril, na Avenida dos Aliados.

Cobraram-me um euro pelo meu cravo.

Um palco despido acolheu dois grupos corais e uma poetisa, entoando poemas e canções da revolução. Fomos para junto do palco. Umas senhoras, sentadinhas por causa das varizes, pediram que saíssemos da frente. Fomos mais para trás. Rodeavam-nos barbudos em pólos Lacoste, chupando cachimbos e cigarrilhas, e imberbes, em aprimorado estilo trashy, fumando ganzas e engolindo cervejas. Alguma solenidade (seriedade?) tímida, quase envergonhada, aqui e ali... Lá tentamos ouvir alguma coisa, sob o ruído agitado do trânsito nocturno da avenida, dos boémios animados e das conversas incessantes sobre partidos, futebol, a visita do Papa e "onde vais a seguir?". Soou "Grândola Vila Morena" seguido de um repetidamente seco e desencontrado "25 de Abril sempre! Fascismo nunca mais!"...

E veio o fogo de artifício. No alto de um edifício municipal incendiou-se, em vermelho e verde evidente, um imponente: "25 de Abril SEMPE". SEMPE, sim!!! SEMPE!!! Como se o desrespeito, o laxismo, a indiferença viesse de cima!

Quem sou eu para falar? Que sei eu da Revolução dos Cravos? Nada. Não sei nada. Nasci depois. Nasci livre. Do 25 de Abril, li nos livros. Ouvi História e histórias. Mas não sei nada, não vivi nada, de facto. Sei que respeito a História e as histórias que li e ouvi. Vivo Portugal. Vivo a Liberdade. E como Portuguesa livre, fico indignada e triste perante tanto desleixo, tanta apatia, tanto desrespeito, tanta distorção de valores, tanto aproveitamento perverso... Tanta falta de orgulho em ser Português e livre, falta de patriotismo e de identidade... Faltará "SEMPE" cumprir-se Portugal.?

Cobraram-me um euro pelo meu cravo. A liberdade não se vende! É de todos. Como Portugal.

Oxalá tivesse ido vêr isto:


FIREWORKS live in Casa da Musica 24 04 2010 from Tiago Pereira on Vimeo.
25 de Abril SEMPRE!

O mar

O mar
à minha beira
voltado para mim
falou da sua grandeza
dos mundos que o habitam
das forças que o animam
da vida em que reflui.

E eu falei-lhe de ti.

E o mar sentiu-se pequeno.

Fernando Sylvan

http://saritamoreira.blogspot.com/2009/07/fernando-sylvan.html

Compass

Talking to my friend A. who, among other things, is my boss and is over 60, I ended up confessing my discouragement about love. Once again, my good friend was very supportive. He also feels this discouragement. He has two daughters about my age, he worries, he cares.

He told me again the theory of this Indian friend of his. According to him, the problem with Western love is the lack of rules. In India, "marriage is deemed essencial for virtually everyone". Families pay great attention and effort in finding their children a good future. Partners are found among families with similar structures and values and all the arrangements are even made when the spouses are still tiny newborns. It looks efficient. In some cases it is. In some others it isn't. Like everything in life! But, overall, it seems to work.

As an European, I can't even conceive very well in my mind what consequences this sort of social arrangements must have to one's life. What I do conceive and feel intensely is that I am the typical near-30s lonely neurotic western woman, who hangs around with her cool laptop and stylish gay friends, between work meetings and gloomy bars.

If I am happy? Yes, sometimes. As I would be if I had someone to share life with. If I feel sadly solitary? Yes, I do. Specially when I carry my bags home from the supermarket and the elevator doesn't work or when I go on holidays to very exciting unfamiliar places or when I read something really interesting I feel like discussing or when I listen to a great song I love or when I cook or when I go to bed at night... If I would change my life? No, I wouldn't. I keep waiting. Life is the ultimate wait. Right?

Previous love experiences had already proven to me what A. meant with his Indian friend's theory. He couldn't be more right! This new era - the so-called digital one - is a revolutionary one. Nordstrom and Ridderstrale were right when they wrote:"Dinkies rule. As it stands, the family could soon become a luxury item. (...) We consider ourselves to be failures. There is a nagging suspicion that we are aiming unreasonably high. Perhaps there is nothing wrong. We are just different".

But who are "we"? The generation? The Western youth? The world population? And is this transitory? Is it definitive? And if so, what will be of the human species? Is this Nature taking care of reducing the absurd number of human parasites in this beautiful earth? And, if so, what the hell do I have to do with that?! Why the hell do I even think about this at all?!!! Sometimes, I wish I was a snail... :)

Life is difficult. And, in the end, there is really nothing wrong. Because nothing is absolute. And Nordstrom and Ridderstrale are right, yes, under their perspective. And so is India. And A., for worrying. And me for feeling lonely and, despite accepting all this post-modern messy cool single condition of mine, still wishing for my own dysfunctional family. Sometimes I get myself wondering if I already have one?

Rules are good. They help you draw the line and, therefore, keeping on track. Good or bad, knowing your limits is comforting. India's family model sounds interesting. And I would agree with A.'s friend if I had not read Untouchable and did not know about the dark side of the caste system which these arranged marriages help keeping, or if I ignored the gender control made at birth in some regions there. I once knew a happy Indian couple in London who spent a lovely year to split up, as they finished the degree they were there for, because she was promised to another man. She accepted this well. Him, not so much. He was from a lower cast. I don't dare criticizing any of them. There is no such thing as better or worse. There is just different. All equally authentic and valid, happy and successful.

I believe Indian are perfectly fine. As are Christian or Mexicans or Accountants or Cricket Players... Any model or system is interesting because it gives structure. We all need that. It is fundamental for our shaping as social human beings. We need rules and limited categories to live in group and relate to each other. And we all (I believe) do have to live in group, so we better have a couple of handy rules in our pocket all the time, just in case. But once those are assimilated, there's not much to talk about anymore, is there? All systems are good (and bad). And because there are many, there will always be divergences and comparisons. Which, the way I see it, are totally pointless. Arguing about religion, social standards, politics, football or haircuts is stupid. Yet, we need to keep doing it. We need it as we need air to breathe. Me included, I'm no different. Still, I stand more for bearing than for limits. I stand for transparency and consistency, not for models and systems. I stand for content not form. I stand for wide open sea not dark confined walls.

I love being this damn western blogging philosopher I've become out of modern times and solitary togetherness! I like longing for my unexisting accessary lover and my uncertain future dysfunctional family. And I love to praise my current distant beloved and all my good previous boyfriends and my huge family of consanguineous clan, soulmate friends and dear ideological partners. I love caring and respecting them all as I do. I wish they feel the same about me.

Life is difficult and I love it. Like a good old sailor, I stick to my compass, hoping for fair winds and safe harbour.

The Real Folly

Zélia is a woman in her sixties. She walks around the tables outside cafes and asks for cigarettes. Or money (yes, in English too) or a kiss. Some people laugh, some are disgusted by her ragged looks and not so accurate hygiene, some give her money, cigarettes, a nearly empty bottle of wine remaining after lunch... No kisses. Me included.

Another man with a loyal plastic bag in his hand insists, all through the days, in asking people to lend him money for a soup.

There is one who likes to ride the bus. And every once in a while he will stand up and insult every passenger, driver, police officer, cleaning lady, government, etc.

There's the prostitute, who also asks for cigarettes and coffees and curses all the pretty young women wearing fashion clothing. Me included again.

There is also the woman who likes to clean the cars with fallen leaves, very tranquilly, thoroughly...

I know of another who likes to spend his nights in the middle of this huge busy avenue in Lisbon, smiling and waving to the passing cars. I wave him back. He exhales a wide happy smile. I smile him back. I like him. I like his world. Though I do not understand it...

Do we understand anyone's world? Do we understand the world at all? I guess there is no answer to this. Reality doesn't exist. And what we perceive as such is a product of our education, experiences and rules. The majority sets what it is to be true and real. Which majority? There is no such thing! We are all lonely individuals continuously seeking for the so called happiness, a reality that does not exist. Because no reality does. Life is cycle, is passage, is time. Happiness too.

Nothing is absolute. And though we keep establishing imperative values and concepts to guide us (prejudices?) we seem to be constantly questioning them or being questioned by them. We too are time and cycles. And what is true and real one day maybe destroyed forever the next. We understand ourselves as much as we understand life...

Life (death) is the ultimate question. Which makes you sad and ease and happy and confused and angry for being relieved when you should be sad and not happy but confused and so on.

So reality and truth is a choice. Permeable to the endless influences, from a literature masterpiece to a rapid eye contact. And each and every volatile choice is equally valuable and respectable, from the tyrant to the generous. Volatile choices keep the balance of the world. Volatile choices are real. As volatile they don't exist. There is no balance. There is no world...

Do you understand? Do I?

Oh, I am fool! We are all but fools!!!

Continuando a nossa conversa...

Sim, que és bonita, menina!
Sim, que as tuas lágrimas deslizam reluzentes
Pelo teu rosto pequenino e inteligente.
Sim, que te brilham os olhos azuis
Sob as montanhas do esforço do teu sofrimento.
Sim, que te dói a alma grande de menina
Com a força do vento e do mundo.
Sim, que queres partir o avião
E tens todo o direito de o querer!
Sim, que te ajudo se a vontade persistir.
Sim, que me encantas e afliges
E me fazes esquecer da vida toda.
Havia de ser proibida tanta dor
No peito de uma menina bonita!
Sim, que compreendo
Que, lá por seres menina,
Também tens o direito de te encheres de raiva.
Mas não de dor, oh menina!
E, sim, que aterramos.
E as palmas e sinetas patetas
Te empurraram o riso escondido.
Sim, ri, ri, oh menina!
Ri e não partas o avião!
Ri, e deixa o riso correr
Que já temos os pés no chão.
Ri, menina, que eu rio contigo.
Sim, ri, oh menina,
Que és tão mais bonita a rir!
:)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Aquarium

Inside.
You hear nothing but a monotonous background hum. Not even silence is pure...
You look out. Distorted figures around your concave dome. Colours flow. Eyes wide open. You stare but you don't move. You flow static in the still water. No temperature. No touch. No thoughts. Only little spasms that keep you awake and standing.
Someone or something comes closer. Outside reality is thick. Everything looks so exaggeratedly huge. Or is it small? Reality moves. What you see moves. Everything keeps moving. Only you stand still, staring inside this immense claustriphobic aquarium.
You try to move... Where to? Too small? You can't reach. You hear but you don't listen. The warm sound of voices dilutes in the quiet water. You look but you don't see. As the images continue to move disorderly in this huddle of blurred colours and shapes. You cry. But you can't feel tears coming out of your eyes (what eyes?) as they confound with the tepid impassive surrounding.
You stay. Blank. Lifeless. Resigned? You don't remember what it is to be out. You. You aren't even sure if you ever...
Hum...

The Giant

Once upon a time, in a very far away place, lived an enormous happy giant.

The giant lived up in a very tall thin mountain, inside a small cave, where no one else could fit.

Every now and then, the giant would come out and try to find friends. But, as people were very affraid of this immense creature, as soon as they'd feel the sound of huge steps coming closer, they would run to the tiny wholes in the mountains where they lived. Still, the giant kept trying.

There had been some curious people before, who had spent some time having fun with this happy friendly creature. But for some reason, they would always end up disappearing... And so the happy giant would feel sad and lonely and would stay locked inside the small cave.

Once inside alone, the small cave felt narrow and dismaying. Only the ants would come for tea and cookies sometimes and say to the giant: "yes, what you really need is a friend. but you are so big and scary! how will you ever find someone who loves you as you are? you need huge love!!!" And so the giant would cry a bit to then try to shrink. Anything would do: heavy furniture on the head, walking on the knees, dress tight clothes... But all those things seemed stupid and painful and uncomfortable. So, after some time, the giant would forget about these stupid shrinking methods suggested by the silly ants. "What would they know, anyway?! They are such tiny silly creatures!", the giant would think.

And the giant would go outside again, happy and hopeful that, this time, there would be someone to talk to.

But these strolls kept repeating and nothing would happen. No one seemed to be interested in being the friend of a giant. And the giant would go back to the cave feeling lonelier every day. Soon the giant understood there would be no one wanting to share huge love in a small cave. Not managing and not wanting to shrink anymore, the giant decided to forget this idea of finding a friend and dedicated instead to scientific research and artistic experiences.

One day, this very nice beautiful young man showed up to the giant's cave. It was someone the giant had met before... The man came in and had some tea and cookies with the giant. This time, the ants weren't invited because the giant was affraid they could be inconvenient. They talked and laughed together. Suddenly, the small cave didn't seem so small. Actually. they were both very comfortable in it. The man stayed for dinner. And to sleep. And oh it felt so nice and warm to have company in bed! The giant was as happy as ever!!!

During the night, the man touched the giant. They kissed passionately and made love. Overwhelmed and confused, the giant seemed to be shrinking. Under this beautiful man's weight, the giant's shapes began to round and smooth; soft clear skin was now covering them. The giant's eyes turned big and wide. And the lips were now succulent and wet and a fine voice would come out of them whenever the giant tried to talk. What was going on?! How was it possible that the giant seemed to be turning into a normal woman?!

As the man left, the happy and confused giant looked at the mirror and all there was was a nice beatiful young girl standing. And so the giant realised she had always been just a woman. And it had been those silly ants and the sissy people she had met before that made her feel she was a huge fearful creature! And becoming affraid of herself... She remembered now as she longed for the man to come back. She was just a woman and she had just found love again.

And the only giant in her life was her own enormous happy heart.

To Touch

Touch is the most powerfull language in the world. Among humans or other animal species, touch is how you really express yourself, towards the other and yourself. To touch is good and healthy. From tenderly embracing your dear friend, to firmely hold with desire the one you love or accuratly punch your provocative rival in the face. To touch is to get closer. To touch is vital!

But touch is also a social tabu. You are not supposed to touch much. Just enough... Which is usually far from what would be a good daily dosage of touching! At work, you shake hands politely, at a considerable distance from the other. At home, you greet mom and dad with a rapid kiss; you might eventually hug your brother or sister once in a while... With your friends you share timid hugs in public. Fortunately, in private, this is often different.

A friend of mine living in the US once told me about this father who was disturbed by the police after a call from his neighbours, suspicious about the man's behaviour with his child. They were rolling and screaming - i.e. playing - in the frontdoor garden!

When I was a little girl, a good slap on my butt would be very clarifying about what I could or could not do. Today, one can constantly watch kids screaming violently at their moms and dads, who scream back to them or simply ignore them.

Another friend, not used to touch among her family, was once completely estatic between my arms, thankfully embrassing her.

My own family gets upset when my friends come to sleep with me, even knowing I praise those warm nights that fill me with the joy of knowing I am not alone

You search for "touch" on Google and you come out with a long list of gadgets...

Touching is still socially repressed, regarded mostly as indecorous or perverse (or a digital tool! go figure...). A portuguese journalist once stated that sex seems to have replaced intimacy, to a point that people even fear the latter and the wonderful explosion of love and fun that the combination of both can be!

And although sex is trivial, when it comes to touching our own bodies things are not that simple. You are not affraid to grow fur on the palm of your hands anymore but you still feel embarrassed about sharing intimacy with yourself. Everybody does it but no one talks about it. And those to who embarrassement has managed to castrate their natural self-love sadly feel insecure about their own bodies.

Not touching is like living away from ourselves... And, therefore, from others.

To touch is a blessing, sometimes a miracle.

A Morte é a Curva da Estrada

A morte é a curva da estrada,
Morrer é só não ser visto.
Se escuto, eu te oiço a passada
existir como eu existo.
A terra é feita de céu.
A mentira não tem ninho.
Nunca ninguém se perdeu.
Tudo é verdade e caminho.
Fernando Pessoa

A Vida Depois da Morte

Depois da morte a vida não sabe a nada. Sabe a vazio, a oco, a vácuo. Depois da morte não se vive. Tudo pára. Tudo fica calmo, plácido. Breu. Silêncio.

E a tua cara séria, pálpebras pousadas entre as flores. Som. Luz. E vêem-se lágrimas e ouvem-se gemidos. E ouvem-se silêncios contundentes e vêem-se sorrisos afogados: "já não se lembra", "lembro, sim."; um esforço... Respostas deslizam rápidas. Falar emociona... Faltam as palavras. Um companheiro quebrado, segura-se com força aos amigos que abraça em série. Dor. Vazio forte no olhar do ventre. Vazio sentido. Falta um... Abraço apertado. Confusão. Uma multidão desconhecida, espessa e escura movimenta-se lenta em torno do corpo florido.

Fátima. Lembram-me as tuas mousses de chocolate e a tua mão sempre lampeira para me servir de mimos. Lembra-me a tua voz doce, que não sabia gritar, erguendo-se perante as nossas inúmeras tentativas de suicídio a brincar. "Oh, Luís!" e um braço partido no baloiço. Lembra-me o teu nome choramingado no páteo para evitar um arrufo conjugal, "oh, Fatinha..." (e eu baralhada...), ou um raspanete maternal, "oh, mamã...". Confusão. E uma multidão desconhecida, pequenina e colorida correndo frenética em torno do teu corpo florido.

A vida depois da morte é interminável. A vida depois da morte é pueril. A vida depois da morte é florida.

Viva tu.

Facebook Says

Facebook says I am amazing and I have a ranking to prove it. Facebook is great! Thank you, Facebook.

But, despite its greatness, Facebook is superfast. Our lives are superfast. Because we now can have two existences. No wonder religion is failing. We have to take care of our real life existence and our beyond existence in real time! We have to take care of our online existence, our wandering spirit on the web, our avatar.

Facebook is the new oracle.

In realtime, one has real life relationships to manage and virtual online ones as well. But aren't they all real in the end? It's all real people establishing real connections between each other. Recently I read a tweet that said "together is the new alone" from someone whith who I had shared a little shell which name means "solitary togetherness". The concepts of "together" and "alone" keep coming to our minds in pairs, as if they were unseparable (what a lovely oxymoron!). And they are. And we feel alone, even (sometimes, specially) when together. No wonder! Among so many people, so many connections, so many relationships... We are not prepared biologically to deal with it. We fail to respond as we would like to all the demands and needs of the many people we love. Or would love to love... And we get sad facing the so many good opportunities of following beautiful people we know we will probably never even meet live or see again. Because, online or not, we know they are real.

On its limit, life can become mere consumption. And this applies to everything: work, love, tax paying... We have the whole world in front of us and accessible. One click and you are part of another amazing project, another amazing life. One click and you are even more tangled in this endless riddle of network building. And the more tangled you are the faster you go. And the faster you go the easiest you slip into the meshes of frustration. One click and you add a new interest to your life. One click and you erase someone from it forever. Just like you do in real life. But easiest, faster and in double!

Facebook says I am amazing and I have a ranking to prove it. Facebook says I am measurable through statistics. Facebook says to add friends, advise friends to others, even buy friends! Facebook makes my life good. Facebook makes the whole world accessible while I am totally alone, sitting with my laptop, writing some work report or a post on my blog. Facebook says I am dear to others. Facebook says a lot. (Facebook is a woman!) Facebook should shut the fuck up sometimes! Facebook would never say I am stupid or a bitch or a looser. Facebook is good to me. I should worship Facebook and recommend it to others. Facebook is a religion, is a pill, is a drug. Facebook makes me feel good. Facebook is something I sometimes want to get rid off. Facebook is addicting. Facebook makes me jealous. Facebook makes me wonder. Facebook is together. Facebook is alone. Facebook is an escape like any other. Facebook is an opportunity like any other. Facebook is like going for a coffee downstairs. Facebook helps you think. Facebook is a period. Facebook is a tool. Facebook is just part of life.

And I have a new friend, who I am finally meeting after a long time sharing loneliness together on Facebook.

Thank you, Facebook.

Para a minha amiga Mafalda

Meus caros, volta-se porque se tem saudade,
Porque se foi feliz intimamente.
Volta-se porque se tocou num inocente
E porque se encontrou tranquilidade.

A despeito da vida que acorrente
Volta-se, volta-se para a sinceridade.
Volta-se sempre, tarde ou de repente,
Na alegria ou na infelicidade.

E nada como esse apelo da lembrança
Para se transfigurar numa esperança
Essa desolação que uma alma leve.

Assim é que, partindo, eu vou levando
Toda a desolação de um até-quando
Num ardente desejo de até-breve.

Vinicius de Morais

The Picture of Time

The Picture of Dorian Gray was one of the finest books I ever had the pleasure to read. To a point I was even scared of it...

Watching the movie reminded me of such intense piece of literature, stuck somewhere in the back of my mind after so many years. And, although it is not by far as brilliant as the original piece (actually, if it weren't for some really stupid special effects, it could've been quite brilliant in its own kind), it got me thinking.

Why do we fear time?

A friend in need was in mind. As many other that I have been meeting through the way, equally upset. As myself? I wonder...

I came accross an interesting article on the brain's perception of time, which also influenced my thought. What is time but perception itself? A picture (or an array of pictures) we keep to help us survive. Like air to breathe. Remembering is too a basic need. Something to hold you still and help you understand who you or those around you are and why. Another way of escapism. As it is to oppose it.

Dorian Gray sold his soul to the devil through a picture that worked as an unpleasant memories' keeper. Many people keep such pictures locked in their dusty attics. I'd say everyone. Dealing with our fears is hard and sometimes impossible (for example, if one dies!). Dealing with The Picture of Dorian Gray is not easy. It's scary. So it's best if one locks it in the dusty shadowy attic. Or in an unimportant drawer. Yet, it is there. Waiting. Calling... Dorian Gray didn't even imagine what he was looking for. He was just a boy, used to keep bad memories in the attic. Vulnerable to others who, once as innocent as him, feeded their envy and regret with the young man's gloomy immaculate beauty.

Dorian Gray is everyone.

To persue beauty and youth and pleasure and freedom is what we all do. To fear time and age and ugliness and loss is what we all do. The ways in which one does it might be different but, as Harry says to Dorian, "it is all a matter of perspective". To get to know our own aims and fears is essential. Yet, being obsessed by one's own picture of time is mediocre and reducer. Selfish hedonism and carelessness can only lead to shortsighted vacuity. Death.

"I would like to propose a large (think Stonehenge) mechanical clock, powered by seasonal temperature changes. It ticks once a year, bongs once a century, and the cuckoo comes out every millennium.", says computer scientist Daniel Hillis, co-Chairman at The Long Now Foundation. Having a wider perception of time (and space and people and context and circumstances...) helps us understand our natural condition better. We are part of a huge network to which we all can add something. And everything you add is valid. As Harry would say to Dorian, all is experience. There is no good or bad, just interaction. This wider perception, though, implies commitment, implies responsibility, implies humanity. On the other hand, looking at our picture of time is also fundamental to understand our limits and, thus, be realistic to our furthest and widest goals.

Perceiving time is perceiving life.

Dorian Gray was right. Dorian Gray is dead.