Fish and Hips

Behind | dniheB

2012-02-04T00:50:00.002Z

Surfaces.
Everything in.
Very good out. Very fast out. Very little out.
Keep inside!
Don't show. Don't tell.
Throw it out.
Don't you dare!
This fruit's too big for you.
There's nothing one can't find.
Unless you search...
Behind the surfaces.
Sur-faces. Faces...
And liberty?
Put the mask on!
Show me your face!
...
You don't what?!
I can't hear... Too noisy.
"Are you lost? Can I help."
Move it! Move it! Move it!
And don't forget to tip that smile.
Did you find what you were looking for?
No. It's too big...
Let me out!!!
"Over here..."
Over here.

Alado

2011-09-27T00:09:00.003+01:00

Voa.
Turbilhão de vento.
O rastro de um avião
Senda de nobre pensamento solto,
Iluminado,
A rodopiar.
Falcão imponente
Sobre as sensuais curvas da terra crua.
Silêncio elegante
De uma gaivota a pairar,
Mergulhada na brisa salgada.
Salpicos refrescantes.
Longe,
Nuvens que aconchegam o coração.
Tão perto...
Onde quer que esteja,
Meu amor. :)

Holy Days

2011-05-02T00:29:00.003+01:00

Holding hands
Off we sailed
Through the honey sea
Under a salty moon.
Sneaking between sunny sulfur
And laughing flowers,
We danced with green clowns.
We made blue love
In pink courtyards
And built simple completeness
With thieves and butterflies.
Holding hands
We came back
Filled with sweet nonesense
And magic raindrops,
Praising those holy days
When our infinite journey began...

Surprise

2011-03-12T03:11:00.001Z

And then, suddenly, it hits you.
You realize you are smiling all day long... Nothing can really affect you. Daydreaming. No matter what you are going through - hard work, family quarrels, boose with friends - you carry on dreaming. Of that smell, of that smile, of that voice... And you wonder while falling asleep... And carry on dreaming. And things still hurt you and responsibilities still concern you and your life hasn't really changed. Because you have a good one. It took long and a lot of effort to stand in your own feet and realize you can do it on your own. And there you are, standing,walking. You have a direction, you have a purpose. But someone just hold your hand... And you feel like not knowing what to do. Oh, but you do know! And that is wonderful. Cry. Not because you are happy or sad. Just because you are gratefull. Because you know, better than ever, where to go: ahead, holding hands together.
Even if that is not the right way... :)

The World is Weird at Heart and Wild on Top

2011-02-27T23:49:00.004Z

They can't tell if I'm unhappy if I have an apartment by the beach. There is the nice view and the fancy neighbors and all those luxurious condominium privileges I can just afford by credit, but they don't know that. They don't know that I come home and stare at the TV and watch what I'm going to buy next and try hard not to think about how humiliated I felt today at work and how much I wanted to insult my boss and cry like a baby on my way out as I'd say "enough!". They don't know that. And I'm so fucking used to dress my expensive clothes and drive my stylish car and watch my super high-tech plasma so that not even I know that. And whenever it comes back to me again, I can always just pull out my golden credit card and buy some cool gadget to entertain myself and distract anyone who might nurture some sort of intimate feelings about me.

Let's just learn Chinese on my iPhone and forget that we can't really love each other because we're so completely and selfishly focused in ourselves. Forget the iPhone! I tell you what? Let's do a massage, go to this SPA resort and take good care of our super-sexy bodies. You should take better care of those hips, dear... I think you're getting fatter. Not that it matters, honey, no way. What are you doing?! I told you I don't want those photos on Facebook! Why did you tag me? That trip was so great... Why do you keep reminding me of it? Besides, I don't want people digging in my life. Let's go do somethig wild! Let's go sail! No, I tell you what, let's make a baby! Or even buy one... I'm kidding, I'm kidding, don't worry. Have you seen my new blouse? It's a D&G original! Man, I'm gonna look awesome tonight! Can I borrow your purple heels? Every guy will want me today! Maybe he'll look at me... Oh but he didn't! Why?! What's wrong with him? He's probably just a jerk anyway. And he probably just wants to get laid with that bitch. Tomorrow he won't even know her name... Oh but they're dating? Well, you know what, I'm glad I never actually fell in love with him. Can you imagine? That guy, he'd just make me suffer anyway. He's such a bastard with women. To tell you the truth, I always found him a bit gay... Hey! Hi, do you want to come over and have a beer with me? We could watch a movie or something. Dinner? Ok, cool. Not that I have much money but I can always pull out my golden credit card! No credit? Are you crazy?! What do you mean I'm high?... No way! I'm completely sober! Have you seen her lately? How's the kid? You know, she doesn't let me see him... Guess what? I bought a new bike! It's absolutely gorgeous! My baby...

Shape. How it looks like. How others see it. The fragile surface of social codes, high school codes, professional codes, dress codes, consumption codes... Everything is fine as long as you stick to some sort of pattern. Void.

The door was slightly open. I came inside her beautifully decorated apartment. It smelled like alcohol and cigarettes... The curtains dancing with the fresh salty breeze coming in. The music was too loud. Outside the waves lapping. It was dawn and she was hanging from the balcony. The makeup running down her wet face. She wore an amazing D&G blouse. Amazingly dead. As always...

The Ultimate Distortion of Love

2011-01-07T00:02:00.003Z

And they throw up on you.
The vomit coming out of their ugly mouths...
And you eat it.
And they spit on you.
And you're thankful for what you got.
Are you really?
And they make you believe.
Well, do you? Really?
And you smell like rotten meat.
And you taste yourself everyday.
And you throw up and spit.
(Like them) Over yourself again.
And you take your pills
And clean your mess.
And you do nothing more.
Because you are alone.
Are you? Really?
Because you're weak.
Are you? Really?
You don't feel alive.
You are dead.
Are you? ...

Wave

2011-01-02T01:53:00.003Z

Struggling. Everyday. You push, pull, run, hide, chase, reach... You struggle. Just as any beast. Hunter and a prey. And you love, hate, nurture, repulse... Fake emotions cover your instincts. You're dangerous. A dangerous animal under disguise. Even more dangerous because you believe your own masks. And you have plenty. Some you don't even know about. Some others know more about than yourself. But you struggle. And fight and fear and face and craven. You move, you stop. You live. You don't.

But it keeps going. Whether because of your (in)actions or because of someone else's or because of nothing or maybe something that you just can simply not even suspect what, it keeps going. And you struggle. And you adjust. No, you don't. And you learn. No, you don't. And you grow. No, you don't. And you understand. No, you don't. And you know. No, you don't. But you will. No, you won't. But it keeps going.

And you carry on. Why? You wonder. You don't care. You just keep going with it. And you face an avalanche of novelty every day. And you are born every second. And die every other. Or the same. Time goes through you. You go through it. Nothing changes. Everything does. Where's the answer to the riddle? What answer? What riddle? Why should you care? Why shouldn't you?

Just keep going with it. And you do. Like a dive into the surf of a big wave. And you are dragged to tumble by this huge mass of water and foam and sand covering all your dizzy body with deceive. Just when you think it is going to stop, just when you think you are going to stand up again and breath, it just keeps entangling you. And it never stops.

But then you hold your breathe. You lose your body. You close your eyes and mouth, preventing from sand and salty water. You get used to the noise and cold. You embrace your dazzling and breathtaking routine. You don't expect it to stop anymore. You actually start enjoying it... Till the day you drown.

And then you wake up under the warm sunshine by the beach. You stand, stretch your body, catch your breathe. Smile. Laugh out loud! You even forget how you got there... You dive again.

Ao Senhor do Adeus do Saldanha

2010-11-14T20:41:00.003Z

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

2010-07-29T23:13:00.002+01:00

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

2010-07-24T12:19:00.013+01:00

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

2010-07-18T20:19:00.012+01:00

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 on 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

2010-06-25T02:37:00.042+01:00

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’

2010-06-18T00:29:00.000+01:00

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

2010-05-30T21:30:00.011+01:00

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

2010-04-25T23:24:00.013+01:00

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

2010-04-11T22:03:00.017+01:00

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

2010-03-18T16:59:00.027Z

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

2010-03-08T23:35:00.012Z

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...

2010-02-22T01:18:00.004Z

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

2010-02-16T13:26:00.022Z

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

2010-02-07T11:27:00.008Z

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

2010-02-01T00:59:00.008Z

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

2010-01-22T21:02:00.003Z

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

2010-01-21T21:54:00.003Z

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

2010-01-19T16:35:00.017Z

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

2010-01-17T03:12:00.007Z

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

2010-01-09T01:46:00.015Z

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.

The monster

2009-12-30T01:01:00.008Z

Gone mad. Wild, Absolutely delusional hysterical.

So much for easy going understanding sweet tranquil moderate reasonable attitude! Been to hell. Furious with the world, with time, space, people, feelings, internet, work, families, friends, pets, men, woman, children, elder, disabled, retarded, bushes, bycicles, birdies, fruits in trees, sunshine and rain drops... Birth.

Gone out, joined friends, ate too much, belly hurting, drinks wouldn't go down... Feeling dizzy. Choking. Choking in mind, in heart. The whole body choking! Turn red, green and blue. Look like a damn prism, with all those colours in between!!! It was about to come out.

Park car, pretend to talk on the phone as approaching building (whores in the area don't really attract the best crowd), take old blue lift, slide doors, press 3. Going up. 1, 2, stop. Open door, jacket off, scarf off, boots off, dress, tights, underware. All out! Winter cold and still hot. Mobile. Dial emergency number. The monster was about to be delivered!!!

Screams, hair pulls, contractions, tears, pain, anger, clenched teeth, bloodshot eyes, closed fists, veins about to burst, heart pumping... Pump. Pump! Don't stop. Contraction. Breathe! Breathe! Breathe! Screams, punches, violent pushes. Contraction. Breathe! Breathe! Breathe! Don't stop. Sweat it all out. Out! Contraction. Breathe! Breathe! Breathe! Laughs, tears, laughs again, tears, tears, tears. Laughs. Let it all out! Ugly skin, smelly hair, dirty nails, rotting teeth: ALL OUT! PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHH!!!

Relief...

Light. Smile.

We're not alone.

Outside, a storm. All wind, thunder and hail...

Single 2009, Slapping 2010

2009-12-29T19:11:00.001Z

The best thing about this blue mooned year is that it won't repeat. But, then again, that's the best thing about all years, about life.

From a hens day of someone I barely knew to feeding my emotions throught online addiction, I guess the following video is quite representative of what this year meant to me.

Dancing, high heels, sweet grey rainy city, flashmob, beautiful mad women, youtube... I wish I was there!

And to close this chapter I'm having a great party in my tiny house with my dear friends. funny that, there will only be an heterossexual man among us... :D

Next step: become a feminist? HELL NO!!!

Fuck 2009! Let's slap these hips all through 2010, girls!!!

Here's to all my single and non-single friends and non-friends. Here's to people. Here's to Life!

HappyNewYearWithLove. :)

Balanço

2009-12-25T23:03:00.000Z

É hora de balanço.
"Doce balanço, caminho do mar."
Balanço de mulher a andar.
Balanço sólido, sinuoso;
Gingar curvo, majestoso.
Balanço firme, voluptuoso,
Do alto do salto vertiginoso.
Balanço do vento nas saias,
Do ventre a rodopiar.
Balanço dos cabelos nas ondas,
Dos seios nas mãos.
Balanço dos altos e dos baixos,
Dos gordos, dos magros,
Dos bonitos e dos chanfrados.
Balanço desesperado, sossegado.
Balanço da mulher
Do tempo que passou.
Balanço da vida,
Tão doce,
Que ainda falta...

Sick

2009-12-20T21:56:00.000Z

Today I'm sick.

I've scratched my eye with the contact lens and it hurts to see. It hurts to see the surface. Because, when I'm sick, there seems to be nothing more but that. And I cry.

We share. We care. Do we? We sweep...

Episode 1: I got an email to which I didn't reply. I got a phone call some days later asking how I was feeling. "Good", I said, "We should go for a coffee."; "Sure, call me. And don't forget to tell me with some days in advance!"; "Right...", I hang up. No, I won't call. I can pretend, though. Love is not easy. Amen!

Episode 2: I walk into a bar. I see some familiar faces. One in particular calls for my attention. It's IB! I look at him. I smile. No reply. We're friends online. Apparently, not offline... The times are changing.

Episode 3: I go to a club. Someone is flirting me. I dance. He's cute. So is everybody else the way I'm wasted!!! We leave. I prefer tea to cute. An sms with an address reaches my mobile... I drink my tea. A few more void messages fade on my cellphone throughout the night. I sleep. Never see cute again. But I still dance and drink tea to avoid hangover!

Episode 4: I live in public. I get feedback. Some I like. Some I don't. Some I'm interested. Some I'm not. InterestingBecomesUninterestingAndViceVersaSoDoI. Got some feedback. Deep meaningful feedback. On the surface. Surfeed backface. Take some medicine drops in my eye and go to sleep.

But my eye still hurts... I keep crying. Crying out loud! Somebody listens. Thank you. I listen to you too. And I get well soon. :)

Imprisoned

2009-11-08T03:32:00.000Z

This is the theme of a project I'm currently working at with my performing arts company. The performance will take place in the Faculty of Law's cells, used by students for behaviour experiments among other things, and it is based on three main references: the Zimbardo Experiment, Oscar Wilde's De Profundis and Plato's Allegory of the Cave.

The only real moment of freedom is when one is born. (I need to find out who said this.) All the rest of our lifetime we are physically imprisoned, from our mother's belly to one's own body and mind.

We start our lives being led, either genetically or through education. Experiences immediately start molding our perception of reality as well, but I believe their importance is gradual and it becomes more relevant as we turn into adults and fully assume leadership of our life's course. From the moment we are born, we start shaping a specific reality. "Every little action of the common day makes or unmakes character" (O.Wilde, De Profundis). At first, as I said, it is led (or at least guided) by others. This guidance loses its strength and importance as we grow up and begin appropriating our own choices and their consequences. Still we continue to forge a certain reality which is absolutely true only to ourselves. As Plato showed through he's Allegory of the Cave, there are certain things one will never understand in others by the simple fact of not having any common reference to share. In human interaction, it is common to get deluded, confused, disappointed. Those feelings are just natural defenses we produce to deal with what we do not understand. We are naturally afraid of the unknown. Plus, we might not want to understand. Once your own reality is well established you might actually not want to alter it or disturb its (so hard to achieve) harmony.

We live imprisoned in our own reality. And yet, as everything in life, this is an extremely delicate fact. Our reality only prevails within a certain context to which we are familiar with and, therefore, interact rationally. From the moment our circumstances change dramatically we cease to be able to respond accordingly. We leave rational to become instinctive. We lose the references, the framework in which we rely upon to be who we are. Our personality seems to become residual and one reacts instinctively to the new stimulus, as if not having any previous references or aims.

The Zimbardo Experiment shows how rapidly a group of middle-class, well educated graduate students completely tranformed their behaviour when placed in a totally different context. An experiment planned to last two weeks had to be interrupted after six days, to avoid really serious psychological damage to the volunteer graduates, playing the role of either guards or prisoners, or even to the researchers themselves!

In Murakami's novel, The Wind-Up Bird, Toru Okada, concludes at a certain point that one can live his whole life together with someone knowing "nothing but the most superficial layer of the person". I believe this is not only true to others but, above all, to ourselves. We never do know ourselves absolutely. Let alone, others! Life is a continuous flow of (repeated) novelty and one can only know how to react to each new stimulus when actually facing it, absorbing it as real. Not only we do not know ourselves under unknown circumstances as we do not know ourselves through other people's eyes, for their sole reality is absolutely mysterious to us. Vitangelo Moscarda, Pirandello's hero in Uno, Nessuno e Centomila, desperately seeks his true self within the multiple personas he seems to represent in each one's imagination, to finally realize the only absolute truth relies in not having "any history or past, he is no longer in himself but in everything around and outside of him".

As Oscar Wilde puts it, in De Profundis, this is Humility:

"But while there were times when I rejoiced in the idea that my sufferings were to be endless, I could not bear them to be without meaning. Now I find hidden somewhere away in my nature something that tells me that nothing in the whole world is meaningless, and suffering least of all. That something hidden away in my nature, like a treasure in a field, is Humility.

It is the last thing left in me, and the best: the ultimate discovery at which I have arrived, the starting-point for a fresh development. It has come to me right out of myself, so I know that it has come at the proper time. It could not have come before, nor later. Had any one told me of it, I would have rejected it. Had it been brought to me, I would have refused it. As I found it, I want to keep it. I must do so. It is the one thing that has in it the elements of life, of a new life, Vita Nuova for me. Of all things it is the strangest. One cannot acquire it, except by surrendering everything that one has. It is only when one has lost all things, that one knows that one possesses it.

Now I have realised that it is in me, I see quite clearly what I ought to do; in fact, must do. And when I use such a phrase as that, I need not say that I am not alluding to any external sanction or command. I admit none. I am far more of an individualist than I ever was. Nothing seems to me of the smallest value except what one gets out of oneself. My nature is seeking a fresh mode of self-realisation. That is all I am concerned with. And the first thing that I have got to do is to free myself from any possible bitterness of feeling against the world."

We are the world we live in. We are the people we meet. We are the life as we perceive it. We are imprisoned in our own reality, yes. But we ought to be humble to accept it, understand it and be thankful for it. Only then can we set ourselves free inside our own prisons for "freedom is what you do with what's been done to you" (Jean-Paul Sartre). Only then can we be at peace with ourselves. And contribute to a better world .

Berlin Wall Fall, November 09, 1989

Solitary Togetherness or Why Human

2009-10-22T12:15:00.000+01:00

"We were outside, always outside, like heretics or lepers forbidden to pass the city gates.

Then one night, by agreement, we lit fires at the same hour, and the extent of the light showed us were not alone, as we had thought, but we were numerous, and not only numerous, but inspired, and could both move and speak in the light, and be beautiful..."

H.B. 21 – X - 09

http://grt21421.blogspot.com/

On writing

2009-10-21T09:40:00.000+01:00

I've written all my life.

When a small child I used to write lines pretending they were words. Once I've learnt the alphabet I started reading and writing compulsively. I've always written diaries, short stories, letters, articles for school publications... Writing is part of me as much as speaking is.

The act of writing is crucial to structure my deepest thoughts. Things I might talk superficially with friends around some drinks at a bar are sometimes poured on paper. The same happens when it comes to personal relations. Writing down to someone is absolutely imperative if the realtionship is important to me. I think I've written to every single important person in the different stages my life. What and how I express myself on writing cannot be reproduced live. Not in the same way, at least. And vice versa. Long texts, short messages, poems... All my dear friends, relatives and lovers got a bit of me through letters.

Yet, my writing has changed dramatically in the last years. I probably write more in English than Portuguese and I definitelly type more on my keyboard than use a pen and paper. I get myself only writing on paper to those really important people I meet as a way to celebrate their meaning in my life. For them and for me. As a way of touching them. As a way to caress them. And me. Sadly, this now unusual act becomes more and more difficult. Writing down a letter requires time, patience, inspiration and physical effort. Requires love.

Hectic lives leave little time off to dedicate to others and, therefore, to oneself. I've written a four pages letter to this wonderful woman who I recently met. By the end of this exercize my hand and wrist hurted so much I could not believe it! My middle finger on my write hand, which used to be hard for writing, was now almost injured after some lousy four pages!!!

The metaphor behind it scared me to hell! If I now have little time, little patience, little inspiration and poor physical conditions to write to someone... That must mean I have little love in my life. That means I'm probably living against my own nature. That means I'm desperate to be just a human being - as the animal. That means that I now have to apply extra effort in trying to fill my basic physical and emotional needs, to live in harmony with my nature, with myself!

And what is even more scary is that I am not alone in this...

I predict a riot. Maybe I'll start one myself.

...

A gift

2009-09-20T03:23:00.000+01:00

"And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion."
— Dylan Thomas

Growing old

2009-09-07T01:06:00.001+01:00

These last holidays I spent a weekend in Soajo, up on Gerês mountains, visiting a dear friend. As half "soajeiros", my friend lives and works in Paris. The other half is in the US. A very small percentage of the local population actually lives in town. So there I went and was welcomed by all the smells, colours and flavours of Minho intertwined with the typical August messy crowd of emigrants on vacation. As I stepped out of the car, under the burning sun, I bumped into a Virgin Mary in purple! Kids were preparing for the procession. Dressed up into the most extraordinary outfits, running around the church in Pelourinho (the main square). I proceeded the way to my friend's home. After being twice to Soajo, one can easily find the way... Everyone was at the church so, despite of the whole party, everything was quiet around and I could only remotely hear the lovely brown almond-eyed cows lowing. Even the chicken were acting very civilized and still!

So there I was again, having fun with good friends, enjoying the pleasant company of that beautiful family, sharing their food and wine and stories around the table at meals, losing my bikini and contact lens whenever plunging into the river from this huge cliff (beware of my dramatism, reader) and talking as if there was no tomorrow, trying to update six months of distance and carry on friendship in its new version.

After a first full day, I was sprawling on the couch, looking at the pictures I had taken with my friends by the river, with all the sexy-calendar-bikini-style poses whe are capable of to amuse the newly-arrived emigrants and families on holidays; when this tiny wrinckled woman wrapped in black thick clothes entered the house. It was my friend's grandmother, Micas. And she looked at me as I did at her: curious. I couldn't resist her! So I stood up to great her, leaving the bloody digital cool camera behind, and join all the family women at the table, listening to Micas' odd enchanting stories. She told about the misery and hunger she went through in her youth. She told about rats and snakes in the soup. She told about how naked we go nowadays and how much better that is than to go all covered and having the old ladies covering your legs with their scarves whenever you would kneel down in church. She told a whole lot of wonderful stories! Some exciting. Some uninteresting. All wonderful! She told them quietly, with no signs of sorrow or regrets or anger. She told them consistently and peacefully. And I listened as I would listen to my own grandmother when I was just a little girl (and sometimes still do...), admiring her completely for her knowledge on wisdom, not questioning a thing. Feeling hugged by the words. And I got myself intensely wishing one day to become like her. That is what I want to be when I grow up. when I grow old. I want to be just that: old.

I wish to grow old. Very old! I wish to have my face covered by the wrinkles that will map my full life. My time turned into space. I wish to tell my grandchildren and their friends my wonderful stories, hoping to touch their hearts the same way Micas touched mine. A bit more placidly after each of life's whirlwind. Until my eyes close and I rest in peace.

Today, I got a couple of wrinckles more... I hope I still have a long way till I finally rest, but I am surely sleeping with a smile, deepening those beautiful furrows. Cherishing the love in my life. Growing old. At last! :)

The happiness of pursuit

2009-08-05T21:51:00.000+01:00

I met someone.

This is a funny scentence... :) You meet many people in your life. But when you say "I met someone" it's just different. Well, I did.

I've been having a full life. Lots of good experiences, wonderful people, beautiful places... But when you meet someone it's always special. It looks like all your life can be reduced to that tiny moment. It's like being ran over by a car (believe me, I know what I'm talking about). You rapidly rewind your all life in a couple of seconds to then wake up and feel terribly happy just because you're still there. And it feels so good! (Don't go triyng to be run over by cars now, reader! I am talking about falling in love.) Because it is the most sublime way to taste life. You meet lots of people in your life. Even fall in love with many. But there are only a certain few with the gift to make you feel alive, with the gift to touch you without hurting.

My life has been full, all right. Full of love. From my lovely looney family to my dear friends and all the either wonderful or goofy lovers I might have had, I've been having a happy life. There are often times when I think "If I die now, I die happy!". This might be a very extreme dramatic thought (here I go being dramatic...). It is a very relaxing quiet one too and I hope I'll have it often throughout life. It reminds me things like being sitted at the top of this huge tall ship's mast, looking down to the large calm waves passing beneath the boat and feeling the swinging sunset on my face. As someone really important once told me, happiness is not a state, it's a process. Being happy is, above all, being yourself and enjoying it. "Porque una es más auténtica cuanto más se parece a lo que ha soñado de si misma" (Agrado, Todo Sobre Mi Madre, 1999).

Today, friends were having dinner chez moi. I look at the table and see lots of glasses, dirty dishes, empty bottles... God, it feels good! Finally home. Finally back to life, to me. Some human disappointments have recently occured in my life. My latest love experiences were not so lovable... I was so scared of loosing myself on the deception, of loosing my faith in life and in love. But then this salty breeze swept my path, leaving a clear trail of hope and understanding behind. How can a total stranger change your life so completely in just a few hours?! How can you be so happy just for falling in love? Then I realized, it wasn't him, this stranger... It's me. What I could see in/ through him because of all the beautiful people I carry with me, from which he is now part too. I recovered my faith, my inspiration, my will. I recovered my life for he had the gift to put it right in front of my eyes! (Or I had the gift to put him right in front of my eyes! Which was not difficult...) I am eternally grateful for that. That man is now part of my home too. And yet, he came in and out of my life like that fresh salty breeze early on a summer foggy morning.

So friends were here, willing to listen, willing to speak, willing to care and be cared about. New friends, old friends, people I love and respect and trust. People who are part of me and whose life affects mine in every way. There we were eating my Carbonara, drinking rose and smoking cigarretes while I would moan about my new state of grace. I sigh, they smile, I laugh, they smile, I cry, they smile again... And I get by with a little help from my friends.

I realized all I want is salty breeze people, really. People who stay around even when they're not there, people who guide you whithout even understanding they do, people who take time to listen to your nonsenses and are not affraid to tell you when you're being stupid, people you like to listen to, people who become part of your own personality, people who you admire secretly to find out one day they admire you too! Above all, we are the people we meet. And the only thing we can control in life is the importance we give to each and every one of them, those we should absorb and those we should ignore.

All I wish is to continue persuing that salty breeze that keeps me sailing through life.

Let's give it another try...

2009-08-02T02:37:00.000+01:00

Well, well... Here I am are again.

After killing FishandHips I, due to censorship = wise advise reasons (I really just wanted to be polemic on my very first blog scentence!), I've decided to give it another try.

This blog should be about the Life. My life on FishandHips II. Which my friends would say could be a hell of a movie script. I'll leave it posted then, from now on. Maybe Tarantino passes by... Or Tim Burton!!! Alice in Wonderland remake, even before Alice in Wonderland comes out! :)

More than a mere diary, I aim to raise some contemporary questions about life. Some mine, some from my circle of friends and family and pets (this could be read as ex-boyfriends... kidding, guys! :D).

I am officialy embracing at last this lousy "modern woman" label I seem to carry in the recent years of my life. I am single, live alone at my own appartment, have a 24/7 job, lots of gay friends and an exquisite taste for wine and food. Oh, and I carry a laptop on my backpack instead of a baby wrapped around my wrist. To complete the picture and finally recognize this unavoidable reality, here I am BLOGGING!

Modern times made me this so-called modern woman. I never thought it would be so, though. Not that I had the prince charming riding on a horse to come and pick me up at twelve (I find the picture quite gay, really...) or the KingKong version riding a building instead of the horse (which would be a bit more manly). Or am I being again a product of our times and affraid of recognizing the hard reality of my wishes and fantasies? Well, for the current purpose, it really doesn't matter. That's too personal. Mind your own business, reader! ;)

Anyway, being a modern-woman is not something I've always wished for. Actually, I had never even consider it at all. And it's hard for me to believe that anyone does... But it's possible, of course.

"Life is hard", says psychiatrist Scott Peck at the very beggining of his book The Road Less Traveled, a summary on ways people find (or hide) to face relationships and life. He also states that, once you recognize this absolute truth, things immediately get easier. I've read his book some eight years ago and this first scentence got stuck in my mind ever since. I had recongized the truth! Tuririruriruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu (read under XFiles tune).

Maybe as Peck, I believe the essence of each one's life is the people. As a definition of ourselves, at some course I did once, we were asked to draw something that would identify us. I made the typical stickman and presented it as it follows: "This is a person because I am a person and, above all, I like people." I guess this pretty much defines me and the way I see life. So the modern-woman stereotype doesn't really fit, once it demands an overdose of selfishness and other self-centered personality skills.

Given my lifetime experience - which is not that much in terms of time but it is some in terms of relationships, considering them as the utmost life experiences - I believe Romeo and Juliet families' disapproval has been replaced by air fares and conflicting job and social schedules. Today, social status frontiers over relationships are not as obvious as for Romeo and Juliet. Eventually, everything is possible. As long as you can afford it or have the time for it! So instead of facing social constraints (I am generalizing, of course) we now face distances, schedules, carreer stages, relationships' historicals, long distance friends' visits... We have everything at our feet. Our life can be distributed all around the globe! Either because you were trevelling or because you met someone from another place. You want it, you can have it. But then again, can you really? Is it selfishness to question wether you should buy a new couch or go visit your boyfriend in Africa? Is it really futile to buy an iPhone instead of a romantic flower bouquet to your beloved? Is it that promiscuous to jump into bed with someone you really liked just because he or she is leaving the very next day? No. They say tradition is not what it used to be. I'd say morality is not what it used to be. And I'm not trying to preach anything. And here I go excusing myself because actually, today, even just pronouncing the word "morality" has become a tabu. As Oscar Wilde stated, I too believe "Morality, like art, means drawing a line someplace". I just believe morality (like art) has dramatically changed - and keeps changing. Accepting and "organizing" the new morality - that's the challenge.

When you come from a mediterranean traditional catholic "garden planted by the sea" (said Camões) like I do, or any other place with similar social structures (so virtually every country), these issues can become real problems. Specially, because not everyone is actually willing to face them. Status quo has worked so far. Why changing it? And when it comes to a time when you have to face them, you just pretend they don't exist and the option you took was the sole one. Nobody decides nothing. It is always the circumstances, which where I come from, you would call it "God". God, I hate irresponsibility!

The amount of people and places we meet represent huge opportunity costs with which no relationship can compete. The alternatives to stick to a partner are not only all the other "experiences" you can have with other people but also all the trips, courses, social programmes, carreer progress, etc. People take time. Committing to someone is to be certain you want to dedicate time to that person. Studying the Rise of the Creative Class, by Richard Florida, I read this interesting Paul Romer's arguement about time:

“even when we are not actually pressed for time, we may perceive that we are because our time is literally worth more than it used to be. In advanced nations, Romer explains, the long-term trend is for average real income to increase. (...) This ought to make us feel pretty good about the returns we’re getting on our time. (...) Instead, we assign an ever-increasing cost to every minute that we spend outside work – and thus worry constantly about minutes slipping away. It is, says Romer, an unavoidable side effect of our economy.” (Florida, 2002)

So this is it! It all comes down to Time. (I know this is a very economic perspective of it but, guess what, I'm an economist!)

Once, when I was writing my MA dissertation in my 14 square meter messy room at Willen House, London, I had this inspiring thunder light burning my brains and ran to my front neighbour's room yelling "TIME DOESN'T EXIST!". I'll explain this later... Anyway, this discovery made things harder (or easier) for me.

We are living faster than our own lives. The average lifetime we have as human beings is not enough given the huge amount of opportunities we have ahead of us. We live under this common anxiety, excitment, depression, expectation... And it is something affecting most people in my generation. Everything is possible, yes, in an progressively faster, more ephemeral range of time. How the hell sould we not get confused? It's like as if we belong to this bipolar generation, rapidly shifting from extremely happy to deeply sad.

This leads to a growing sense of emotional insecurity. And we try to transform it into excessive social confidence, through the amount of people we know, places we visit or cutting-edge experiences we accumulate.

Even our concept of home has changed. Either we are complete nomads, moving from place to place, according to the jobs we get, the relationships we're in; or we are partially nomad, having a base-place where to live but moving once in a while, for longer or shorter periods of time, around the world to gather those so-called experiences. Even if we do not adopt any of these nomadic/ mid-nomadic behaviours, we have a totally changed concept of nest: it is no longer the place you call home but a show-case refuge. You decorate it to show your friends how good you feel with yourself and you hide there whenever you want to burst and cry without anybody understanding that, sometimes, you're just not happy or feel lonely. You can also live with your parents... But that's just always a bad option, I think. Of course, again, I am generalizing what is my perspective of things. Thankfully I know plenty of people living happily in their homes. Yet, I do believe what I've described is a very common feeling.

On top of all this, you have digital. You're life can be multiplied as many times as you wish, in practically every aspect of it. Social networking allows you to invent as many personalities and lives you would like to have, gather an enormous amount of people around you, travel around the world, be infinitely informed about virtualy everything! Virtual reality is potentially the ultimate theatrical experience by exactly its opposite. When you do theatre you embrace someone else, you actually live through someone else and you recall your deepest emotions or those of other you've watched carefully or had extreme empathy for and expose them on stage, exercising your feelings to the edge of them. This is because you have people all around you: people acting with you, people lightning you, people covering you with music, people watching you. Everyone, in that slow deep sweet moment, cares for you and what you are doing. On the other hand, once you go digital all this vanishes. There's nobody. For as much as you are communicating, interacting, exchanging with people, you are alone. You can't feel others warm breath, their smell, their subtle movements, their life! Just the bright light (go Gremlins!) of your screen and the hard touch of the keyboard... I'm being drammatic, I know. Abd of course I recognize all the enormous advantages of digital media and embrace them as much as I can. I'm blogging, remember? But, guess what, I'm also an actress! ;)

Given all this, which is mainly what I believe this blog will be prowling through, makes me wonder why the hell did we left caves where we lived happily alltogether, nitpicking each other. And then again, even with all these concerns in our heads (instead of lice!), we do manage to be happy...

I love people! :)

By the way, did I mention I'm trying to take over the world?