Virginia Woolf, Orlando, How many?

"When this happened, Orlando heaved a sigh of relief, lit a cigarette, and puffed for a minute or two in silence. Then she called hesitatingly, as if the person she wanted might not be there, 'Orlando? For if there are (at a venture) seventy-six different times all ticking in the mind at once, how many different people are there not--Heaven help us--all having lodgment at one time or another in the human spirit? Some say two thousand and fifty-two. So that it is the most usual thing in the world for a person to call, directly they are alone, Orlando? (if that is one's name) meaning by that, Come, come! I'm sick to death of this particular self. I want another. Hence, the astonishing changes we see in our friends. But it is not altogether plain sailing, either, for though one may say, as Orlando said (being out in the country and needing another self presumably) Orlando? still the Orlando she needs may not come; these selves of which we are built up, one on top of another, as plates are piled on a waiter's hand, have attachments elsewhere, sympathies, little constitutions and rights of their own, call them what you will (and for many of these things there is no name) so that one will only come if it is raining, another in a room with green curtains, another when Mrs Jones is not there, another if you can promise it a glass of wine--and so on; for everybody can multiply from his own experience the different terms which his different selves have made with him--and some are too wildly ridiculous to be mentioned in print at all.

So Orlando, at the turn by the barn, called 'Orlando?' with a note of interrogation in her voice and waited. Orlando did not come.

'All right then,' Orlando said, with the good humour people practise on these occasions; and tried another. For she had a great variety of selves to call upon, far more than we have been able to find room for, since a biography is considered complete if it merely accounts for six or seven selves, whereas a person may well have as many thousand. Choosing then, only those selves we have found room for, Orlando may now have called on the boy who cut the nigger's head down; the boy who strung it up again; the boy who sat on the hill; the boy who saw the poet; the boy who handed the Queen the bowl of rose water; or she may have called upon the young man who fell in love with Sasha; or upon the Courtier; or upon the Ambassador; or upon the Soldier; or upon the Traveller; or she may have wanted the woman to come to her; the Gipsy; the Fine Lady; the Hermit; the girl in love with life; the Patroness of Letters; the woman who called Mar (meaning hot baths and evening fires) or Shelmerdine (meaning crocuses in autumn woods) or Bonthrop (meaning the death we die daily) or all three together--which meant more things than we have space to write out--all were different and she may have called upon any one of them."

Sartre - L'age de Raison

C'est un livre sur la liberté. C'est un livre sur la question "qu'est que c'est la liberté individuel?". C'est un livre qui parle des jeunes qui se sentent vieillir. Le vieillissement et des gents qui se sentent vieillir depuis ces 20 ans et des autres gents qui decouvre, un peu plus tard, que ça vie est lancé.

Mathieu est un type comme moi. 35 ans, quelques voyages, quelques livres, et une jeunesse qu'il sent comme "passé" ou fugitive.
Et maintenant? Ses amis sont jeune (20 ans), mais ils sentent l'angoise de la jeunesse que se coule entre les doigts de ses mains.

En plus, il y a des soucis d'argent et... sa petit amie est enceinte par accident. Un avortment? Et plus des aventures, comme le vieux ami comuniste qui veux Mathieu dans le parti.
La vie qui passe toujour surprenant et pleine des problemés et passions.

Mathieu (et moi?) est quelqun qui a dejá vu et essayé la vie et maintenant se demande: et alors? On se repete pendant quelques annés et meurt?
Il cherche, dans sont existentialisme, une solution, ou peut-être seulement une réponse pour toutes les options qu'il doit prendre: un abortment ou un marriage?
Mais il y a une maîtresse Russe avec 20 ans, elle est inviable...

En arrière-plan... l'existence précède l'essence!
Dans la fabrique de stylos, il y a des stylos prêt:
- l'essence de chaque stylo c'est la idée du designer du stylo, l'essence est le dessin de l'ingénieur.
- quand le stylo est prêt, on peut dire que sa essence précède sa existence (une idée de quelqu'un qu'a été concrétisé)
C'est le plus petit version de l'existentialisme: noutre existence, au contraire du stylo, précède notre essence. Nous ne sommes pas une idée de quelqu'un: nous sommes notre propre ingénieur. C'est l'existentialisme.

Moi, je ne suis pas un existentialiste, je risquerais qu'on na pas d'essence, mais vous n'aimerez pas cette idée...
Je ne suis, j'existe, il n'y a pas d'essence, il n'y a pas des types, chacun de nous est un mutante existentiel, on n'a pas de dessin, de code.

J'utilize Deleuze pour laisser Sartre, qui ma raconté une belle histoire...

Happiness as Exteriority

I once said viajar é viver but today I see that viver é viajar.
Ver os outros de fora, como são, felizes, e assim sorrir. Esquecendo-nos de nós. A vida, ou a felicidade, não são a auto descoberta constante, tão insistida. A vida, ou a felicidade, são este constante e insistente olhar no espelho que são os outros.
Espelho partido que tento colar. La joie comme une espèce de colle.

I wish I could go to a portuguese church, listen to someone's prayers, and feel this beauty, this ... exteriority:


0:52 - Ohm
0:58 - Sitar (rhythm)
1:04 - Chorus (religious)
1:21 - Sitar (melody) <- happiness
3:12 - Flute (melody)

"May that Goddess - Bhagavathi - the blessed Saraswathi presiding deity of learning and remover of our lethargy, laziness and ignorance, protect us. She is pure and white like the jasmine, the full moon and the garland like formation of dewdrops. She is dressed in a spotless robe. She has in her hand, the auspicious instrument veena. She is seated on a white lotus. She is the one who is always respected by Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver, Shankara the annihilator and other Gods."

(not so) dreamy sketches

Variações - Pop Fado Pop - Quero é viver

I'm gonna live,
till when, I don't know
Who cares, what will I be,
to live, that's what I want

La France

"Todos os dias lavo o meu cérebro com publicidade"

Bartolomeu

Books - Although

Although Amazon tells me I should buy a Kindle, I keep buying paper books. Although I have a passion (the consumeristic me) for my paper books, I will soon try one of these toys.
Although Amazon has an incredible website for book search, details, wish lists, and reviews, I buy used books at BetterWorldBooks.com and new books at BookDepository.co.uk (free delivery worldwide).

Traveling East

Have I told you that my next trip will be an overland trip to China?
Well, I am not that original. It's just that I like to keep someone else's ideas.
I'm not sure if I was responsible for his traveling dreams or if he was responsible for mine. One thing I'm sure, we both inspired each other.
He quit his job, he sold all his stuff, and went EAST: Next Stop: Where?

WAIT FOR ME!!!
This is Miguel (on the right) and I travelling together somewhere in Malaysia in 2007. The old guy is Mister Universe 1960, ahahaha:

Arithmetic

Can you calculate 123 x 24 without writing? I took 20 seconds.

What about 173 x 17? I took 45 seconds.

1234 x 23? I took over a minute.

I will get back to this post in 10 years and time myself again :-)

We are all very different. Some people will say: "off course, faster than you". Many people will say "you are crazy".

Paredes

Ai, choro com o que Paredes
Curvando os dedos em garra
Despedaçava a guitarra
Punha os bordões a estalar
José Régio (sobre Artur Paredes)

Avantgarde devient arriéregarde

Common Sense (CS) is just like a very limited guy that takes ages to understand and integrate in his body of knowledge what other people say. CS is our knowledge tail, it has an huge historical dimension.

We are still digesting the XXth century. Current CS is still back in the begining of the XXth century. Let's say it is in 1905 with Einstein or maybe in 1915 with Ghandi or Freud.

I wonder how will our current avantgarde become Common Sense. How will Common Sense integrate all this?
How will I integrate all this?

Let's see, one page of music, entitled "piano piece for David Tudor":

Composer, Sylvano Bussotti, insisted that the name in the title was not a dedication to the famous avant-garde pianist, but rather an indication of the instrument!

website

Ao longo de dois anos online, o google (ou o povo) escolheu a melhor página do meu site com 4000 visitas.
É um resumo do capítulo III do GEB: Figura e Fundo

Death Execises

My exercise

"Imagine you are going to die tomorow, what would you have done differently in your life?"
The same basic answer should be ready everyday: "I would not change a single thing of what I have done"

Someone Else's exercise

"You never imagine yourself naked, smelling of formaldehyde, flat on your back in a marble tub, waiting for them to cut open your ribs with a huge pair of scissors?", Lobo Antunes in the New Yorker

Discipline and Punish

"The judges of normality are present everywhere. We are in the society of the teacher-judge, the doctor-judge, the educator-judge, the 'social-worker'-judge; it is on them that the universal reign of the normative is based; and each individual, wherever he may find himself, subjects to it his body, his gestures, his behavior, his aptitudes, his achievements"
Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish

My answer to the question - IV - On the possibility of the inexistence of an answer

It's been quite a while I've been "playing philosophy" with myself and a few bookish friends. Some years have passed without any political ideology revision.
After such a long period away from real political life, options, decisions, or even study, the idea came quite naturally...
Democracy is obviously not the answer. Democracy is obviously the obvious answer. There is no philosophical answer, so, why would there be a political answer? And democracy is not a non answer. It is not passive. Democracy is an active answer, as active as a despot.

If I'm feeling like a child, there might be an Anarchism that fits my needs. But again, that would be an answer. There is no answer.

I have put my voter card in the trash bin (cartão de eleitor). It's been more than 10 years I have it. I never used it anyway.

Not so out of topic as it may seem:


(free translation)
In the court:
Judge: Will the defendant please rise.
Defendant: You rise, you son of a bitch, I'm innoncent...)

Novo livro, nova insónia

Ando um pouco acima do chão
Nesse lugar onde costumam ser atingidos
Os pássaros
Um pouco acima dos pássaros
No lugar onde costumam inclinar-se
Para o voo


Estou ligeiramente acima do que morre
Nessa encosta onde a palavra é como pão

(Daniel Faria, Explicação...)

E o procurado "Seguir-te não será morrer" sobre Aquiles e Pátroclo.

Signifiance and Interpretosis

It's been years that this basic idea follows me. I never knew where I got it.

It's around the idea of Social Neurosis: neurotic behaviours that are not considered sick. Things that are obviously Neurotic but at the same time are part of our way of being "normal".
All health professionals will say the same: the different between a Neurosis and what I'm talking about here is the suffering: a real Neurosis always involves suffering.

We are all Neurotic, being neurotic is part of being normal. But some types of Neurosis, some ways of being neurotic are considered a disease. The normal mechanisms are the same as the sick mechanisms, neurotic mechanisms.

The neurotic mechanisms of normality are varied. I just wanted to post Deleuze talking about one of many varieties of this mechanism, the most important variety for him:
"In truth, signifiance and interpretosis are the two diseases of the earth or the skin, in other words, humankind's fundamental neurosis.", Mille Plateaux, Deleuze

My answer to the question - III - Selection

FOREWORD
This post is a variation on Dawkins' Memes and Deleuze's War Machines.
Regarding style, this is me trying to imitate Deleuze, without success...

INTRO
We should not speak of Darwin's Evolution.
We should speak of Darwin's Selection.
Calling Evolution to the result of Natural Selection is a BIG mistake.

DEVELOPMENT
The definition of "what is Evolution?" is a moral problem.
Selection depends on what Criteria you use to make the Selection.
In nature, survival of the fittest.
In thought, survival of the fittest.

RESULTS
IDEAS ARE JUST LIKE US: survivors.
IDEAS ARE JUST LIKE US: children of survivors (their parents are older ideas).
Rethink Common Sense based on this...
In nature, Common Sense is a survival kit.
In thought, Common Sense is a group of survivors.

DISCUSSION
Do you want to survive? No!
Why?
In nature, why would I base my entire thinking machine in a survival kit?
In thought, why would I care about a group of survivors? Why would I make the BIG mistake of calling Evolution to the Selection of the fittest?

CONCLUSIONS
We should not think to survive, we should think to <insert_a_verb_here>.
We should diversify the objective of our "thinking machine".

À grande e à ... americana

Notes on Chicago. My first time in the US.

I've seen cathedrals in milan, in koln, in Delhi, in goa, in bangkok, in lima, in paris, in germany, in austria but only the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona makes me feel. The architectural link to my feelings is short.
I have been in KL, in London, in Singapore, in Mumbay, in Frankfurt but only in Chicago I felt the architectural link to my feelings (I could probably go to Hong Kong or Tokyo to feel the same).
Just as Sagrada Familia, this city's skyscrapers make me feel.

The older I get, the more I love "la Peinture". I could spend hours and hours wondering around the Chicago institute of art. I have to move to a big city to get into this kind of museums regularly.
One hour and a half was not enough, but it was enough to discover Breton's Song of the Lark depicting the most beautiful girl I have ever seen ... on canvas.



Chicago means wild onion.

For car lovers, this country is heaven.

The Big Mac tastes exactly the same as in Portugal or France!

The first restaurant I got into, served me the best hamburger I have ever had.

Today at 4pm: -8 degrees Celsius.

I am gonna move to the US... :-)

Curta auto-biografia de um homem feliz

Olho para trás. Olho para a frente.
Não festejei o aniversário mas ontem ao adormecer ouvi a Mariana dizer o número 29. Horrível número.
A contagem dos números não me interessa.
A passagem de ano, o aniversário, contagens irrelevantes.

Eu faço anos quando o fado é cantado. Daqueles espaços de tempo que merecem ser contados.

1. Cheguei à maioridade, e lembro-me desta tomada de consciência como se fosse hoje, no dia em que fiz 17 anos. A 22 de Janeiro de 1997 fez-se luz e fiquei sozinho para sempre.

Antes disto não existe, antes dos 17 anos o agora não existe. Antes dos 17 anos é uma memória, é um passado em si. Aconteceu passado. Como se tivesse nascido aqui e tivesse nascido com memória. Depois deste ponto, há uma memória de um presente. Há um eu que recorda, consciente na medida em que recorda a consciência e recorda a própria recordação.

2. De 1997 a 2002, a Faculdade de Engenharia moldou a minha primeira personalidade dissidente (não minha). Tempos tristes que serviram apenas para agora me poder divertir com empregos fáceis e divertidos (um luxo muito raro para quase todos). Pago, com a quadratura da Engenharia, a facilidade de emprego. O meu eu foi vendido!

3. A idade adulta veio com a emigração em 2002: a descoberta da minha solidão de mãos dadas com a descoberta da minha felicidade. Aqui, eu só, sou eu feliz. O abandono da monotonia portuguesa da infância. A quadratura do sistema interno deixa de suportar uma realidade demasiado flexível. França 2002 e Suíça 2006 são a mesma coisa.

4. O escape viajante de 2007 fechou a minha vida de jovem adulto. Grito, diferença, esquizofrenia, tristeza: o confronto hipersensível com a realidade não significante (como que caído num filme do Paradjanov). Na Primavera de 21 de Março de 2008 (Londres) faço 30 anos.

5. A 30 de Março de 2008 encontro quem me concerta da explosão e me faz voltar à existência.

"On ne naît pas femme, on le devient"

Variations on Beauvoirism.

We are not born women, we become women.

We do not become women, we believe we become women.

We do not become, we believe we become.

Bonjour Tristesse

Adieu tristesse,
Bonjour tristesse.
Tu es inscrite dans les lignes du plafond.
Tu es inscrite dans les yeux que j'aime.

Neste blog não se sangra!!!

Há um post em português adiável. O amor É adiável! Sabiam? E o sangue então...

Há esse post em que explico que as lágrimas minhas em português se fazem verter e na casa a carne e na cuspidela e nas mãos vai o meu EU.
I am my I, my ME, my MYSELF. Mas em português. Nem em português!

Aquela parte that you'll never understand on the other side of the browser, I mean, of the glass, I mean, on the other side of myself.

Daí o blog estar em inglês. AQUI NÃO SE SANGRA!!!

Sangrar é em português. Ah, maravilhosa esquizofrenia linguística!

Sangrar é sempre do outro lado. Ah, maravilhosa esquizofrenia, se fosse só linguística seria triste.

Sangrar? Só deste lado dos meus olhos e NENHUM POEMA (ah! tristes poetas) É VERMELHO SE A TINTA É PRETA!!!

Não me venham com realidades que eu não sou duas letras e muito menos um corpo!

Fate, a stupid word

To grasp but never reach, that's our fate.

Example, this genius. Please go back to the beginning of the 18th century and imagine a man playing alone inside a majestic cathedral. This: