O mundo é um moinho

Ouço a música e um soluço de choro, um só. É um choro de beleza.

Viajar deu resultado. No início cantava Preciso me Encontrar. No final cantava O mundo é um moinho.

E no final estava em paz com o mundo, o moinho. Agora que comecei a trabalhar sei-me parte desse moinho, mas não sinto. Os sentimentos ajudaram-me a entender. Agora não tenho tempo para sentir. Tenho-me divertido a produzir. Estas duas componentes são ambas partes fundamentais para o sorriso.

No entanto, receio que a beleza que ficou da viagem desapareça da memória, e as memórias de viagem se apaguem, e os sentimentos. E esta vontade de chorar de beleza. E esta memória de beleza do Brasil, Índia, Timor, Colômbia, se vá. Aí terei de repetir tudo. De partir em viagem outra vez e voltar a encontrar a paz...

12/07/2008
Today's most beautiful song EVER is O Mundo é um Moinho, Cartola.
Today's runner up: Preciso me encontrar, Cartola.

traveller hangover - the peace is gone

Now that I have started working, and all the common enemies of happiness have attacked me, I feel the peace (gathered during the trip) being swept away... (it's been only 3 weeks I have started working)

Today I need to write somewhere (HERE) that
I HAVE FOUND THE WORLD
I HAVE FOUND MYSELF
I HAVE FOUND INNER PEACE
I HAVE FOUND PROFOUND HAPPINESS

But this is already PAST PERFECT. I am now struggling to keep these things inside me, but they are just not compatible with modern life. I have to adapt, or runaway again.

Well, for now I WANT TO REMEMBER THE PEACE I FELT AS A TRAVELLER.

the world is a mirror of our inner battles

I have written somewhere in South America that "If El Che had read Freud, there would have been no revolution".

Yesterday I discovered Ghandi has already said this in other words:
"The only devils in the world are those running around in our own hearts - that is where the battle should be fought."

My ideias: someone else's ideas.

Celebrating Life ... and Death

Exactly one year ago (my mother could remember the date) I was rolling down a cliff on my way to non-existence.

Today I want to celebrate life and all the beautiful things this "extra year of existence" brought me. Do you feel la folie?

(couldn't find a video showing Savall playing it)

made of feelings

Tonight I'm a feeling machine. It's like a scar all this traveling left me.
I do try to think but feelings get in the way.
Feelings bring questions, and questions bring more feelings.
Tonight, deep inside, and made of feelings, I'm an hurricane.

The travelling took me deep inside and now it's time to cover the wound, made of feelings. And the covering, made of feelings, is more important than the digging.

In the National Galery, London, there's a couch in front of a master piece. I spent half-an-hour seated on that couch and I still wanna go back there. This sunset is made of feelings:



(this is a travel post, I'm in Paris)

Silent Poetry

In piolho (louse), a very famous coffee shop in Porto, someone told me about this guy whose favourite hobby was to recite poetry to his friends. And so I tried, with a theatrical attitude, to express myself... (very literal translation)

Que eu, desde a partida,    (that I, since the departure,)
Não sei onde vou.           (don't know where I go)
Roteiro da vida,            (script of life,)
Quem é que o traçou?        (who has drawn it?)

A olhar da amurada,         (looking from the ship stern)
Que triste que estou!       (how sad I feel!)
Miragens do nada,           (sights of the nothing)
Dizei-me quem sou...        (tell me who am I...)
           Clepsidra, Camilo Pessanha

After a few tries I concluded I was just having a lot of fun and I was spoiling all the poem's poetical content.
A poem is alive when, after reading it, our inner voice stops and the poem lives by itself inside us.
Reciting a poem is like an exhibition. The exhibition that theatre and cinema have to deal with... poetry does not. Poetry is silent.

(many poems by Pessanha survived because the poet himself recited his poems by memory to his friends who later transcribed them)

Klaus Nomi

Sometimes, I do feel that I would have a gothic-extra-terrestrial inspired look, if I was to express myself through clothing, (I wish I could sing) just like him: