telepathy

it doesn't take a telepath to know what you're thinking.

sarah kerrigan to jim raynor in starcraft: liberty's crusade

big brother is not watching you

but it will, sooner or later.

allow me to explain. i've attended to a conference this morning about the new portuguese id card - the one who will gather loads of personal information about the citizens. that information, until now, was scattered through several cards: taxes, healthcare, and so on. okay, hacking databases was already possible. crossing information is also possible, and i'm not even going into social engineering. the new card will only make all this easier.

the thing is, this is just the beginning. they do it to simplify. they tell us what to eat for our health's sake. they keep track on our every move for the sake of security. soon they will control the way we fuck, and they'll come up with a reason for that. and one day we'll wake up and will have no freedom whatsoever. decades of literature and science fiction writing about the subject, and we have learned anything.

so easy

i'm so, so easy. fortunately (or unfortunately), this is seldom noticed.

one-thousand

1000, 1k, one thousand, ten-hundred, it doesn't matter how we say it. this blog reached the post number 1000. i've been blogging for four years now, in... let me see, six blogs other than this one and the garden; and i've written more posts here than in all the others together.

truth be told, few things have given me as much pleasure in the last years as keeping this blog alive. it is a challenge, in the first place, for my ability to think and write in english (it's not my base language), and for my writing skills in general. it has been more mature than my first personal blog, and i have not turned it into a "battlefield" as i did with my second one. not that i haven't had "warfare" here - but waging war has not been the primary focus.

not with only one target, at least.

anyway, one thousand posts. next step: two thousand, if i don't get fed up in the meanwhile :)

explanations

when we do know something, we fantasize about the consequences. when we don't know something, we follow our gut and go on guessing. as human beings, we need logical explanations for everything. in truth, cause and effect. there is too much out there that we don't know anything about.

try

try as we might, sometimes it is simply not enough.

armageddon clock

it's ticking. one, two, three.... and i'm waiting for the bang.

truths, lies and ironies

shit hits the fan sometimes? yes. and sometimes- it's funny, actually - no one is to blame about it. the trouble is, how to make everyone believe that? there's a cruel irony about it, when we may lie and lie and everyone believes us and no one knows that we're lying, but no one believe us when we speak the truth. happened to me too many times during my life to forget the feeling.

defensive stance (II)

still in a defensive stance. it's not my favourite way of living, but times are hard and one must take care of oneself first, and care about everything and everyone else after. in times of wolves, bloodshed and general mayhem, one cannot put the weapons away. one cannot trust anyone but oneself. the future is uncertain, there are far too many wars being fought, and far too many reasons for conflicts to start.

defensive stance

behind every neutral face lies an intention. nothing is for free in this world, not anymore. there is always a catch. i'll stay on defensive stance, for now.

services?

for god's sake. in my homeland, when you do a "good service" you have just fucked up good. "service" often means "toilet", so, performing a service might well mean "taking a dump". and i've fucked half my afternoon around a word that, in the end, means shit. in both ways.

what is the outcome of a lousy night of sleep?

feeling, by the morning, so hurt that for a moment i believe i've been hit by a bus. again.

i'll burn in hell by gluttony

and if you ask me, i blame the cheesecake:

picture taken from here, but i wish i could take the cheesecake instead.

happy birthday, lego

lego, one of the most famous toys in the world, celebrates today its 50th aniversary. many lego-wannabes have been created over the years, but none of them matched the danish multicoloured bricks. i remember spending countless hours in my bedroom playing with lego, making those characters come alive in cars, trucks, submarines, airplanes and starships. and i also remember everytime i went out with my parents, asking them to buy me some small box of lego for my collection. i liked - and stile like - its versatility, the way we can follow the instructions to build what is in the box, or the countless possibilities to make something of our own. i still have all my blocks, in a box somewhere at home. and if there is something from my childhood that i will never get rid of, it's that.

so, i wish a happy birthday to the best toy in the world.

deaf-mutes

i still don't know if it's funny or sad to see a chat between two deaf-mutes.

quoth the raven (XXIII):

one thing you find when you leave somewhere is which of your problems belong to where you are, and which of them belong to what you are.

joan d. vinge, in the summer queen

no different

i should learn to be an asshole sometimes. no kidding. i really should. i wouldn't avoid anything - people would be no different when they are with me, but i'd show them how does it feel to be hopelessly screwed up.

no alarms and no surprises

we see the blow coming and yet we do not care to move. sometimes we know we cannot dodge, we cannot parry, we cannot run. we have to take the hit and survive the impact.

gains and losses

at least this time there are rights from my wrongs, and there are gains from my losses.

notes from danmark (V)

forest around guldborg, danmark. how i miss that place.

numbers, numbers

this blog is 829 days old - two years and almost four months, something like that. in those 829 days, i've written an average of 1,9 posts per day. not bad.

now the funny numbers. i set a challenge for myself some time ago: write 666 posts till the second birthday of the blog (october the 18th). i failed, miserably (as i always fail). reached the post number 666 on october 27th. so, i wrote 666 posts in 739 days, or two years and nine days. which gives an average of 0,9 posts per day. since that day, i've written more 318 posts. which means that in 90 days, i've written an average of 3,5 posts per day. i'm going sky-high.

and the blog has a total of 984 written posts. when it reaches one thousand, there will be a party.

phylosophy out of a friend's messenger nickname (XXI)

when many of your wishes are granted, many of your dreams will be destroyed. absolutely.

so true

(...) and sometimes, it is the very same love that reduces us to our insignificance. and every time we learn this lesson, we learn it as if it was the first time.

translated from here.

twist of fate

i might well see things where they do not exist, but whatever. if the last twist of fate comes to happen, i'll be laughing out loud for the rest of my life, i swear.

cave in

i'm digging my way out, not noticing the tunnel already caving in behind me.

obvious lies

i like it when people lie to me and it's so obvious they're lying, and i like it when people don't want to say no and go on making up such a poor excuse that everyone - and i mean everyone - could see it from one mile away. no kidding, i really like that. they think that i'm believing in all their bullshit, but what really happens is, i'm the one feeding them with bullshit. it's quite a nice sense of retribution, if you ask me.

mob

there is a saying that states something like this: "history isn't made by the weak". true. history is actually made by a powerful mob of weak people, and each individual in the crowd wouldn't have done anything alone.

on giving up

giving up is usually seen as a sign of weakness. for most people, it's something terrible: one shall always do whatever one can in order to succeed, regardless of the cost. if you ask me, to give up is not something shameful. well, sometimes it is, but not all the time, not even in most of time. a sign of weakness? there is no weakness in surrendering to a clearly superior foe, only common sense. as there is no weakness in acknowledging our limitations. the age of heroes is long gone, and not all the battles are meant to be won. besides, sometimes victory comes at a cost that we cannot simply afford. and sometimes the tides change, and what we believed we wanted, we want no more. is it worth keep struggling for something we no longer desire?

the big mistake

in her sci-fi novel world's end, joan d. vinge writes about bz gundhalinu. gundhalinu was a technician of the second rank in the stratified society of the planet karemough, which led the hegemony. he served on tiamat, where he was an inspector of the hegemonig police. his capture by nomadic thugs forced him attempt suicide by slashing his wrists, and only the love of moon dawntreader gave him strenght to carry on with his life. he helped her becoming the summer queen on tiamat, just before the hegemony's departure - and his own departure. cast aside by his people (death before dishonor, they said), gundhalinu went to four, one of the planets of the hegemony, where he worked as police inspector again. and when his brothers went missing in a barren wasteland known as the world's end, gundhalinu dared what many have dared before and no one had succeded yet: he went to the world's end to look for his brothers and to pick up the shards of his shattered life.

and the trip to the world's end was known on four by the big mistake.

gods, i feel so much like gundhalinu.

sight

some people see too much, their eyes can gaze upon the timeline to all directions, past or future. other people, however, can't see the present if it hits them right between their eyes.

indian light fragments

a friend of mine, who will remain anonymous for the time being, has been travelling around the world (some people are born lucky). and she decided to share the photos - she's a very good photographer, by the way - of her last trip in a blog. so on the right, under the reflections, you can find the link to her homepage and see her adventures in india. yes, india. i told you some people are lucky.

or, in her case, learned how to make their own luck.

holidays

friend: if you could choose a destination for holidays - i mean, any destination - where would you go?

me: any destination? russia, definetely. i'd love to go on the trans-siberian train from moscow to vladivostok.

friend: russia? for god's sake, john, you can't be serious. russia? that's one hell of a dangerous country. i'd never go there, don't want to be shot, thank you.

me: all right. where would you like to go on holidays, then?

friend: oh, i'd love to go to brazil.

me: oh, really?

memories

could any memory from my childhood bring back a smile? probably not. i mean, i had a regular childhood. it was happy, i dare say. i have quite good memories. like playing with my friends, but the best memories include a friend who has already died, and died alone, forgotten by all of us. like roaming free in the brooks with my childhood's best friend, but now he lives far away (last time i've seen him was four years ago), and the brooks have either been levelled or turned into dumps, and it's been so long that i couldn't catch a frog any more no matter how hard i tried. another good memory comes after i learned to ride a bike, and the countless afternoons i've spent with some friends riding along the countryside. it's been five years since the last time i rode a bike though; actually, my bike now is just a pile of rusted metal. and those friends.... are no longer friends, but random people with whom i would only spend ten minutes of my time if i weren't given any other choice.

and the few memories that could bring me back that smile are lost in the wheels of time, never to return again. some stories are not meant to be told again. some mementos are not supposed to be crafted again, as the hands of the artisan have sadly grown too weak.

somethings are meant to be forever gone. there is no chance of rejoicing when living them again. we're only given nostalgia, with it's sad smile, as a comfort. and that's all that's left.

a little warning

this blog is quite misleading.

light, darkness, shadows

we usually believe that the opposite of light is darkness. it might be to a certain extent, but i don't think that would be correct as an answer. light and darkness are quite different in their essences. and the reason for that is only one: shadows. shadows exist in the light, but not in the darkness. shadows are a consequence of the light: when we cover the light a little, we create a shadow. but we can't cover the darkness. darkness is absolute: it rules over everything until we turn the lights on. and when we do it, it simply vanishes. shadows, however, are left behind.

now that i think of it, i believe i'd written something about it here a long time ago, but can't be arsed to go through the archives right now. i'm too lazy.

double-double-bind

we tie a double-bind knot over a double-bind knot. it can't be good.

lost innocence

yet for many souls, not even the love, and the promises it delivers, remain. only shadows. shadows of forsaken love, shadows of lost innocence.

play with fire

i'm playing with fire. i really am. we can open our mind wide, but that's yet another illusion. we might open our minds, but we can't change our nature. and our nature tells us to own. to possess. to have. we might play tricks on our nature, but in the end it will be our nature that will trick us. and it will trick us really hard.

opposite signs

during lunch (i love my "corporate" lunches, we talk about everything but work - and i really mean everything. it's really interesting), we were talking about relationships and young people (read: teenagers). and someone was saying that when we are young, boys and girls give each other opposite signs. this means that this girl might like that boy, but she'll make him think that she actually hates him. and the other way around, too. well, it's funny that this is quite true, but it isn't true only for teenagers. i'm no longer a teenager (i think), and i still find it very hard to understand the signals - or the lack of signals - that i get. i mean, if a girl likes me (something rare that happens once in a blue moon), she has to be really really obvious for me to get it - and even when i finally get it, i still hesitate. what if...?, i think. if she's not obvious, i'll be oblivious to it. really. it's my personal tragedy, i think - i can't read between the lines, i can't decipher what lies in her eyes, and i dare not to risk. i never know what everything is supposed to mean. and, as i'm pessimist by nature, i always think it doesn't mean anything good.

for example, i'd really like to understand it now. right now. yet i can't. bloody opposite signs.

hide

everybody has something to hide.

how big are the dreams?

big enough, i'd say. dreams are infinite, endless, it's only limit being our imagination - or our sexual traumas, according to freud. but that's another story. yes, i'd say dreams are endless. even better, they are free of taxes. for now, at least. and we can dream about anything. in our dreams, we can be heroes or villains, do great deeds or slaughter mankind. we can live forever or die and wake up sweating. we can get laid with the hottest movie starts (this is the best part, probably). we can be wealthy and have everything we desire - and in our dreams, we can have the money and the love and the happiness and everything.

the world, on the other hand, is too small. too limited. it includes so many coincidences, so many déjà vu, so many reruns. yes, reruns. history is like a spiral, always repeating itself even if with different characters in different situations. the matrix, the core, is the same, always the same.

don't know if this answers to you, jorge. i'm kinda low on inspiration tonight. anyway, thanks for your comment! and yes, our conversation saturday was delightful. should think about doing it again one of these days :)

déjà vu

it's quite a weird feeling.

the world is too small

too small. too damn small. too bloody small.

and for god's sake,

a rucksack in the subway rail? i could do much better if i farted in the station, i tell you.

dear terrorists,

next time you want to play terrorist in lisbon, be more clever. do it in the centre of the town, and not in some backwater subway station (and no, li, in case you read this, i don't think your neighbourhood is backwater, but the station there is the last of that line). the end of the line is for amateurs. try the junction between the yellow and blue lines, for example. two subway lines would be shut down, and all the traffic in the centre of the city would be redirected, causing chaos in the traffic and delaying all means of public transportation. and i'd have a very good excuse not to work, for example.

adaptation

human beings can adapt to anything. even to being torn apart.

forbidden questions (II)

and, again, back to the intentions. the value of a question can be based on the intention lying behind it. my work consists - or should consist - in asking questions. yet i find it more funny to answer.

shame no one ever cares to ask the right questions. but then again, what would i answer if they did? input...

forbidden questions

sometimes we ache to ask a question we have no right to ask. not anymore. providing, of course, we have ever been entitled to do it. yes, there are forbidden questions all around. and most of times, they're worth far more than their own answers.

intentions

i might believe in coincidences, all right, but i also believe in intentions. human interaction is based on then. intentions might be good or bad, and they all carry a fair deal of deceiving. nothing in this life is for free. human relationships, for example, are based on intentions. any relationship. it's a trade - you give something, and you're given something in return. so when you engage someone in a relationship - a love affair, a friendship, a working contract -, you always - always - have an intention. you want something.

in the end, this is why i'm always so suspicious about people. yet it doesn't keep me from trusting them instintively. i might say a lot of bullshit, really, but i never claimed to be coherent.

bang!

it's not a flawless project, of course. yet it deserves some credit - a lot of credit, if you ask me. the bang! magazine is probably the only portuguese magazine about fantasy and science fiction and worlds alike. now i know it started on paper edition, but its newest edition was released only online, as an e-book. it can be read here.

coincidences

while it's true that we can make coincidences to happen, it's no less true that coincidences, real coincidences can happen and do happen. and sometimes, we are not as mean and evil as people think we might be - there are things that happen randomly.

artificial reality

it's so easy to be mistaken. it's so easy to take whatever information we get here and there, and find our own truth with it. especially when we are blindfolded - by love or hate, by sorrow or despair. by something that veils our senses and keeps us from seeing the reality as it is - unreliable, unpredictable, lacking logic and coherence all the way. seldom are things as we see them, for we can never see the whole, big picture. most of times, we see pieces, broken shards, and we collect them and make our own image, our own reality. and how surprising it is to find out that we've been building our feelings upon an artificial reality of our own making..!

no problem at all

the problem with the world is, it cannot be stopped. it never really stops. it goes on like this, spinning and spinning, around and around. always swirling over its orbit, oblivious to everything else. always revolving over itself, endlessly, restlessly. and sometimes in very twisted ways.

but then again, it is no problem at all.

a point

there is a famous portuguese singer (that i really don't like, his voice is so annoying and his songs.. oh well) who once wrote a song with something like this:

we can't love someone who doesn't listen the same song we do.

regardless on how crappy is the song, the guy has a point here.

light and shadow

human nature? light and shadow. being good and evil. being capable of the best and the worst. giving life and taking life away on a whim. saving and destroying. waging war and finding peace. loving and hating. duality, always. there's not much left to think about, only to wonder at the remarkable contradiction that we are.

communication hasn't killed love, but delivered a deadly blow

love is old fashioned. not the feeling itself, i mean, but everything else around it. a long time ago, there was no way of keeping in touch everytime, everywhere - therefore, people had to put more trust into a relationship. lovers phoned each other now and then, when they could find a public booth. everyday they checked their mail boxes for a special letter (yes, a letter; you know, a piece of paper sent by mail), which was carefully kept in that very special place. now people think that keeping short messages (sms) are special, when they're just silly - i mean, do we really want to keep in a cell phone a 180 character text written in the lousiest of the ways? is that special? please. now people are in touch every day and night by instant messaging. now people are always calling each other, and making one hell of a fuss when one doesn't ring back, when one doesn't reply to that message all at once (i was taking a crap, for fuck's sake!). mind you, i'm exactly like this. and i hate myself for it. yet changing the world is beyond me. i know i'm quite conservative and sometimes, somewhat old fashioned. but i really think that there are things that should never be lost - for the sake of our sanity.

mud

i like clear endings. if there's one thing i hate is to keep building expectations when it's all said and done. i like when a relationship is over with a big fucking fuss. with shouting and swearing and cursing. i like when hatred takes over and we lose control. it allows us to cut it once and for all, and walk away. it's noble. we keep our dignity. i remember that saying, one shall not fight a pig right into the mud.

an uneven trade

exchange, noun: an exchange of somebody or something for another.

a trade doesn't necessarily needs to be even. yet when an uneven trade goes on for too long, the one getting less starts delivering less as well. there are no free lunches, after all. and in the end, every relationship implies trade.

unharmed

the funny thing was, i really felt as if all that anger was not directed at me. hell was breaking loose, i was right in front of it, and there stood, unaffected and unharmed. all the screaming, all the yelling was passing me by. it was consuming itself all around, somewhere else.

to cheer up:

rage against the machine will come to lisbon by summer. wohooo!

want what we get

sometimes we cannot get what we want, and we have to learn to want what we get. it's not always enough, i know, but could be worse for a start.

angie, we can't say we never tried....

we might, one day. life has funny ways, as i've found recently. anyway. i'm not referring to any rolling stones' song, but rather to angie, one of the best friends one can have, who is now blogging. now i remember, some time ago i said i'd write about my friends, and so far i haven't. might write something about her one of these days, but for now, just wanna tell that her blog is now on the link list, right on... the right.

turn the tide

stuck into a lose-lose situation, is it worth to try to turn the tide and get out of it as a winner?

the setience of time

sometimes i feel time as if it is a setient being. as if it has a will of its own. time heals everything, they say. everything he wants to heal, i say. for there are wounds time does not care to heal, feelings time does not want to erase. time nourishes them, against our own will, allows them to grow, gives them good earth and sun and rain when needed. often, we are not aware of this. but time will always make sure that we will see it, just as it sees it.

she's lost control

confusion in her eyes that says it all.
she's lost control.
and she's clinging to the nearest passer by,
she's lost control.
and she gave away the secrets of her past,
and said i've lost control again,
and a voice that told her when and where to act,
she said i've lost control again.

and she turned around and took me by the hand and said,
i've lost control again.
and how i'll never know just why or understand,
she said i've lost control again.
and she screamed out kicking on her side and said,
i've lost control again.
and seized up on the floor, i thought she'd die.
she said i've lost control.
she's lost control again.
she's lost control.
she's lost control again.
she's lost control.

well i had to 'phone her friend to state my case,
and say she's lost control again.
and she showed up all the errors and mistakes,
and said i've lost control again.
but she expressed herself in many different ways,
until she lost control again.
and walked upon the edge of no escape,
and laughed i've lost control.
she's lost control again.
she's lost control.
she's lost control again.
she's lost control.

joy division, she's lost control, in the album unknown pleasures, 1978

sacrifice

sometimes we sacrifice everything for no good, for no good at all, for the sacrifice is the goal itself.

control

we've lost control again

this, of course, assuming we ever control a damn thing in our lives. we have always to count with the unexpected. with the unlikely. with the impossible. and it's impossible to go on living our lives without affect anyone, without loving anyone, without hurting anyone. sometimes we play the victim, the next time we play the executioner and our sins will be the same of everyone else's sins. ways, roads, paths, are not impossible though. sometimes we might find them unlikely to cross again. and sometimes they have to.

unexpected. unlikely. impossible. three things i thought about our paths, and the probability for them to cross ever again. they did, and nothing was left standing. i'm not sorry for it. i can't. as someone adequately said, "sometimes we don't feel sorry or guilty because we have not betrayed ourselves - because we've been true to ourselves".

thought of the day

told me a friend minutes ago: "you know what they say, if it's got tits or wheels, it's going to cause you trouble".

untitled

sometimes we can't see it coming until it hits us right in the face. and then we can't avoid it any more. yet sometimes, after the hit, we're left wondering if we would have avoided it if we could. i guess no. there are things too sweet to forget, too great to left behind.

kronos' wake

there are things, memories, feelings that time does not erase. we can't change that. we can try, but we're sure to screw up. and it's funny and ironic and somehow sweet to see time playing some tricks on us.

on shortcuts

sometimes the easiest way is not the easiest way.

intuition

centuries of studies on psychology, on human behaviour, on the human mind, on the psychic powers, on the most silly things, and no one could be arsed to study intuition?

climbing

unfortunately, we climb our way through the stairway of life leaving a trail of dead bodies and broken souls behind.

erased

break me in, teach us to cheat.
and to lie, cover up,
what shouldn't be shared.
and the truth's unwinding,
scraping away at my mind.
please stop asking me to describe.

for one moment
i wish you'd hold your stage
with no feelings at all.
open minded,
i'm sure i used to be so free.

self expressed, exhausting for all
to see and to be
what you want and what you need.
the truth's unwinding,
scraping away at my mind.
please stop asking me to describe

for one moment
i wish you'd hold your stage,
with no feelings at all.
open minded,
i'm sure i used to be so free.

for one moment,
i wish you'd hold your stage
with no feelings at all.
open minded,
i'm sure i used to be so free.

wash me away,
clean your body of me,
erase all the memories...
they will only bring us pain.
and i've seen, all i'll ever need.

muse, citizen erased, in the album origin of symmetry, 2001

optimistic

i seldom feel sorry for anyone. but i can't help but feel sad for optimistic people. really sad. i mean, when the shit hits the fan they seldom see it coming. they can never believe something has gone wrong, terribly wrong. it just doesn't make any sense for them. things are supposed to go right after all. well, they aren't. not in the real world. the difference between an optimistic person and a pessimist one is, an optimistic is never expecting things to go wrong. so when they go right, well, it's working as intended; if they go wrong, they can't handle it. the pessimist person is different: always expecting everything to go terribly wrong, following every murphy law. so then they do, indeed, go wrong, they had already seen it coming. if things go right, they'll rejoice, as it has come as a surprise, as an unexpected outcome. it's a great victory.

butterflies and hurricanes

and the butterfly changed the hurricane. the beating of its coloured wings made it stronger, more destructive. it brought chaos, when chaos was already master and commander, and order was holding by thin remains of rusty, tangled wire.

executioner

i've found myself several times on the death row. this is, however, the first time i play the executioner.

can we translate the memory?

what is the language of the memory? to answer this question, maybe we should start by hinting at what exactly is the memory. it might be a "collective" memory, the history of a nation, for example. it might also be an individual memory, the images of our very own past that we keep inside of us - sometimes on the surface of our conscient mind, sometimes too out of reach even for ourselves. and what about its language? is it a common, universal language? or do each memory of each individual has a code of its own, a language of its own, understandable only by its owners and perhaps not all the time?

and could we translate it, the memory? sometimes people write their memories. a diary, a journal, can be considered a transcript of its writer's memory. but is it true to the original source, or merely an interpretation? when we read a journal - our own journal, if you want -, are we reading what happened exactly, or our own view of those events? so maybe the memory is intelligible, in the philosophical meaning of the word: it can only be perceived and read by our mind.

no matter. all this philosophical yada yada is meant only to congratulate alice for the first year of her blog, a tradução da memória. congratulations!

no one to blame

when it matters the most, we are alone. everyone ask us if there's something wrong when we don't feel like talking. but no one ever is up to listen to us when we feel like doing it. more: when we most need to do it. and the sad thing here is, no one is to blame. and that's a shame, actually: everything is so easy when we can put the blame on someone else.

expectations

the most dangerous thing human beings can build is expectations.

change

if there was one single constant in the human nature, i wouldn't name the evil, the adaptability, the rational thinking. i'd say it was the fear of change.

under siege

muse

and this post is for alice, a very kind reader with whom i've been having the most interesting conversations that e-mail can deliver nowadays.

even though muse (the band) have started somewhere by the end of the nineties (1997, i think, with the first album, showbiz, in 1999), i've only discovered them in 2004. by that time, they were in a tour promoting their new album, absolution. can't say if their gig in lisbon was before or after their legendary live performance at glastonbury festival (which proppeled them to the glory; seek videos on youtube.com and you'll find out why), but it was something remarkable in every possible way. their show was in the super bock super rock festival, and was stuck in the "heavy metal day" along with pleymo, static-x, linkin park and korn. i was there to see linkin park, my favourite band back then. from muse, i knew their new singles - time is running out and sing for absolution, and a couple of old songs that i could recognize but not identify. but the gig was completely breathtaking. when they played the song butterflies and hurricanes, i think the crowd hasn't even cheered - everyone just stood amazed, watching matthew bellamy piano solo. it was, doubtlessly, the best live show i've ever seen in my life. forget about linkin park.

of course, the first thing i did when i got home was to download a lot of musics from them. and then it was a matter of time for them to become my favourite band. seeing them again in lisbon two years ago helped a lot, of course.

and this post also allows me to say that muse's myspace.com page link has been added to the music section, on the right menu. go and delight yourselves with some of their newest songs. oh, and please spam their e-mail and message box telling them to come back to lisbon this year.

details

details are everything. we might not pay attention to them quite often, but they have the power to change anything - sometimes by sheer luck, sometimes by rational thinking.

ancestral recall (re-edition)

this is not my world.

i've been travelling through the worlds for so long that i can say no more which is my own world. many of them, i've made them myself. and from them, i have fled. for fear, for boredom, never for the simple pleasure of travelling. i could never stay in the same world too long.

this one, it isn't of my creation. i've just fled from my last and most magnificient creation. and i've wandered through the timeless void that separates entire universe until i grew aware of this great forest. i don't even know where it came from.

it feels as if i'm standing in a wide graveyard lost under the canopy. like the trees themselves, gray tombstones erupt from the ground, from the soil covered by a thin veil of cold and pure water. a ghostly mist floats over the surface, as if it was made of the souls of the long dead. i can feel it, slowly surrounding me like a gentle and seductive touch. it makes me remember. above, suspended on the trees' branches, thousands of small candles are suspended, burning with eternal fire. they cut through the darkess. they warm my face. they comfort my soul. they make me dream.

now, i do know.

i know why i came here. i know why i've walked this enchanted forest until i reached this place. i know not why have i fled my own world - but i know why i ended up here. right here.

this world, see, is a mirror of myself. i've lost myself in the woods, only to find me in this sanctuary. i am divided between the mists down here, and the light above and beyond. within the mist lie the ghosts of my former wold, beautiful and joyful, that i loved as i loved no other before... and that i lost. yet it seems to want me back. i can feel it sometimes, shifting between a moment when it holds me, and another, when it casts me aside. the little candles above are the light of the unknown, of a world that calls me, and yet i've never seen it. it wants me. and i feel as if i've always dreamed about it, but was powerless to create it myself.

i stare at both with empty eyes. i stand in a dead end; i can go no further. the choice is, at last, revealed. it is time to fight, either for what i know or for the unknown.

i do know know the outcome of this struggle. all i know is, tonight, and only tonight, the future of both worlds lies in my hands.

written almost four years ago.
four? jesus, times flies fast.
it was published in my previous blog,
which is not online any more.
i'm being nostalgic, am i not?

that joke isn't funny anymore

i like jokes. one of the (few) positive things about me is my good sense of humour (even though it gets dark sometimes). someone make a joke out of me, and what the hell, i laugh and join in. when i hear the joke for the second time, it isn't as funny as before - it makes me smile, little more than that. if that someone goes for a third round, then the joke just bores the crap out of me. what, again? now, if the joke goes by the fourth and fifth round, then i get pissed. really pissed. as if that person can't see that the joke isn't funny anymore. that it's getting personal.

tangled wire

it's like a box of chocolats

life, of course. full of wonders, full of surprises. good and bad and meaningless. people coming into our lives. and leaving forever. and returning, which is even more extraordinary. people going to unlikely places, fulfilling their obvious destinies, doing things we never thought they'd do - or that we can't understand why only now. incredible coincidences in the most unexpected moments, long lost paths crossing again. tangled wire. a lot of tangled wire. past, present and future switching their places and leaving us into a maze where we can't understand what happened before, so we can't know what is to come. not even what it is now, reality. whirlwinds, butterflies and hurricanes. is it true, that the beating of the wings of a butterfly can move a hurricane if it happens with the precise strenght in the exact moment? right now, i think so, yes.

the.best.music.ever.

controlling my feelings for too long
controlling my feelings for too long

controlling my feelings for too long
controlling my feelings for too long
forcing our darkest souls to unfold
forcing our darkest souls to unfold
pushing us into self destruction
pushing us into self destruction

they make me, make me dream your dreams
they make me, make me scream your screams

trying to please you for too long
trying to please you for too long
visions of greed you wallow
visions of greed you wallow
visions of greed you wallow
visions of greed you wallow

they make me, make me dream your dreams
they make me, make me scream your screams

controlling my feelings for too long
controlling my feelings for too long
forcing our darkest souls to unfold
forcing our darkest souls to unfold
and pushing us into self destruction
and pushing us into self destruction

they make me, make me dream your dreams
they make me, make me scream your screams

muse, showbiz, in the album showbiz, 1999

the.best.music.ever.

sorry, radiohead. creep is a remarkable song in every possible way, no doubt about it. it has been my personal favourite for countless years, and it's melancholic sound still sends chills down my spine. yet the following song simply beats everything i have heard so far, both live and in studio recording. it's amazing what bellamy can do with a guitar, and the emotions we can feel in the end solo.

showbiz, by muse in the album showbiz, 1999 // video from hullabaloo

a need, not a choice.

then the young apprentice learns that only by the edge we can understand that loving and letting go is a need, and not a choice.

from here, as usual

notes from danmark (IV)

in damnark, smoking in pubs and restaurants is also forbidden - with some very, very few exceptions. here in portugal we might complain about how bad it is to have to go outside for a smoke, because of the cold and the rain and all that - but try, as i tried, to go outside copenhagen's airport under a blizzard (don't know the exact temperature, but it was below zero for sure) just for one cigarrette. compared to that, some drops of portuguese rain are most welcomed, believe me.

soon someone will see that the smoking law was not a good idea

and no, i'm not thinking about the health issues; rather about pure mind issues. i've seen some people quite stressed recently, and i'm sure there must be some connection here. anyway, now this is a smoke-free country, so i already welcomed the cold street for my little breaks. in the meanwhile, francisco josé viegas, daniel oliveira and some others have been publishing lists of restaurants and pubs where smoking is allowed. cheers.

notes from danmark (III)

nightfall starts around four o'clock in the afternoon in this time of the year. because of the flight delay at lisbon (classic), we arrived around this time. so when we finally got to the village of guldborg, night was pitch-black already. in a way, it was a kind of jet-lag with only one hour of delay - after what seemed countless hours chatting in the dining room, it was still nine o'clock, when i thought it would be around two a.m.. suffice to say, it completely ruined my tracking of time. and who cared? we only care about time when we're having a bad time.

the art of war

to know oneself is the first step necessary to win a war. as a commander, one must know the exact strenght of the army - and also, it's weaknesses. this is particularly important, as one should never allow the enemy to realise where the defenses wouldn't hold, or which weapons would be more efficient. also, it is important to know the enemy. to understand how the opposing army fights, which weapons it uses, and which weapons would tear down the lines and where. also, the battlefield is of the utmost importance, and if one doesn't know the land, one should not allow the enemy to know it as well. attacking first might seem a good strategy, but only as long as one has the element of surprise; once it is lost, then the defense should be organized as quickly as possible, for the momentum will soon be lost. always fight with honour and dignity. one should me merciful and just, but should also be tough if needed.

recklessness (II)

seldom the recklessness befriends reason. or dignity, for that matter. it might have a positive outcome now and then, but it's bound to generate too much damage. it might seem to be full of pride, when it has anything to do with pride - only despair.

urza and mishra

i remember urza and mishra, the brothers responsible for the war that wiped out argoth, that ruined terisiare and that plunged the world of dominaria into an ice age that last several millenia. their mistakes, their world and an alien, mechanic demon played against themselves until they reached the point of no return: the point where there is no turning back, the point when it's a matter of do and die. the point where all the options fade away, and one can't but keep going towards destruction. truth be told, everyone reaches that point at least once in one's lifetime. what differs is the havoc each one of us causes, and the ammount of people, of souls, we drag to the bottom with us.

napalm

oh, i love the smell of burning flesh by the evening.

two-thousand-and-seven in review

january: the fall from grace of my closest friends.
february: a bumpy end of a cycle (special tanks to the bus 29).
march: the dolce fare niente.
april: can't quite remember, has anything happened?
may: insane start for my new life.
june: boooring.
july: the expansion.
august: an unnoticed and early autumn.
september: the illusions, and the cheers to the coliseum.
october: the delusions.
november: my fall from grace.
december: the rebirth and the great escape.

notes from danmark (II)

sunset in the streets of guldborg.

firefly

like icarus, i dared fly too high, hoping to see apollo's fire chariot. and, like icarus, i shall see my wings of wax and feathers scorched by the sun when i reach the highest sky, and will fall to the earth.

northern girls

nor surprisingly, most of my friends have been asking me questions about danmark and my week there. and the most frequently asked question, either for boys and girls, is "what about the danish girls, are they hot?". well, i can tell that what is hard in there is to find the middle between the somewhat ugly and the goddesses.

runner

the funny thing is, you never really fought for anything. you just stood there waiting for everything and everyone to knock on your door so you could let'em in whenever you felt like it. and even to close the door - that was never a trouble for you, you just waited for someone to feel the cold outside and close it. no, no, you know not what to fight means. what it is all about. you never had to. you're not the kind of person to follow someone. i remember that for a time i hoped you did it, that i wished you to do it - to follow me when i had left, to grab by arm and stop me with a rough "it won't be like this". and i remember looking back in that dark avenue. all for nothing, all the time. all in vain. you never followed me. you've always let me go. you never truly left me - even when you knew you no longer wanted me, you waited for me to realise that and save you all the trouble. and it hasn't changed when all was said and done. the first obstacle on the way made you turn back and take a different path. truly, you're a runner, not a warrior. and it kinda makes me feel sad for you.

never-changing

yeah, right. it's really funny. year after year i've witnessed the very same bullshit - people believing (or appearing to believe, or merely dellusioning themselves) that with the end of an year and the beginning of a new one something has so change in their lives. for better, mind you. only, it doesn't. we start the new year with one hell of an hang-over because in the celebrations we drank too much. now come and tell me that a fucking headache is a good augur. anyway. beginning a new year, regardless of how good the party is, means nothing. because in the next day, in the very first day of everyone's so called "new life", everything will be the same. one will have the same people around - both those one likes and those hated. one will have the same dull and boring and pain-in-the-ass job. one will soon be back to the same routines. and the sadness and the problems of the previous year, those that we hoped to left behind as we cheered at the midnight, they will be back, uninvited, by the morning. if not before. so what's the big deal?

new year? it really looks the same now.

ah, back to the old life. how i have (not) missed it.

and now back to portugal,

a country that, these days, is more like this:

picture taken from here.

and by the way: i've tried to write some posts in the last days, but i always found myself too drunk to get it started. oh well. let's see if i can keep the chaos running as i used to last year.