Wednesday, 25 August 2010

questions I gave up questioning...

How did the first life form appear on Earth? If it came from space how and where did the first life form of the whole Universe appear?
How did the Universe appear? From where? And where is where?
Nothing is created, nothing is lost, everything is transforming. Meaning a never ending circle, where Earth was perhaps created somewhere in the middle. But in the middle of what if there's no beginning nor end?
Does infinity have an end? If so, what's beyond?
Isn't nothing already something just by being nothing?

Oh, I could go forever...

Wednesday, 11 August 2010

Fernando Pessoa

“Pessoa, whose name means ‘person’ in Portuguese, had three alter egos who wrote in styles completely different from his own. In fact Pessoa wrote under dozens of names, but Alberto Caeiro, Ricardo Reis and Álvaro de Campos were – their creator claimed – full-fledged individuals who wrote things that he himself would never or could never write. He dubbed them ‘heteronyms’ rather than pseudonyms, since they were not false names but “other names”, belonging to distinct literary personalities. Not only were their styles different; they thought differently, they had different religious and political views, different aesthetic sensibilities, different social temperaments. And each produced a large body of poetry. Álvaro de Campos and Ricardo Reis also signed dozens of pages of prose.“

Just a curiosity: between 72 (so far) Chevalier de Pas was the first known heteronym at the early age of six years old.

Fernando Pessoa’s geniality is too big to fill in only one poet.
He gives voice to every single part of his being. Every one of us has several different voices inside, You could even call them souls, but just a few can actually hear them. We pushed our voices to some drawer far back in our mind and stopped hearing them a long time ago. One of the many disadvantages of growing up.
Most of us though still keep around two to three voices. None is true or false, good or evil. That only happens in fairy tales. Our voices have all a mind of their own. They can be in peace or in conflict, subjective or objective, depending more or less on the mood or the path chosen that day. But normally we usually keep our voices to ourselves letting our personal thoughts and conflicts stay, well… personal.
Pessoa went further. He didn’t lose any voice on the way and more than that, he showed them all to the outer world. He materialized them through the writing.
Pessoa is one of a kind and when I’m reading him, it doesn’t mean I’m reading him. I might be reading Ricardo Reis and his odes, the impulsive Alberto Caeiro, Alvaro Campos or his semi-heteronym Bernardo Soares.
Even Fernando Pessoa is not Fernando Pessoa himself. The real poet is diffused in all of his heteronyms.
I myself like to read this or that one depending on my mood although I do have an ode of Ricardo Reis that I since ages still see as a maxim to follow.

“To be great, be whole: don’t exaggerate
Or leave out any part of you.
Be complete in each thing. Put all you are
Into the least of your acts.
So too in each lake, with its lofty life,
The whole moon shines.”

If you knew Pessoa you would know how incredible difficult it is to write about him in just a few sentences. For he’s not one but a bunch. His writings aren’t one style, but a bunch. His life is not only one, but a bunch. A bunch of poets, writers and philosophers in one person. How cool is that?!
Pessoa’s complexity goes beyond everything that people know from the world of books. Like so many artists, he was also only really discovered post mortem, had by the time of his death only one book published. And still today there are innumerous transcripts yet to be edited and discovered by avid readers.
Fernando Pessoa will however never be truly discovered for his geniality goes far beyond our own comprehension. And there lies the beauty of Pessoa. Who wants to know someone completely anyway? If so, whatever new is there to learn?
Me, trying to impersonate Pessoa.

Friday, 6 August 2010

I'm finding a way to understand you
I don't know if I can believe
My spirit is hiding out somewhere
Planting inside my true seed

I can't answer my soul
The real meaning of this all
Please, believe in what I'm saying
When I claim to me all your pain

Riding trough a nowhere road
Oppressing my deep being
Show me the blindness of the world
Dark minds that I have seen

Please, believe in what I'm saying
Run away from all that misery
I don't have nothing to gain
But your smile coming in easy

Thursday, 5 August 2010

The Allegory of the Ant - moral short story for kids


This is the story of a little ant that lives up high on the round Moon above us. She’s not the only one though, there’s a whole community of ants living up there. They all live on the bright side of the Moon with their lovely perfect little houses, with their lovely perfect white fences, and their lovely perfect gardens, surrounded by the most beautiful perfect flowers.

Yet this little ant of our story is quite different from all the others. Instead of having a neat sweet pleasant home she prefers to constantly travel around the Moon, from the dark side to the bright side in a never-ending circle.

The other little ants watch her from a distance, suspiciously whispering questions and doubts to one another. But our little ant doesn’t care and keeps on circulating the Moon on her own time.

Curiously, our little ant is far happier than any other ant. In fact, all other little ants don’t even know what happiness is. On the other way, neither they know what sadness is. They just live their days like plain, boring robots without any trace of any feeling at all.

Our little ant however felt sad many times already, and confused and disappointed and upset and hurt and was even seen enraged screaming against the winds. No, this little ant’s travels around the Moon aren’t easy at all; they’re full with adversities and obstacles that are hard to overcome. But she wouldn’t change it for all the galaxies.

Our little ant knows exactly what she wins with her odyssey, without resting or resigning. Because only by experiencing the dark side of the Moon can our little ant appreciate all the beauty and feel all the joy each time she arrives at the bright side of the Moon. Because only the ones who had experience sadness can really feel true happiness.

Taboo Game, what am I talking about?

John was the first to go crazy in the big green island above the Channel. This was the day when the dementia finally took over. That strange day when he sat at his desk staring at the monitor as if frozen in space and time.
John was seating since 9 in the morning, the lunchtime passed by and so did that nice good-looking girl that walked with a quiet hypnotising smile, in no rush, eyes straight, looking nowhere and into the infinitum. The evening was coming and he still had that same strange frozen look in his eyes overseeing the monitor in front.
This was the day when he finally lost it, snapped, freak out, went ballistic, berserk, ape and bananas. That strange day when he suddenly jumped of his desk and started pulling all the plugs of all computers at the office screaming about the doom of days. His colleagues were running all over like frightened rabbits while he was smashing one cubicle after another, armed with a keyboard in each hand. “We’re artificial, superficial, manufactured, fabricated, robots of the new apocalypse! The machines are taking over and you don’t even care!” – He was roaring. – My blood turned to bits and bytes. I feel my heart beeping! Beware, for the end is near!” Screams and running footsteps echoed throughout the building. Papers and colourful post-its were flying everywhere like some sort of rainbow of destruction.
Meanwhile, outside in the streets the word was that he was taking hostesses and had with him a machine gun in each hand and a bunch of munitions around his neck.
When every single person was thought safe outside he was still wandering in the hallways howling at the remains. That’s when a shy good-looking girl approached him slowly with the most beautiful quiet smile he’d ever see. That girl… She reached him a hand, he held it tight and started to walk. They walked past the door and past the crowd, in no rush, hand in hand, quiet smiles, eyes straight, looking nowhere and into the infinitum. And then everything went black.

The next day they woke up in a hospice medical centre where they, with big frozen eyes, fevered together for a whole year.
When they left the centre they saw outside a different world than the one they once knew. The multiple cars, the red buses and black cabs drove align one after the other, parking, stopping, starting, moving, barely making noise, as if it was some kind of coordinated choreography thought till the smallest detail. The pedestrians too walked silently, one after another, in no rush, quiet smile, eyes straight, looking nowhere and into the infinitum.
This was a new sterile and contained world and yet they could feel a tension growing in the air they could hardly bear. So, before everyone and everything could start to snap as he once did too, he held her hand and walked away as far as possible. Away from that strange crazy virus that came through our every day food and affected brains and sanity all over our big fat island, which is now infested with green aliens ready to drink our blood and eat our brains. Excuse me, I have to go feed my feet and grab some crap. See you yesterday!