Sunday, 16 April 2017

Nursery rhyme for creatives

Left brain, right brain, playing on a minefield.
Go right, go left, don't allow ‘em to be killed.

Sunday, 26 March 2017

23rd of March, Puppy Day!

Puppy Day today, hey? Well then, I dedicate it to most clever puppy ever. You've remained a child at heart, even when you were the mighty boss in your reign. Your story started in a flat filled with lunatics, just above the States Club in Coimbra. They asked for you and then left you as if you were less than nothing. Not even a name. When I still didn't know that I could take you, I was listening to this song, looked at you and asked: "What do you think?..." Your big eyes and baby tail said yes so firmly that from then on your name was Dougy Giro. A small golden retriever mix with your gorgeous painted face as if from a comic book, you knew how to lead the way to your devoted fans, Lucas and Junior, two huge Great Danes that worshiped you. You were one of a kind and it was hard, not only for me, but for all of us who've met you... to let you go.

Friday, 3 March 2017

The Sea

The Sea, please, the Sea. Brighton, or any other, I'll be coming back soon. The Sea, you see, I can't live without the Sea. The Sea, grander than we'll ever be.

Tuesday, 14 February 2017

Real poets only lie to themselves

There’s nothing more unfair than to translate a poem, for it loses so much of its essence, more than any other writing form. That is why, whenever I can, I try to read in each one’s own language. Although, this writer in particular did write a lot in English, and I must say, I’m quite happy with whomever translated this poem:

"The poet is a faker
Who’s so good at his act
He even fakes the pain
Of pain he feels in fact.

And those who read his words
Will feel in his writing
Neither of the pains he has
But just the one they’re missing.

And so around its track
This thing called the heart winds,
A little clockwork train
To entertain our minds."

Edited: translation by Richard Zenith, 2006, NYC


“O poeta é um fingidor.
Finge tão completamente
Que chega a fingir que é dor
A dor que deveras sente.

E os que lêem o que escreve,
Na dor lida sentem bem,
Não as duas que ele teve,
Mas só a que eles não têm.

E assim nas calhas da roda
Gira, a entreter a razão,
Esse comboio de corda
Que se chama o coração.”

By Fernando Pessoa

Thursday, 9 February 2017

The Penelopes

So, Charlie told me these guys are playing tomorrow at the Lexington. Questions:
First of all... plural? Really?! There's only one Penelope, ya hear me? "There Can Be Only One." Muahaha!
Secondly... when did I aprove this? Where's the memo? Ya know, a simple 'thank you' note would also suffice.
But no, nonono, you didn't even tell me you're coming. How rude! No matter, we will meet one day, and you, misters, will have some explaining to do. Throwing another Muahaha!
Oh, wait, this just reminded me... I've met a really nice guy this weekend who goes by Penny on stage.
Awww, my names are so loved!... Good for you, Names!!
No more Muahahas.

The Penelopes

Tuesday, 10 January 2017

Spicy is good for you

Piri-Piri, just crawl back to the shadow of real chilli like the masters Malagueta and Jalapeño. You will never ascend to their superiority. Mate, even your name is a joke. Sorry, not sorry. 🌶

Penny's flight adventure nr. 73531497,3

The flight was, surprise!, super punctual. However, I didn't know about the tube strike... So this time, I was the one 'delayed'. It took me 2.30 hours to get to Victoria Station. Uber, minivans and the like would be even worse. Only a flying unicorn could save me now. I knew my only hope was to try and buy a new flight ticket whilst standing in the overfilled buses stuck in this morning/Monday/strike traffic chaos. Tried once with PayPal, got an error instead. The money is there still pending though. Tried a second time with debit card. Success! Then, rush into the mobile check-in. Clumsily take out passport from rucksack, whilst holding debit card, iPhone and suitcase which keeps on wanting to roll away. Sorry, oops, thanks. Finally arrived at Victoria Station with the Gatwick Express e-ticket ready to show when... iPhone battery dies on me. Fly to the info desk, ask for power, get into the train 2 minutes before departure. Use Mac with the iPhone internet to try to cancel PayPal payment. No can do. Arrive at Gatwick. Ask hopefully for the first flight, TAP, to be delayed. No luck. Fine. Get the shuttle to the other side for the second flight. Ask BA what might happen with my first attempt at buying the ticket via PayPal. Nothing in the system. Hope it won't go away. Double Fine. Now what? Suddenly time has stopped. I have three hours to kill. Where's VHS? There! Books. Bowie and Lemmy. Triple Fine. Eat something yummy. Eggs of course. Mexican of course. Ask for powered table. Super Fine. Great 60's playlist on the speakers. Ultra Fine. And the remaining time? Corona to the rescue! Uff...