Destiny

Those who believe in destiny could you please explain me why? I mean, a real understandable explanation. For if everything is destined, to be, to happen - how do you explain cause and effect? How do you explain a change of course, a forgetting the wallet at home, a taking a shortcut, changing the mind at the last second. How can you possible believe in destiny? Is it all predicted? No matter what you do?

Probity

Probity. Stupid word, more stupid its definition. What does it bring you but pain and sorrow? Values are for fools. How I wish I could be a selfish ruthless bastard. Stupid heart.

Karma is for losers

There's no such thing as karma.
Just look at the world, one glimpse is enough to see the obvious.
It's our conscience we should care about. It's the only thing that distinguishes us as beings. And to know that none of us is perfect. Don't be too proud to apologize when you error, say when you're sorry and know that there are never too many thank yous.
Be your better self, one day at a time. For your conscience. Because at the end, it is all you got. No pseudo karma points in the world will ever save you from yourself.

Brain usage myth

Everyone knows that the use of mere 10% of our brain is nothing but a myth. Our brain is, in fact, active all the time. 24/7. Some areas may be more active at one time than others, but there is no part of the brain that is absolutely not functioning. This, of course, in the case of a healthy brain.

So, why the myth? Is it to push as further? To think we can do more, achieve higher levels? The whole freaking knowledge pyramid? Well, it surely doesn’t hurt.

But what I do truly believe is that there’s no ending to all we can learn. Not in a lifetime. Heck, not even two or three. Our brain is immense. Huge.

Our biggest problem though, lies on how to label every single new data. How to choose the proper shelves for each and every information we are drowning in nowadays. How to categorize what’s important and what’s not. What can help me in the future, what should stay as a warning, what should be solemnly absorbed and be used right here in the present.

For that, my friends, I have no answer. But I will keep on searching. Till the end of the lifetime.
And if there’s anything I know, I know I shall end with a whole new set of questions.

Real letters II

Even if it's in a digital form, one should write true letters again. It's the content that matters at the end. Wouldn't it be wonderful that one could put his entire soul into it, one day ecstatic, the other one mournful, the other just mad. No judging from any part, just a share of mood swings and so, in a distant future, maybe be able to understand the convulsions of the human mind.

Lost for books

When I was very little I used to merge myself entirely into my worlds of fantasy. I was many times by myself and my fantasies were all I had. I was a very early reader and I could devour books in mere days and even hours. My parents would try to stop me at more inconvenient times like supper, road trips, parties, sleeping hours. But I couldn't, I would just dissolve into that written world and would come out of it like a zombie, craving for the next one.
I miss that. Have I expired all possible books that can make me so oblivious and fully involved? Away from the real world? Does growing up had anything to do with it? Has life came in between? Is there a way back?

Jack Kerouac

I will travel back and forth, never resting, never resigning, always burning through.

Pet Peeve I

People that write big fancy words for the sole purpose of trying to look intelligent toward others. What if they knew that they are failing miserably? Their words are empty. It's just a babbling pile of nothingness.

"One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple."

Raw

Give me the honesty of a raw city. 

The variety and the anonymity. 

The multitude and the singularity. 

The life, the vibe, the energy.

What is Fiction? Part I

I'm approaching it from one single point of view, knowing that it has innumerable different angles. 

Fiction and reality have coexisted since the dawn of mankind. Since we can Think, Dream, and Wish. The line between fiction and reality is a very thin one, always has been. We cross from one world into the other in such a commonly manner that many times we can't discern which is which. It fascinates us, it frightens us. It can make us artists, it can make us thieves. It isn't in us to dwell on what is real and what not for we must continue our fiction to create a better reality. And our fiction comes from reality. Reality makes fiction, fiction makes reality. There's no beginning, no end. They go hand in hand.

A pen, mine

I miss me pen. I've been using me pen since I was 14 years old. Not the same one per se but I've only exchanged it twice since. And the first time for foolish carelessness.
This time however it has simply dried on me. That has never happened before. It is most probably the reason why I haven't thought of buying a new one yet. As if this one still had so much to give.
But no more, the time has come. We shall part and a new one shall take its place. It's not personal, me pen. It's not me, it's you.

Humans

Can't you see we're all kooks around here? Hell, that's the beauty of it all! Weirdos, freaks, mad, mad, mad - humans!, what else?

Real letters

I write for me alone. Though I wish I had someone I could write to. I wish I could write letters again. The real letters. The ones where you can pour your entire soul out. But this new world has no time for letters. Or philosophies that take longer than a quotation.

My reality doesn't differ from anyone else's. I share the same dreams and hopes with millions of others. My fiction, however, finds no peer. And I know they exist. Not necessarily with the same fiction but with the same needs.
One that understands how complex the human soul can be. One who's not afraid to dive deeper into it. A writer and reader to share different opinions, different thoughts and different passions of the mind.
To stay aware. Sharp. To learn.

I wish I could write letters. And get letters in return.

Never say goodbye

I missed this feeling. When it's your last night and you just sit there and watch. And then you feel the warmth. It's such a peaceful place. You watch your surroundings, most of all, you observe your friends and you feel as if everything is at its right place. You simply feel good.

Such an ephemeral feeling it is.

What is with this memory? I

Maybe the meaning of my having such an awful memory is because I keep experiencing new things, new worlds. Whilst eating watermelon beneath a Mediterranean sun and pine trees, near Rome, it brought me back to my infant days at the beach.
I remembered because I was experiencing it 'again'.

Time

Time. Time is a funny thing. A week can seem a month, yet that same week can seem a day. 

It runs so fast in its endless hours.

Nomads freedom II

Truth be told, I just wanna find me roots. Wherever. I don't really care where. I just want the feeling. Wherever. Shall they come now for I am tired of searching. Roots please, wherever.

Restless

Oh this endless search for something meaningful! Such a hard chore! Why, oh why couldn't I settle with a more mundane goal? Why do I want it all? Why do I keep on pursuing the impossible dream? I'm so tired. How dreadful it is to dream so much, so high! Mind of mine, come back to Earth, even if you don't know where it is.

The Middle

My life is made of beginnings, a Lot of beginnings. I don't know anything else.
And although everyone says those are the best times of everything I, myself would love to know how middles feel like. How does it feel to be in the middle of something. Anything. Something that takes longer than a beginning. For how long can I take all my endless beginnings to finally make it a whole? A middle.
This isn't a normal story: beginning, middle, end. I don't even care about the end. But what about the middle? How does it feel?

So far, and without counting long holidays or in-betweens (a few), I've lived in 30 different places. This can't be healthy.

August 2018, going on 37...

Labels

Labels. Why do we need labels. Why do we need to be put on some social shelf. Why do we have to belong somewhere or to something.
Aren't we all complex beings made out of bones and blood and guts that can not only feel but dream, think and react?

Labels. We are more than labels. Yes, I do like this more than that. It doesn't however state what I am. For each one of us is a lot. A lot of feelings, dreams, thoughts and reactions.
One day we feel like we're on the top of the world, the next we're in the gutter. One day we need closeness and attention, the other we need loneliness and distance. One day we wanna dance and stick our tongue to taste it all, the other we just wanna lay still and hide inside an oyster.

Labels. What you hear doesn't define you. What you wear doesn't define you. What you do doesn't define you. Where you were born doesn't define you. Where you live or lived or will live doesn't define you. Nothing from your outer world defines you. What defines you are your feelings, your dreams, your thoughts, your reactions. What defines you is deep inside, between all those bones, blood and guts. And for that there is no label for each one of us is unique.

Moments of insane lucidity

Where better to study Mankind than on Facebook? Where could one find so many different demographics in a single place? The human world explained in a sole website.

We are the gods of our own puppet show and we are the puppets. At the same time that we watch all the plays happening as from above, we are as well the main characters of those plays.

It can be dangerous though, if one tries to delve too deeply into it.
Wasn't it common among the philosophers from other eras to eventually end up insane? However, it is also of our knowledge that such only happened in their late years.
Comparing our modern times with theirs, how long would a philosopher live today? Not much for sure. The amount of information we take every single day is so incredibly humongous that the philosopher would be mentally ill within a couple of years.
That is why the intellect has to know how to distance itself from such thoughts now and then, so it won't be overwhelmed by the absurdities of Mankind. That is why the intellect has to know how to laugh, how to play, how to be foolish and simply go along.
The philosopher from today should never go as deep as the yesterday’s philosopher. They have to keep it light, for our 'Brave New World' is smaller than ever before. And the smaller it gets, the more complex it'll be.

"Madness is tonic and invigorating. It makes the sane more sane. The only ones who are unable to profit by it are the insane."
- Henry Miller

We may be the strangest animal on the planet but we are also the most interesting one.
Our abilities to work both mind and heart. Our sense of an own soul. How many hidden mysteries inside a human being.

All emigrants are 'bipolar'

(August 26th, on an airplane)

All emigrants are 'bipolar'.
A young couple sitting by my side on the airplane. They speak both Portuguese and German perfectly. They change from one language to another with no possible traceable reason. For there is none.

I am too an emigrant. There, I said it. Years ago I would say I'm just studying abroad, then I was a mere freely, then a student again. I Am An Emigrant.
Socially speaking though, for in my mind there aren't frontiers, we're all the same, we're human and we're the strangest animal on this planet. Period.

But back to the couple. I'm puzzled. I try to find some sort of pattern, particular lane changes, subtle paths of thought. Can't find anything. Zip, niente, nada.
Odd feeling when I know I do exactly the same. Wait, even a tad more. I think, dream, write and even curse in three languages. What does that make me? A 'tripolar' emigrant?

Oh well, does it really matter? So what if I speak in all three? Dream, write? Curse? Ain't I a citizen of this planet? The whole freaking world?

So, dear neighbour couple, go ahead and delight me with your back and forth change of language.
Words are there to be used and it is wonderful when one is able to use them in more than one tongue. How narrow, how sad it must be to be constrained to a single one.

Wouldn't it be marvellous to comprehend all of them? Although… the unknown spiced with delightful mystery is much more interesting and actually quite necessary for the mind training. Just imagine, if we’d knew everything, what would be there more to learn?

"You can't put your arms around a memory."

You can run from the Past, 
You can even hide from the Future,
But you will never get rid of the Now. 
The Now is omnipresent,
The Now is everywhere and at the same time.
And as I write these words, they become the Past,
When once they were the Future.
This was Now.

Inspirational Kindness - A small conversation between a master and a pupil who have never met.

(About the book "Thirty Rooms To Hide In", by Luke Sullivan, shortly after its publication.)

Hi Luke,

I decided to answer here your "Thank you" to Rumble Pitch aka Myself for in Twitter you're only allowed to talk the 140 characters language:

It was my pleasure, I loved your book! Like “The Shining” only funnier indeed! And I even still need time for the book to sink in. And those are the best kind of books.

When talking about your father's addiction I felt there was more to it, a different kind of emotion that didn't quite fit in with someone who suffered the addiction as a third part. Not that it wasn't disturbing enough, giving the family awful scars for life, but through all the anger, despise and pity I felt a deeper reason within, somehow different. And so the final words in the book didn't surprise me and even if not expected I finally recognized that other hidden strong emotion about the evils of addiction.

Myra came to me as one of the great mentors I've known and read about. She didn't discover anything like Marie Curie or won any battle like Jeanne D'Arc and if it wasn't for you we would never know her story. And yet there is a woman to look up to. A woman who fought demons from the inside out, who brought 6 little boys safe to good port with a bigger luggage in their souls than they could ever carry. A woman silenced by a world of men with a heart of a giant. A true spirit that although it can be broken, it never fades away completely. A woman I’m eager to be.

Thank you so much for sharing your story with all of us. If I was already deeply impressed with you through your great Copywriting bible, which is always nearby, now the respect is even grander. Your life with all you had to go through inspires me immensely.

I’ve been moving from place to place since I was a little girl, meaning having to start all over again with new friends and new playgrounds. And so, my imagination was very useful for all those “in-betweens”. I can’t imagine how deep you all had to go with your own inventiveness.

That you used laughter, sometimes hysterical laughter to cope with all that is more than comprehensible and in a way it also reminds me of “La vita è bella” from Roberto Benigni. With a slight difference though, you all knew what kind of demons you were trying to cover up.

Thank you!

My very best wishes,
Penny

“Dear Penny:

You are a doll to write such a long and thoughtful email to me. I am SO glad you liked the book and I even passed on that paragraph you wrote about my mom TO my Mom. I am sure she will dig it big time.

And I am glad you liked the epilogue, where I reveal my own "membership" in the addiction club. In previous editions I had cut that chapter. Felt too Hollywood-y of an ending too many. Too neat. Too much closure. But I put it back in. Glad you liked it.

Pass on the word. The little book needs all the help it can get.” 

Memoir -- "Thirty Rooms To Hide In" -- Intro trailer

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DtmbD4-6XSI

I think it's wonderful that you left it in so that everyone knows that not even the ones that lived with the terror are free from it. And why not such a closure? This book would actually make an awesome movie.

I'm so delighted that you've sent that part to your mom and so deeply honored. It's not every day (more like never) that you actually get the opportunity to tell what you think to people you admire.

I sure will, this book deserves it, you definitely deserve it. You're a living inspiration.

Thank you and all the best to you, your Mom and your whole family.

The taste of globalization

Finally a small break... One golden Desperados beer, brewed in the Netherlands, flavoured with Tequila, originally from Mexico, and for a better accuracy, born in, aha!, Tequila City, imported to Portugal, brought to Lisbon, delivered at an Indian kiosk where a very handsome Indian boy works, and ultimately bought by a 'sort-of' Portuguese/German girl. Here's to Monday!

'Fuel your dreams'

You are full of dreams. So full they transcend your whole being. They're so many, they're so intense that you don't know where to hide them. You try methodically to put them in different shelves of your brain but they keep on going back to your soul. Your soul is so crowded that your heart seems to burst and even skips a beat every time a new dream is born.

But what would be of you without all of your dreams? You are your dreams. Your heart and soul grow everyday because of your dreams. So keep on dreaming, higher than reality. 'Fuel your dreams'. Freely. Passionately. For without enough fuel, there's not enough drive.

Nomads freedom

Nomads are from nowhere and everywhere. Their hearts have no frontiers. Their souls have wings of their own. Their minds are always wondering. Their bodies, wandering.

Oh the nomads, they are free, so let them be! They "roam around, around, around"...

Sail away

One day I will have a windjammer of me own,

And I shall call all ports, behold, another home.

Yet on the last days and nights of me life,

I will sail me ship away till the day I die.

And on that day with the sun real high,

I will lay deep in this sea of mine. 

It's all about the story

Words are like tiny yet incredible strong living creatures with the power to move the most disparate audiences. Words ignite whole worlds of imagination that not even the most beautiful image in the world can offer. A good image might be a feast to the eyes but its story is what makes it great.

Word by word into a phrase, phrase by phrase into a world.

Counting sheep

Can anyone please tell me how to do it? Can anyone actually count sheep to fall asleep? I know I can’t. And I've tried all my life.
The second I start to visualize the sheep jumping over the fence they go insane. The sheep will do just about anything but jumping over that goddamn fence. They step over it, run in another direction, they seat or lay down, or just awkwardly hang around bumping into each other. Some try to go around the fence or even have the nerve to stare defiant at me. Ah, the smart-arses! Are they mocking my insomnia?! Are your sheep also this insubordinate?

Literary Ad for Absolut Vodka

Absolut Blank

Days passed by and the paper stood blank. It wasn’t an ordinary paper, it was a paper that needed desperately to be filled. Even so, it didn’t matter, the paper stayed blank. Nights passed by and no words filled that blank. Despair started to spread.

He went for a quick run at the beach to clear his head. A group of children played pirates. The screams came from tiny happy adventurers ready to conquer the village, and steal all their gold with the simple weapon of their innocence. Their joy was catchy and soon enough he too drifted into their world of fantasy. He saw himself as a fearful pirate steering into the most beautiful beaches, with the most interesting people. He would come with his mighty ship and his mighty crew and would conquer all the great minds spread around. He would steal all the thoughts, the great ideas and all the imagination there is. He would be the biggest genius of this world and beyond its end.

Whilst in this reverie, the noon sun struck over the beach and he heard several indistinct female voices calling after their kids for lunch. The screams ended abruptly and with them the whole fantasy fell down. He was awake and back to reality. He didn’t have all the ideas of the world, he wasn’t a master of the mind and he sure was no genius. His mind was as blank as before, if not worse, and an increasing anxiety took place.
He went back home, apathetic eyes on the ground, back to the living room, back to the old portable typewriter, back to that insolent blank paper. Waiting for the secrets of the mind. He looked around, scrutinising every corner as if the solution was hiding behind the couch or that rocking chair by the window. Nothing.

The wind blew the curtain open and the sun came. It hit the pale glass of a bottle standing over the counter spreading all over in strays of sublime lights. Lights more grandiose than those seen through the stained glass of some majestic church. The light shone upon him and a strange angelic aura surrounded him. He didn’t believe in gods or goddesses but the atmosphere felt as if sacred, a holy kind of state. He gazed around and saw the white paper in the type machine. He started to see formations of words as if written with light. He rubbed his eyes in astonishment. Yet, there they were, and after that first shock, he sat and wrote. The paper didn’t seem as frightful anymore, it was begging to be filled, submissive, and he knew now which words were to write.

It didn’t take him long to fill pages after pages. Looking at the pile of written paper, he then leant smiling on the chair. The light was long gone but that bottle over the counter still glowed, as if hiding stolen rays of sun in the dark of the night. He went to the counter and held the bottle in his hands. It was the perfect epilogue of long hours of creation. He poured it into a frozen glass. The fresh Absolut liquid had the transparency of clear thoughts. And the taste… the taste was like an ode to the most ideal place on Earth, the place where dreams are kings, where ideas are born and fantasy is made.

Let me in

Let me in.
Give me a window, some fire escape ladder, the tiniest back door you can find and let me in.
Let me in and I promise you the world of me.
Let me in and I’ll show you all the passions I breathe. 

Let me in.
I've got seas and mountains of fantasy to spread.
I've got tons and gallons of energy to share.
Let me in.
The powers in me yearn to be free.
The powers in me need a reason to be.
Let me in… and you will see.

Forever Awake

All my life I've devoted myself to observe. My eye is sharp and my senses tenacious. I've been around. There I saw and kept on feeling.
But then New York came. More than one year has passed and the city is still a virgin to my eager eyes. What I know from this new city of mine is that our first passion will stay forever a first passion for she will always look like a baby to me.
What other city is there that's constantly changing in thousand different cities at every little second of the way? New York City is not a city, it is but the summon of all cities and yet she is by far the youngest. Forever young.
To watch her breathe is to live through her. To watch her live is to grow through her. To grow forever young, to grow forever curious. To be forever awake.

The Absolut Vodka Bottle Campaign

I'm a girl of many passions and therefore I never liked to answer the so-called 'top five' questions. My top five bands? Within so great music, made throughout so many centuries, how could that be even possible? I love too many, too much.
So the campaign I choose to write you about is by no means the very best of them all, it is merely one of the very best of them all.

The Absolut Vodka Bottle Campaign.
The possibilities are endless, it showed us the creativeness in its more pure state. How far and distinct can you go from one single starting point. We could even say it was the beginning of the neuromarketing yet with a very fast and refreshing reward for the viewer.
The Bottle campaign made the viewer reflect for a second while scrutinizing the art behind the ad, reinforcing his perception and observation skills. Waldo couldn’t stand a chance here.

The Absolut Vodka has now the most recognizable bottle in the world. The campaign was definitely an overachievement amid an overload of information. And although the attention span has decreased to '140 characters', the key to success remains the same: to give the viewer the feeling that he takes more from it than the brand itself. And so assuredly create the life-long emotional relationship that every brand aims for.

The lying hearts of the truthful souls

The heart is free and running wild
One sparkle with each drink delight
The night renewed, the night in style
Who's gonna pick it up tonight

You better get some drinks along
Lust is back and clear to stay
The night carries desires in a song
Whilst all the troubles flow away

The night renewed, the night is fuelled
The heart is free and running light
And every smile and act unruled
Who's gonna pick it up tonight

...

These are the souls of the free in spirit
These are the souls of the restrained hearts
Yet every night, every drink, and every limit
Another delusion in their minds departs

NYC's Square Suns on Wheels

Once around Herald Square a guy, with a hint of southern accent, was surprised with so many cabs and asked me if it was always like this and I "Pretty much, but isn't it great that they're yellow, it sure lights up the city, don't you think?" And he "Oh yeah, it brings the sun down here between all these crazy big buildings!"
Picture in my mind: a lot of happy square suns on wheels rolling all over the city.

Copyright 2011 Paul Falardeau

17 futures

I heard the future would come some day in the future. I don't know if that's true for I can't see in the future. One thing I can do though is to believe in the future. And I truly believe in a future that's bright whether it is because of an unfiltered sun or me laughing with you.
The future will remain the future and it is this unknowing the future that makes the future so darn special. If I knew the future, the future would be boring. To know it all is to have no future. To not know the future is to keep dreaming about the future. And dreams are the fuel of the future. Then I'll keep dreaming and I'll keep creating and I'll keep writing for the brighter future.
For believing in the future is rock and rolling in the present.

My first and last encounter with Lou Reed

John Zorn himself was counting us in with an old small palm held counting device. John. Zorn. The punk jazz avant-garde performer and great saxophonist. In flesh.

Running directly from school with laptop and all, I got my 10 pm ticket at the very last second. The first show at 8 pm was naturally sold out by then. After me just three others got in and already over the limited number. I couldn’t believe I was going to experience a performance of Lou Reed in such an independent atmosphere like taken directly from the '70s of NYC. C'mon, Lou Reed in NYC in the most underground and experimental place you could possibly imagine! I felt like I was the luckiest girl in the whole world!
The quintessence of NYC rock and roll was right there. Something surreal for this era, something so special that someone like me born so much later could never ever experience. But there I was.

It wasn't even a ticket, just the normal stamp on my wrist plus a red circle around it. The most expensive ticketless stamp of my life but for sure the most handsome of them all.
I needed to go back in line soon enough for the second show at 10 pm if I wanted to take a good look at Lou. I left my backpack at home just a couple of blocks away, and went for a quick beer at a nice bar nearby.
The venue place, The Stone, is incredibly small, no sign, no bar, no nothing. Just a few rows of chairs aligned with the performance being at the same level. Do you see it? It's like they're all only boys just starting the whole revolutionary movement of Warhol freaking pop culture! Holy moly guacamole! And I’m right here in the city where everything happens. I don't want to leave. Ever.

While waiting in line, the people from the first show were leaving the place with big smiles spread all over their faces. The thrill of anticipation was rising to the point of no return. Excitement was the word of order in that line of ours.

I got front row for I was the third to enter the room.
The first sound tripped down the spine while Lou seated right next to me. Laurie was already seated at her place. At first it was hard to concentrate on the young musicians, but they were good, so I gave them all my attention. Buke and Gass, he played a guitar-bass hybrid and she a modified baritone-ukulele plus ankle bells. She sings high but softly, kind of prog-punk anthems, and has a sweet presence radiating a constant smile. Comprehensible as she told us how dreadfully excited they were to be there with Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson.

And then it was time for the Valentine’s special duo to play. Experimental prog-jazz music with Laurie’s electric violin, Lou’s keyboard and guitar, a pianist with long smooth fingers and with Buke and Gass joining later along too.

Like John Zorn was the new Warhol, that tiny space the new Factory and Lou Reed was simply jamming. And I, a mere rock and roll lover in trance.

Pictures of the performance:
http://www.brooklynvegan.com/archives/2011/02/lou_reed_laurie_5.html

Quotes #1

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”

This is probably the quote that better defines my person. I'm always afraid I might miss something. I want to know it all, to experience it all, to see and feel it all. I could almost say: 'I have the simplest tastes. I'm satisfied with the' most of everything. And it's exhausting...
But I had my share of boredom. It is one of the worst things one could possible feel and it literally drives you insane. Then let me be mad so I won't go mad.

Michael Ende’s Momo and the Men in Grey

Momo is a little orphaned girl of no determinate age, anything between 8 and 12 years old is possible. From unknown origin, she chooses the ruins of an amphitheatre at a remote unnamed small town as her new home.
Although Momo does not have many possessions, she does have a unique gift. In return of the locals’ help, she simply listens to them. For when Momo listens, people become instantly inspired, comforted and enlightened, finally able to easily solve their own conflicts, doubts and fears, all by themselves.

"Momo was there and joined in, that was all, but for some reason her mere presence put bright ideas into their heads."

Momo becomes a little miraculous hero for everybody. The expression “Go see Momo!” has turned an all answer to all problems, the perfect panacea.
Unfortunately, this idyllic scene doesn’t last long. Suddenly, people start to be obsessed with work to save as much time as possible. Soon enough, the town grows cold and sad, without any activity for mind and spirit, for they are now seen as time wasting.

It all started with the arrival of the sinister Men in Grey who promote the idea of timesaving. Yet the more ‘time’ people save, the less they have. The Grey Men consume the stolen time in form of cigars, made from the dried petals of hour-lilies, as this is how they survive.
If Momo has any other form of wealth than her ability to listen, that is time and while the Grey Men can’t rob her, she is determined to help her friends who’ve succumbed to their power.
Momo must overcome the odds and find the Keeper of Time, Professor Secundus Minutus Hora, with only the singular help of a tortoise called Cassiopeia, which can communicate through writing on her shell and predicts thirty minutes further into the future.

This is the fascinating yet terrifying story of Momo and her friends. Terrifying for its so very real analogy.
The 'almost could be non-fiction' fantasy novel was written by Michael Ende, who is best known for his "Neverending Story".

Michael Ende has a way of illustrating deep meaningful themes such as the importance of time through amazingly simple words and fantastic imaginative worlds that also children can fairly understand.
Written in 1973, the main theme couldn’t be more contemporary.
The world we’re living in has become an insanely busy little sphere, the modern society is unhealthily fast-paced and consumerism driven. People rush in a frenzy that doesn’t allow them to stop and feel.
The loss of values has increased with the loss of time, the time to truly appreciate all the small pleasant moments that are in fact what life is all about. People live to work instead of working to live and with all the hassle, time simply vanishes in smoke.
Furthermore, we tend to forget how important human connections are. Ende too illustrates beautifully this theme, the powerful value of listening to others, probably the most important value within friendship.

The grand moral of this remarkable tale is that enjoyed time is not wasted time, it is but the sum of true life’s values, the importance of every single satisfying moment. Time where happiness lies.

"Time is life itself, and life resides in the human heart."

The dark side of my Imagination

My Imagination and I have huge fights all the time. I mean, all the time. Yesterday, she was probably right for I knew already I shouldn't have seen horror movies so late at night. The thing is, she, my Imagination, only allowed me to watch horror movies when I was already in my early twenties.
I remember one time, before these twenties, that after a friend of mine told me about a movie my Imagination gave me a whole month of nightmares. And do you want to know what movie it was? The Fly! Just The Fly! An innocent science fiction movie, where a man mixes with a fly. What's scary about that? To actually mix anything, you'll have to have this machine first. Did I have this machine? No.
What scares me when it comes to horror movies are those things we can't see, can't fight against. Ghosts, spirits, dark forces. That's what really scares me. Even when I don't believe in them! Yeah, odd I know.
When I was 14, 15 years old I lived in a student residence under the week for I was studying arts in a different town than my parents'. I had three other roommates - miss you guys - who used to scare me with ghosts and such before sleeping. And they knew nothing else could possible scare me. Back then, I was afraid of nothing. Ever. I would always be the one diving further into the unknown searching for adventures. Still do. I would always be the one defending everyone till the last big bad guy was down. Same ho.
But when it came to sleep, I would turn into the most afraid little girl in the whole wide world. All my life I've been having nightmares, all my life my sleep has tired me, all my life I’ve been afraid of my subconscious.
Time passes by though and I am learning, even when I know I will never sleep like normal people do. And that in order to have this amazing Imagination of mine - love you girl - I will have to accept all that she brings. For better or for worse, right?
And so, night after day, we will keep on fighting, my Imagination and I, and she will still remain one of the best friends I will ever have.

The Multicultural Class at Miami Ad: Student Post: KFC & Stereotypes

The Multicultural Class at Miami Ad: Student Post: KFC & Stereotypes: "by Penelope & Martin A lot was discussed about this KFC Australian commercial. In the spot we see a single white cricket fan handi..."

The very last quarter

Here I am. The last quarter of this journey. What a ride it was. I'm going to miss it for sure but I never felt before this urge to start working. It's a passion and I wouldn't know how to live it differently. I know how fortunate I am.
And how fortunate I've been with these many great teachers pushing us students further up the advertising hill. They are as passionate and this energy among us is almost visible and highly contagious.
What I never understood though is why some teachers, very very few, systematic "warn" us about how awfully hard this industry is. Why do you have to tell us continuously how many weekends we're going to lose? Or that every time you stay late at the agency or have a rough client you have to come the next day and ask us if that's what we really want. If I didn't know better I would think you were having second thoughts about your own path and that's not what you want to transmit to your students.
Nobody said there's a work somewhere that's perfect. There will always be downsides in every single industry but the ups are what make us pursuit a specific career.
Don't complain. Instead, fuel our dreams, let us believe we are going to accomplish great things for the ones who dream are the ones who actually accomplish great things.

Pen

I’m a pen, an ordinary pen.
In a world of keyboards.
I have no illusions whatsoever.
I’m just a stinky normal pen seeking for a stinky normal paper.
Any ordinary paper.
A paper where I can ride, write and draw all over the sheet.
I don’t last long but then again I don’t need any space at all.
A pocket, a wallet, a tiny bin will suit me fine.
I’m just a pen.
But you can have me in the same second you want me.
In any normal, ordinary paper.
Would you be so kind and go find a paper for me?
Any paper at all.
An ordinary stinky paper.
A paper made of paper where words and draws made of ink will appear as if out of nowhere.
No, it’s no magic. I have ink inside of me, way too much ink inside of me.
If you find again the lust of using me you’ll just need to refill.
With just some normal, ordinary ink.
So easy, no enter, no tricks, no virus.
I have no illusions whatsoever.
I’m just a pen.
Would you lend me a piece of paper?
Any kind of paper.
A stinky normal, ordinary paper.
I’m just a pen who wants to draw.
Draw words, lines, curves and bullshit.
There’s no keyboard as free as me.
So easy, no enter, no tricks, no virus.
But no illusions whatsoever.
Would you give me a paper?
Would you play with me?
I’m just a pen.
A stinky normal pen seeking for a stinky normal paper.
Any ordinary paper…

"It's a new dawn. It's a new day. It's a new life. For me. And I'm feeling good."

So, a new path is chosen and I couldn't be happier.
Give birth to a shooting star that once launched will stuck shining in the firmament forever. Give birth to a lot of them.

crossroads

New crossroad. Again. This time probably the most important crossroad I will ever experience. Which path should I choose when the whole future seems to be at stake?
I had to choose many times before and if it was the right choices I will never know. But I always knew what to choose. Now what? It will be difficult when I seem not to even know which paths there are. The only thing I know for now is that I reached a new crossroad again. Probably the most important of them all.

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 this 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...

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.

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

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.