Panoramic of Life

This is a song about loneliness…
It’s not.

It’s a song about being alone with yourself, but not lonely. It inspires me to spend time with myself, to listen to my deepest thoughts, see my feelings and acknowledge them.

It’s like a long walk in the desert, very much like the Australian Aboriginal walkabouts they do through the great outback. Maybe if I went back in the Northern Territories I would enjoy it all in a different manner, see it with different eyes and feel it with a new heart. I have grown so much in the last years, so many things have changed or evolved in me. I’m listening to myself, hearing my feelings and recognizing them.

I’ve been told so many times that we need to be with others in order to be able to grow and learn, and yet, I’ve resisted that notion for so long. Why? Simple. It just doesn’t make much emotional sense to me. Not in the way I was told.
I do believe that we can and do grow alone. We are born alone. We die alone. We live alone and we grow alone.
And somewhere along the way in our lifetimes we share our growth with some other person and grow together. Each one growing in their own sense and rate. You really do not exit your moments with someone else the same way you entered them. Something changed, something has grown, evolved.
And yet, when you are alone you’re always growing.

Too much? Too little? Too fast? Too slow?
None of the above.

Just growing, changing, evolving. There is no better or worse, there’s just difference. Such marvelous difference.
Some say I have a mission in this life of mine, and they are most likely right. I accept that. And I also feel… know, that I am not ready to fulfill that mission, or yet discovered what that mission is. I was told that I have a mission to help others.
Who others? I ask. Humans? Other animals?

I need to feel strong to be able to do that without self-destroying. I’m not scared, I just know that I will explode if I give myself to that mission. I need to learn how to say “NO”. I am slowly learning to say “NO” before becoming completely drained. It feels like a very slow process, and I am feeling it slow and I like to take it slow.

Baby steps…

One at a time.

História de um Sonho

Estava num comboio em viagem numa linha que percorria toda a extensão do rio. O dia estava calmo, céu azul com algumas núvens cinzentas aqui e ali. Estávamos a chegar a uma estação e enquanto eu olhava para o rio conseguia ver jardins até à margem. De repente mesmo no centro do rio formaram-se várias torres do que parecia ser fumo; quatro ou cinco vórtices negros que se levantaram desde a superfície da água até às núvens. Eram tornados negros.
Um deles começa a vir na direcção do combóio a grande velocidade; as pessoas à minha volta começam a gritar, eu tento ajudá-las a manter a calma. À medida que se aproximava, a carruagem tremia cada vez mais até que estava mesmo em cima de nós. A carruagem é levantada como se fosse uma caixa de fósforos, mas a uma pouca altura; somos quase que arrastados alguns 10 metros para o lado e segundos depois somos largados com um estrondo ensurdecedor e estamos no chão outra vez. As carruagens estão todas espalhadas pelo jardim próximo da estação e as pessoas em pânico tentam desesperadamente sair.
Algo se passa dentro de mim. Não há pânico, não há medo, apenas uma calma impressionante. Dirijo-me à porta da carruagem e forço a sua abertura; ajudo as pessoas a sair, dou algumas instrucções a quem puder ajudar os mais fracos e vou até às outras carruagens abrir as suas portas.
Carruagens vazias, pessoas espalhadas pelo jardim mais assustadas do que feridas, carros virados do avesso, quiosques desfeitos e ao fundo da rua, do outro lado do jardim está um grupo de pessoas presas dentro de um autocarro que foi literalmente atirado para dentro de um dos quiosques. Consigo ver chamas a sair por baixo do autocarro. Ninguém consegue abrir as portas, o autocarro está tombado em cima delas.
Corro o mais depressa que posso, arranco um dos pilares de madeira que estão no jardim, uso-o para partir as janelas de emergência do autocarro e começo a tirar as pessoas lá de dentro, uma a uma… E acordei.

Writer’s block… or not

I am going through a bit of a rough spot with my writing. I start writing something and stop after one or two paragraphs. I simply lose my inspiration. I write and delete, and write and delete and it all comes to nothing. Paper going into the trash. In the old days, I would write about my “downs” and also my “ups”, I would write just about everything. But I guess I’m a changed person; I’m having difficulty writing about anything. I used to write about useluss stuff, ficcion, reality, happy, sad, it didn’t matter. Now, I’m trying hard to write and nothing ever comes out.

Well, I AM writing this.

But even so it was not what I wanted to write about. I want to write about all the hurricane like feelings that I’m feeling. All that I feel: happy, sad, lonely, peaceful, angry, quiet, noisy, everything. And yet I write about my inability to write about all that I want to write.

I am sad, or maybe, sad is too strong a word. I’m melancholic. Yes, that’s it. Nostalgic about days long gone that will never return. And I’m also hopeful, for new days that are to come. I miss talking until my toungue fell off. I miss having a listener. And I am not sad. I just feel a bit down and nostalgic.

Friends tell me that I need to come out of my shell and go talk to people. And yet, I don’t want to come out of my shell. Meeting new people to me is not just a matter of “stepping out of my comfort zone”, it’s a huge effort on me and my emotions. Deep down I know that nothing bad will happen, but it’s such an energy drain that I just feel exhausted afterwards.

And yet all it takes to soothe me is one simple and soft touch.


Very, very short story written by yours truly. enjoy. 🙂

As he entered the room he felt a chill run down his spine, like someone had just danced over his grave. The room was a dark and eerie place, dust and cobwebs everywhere, but apart from that, everything was still in its original place; time has stopped flowing here a long time ago. Small vegetation started to grow in between the cracks on the floor, on the left wall there was a huge crack, top to bottom, from where the large roots of an ancient tree crept through. The air was stuffy but chilly at the same time, there was this energy flowing that one could not exactly pinpoint.
He kept on exploring the room, trying to figure out where he was. He had woken up here with just a flashlight, a knife and remembered nothing about getting here. How did he get here? What was this place? He remembered walking down a new path in the forest yesterday, or was it some time ago? What day is this? He knows it’s night time, the full moon in a clear sky is shining a lot of light through the windows.

Old furniture scattered around the big room, a big dining table, some chairs, candle sticks. Everything ready for a big dinner party; But, nothing else that indicates signs of life.

Suddenly, there’s a noise coming from the next room. Sound like a door, opening and closing. He quickly turns off the flashlight and finds a hiding spot behind the massive roots of the tree. Another clicking sound and the door opens revealing someone looking around into the room as if searching for something. He tries to make out who or what it is, but he can only see a shadowy figure on the doorway.

The door closes again and after a few minutes later he decides to leave his hiding spot. “So, this door is unlocked. I need to find out where I am. What the hell has happened to me” – he thinks to himself. At first, he peeks through the key hole to see what’s on the other side of the door, but it’s too dark and he doesn’t dare using the flashlight.
He tentatively opens the door and sees a long corridor that ends in two doors, one on each side. Large windows along the corridor cast out shadows from the bright moonlight. He starts walking and as he looks outside he sees the same figure as before walking away towards what looks like an old crypt or mausoleum. As he reaches the doors, he checks both. The one on the left leads outside to a path on the garden that clearly heads to the crypt he saw, while the door on the right leads to another room which looks like some sort of atrium with small tables and dresses around the walls. Two other doors can be seen, one opposite and the other to the left.
He can’t go outside, that person or whatever it is might be dangerous, so he chooses the atrium. But that leads to more doors, and who knows what else.

He opens the door in front and it’s another corridor while the door on the left leads to a big leaving room with a huge piano on one corner, a fireplace in the wall in front, some big chairs and a big oval table in the middle of the room. This room has no windows, but it has a big skylight on the ceiling letting a lot of light come through. There is another door to the left. He starts walking towards it and suddenly the lights are turned on.

The dust and the cobwebs disappear instantaneously, everything is spotless. He’s stopped in the middle of a brightly lit room, alone (he thinks), looking around. This can’t be right! Everything was old and covered in dust and now it’s sparkling clean! And who turned on the lights?

What the hell is going on here? Where am I?

Footsteps… Growing louder… His heart starts racing. Felling a cold sweat and an adrenaline rush he looks around for a hiding spot. as the sounds become louder he starts hearing some sort of music in the distance. He hides behind a big chair in the corner. The music is getting louder, it’s strangely familiar. The footsteps stop. There’s a clicking sound. The door opens…

He opens is eyes, sweating and sits up on the bed. To his right the alarm clock is playing the “wake up” music. Perplexed he thinks:
“What a fucking strange dream”


As I listen to this music, I write about it; it speaks of a journey somewhere in time and space. The destination is not important, neither is the starting point. What matters is the journey in itself; the tranquility, the scenery. As you listen to the music, close your eyes and try to imagine a journey for your self. Embark on the harbourship and let yourself flow in space and time within your own imagination.

If this music can make you close your eyes and imagine yourself in a voyage then it has succeeded in it’s purpose. And if not, then all is right just the same; there is no wrong. Each one of us has his/her own feelings and emotions and that diversity is what makes us unique. Each and every one of us.

The day’s events

Not much has happened today. As with the most of my days recently, nothing really happens. I wake up, go to work, work a bit, have lunch, continue working, have tea, work some more and go home. At home, cook dinner for two, cuddle, eat dinner, play some games with friends and go to bed.

This is, for many, a pretty boring life. For me… well, I kinda like it. I am extremely bored and tired of my work; actually I’m kind of depressed about it, but without the downers, I’m more of the apathetic kind. Not a bad thing, but not a good one either. Of my actual project, I’ve done very little, there is not much to do actually, specially since this project is probably going down the drain (a pretty little speculation of mine). Anyway, I’m not getting into the who and what and why right now; that will be probably for another day.

So what have I been doing these last months? One might ask.. I have been working on personal projects, and some other stuff for my old team. I am quite content, since I’m studying and learning new things, developing new stuff and it feels quite good.

But honestly, what do I need? I need to do stuff that I like, but also stuff that matters. I need to be paid in accordance to what I do and not according to some shitty table that someone invented.

Linguistics… Go.!



The Holocaust

Today is the International Holocaust Remembrance Day.

According to the News, Wikipedia, Books, Newspapers, Magazines and almost everything else the Holocaust was the genocide of an estimated 6 million Jews, 1 million Gypsies, 250,000 mentally and physically disabled people, and 9,000 homosexual men by the Nazi regime.

Even though I agree that such a thing should not be forgotten, why do we not remember other horrific events that happened during that time period?

Are we saying with this that the Germans were the only “bad guys” in that war? Do not misunderstand me, what the Germans did was pure cruelty; but on the other hand, so was the two atomic bombings by the Americans, so was the use of Gulags by the Russians, so is the occupation of Palestinian territories by Israel under the excuse of the Bible and the Holocaust; Yes, Israel as we know it today was born out of WWII. There is no innocent party involved in the second world war. I’m talking about leaders, generals, politicians, etc. They are all guilty of committing crimes against humanity.

In having said this, I remember this day as the World War II remembrance day, and not just the holocaust.

Tomorrow is friday.

No, of course it’s not friday tomorrow, but if i keep on saying it, someday it will be friday.

For a long time I have written; a lot. I would write about how I felt or about some opinion I had, or even some random gibberish; it was kind of cathartic. For some reason I’ve stopped writing my own blog or my personal notepad or anything. I don’t care what made me stop writing, I’ve simply wanted to stop, and I did.

Now I’m trying to resume my writing, and when I say “trying” I mean it. I’m not making any effort and again, I have no reason whatsoever beyond the “I feel like it”.

My days at work are becoming more and more boring. I have very little left to do, maybe I will even try to start a short novel based on my life at the company I work, alas, a highly romanticized version of it.

We’ll see how this goes.


This is a first post of my renewed blog. I have decided to re-start this blog here since this way I have more control over it.

I have also decided to write something to celebrate the reboot of my blog.

OH.. did I mention that I started that blog back in 2003? Yeeess, that’s right. Eleven years down that road.

But, anyways. I’ve decided to write this, because… Reasons..!!

Soo. It’s friday, the weekend starts today, which means, two days off work.. Yipeeee..


Aaah, f** it.

See y’all later.

Crise… ou não?

Anda a populaça toda indignada com as medidas que o governo está a tomar; a subida dos impostos e os impostos extra, o apoio que o governo está a dar aos seus “amigos”, a continuidade das despesas astronómicas e absurdas, etc. Fala-se mal deste e daquele no “feicebuque”, critica-se, chama-se ladrão a fulano e cicrano, fazem-se manifestações. Infelizmente pouco mais se faz do que isto.
Portanto, let me get this right: o governo que está actualmente a fazer esta merda toda, está lá porque nós, os eleitores, votámos neles, certo? É que até os abstencionistas contribuiram para colocar lá o PPC. Um não voto, não é a mesma coisa que um voto em branco. Isso apenas teria impacto, talvez, se houvesse uma taxa de abstenção de 100% em vez de haver uma parca maioria em que apenas metade dos eleitores votaram.
Manifestações, sim, claro temos esse direito e acho que fazemos muito bem em nos manifestarmos, mas pergunto eu: “Será que tem algum efeito?”; aparentemente não. Segundo consta, só na avenida dos aliados no Porto foram pelo menos 50000 pessoas. Toda gente grita, rabuja, refila, grita, cantam canções reaccionárias, postam piadas idiotas na net, queixam-se que o primeiro ministro é isto ou aquilo, mas de facto, acções ou atitudes que tenham impacto poucas há. Claro que é mera especulação da minha parte, mas tudo me leva a crer que enquanto as pessoas estavam nas ruas de várias cidades do País, o primeiro ministro e respectivo governo/amigos estavam confortavelmente a rir-se de tudo; “olhem-me para estes palhaços, nós fazemos o que queremos e bem nos apetece e esta cambada apenas vai para a rua gritar”.
“Sim, claro, deve ser chato ir á net e ver montanhas de fotografias minhas a chamar-me tudo menos pai, mas enquanto isso eu vou enchendo o bolso; o meu e o dos meus amigos.”

Recentemente vi uma atitude que admiro, sim, essa foi uma atitude que poderá ter algum impacto (ou não); a escritora Maria Teresa Horta foi nomeada para receber um prémio literário, mas ao saber que este iria ser entregue pelo primeiro-ministro recusou-se a receber o prémio. Aplaudo esta atitude.

Pergunto-me a mim próprio o que poderei eu fazer para mudar o estado das coisas. Posso dedicar-me à política, mas creio que não teria grande sucesso (sim, eu sei que estou a ser derrotista). Posso estar redondamente enganado, mas acredito que não é o governo que manda neste País (ou em qualquer outro País), quem realmente puxa os cordelinhos são os grandes “barões” empresariais. Quem realmente manda é quem tem muito dinheiro/poder. E há sempre a tática habitual de chutar para canto: “Eu não sei de nada, o governo anterior é que nos deixou neste estado!”. Porra, não estavam lá quando o governo anterior “supostamente” esteve a fazer asneiras? Não poderiam ter impedido isto?

Por isto tudo e muito mais eu pergunto: Que direito têm os políticos de ganhar balúrdios e ter todas as regalias que actualmente possuem? Ah e tal, governar o País é um cargo que dá muito trabalho. Sim, concordo, é muita responsabilidade e dá muito trabalho, mas isso seria se estivessem a fazer um bom trabalho, seja como governantes ou como oposição.

Entretanto, creio que a febre das manifs já está para acabar, já começou a casa dos segredos. Além disso, há sempre o alcóol e a droga (de acordo com um estudo efectuado a taxa de viciados aumentou por causa da crise). Pois, não há dinheiro para comprar comida e pagar a renda, a vida está uma merda, vou mas é gastar o que me sobra na pinga ou na droga.