it’s circus time[?]

a fire broke out backstage in a theatre

the clown came out to warn the public; they thought it was a joke and applauded. 

He repeated it; 

the acclaim was even greater. 

I think that's just how the world will come to an end: to general applause from wits who believe it's a joke

Soren Kierkegaard, Either/Or, Part I

dreams are like gypsy curses [and hearts]...

... they're only real if you [truly] believe in them

cinderella

…but nothing lasts forever,
always is a lie
though i know it in my heart:
that i’ll love you
‘till the day i die

la vie boheme

freedom, truth, beauty and love...

renouncement [like so many people]

mónica é uma pessoa tão extraordinária que consegue simultaneamente: ser boa mãe de família, ser chiquíssima, ser dirigente da "liga internacional das mulheres inúteis", ajudar o marido nos negócios, fazer ginástica todas as manhãs, ser pontual, ter imensos amigos, dar muitos jantares, ir a muitos jantares, não fumar, não envelhecer, gostar de toda a gente, gostar dela, dizer bem de toda a gente, toda a gente dizer bem dela, coleccionar colheres so séc. xvii, jogar golfe, deitar-se tarde, levantar-se cedo, comer iogurte, fazer ioga, gostar de pintura abstracta, ser sócia de todas as sociedades musicais, estar sempre divertida, ser um exemplo de virtudes, ter muito sucesso e ser muito séria.

tenho conhecido na vida muitas pessoas parecidas com a mónica. mas são só a sua caricatura. esquecem-se sempre ou do ioga ou da pintura abstracta.

por trás de tudo isto há um trabalho severo e sem tréguas e uma disciplina rigorosa e constante. pode-se dizer que mónica trabalha de sol a sol.

de facto, para conquistar todo o sucesso e todos os gloriosos bens que possui, mónica teve que renunciar a três coisas: à poesia, ao amor e à santidade.

a poesia é oferecida a cada pessoa só uma vez e o efeito da negação é irreversível. o amor é oferecido raramente e aquele que o nega algumas vezes depois não o encontra mais. mas a santidade é oferecida a cada pessoa de novo cada dia, e por isso aqueles que renunciam à santidade são obrigados a repetir a negação todos os dias.

isso obriga mónica a observar uma disciplina [muito] severa....

Sophia de Mello Breyner in Contos Exemplares

epilogue

after all is said and done, i.e. when all loose ends are tied up, the story must end, unless of course, the end of the story is used as the seed of a sequel, teasing the reader to jump into a completely new story, where only the characters and the lessons learned are the same.

if these rules are not met, the author may risk babbling into pointless directions, leaving the reader with a sensation of frustration and wasted time, and what could have been a great story gets a very bitter taste ...

[...but then again, that may be exactly what the author intended in the first place.]

the good fight

i know you try to carry the world at your shoulders. dealing with the problems the best possible way, keeping everyone around from worrying and knowing what's going on.
that's noble.
but even with your heart and skills, you're not invulnerable.
you can't deal with everything alone.
there are actually some us, that actually care, and will be there to help you through the good fight.
after all, sometimes, even heroes must be saved

los sueños existen...

...y vuelan entre nosotros

great expectations (II)

estella: let's say there was a little girl, and from the time she could understand, she was taught to fear... let's say she was taught to fear daylight. she was taught that it was her enemy, that it would hurt her. and then one sunny day, you ask her to go outside and play and she won't. you can't be angry at her can you?

finn: i knew that little girl and i saw the light in her eyes, and no matter what you say or do, that's still what i see

and some people.... dance

funny thing about coming home,
you notice how things look the same,
smell that same
feel the same,
people are the same,
they tell you the same stories,
and talk about the same places,
it is then that you realize
that you’ve changed

forever

"porque curiosamente, onde menos te encontro é onde tu exististe.
desprendeste-te donde estiveste e é em mim que mais me acontece tu estares.
mas nem sempre.

quantos dias se passam sem tu apareceres.... e às vezes penso é bom que assim seja para eu aprender a estar só.

mas de outras vezes tu rompes-me pela vida dentro e eu quase sufoco da tua presença. ouço-te dizer o meu nome e eu corro ao teu encontro e digo-te vai-te, vai-te embora. por favor.

e eu sinto-me logo tão infeliz.
e digo-te não vás.
fica.
para sempre."


Vergilio Ferreira in "Para Sempre"

very pinkish, but true

Mais vale chorar a tristeza de um amor perdido do que sonhar com um oásis que se transformou numa miragem

great stories

"So, you ask, why am I'm telling you a story without a great ending? Because, as in all great stories, the end is never where you expect it to be..."

a parrot's tale

Once, in a land far away, there lived an old king who was terrified of dying. He sequestered himself in his chambers, refusing to see his viziers. He neglected affairs of state. His subjects worried. His attendants wept in private. The viziers had exhausted all options and plans to entice their king out of bed. The king's glorious parrot spread his emerald wings and flew up to the skies. Higher and higher, into the heavens he soared. He reached paradise and descended into its garden. He picked a fruit that had fallen from the Tree of Immortality. He returned to his master and said, "Take the seed of this fruit and plant it in fertile earth. Feed it love and wisdom and the sapling will turn into a fruit-bearing tree. Old age will forsake whoever eats from the tree's fruit, and vigour will revisit him." And the king's servants were surprised when their master called: "Plant this fruit's seed in my garden. I wish to glimpse its crop in my lifetime"

The sagacious bird, "Remember the legend of the wise King Solomon and the Fount of Immortality. He refused to quench his thirst, for he wished not to outlive his lived ones."
"Bah!" uttered the king. Life coursed through his veins, hope revived him, and he woke every morning to witness the incremental growth of his tree. "Love it more", he told his gardeners. "Faster, quicker, it must rise." The tree grew, and buds burst into flowers, from which small fruit appeared. Finally, the day arrived when the fruit was ripe and ready. "Pick that one", the vivacious king said. "It looks the most succulent."

The gardener carried a small ladder to the tree. At the same instant, an eagle high in the clouds saw a slithering snake not too far from the king's garden. The eagle lunged and clutched the snake, lifting it into the skies. With its final breath, the snake spat out its venom, and one drop fell upon the fruit as it was being presented to the king.
"Bring me an old fakir", the king demanded. When his servants found one, the king commanded that he taste the fruit. The fakir took one bite, kneeled over, and died.

The king raged. "Is that horrible parrot trying to hasten my demise?" He seized the bird by the feet, twirled the parrot above his head, and threw him against the tree. The parrot broke his neck and met his end. The tree became known as Tree of Poison, and none approached it.

As hope left him, the king grew sickly. He retired to his chambers once more and spent his time cursing the tree from his window. Soon he saw the spectre of death approaching.
While things were thus, a vicious young wife quarrelled with her old mother-in-law. The girl raised her voice at her elder and cursed. Shocked, the mother-in-law informed her son, and the ingrate took his wife's side. His mother was so livid and distraught that she resolved to kill herself so her son would be blamed for her death. She sought the garden, bit into a fruit from the Tree of Poison, and was instantly transformed into a youthful beauty.

"What miracle is this?" the lovely girl asked.
The king witnessed the transformation from his window. "How guilty am I?" he said to himself. "I have killed a true friend." He called his servants in a faint voice. "Pick me a fruit", he whispered.
But wicked death reached him before the picking.

in the Hakawati

untitled

Olhos tristes entregam-se numa última carícia,
Mágoas e imagens que se despedem,
num adeus de mar e de ternura.
As mãos entrelaçadas: nós e juras de amor eterno e fidelidade,
Suam nuas, sem consequências, nem verdade.
Lágrimas sinceras, choradas em silêncio, sem perdão,
Afogam dois amantes, perdendo-os
num último beijo, numa última tentação

what colour are your dreams?

The most important thing about dreams it’s their colour.

The shape, form and paths of dreams do change. They are different from time to time: they depend on where [and who] you are. But while you still have a spark, [while your eyes are still able to glow,] the colours of your dreams won't change. Even if, as you go through life, you use more of a given colour, or even change your palette, the basic colours of your dreams [your true desires, what makes you happy and complete] do not change.

One important thing is that all colours [by themselves] are neutral: they’re neither good nor bad [it is us who choose which way they go]. They just are. Personal, unique and yours to take. For the better and for the worse.

Each person dreams are always complex, with a different mix of colours that makes them unique. There are 5 different pigments that can paint your dreams.

Red is the colour of passion.
For life, love, friendship and every strong feeling you may long for. It is intense. It can drive you to the most romantic love stories, the worst human tragedies, or to insanity. Red does not give up: it keeps its path no matter what, it likes the risk, to lead and inspires others to follow. It is the colour of all of those who like to be challenged, to fight, and to pursue what they want. [If not careful it can become too selfish and self-centred].

Blue is melancholic, introspective and intelligent.
It loves to rationalize, to organize everything around, to dwell in the past and to question [and doubt] everything. It is responsible for the major human achievements in science, philosophy, and [some] poetry. It always has an explanation [or a question] for everything [either for matters of the heart or the mind], it loves predictability and tranquillity.
[If not careful, it leads to insecurity, indecision, and laziness]

Yellow is the colour of lightness.
Everything is happy, light and care-free. The Yellow neither cares about tomorrow nor yesterday. It longs for the moment, the today, for spontaneity. For bright summer days, music and dance. For everything that is close and can happen now. It likes simplicity, and purity of feelings and thoughts. It never stays long, always seeking for new experiences.
[if not careful it is aloof and totally detached of the world and everyone]

Green [the unthinkable child of the Blue and the Yellow], is the colour of hope, of imagination and [questioned by some] a whole colour of its own.
The green loves to daydream, to imagine worlds, romances and adventures. Every leaf is a door to another world, every look a gate to a different soul and a different universe much more fascinating than the previous one. Green loves to see the world with a different [and unique] set of eyes, and spice it up with a careful sense of aesthetic beauty and creativity. It is the colour of the arts, of painters, writers and the storytellers.
[if not careful it can lead to delusion, mix of realities, and deceit]

Octarine is the colour of magic.
When present, octarine dominates all other colours, fading them into the background. It is the colour that transforms everything, a driving force for all other colours that does not believe in impossibility. It is not available to all: only wizards know how to paint dreams with it. And when you’re with one wizard [even if he doesn’t know he’s one], his octarine will flow into you, making everything more real, more clear and possible.
[octarine has a personality of its own, if not taken care of, it can leave you and dim every dream]

No matter what shape your dreams may have: to become a greatest movie start, a renowned scientist, to explore the universe, to fall madly in love and be loved back, to have a big family, to know the world, to embark in unique adventures, to be recognized, etc. whatever they are, they will have different forms and different paths.

If you happen to find that a given path does not lead to what you sought or that you didn’t made it, don’t loose faith. Do not get upset [at least not for long, after all, mourning lost dreams clears the path for new ones]. Your own colours should drive you, they will take you to a new path, a new form, a new shape, that will make your dreams come true.

It may not happen at first, it may not happen at your 10th attempt, but it will happen.
Never let your dreams be a blank canvas, and don’t give up.

After all, only when you know your true colours [,and you understand and accept that there is more than one path, one form, one shape], you will be able to create your own paintings, and bring your dreams and happiness into reality.

the dark one

You have summoned me. You desperately needed me. I am the bastard son of the sixth, of the sixth, of the sixth priest. My bare existence is a sin, and proof of human weakness. My powers know no limits and my heart is dark.

I stand by you on the crossroads of your life, I always point you the easy way [which isn’t, of course, the best one]. I don’t judge you nor tell you what to do [and that is why you need me so bad], you remain the same to me whatever you do. I may, however, tilt you for the easy conquests, immediate pleasure, or anything that pleases me in making you do so. I’ll praise you, making you believe you’re anything special, just to break you for my own delight.

I know you’re weak: your dark desires, failures, disappointments, treasons and crimes are just something that I would expect. I now control every single move of yours, and since you’re so proud, you’ll never be able to get out of my spell.

You weren’t like this; you were even once immune to me – holding yourself to the what-so-called God of yours. But I am always alert, I noticed how you changed and at the first opportunity, I started my own workings.

On the day you were down and weak, I started whispering. Singing. Luring you to my own trap. I showed you the greatest human desires, and made you believe they were your own. The masterpiece was, I admit, making you to fall in love with me.

You see, the only way you could’ve not fallen [and I hold in so low esteem, that I may even tell you this, knowing that it will never backfire], was by not being selfish. Only truth, purity of feelings, actions and selfless love can break my spells, and are immune to my curse. Luckily you have none. You can only think, praise and whine on yourself. The rest of the world is there to feed your own ego. And I led you to think, I was like anyone else. The game was set, and I wanted to play.

I let you believe you loved, and led you to believe that you were loved back [it was so much fun]. I got to seed jealousy, hatred and lies into your heart. I left you in a permanent state of doubt and confusion. Everything I did was ambiguous, none of it was complete. I released small ideas, pretending feelings so that you, filling in the gaps, created your own illusion. I never committed, but I never let you go. I never went for a full blow, but slowly tortured you, hurting and diminishing you day by day. I even took away your sleep and dreams, and watched you pathetically fight for a love that simply didn’t exist.

You thought of yourself noble, but I managed to completely poison your heart. Tainted it black. Patiently, I fed you with your own [old and new] fears, allowing them grow bigger. Showing you twisted images, and telling you incomplete stories to let jealously, obsession and suspicion corrupt your heart. You’re trapped in yourself, in a dark pit of human pain and despair. And the greatest thing of all is that I even managed to make you give your own soul away, just for the promise of [a fake and selfish] love.

Now, you will corrupt anyone who comes along and unless someone can break the enchantment [which I seriously doubt], your life will be void, unhappy and meaningless. You will spread my venom, my work of art.

You stood no chance.