My Bike

I want to ride my bike...to Lyon

My 'Pause'

Just like superstars...

My First Stop

Koln Hauptbahnhof

My Second Round

Tiny tiny second round...but still a second round...

My Absolute Lack of Interest in the Actual Situation of Something that does not Encourages me to Write the Usual Profuse Stuff

I believe that such auspicious title is the most touching invitation to the reading of the following lines where no surprises can be found. The consequent dilemma is the necessary text extension to force challenging readers to give up already from the begging and to not drag them to a complex working mind episode where from nothing good will result. With the adequate minimum number of lines, the number of people really interested in continuing reduces, at least in a first phase. The curious returns (in a not so further future) full of courage to assault this experience. New ambitions in quantity need to be achieved to eliminate also such possibility so I seek for the number where even the greater believer in the quality of my pure weird thoughts at least hesitates and that will be the exact moment where I place my final mark. This first introductory script is not necessarily introductory to anything and I hope those who felt the need of only start reading see this as an indirect, but most honest advice I can give right now. I do not possess a concern for people reading these words. I honestly don't. Today this post is only a fight against sloth and lack of will in writing in this blog about something and especially in English. I mentally struggle with words I cannot translate, create or reinvent and feel the typical eloquent Portuguese guy in its Benfica training suit desiring to flower violently from me with all the necessary special effects, George Lucas or Spielberg style (randomly selected), and scatter trivial and profuse articulated sounds with meaning, vulgaris words, either spoken or written anywhere. I miss writing in my mother tongue, and I miss it so much that writing some 'fitas' (I just discovered I have no clue how to translate this word to its actual meaning, probably strait stripe of silk fabric), typical for the end of a student academic life, turned out to be refreshing despite all traditional sentimentalisms expressed and which I obviously do not corroborate. I have certainly not yet accomplished the adequate number of lines which is not an obstacle and inclusively it is appealing and interesting only for irrational people. But in any case due to late hours reasoning I end this mild anguish tour around some other satisfactions without reaching any conclusion which necessarily does not have to exist but always everybody expects one, or a moral or a diffuse blended thought where intellectuals (or maybe psychologists) find the kernel of whatever I might have written. Indulgently I say sorry for wasting your time... Please be comfy to insult in the comments section!

My Santos

Typical...

My Night in 'Cidades Impossíveis'

And here, where the first Portuguese words are introduced they mean Impossible Cities but such translation is not used in my title once it is the title of a play I just see hours ago. From my long absence in the blog (I present here my apologies for all the fans and my three followers :) ) I reappear with this urge already flowing through all my veins, all my thoughts until my finger tips due to all the blend of emotions created during my attendance in the audience. It is performed by a bunch of young amateur actors, do not misunderstood the word ‘amateur’ once they are very talented, part of the so called ‘Novo Núcleo Teatro’. Introduction made to the group, back to the play. Obviously I will not present a thorough description of all the action/acts but the first word crossing my mind to describe it, is beautiful. Not in its visual meaning of something that your eyes focus once some messy scenarios are presented, but beautiful in all the humoristic interventions mixed with genuine and personal feelings together with a bit of tenderness and effusive passion. As you mentally travel, in all different scenarios, within yourself, you remember your past trying to invoke it from the deepest hidden moment. Moments that you rarely remember because they were years ago but still are part of you; and the same easy way time presses our experiences deeper they will always define a little bit of you and left a smile on your face when you remember them, just for pure nostalgia...

The music still floating in my head... ‘Look at me...’...