Saturday, 17 December 2011

The day you stopped caring

A cheesy Christmas song on the phone while I wait for a solution to my operational issues.
Wrong days, wrong dates, unmatching schedules.

My faux hectic life.
Not so long ago, you had a spot in it.

And this is where the blues begin to play.

Seven seas of immensity. There was I, standing on the shore, in awe.

A lightning had hit me fully in the chest.
Such a constant wave of electricity I had to keep a safety distance from.

A chessboard opened.
That was my own strategy for the game that then begun.

From our very own points, we would play.
Eyes on my pawns as the rook rushes near.

So many signs would be sent, and lost in zero gravity fields they would remain.
Forgotten, one might think. Not a single piece of it unnoticed, I clarify.

My crave was for your whining.
I was hungry for your spoiled reaction, for your baby cry.

Regardless anything, it meant you still cared.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning.
My pawns were marching towards a bishop.

The skies were blue.

So many mistakes and poorly planned moves. Bitter whereabouts. Unreadable thoughts. Unforgivable minds.
Your queen swept around the board.
I was stuck in a check position.

A moment of shock, but hopes still flourished. However, only for so long.

On the following morning, deeper blue skies.
While walking around the beautiful central square, I realized.
Not a single word had been spoken that day.
Not a single moaning was cried.

For once, I understood.

That was the day when my king felt.
That was the day you stopped caring.


As we speak, I gaze upon the long road that lies ahead.
Its emptiness revealed by the burning sun of the still upcoming summer.

That little piece of me is gone. Perhaps, never mine has it been.
Small talk and controversies.
A marvel of infinity now just a past dream.

And as I rush to keep up with the engines of everyday life, I set myself to the dare. To the morning and day I will, myself, finally stop to care.


Sunday, 6 November 2011

California scream, final: the whereabouts

Right here, present time.

Shooting stars, at first flying together, only to follow our own ways in the immensity of the skies.

On my usual solitude, I burned in the distance and had my pieces falling here, on this little spot I was given to call home.
Far away from the halcyon days and glorious nights.

The world has been yours to take.
Oh well.

Waters have been falling and following their own course.
So have I, so was I that night.

The bourgeoisie around me would not feel alluring in the slightest.
Around a poorly played piano, they would laugh out of the ordinary things that should not even touch one's mind, while drinking cheap champagne and moving their exaggeratedly fancy clothes.
Such an unattractive idiosyncrasy that sadly does not belong to any particular place and time.

So one should smile and pretend.
Play his part and recreate himself into a dancer, a performer that will move to any given song, to any kind of music.
This may cost him the fair play to oneself – but is one being demanded to be a good dancer or a fair player?

It is time to move to the tune being played, regardless how it suits our souls.

For the stars have hinted us there is better life beyond the horizon.
For the stars have pointed us the way.
For the stars may now bear our hearts.

The dark clouds eventually opened. Sun now shines in its full glory, announcing the upcoming summer and illuminating each corner of my reality.

I look around and contemplate, trying to understand.
And finally accept.

California is now a distant dream.

no actual island was harmed in the writing of this series.

Wednesday, 2 November 2011

California scream, part II: los colores de tí

Beyond the chantilly hills, a few weeks ago.

I was literally deaf and this – obviously – was feeling anything but nice.

Coming for vacations?
Yes, I replied, unnoticed, as the officer rushed into stamping my entrance on my passport.

A meticulously built and organized land was then revealed, while I was putting on my best efforts to ignore all the yelling doubts, fears and issues bubbling inside.

My friend did keep his word, to my immense relief. A travel partner was then found.

A beautiful commune and a fairly larger space for me to lay all over, surrounded by the disturbing madness of the metropolis. That, however, was a pretty little island of quiet paradise where I could calmly close my eyes, meditate and pray for my – not yet coming – recovery.

Meanwhile, and regardless anything, the fantastic world around requested us outside – and we answered its call.

There was, however, no need to rush, for the day was beautiful and the spring would not allow the flowers to decease.

Slowly we should move, for it was no use to run.
Slowly we would stroll. Slowly we would come back from contemplating the numerous eye-catching spots scattered around the city.
Slowly we would figure out.

Despite our unhurried pace, those were no peaceful times.

By the time we reached the old town of Havana, a different side to a youth scream was met – it was revolution, set all around us.
On a young impetus, they rised up against the silent war, shouting blurred shadows of the old words in the communist manifesto.
As any enraged young, at any cost they would fight. They would crack the government, they would drop blood of innocents, they would make mothers cry.

Nonetheless, as loud, hazardous and destructive as it could have been, the heavens kept us safe while my own manifesto – the California scream – was still resonating even louder.
The revolution passed unnoticed.
We were left unharmed, indifferent to random alarming reports on a mute television.

And our hearts, they kept in oblivion, but not for too long.

Days earlier, on the county-commune in the capital metropolitan area, lost inside the mirrored high rises of post-modern architecture, we saw the picture of another life.
On a sunny afternoon at the coast town of Havana, wandering around the colourful quietness of those 1950s-ish crooked streets, we finally understood.
There is another life to believe in, deeper colours to chase after.

And then the ocean smiled to us, luring us in by its imposing beauty and the welcoming warmness of its dark sands, which, sadly enough, contrasted to the intense coldness of the waters. A trap, that is.
Still, waves of good vibes reached my inner chains of energy as the tides licked my bare feet.

The colourful paradiso island was left behind as the couch ventured itself back into the continent.

A different existence, a richer and ancient culture.
And the – not yet conclusive – quest after the perfect specimen of local female beauty.
Buds painting their own travel book in purely funny colours.

Not long after, on a comet, I would eventually feel the good airs, the epilogue to my homecoming.

It was time to, in a strongly felt relief, hit the road.

The adventures were ending.

California scream silently faded in the distance.


Monday, 31 October 2011

California scream, part I: the smiling manifesto

The long straight road. Early spring.

The road was being cut, a - very well known - city was rising up before my eyes, a full set of appointments and a state of near ennui left behind. 

The morning had felt.

It was the beginning of my adventures.

Acting out a wayfarer until the time was proper, just to realize… the experience never fails to amaze me somehow.

Check-in line, window seat, samba in the background, an itching fear bugging me.
Not long after, the cloudy skies opened and the island suddenly showed itself in its full glory.

Nice to meet you, land.

My choreography failed miserably, much unlikely the heavenly creatures from up north the one-o-one road, always precise when it came to pleasing. The most delicious piece of chocolate ever eatten. The most comfortable and luxury shared tiny room ever slept on.

In there I set foot. Near the seas, near the wonders of that piece of infinity.

Together, we flew towards the biggest parties ever thrown.
I was breaking the shelter and stepping out of any known comfort zone. Yet, it was feeling so alluringly sweet.

Queuing up to the bubbling excitement until the city opened itself for us, revealing an island of uncanny beauty and wonders.

We were wearing bright colours for we were feeling fresh and young, gorgeous and virile.
We were the stars that night.
We were the stars every night.

Queue after queue, more stars were added to our private constellation.
…And how serious can a cosmic incident be when two of them collide?

Take my hand, will you?

And then, on an alternative place and time, while downtown was merely a backdrop picture, a private universe was formed.
Sun, however, performed its part and rose up, illuminating every corner of the city and the reality, which we could then gaze upon and more fully understand.

A new day that was.

Me and my friends, we were wandering away from inglorious spots of regular life, following the road towards to our very selves.

The redeemer sent us his blessings. We were happy back then.

In a perfect contrast to state of joy we were in, the very sensible local moodiness was a difficult enemy to beat.
So I smiled – effortlessly, with ease.
You are smiling as form of protesting, a stranger said.

Indeed, I was.

That was my smiling manifesto, against every inch of sulk in those strangers’ face.
Against every piece of sorrow in life.
Against any lack of light in one's smile.

And both in manifesto and in celebration we screamed, so loud we echoed in every corner of the universe ahead and beyond.
The California scream, shout by the California stars, a homage to our glow and to our own lives.
We reached another state of mind.

No bad feeling succeed at stopping us.
We kept walking, we kept contemplating.

And as we progressed, stars kept colliding to colourful explosions in the sky and in the land; on the streets and seaside; on a private room, in the middle of a screaming crowd.
And my manifesto kept on, solidly unharmed even when the adrenaline pumped through my veins and the emotions hit me so strikingly that medical care was demanded.

It was the gloomy sunrise of the last day in that wildly full of amaze land.

Fear, indecision.
How much further can you go?

International airports, flight connections.

I was leaving the land – and with it, some of the shiniest moments of one's life.

Please fasten your seatbelts, said the flight attendant, in all three applicable languages.

Where was I going to? Did not quite know.

The island was far away now.

California scream, however, was still mutely echoing.


Wednesday, 21 September 2011


A small set of - rather insisting - dreams to run after.
There was I, performing my part. And it was all pretty fine, I got to say.

New winters were blowing in.
It was a new first day.

I was leaving home, heading to any place in reach.
No matter it did - my mind was no longer an inhabitant of this set of flesh.

As the independence manifesto was screamed, a louder yell was echoing inside me. Unheard, but somewhat noticed.

I was beat to the point of bleeding, while the envelope was taking long to arrive.
Wrapped in it, my safe conduct, written in serious, monochromatic letters. Frigid, but yet so welcome when it eventually arrived.

And then I was struggling to pick up the pieces of the life of a couple of weeks ago, which now seemed so distant. Funny how time never runs on an even pace.

My quest, obviously, is not even nearly finished.

No exit is in sight, no answer is yet inferable.
None of this, however, feels wrong or bad.

For there is better feelings to believe in, a feeling that is embracing us.
It took over the city this morning.

In remembrance to those warriors, they marched on a parade.

In honour to the land where the brave ones have no fear in the slightest.
Where they have the urge to take their swords and fight.
Where they are encouraged by the risk of being reduced to rag.
Where they are keen to give their blood to their cause.

Shall we bow before these brave gentlemen.
Shall we worship their land.

And should I have an inch of their bravery.

I look around and contemplate.

There is also better love to believe in, greater life to believe in, a colourful sky to believe in, a land of wonders to believe in.

Are you brave, are you a believer, dear reader?


Thursday, 18 August 2011

Before it was too late

It was dawning beautifully outside, as the sky was being taken over by a soft shade of blue. A cold night that one had been, as the provided covers were far from the desirable or even from the proper length to my body frame - which was scandalously indecent, given the price we paid.

On the precedent evening, excitement had been bubbling as I got prepared to hit the distance once again, on a quest to smooth all the rough edges from the close past, before it was too late.
With maternal blessings, I left home by foot, slowly exploring the nightly beauties of the city. Such an ordinary event that became such an experience.
A lonesome wayfarer in the night, that's more like it.

Back to the dawning light, the skyscrapers in the distance, which I can never avoid myself from contemplating in breathless wonder, did not look all that scary for once. One day only, I thought, while the big buildings performed the usual surrounding dance around me.
Drowning myself onto them, I did not walk for very long.

A cheap hotel room with a pair of single beds and a shower, and a respectable breakfaste table downstairs - what else could one desire?

I went to have my morning meal, before it was too late, failing - as always - to create a better (and healthier) food selection.

Meanwhile, I was digging on some more alternative, so to speak, morning activities. Capital cities do provide you with more green-dotted spots and a (curious) welcoming attitude.
All of sudden, quite a radical plans change was required. The fear was an obvious enemy to defeat, but it soon became obvious that it was about time for me to move out of my safety zone and venture into the sunny afternoon. Before it was too late.

The unusually calm traffic, the top-notch districts, the always striking local sense of chic, all for once feeling alluring and warming.
Much of the city was crossed, and I was a bit late for lunch, or maybe for life, but that soon got a fix.

In time, figures set up, cards were given.
No delays, no empty words. At all.
On a distant suburb, the proper lights were found. Smiling to the mirrors, I was about to conquer a fairly desired victory, feeling overly pleased by having such a perfect opportunity for such.
The rest, one can guess.

A dull farewell to the situation, which was no longer harsh or painful - my heart sure acquired some steel from back in the day.
All I could think of was the future-setting occasion that was yet to come. Meanwhile, the time felt proper to flow through the glamorous galleries of that beautiful - and fairly well known - district where I had been taken.

Such an entertaining activity that is. I soon got too distracted and had too rush before it was too late.

Finally on my main destination, core to the whole day, I heard what I feared and found out what I did not quite want to. Some of my dearest dreams were torn apart (or at least delayed for a bit too long), if that is not an excess of drama about it.
I ain't going much further on this specific subject.

All that was left to do was to run downhill, heavily disappointed, before it was too late.
Dear friends, heart-loved friends, they were there, to at least give me some emotional comfort… or bring up some unneeded information.

Good surpriseS, bad surprises. The day turned out to be quite revealing in some aspects, what I still have rather mixed feelings about.

Soaring like a falling angel, in the limbo between victory and defeat, I slowly walked away, struggling to look complacent to the hazard that vapored up in the streets as the night felt.

Time to head back home, before it was too late.
Time to draw new plans, before it is too late.

Have a good one, dear reader.

Saturday, 9 July 2011

A third go on the third decade (aka 23)

Well, good morning.
It's been a week since. Quite a bit hectic week, could I add, were I sure of that.


Early July has hit us all over again, getting to - no matter how I could try to avoid it - make me one year older. The creepy, nasty, repugnant aging, yes, it happens to everyone doesn't it.
But age is definitely just a number.

So the moments shines proper to a quick, maybe too superficial overview on the year that just flew by.

It could be started by being said that my 22 were quite enjoyable.
Indeed, I cannot be any happier or more thankful about the time that just passed.

It could also be noted that important steps were taken and important moves were made. Especially "move on"s (sorry for the occasional neologism), although this is something yet to be worked on more widely.

Another important aspect to point out is that the world could have been conquered by me, and it most probably was at some points, which was just beyond ~awesome - think of a kid with a toy spaceship, taking a distant flight around an imaginary Earth. That was me. Childish but feeling utterly powerful.

It could also be led into clichéd territory, by being shouted (maybe bragged) that I "was a person and now I'm another", but no, that really is not the case. No matter how much I may have changed, no matter how many things may have happened to me, the soul that lies within is the same since day one.

So many ways to lead this. But just one thing to say: Life is funny isn't it.

On this ~new dawn~ I could think about focusing on all those troubled small territories of my life, or even consider just plain ignoring it all and enjoying my days, my youth - what is the problem in that anyway?

My conscious and "mature" mind, I'm afraid, still craves for some more movement, which's a subject yet to be fully understood.

The insisting question marks, which exist in every single aspect of my existence, are dizzying but still quite defying and alluring.
Maybe I can straighten them into exclamation marks. Maybe squeeze them into commas. Never, though, compress them into full stops.

Oversharing, am I?
Cannot say.

There is no plan to be followed this time around, I think. Time to grab this fully blank sheet and scratch some beautiful landscapes or a beautiful story.

And let the wind flow.

Happy (belated) birthday to me. :)


Tuesday, 14 June 2011

Broken promises

It was dawning in the city, I was getting close, with a pocket full of wishful melodies, good melodies. Earlier in the night, they helped me shut that insistent little voice telling me beforehand that the sun does not always shine so bright.

So we meet again, I said to Vinovia, which greeted me gracefully this time around.
The beautiful landscapes never seemed so familiar and warm.

The winter, on the other hand, was clearly falling, bringing up the charming cold weather, colouring soft lights in the sense of style in the south metropolis.

I was fine in the outside.
Inside, my heart, in an uncontrolled act of perhaps following the season, was turning cold and distant. One of my very moments of self-reclusion and reflection. Never in a proper timing.

All the good fortune, dreams and good wishes. They were irrelevant for a moment.

In front of me, the concrete figure of a parallel life.

The diamond children were playing in their world made of glittering, crystal glass. A golden light that reflects so elegantly in the infant's beautiful eyes, eyes that might inspire love and tenderness, but yet are so full of vanity, so full of futility, so empty.

Or maybe it was me who was empty, with little, nothing to add to anything, anyone.

I am just a foolish bag of fragmentary memories, I thought, while struggling to accept that I had become vulnerable once again.

The bright lights around us were glowing with the Vinovian unique sense of chic. So antagonic to my own matrix.

Day was dawning again. As a sad clown, my face was just painted with happiness.

A numb feeling was squeezing my lungs while a strange eager was running through my body.

Among the eloquent silence and some precise hints, it was then confirmed.
Promises had been broken.

With my own devices, I tried waking up and going in for the battle.
I had to win Vinovia once again, and not let my happiness be delayed.

Late at night, I was walking alone on those desert streets, paying no mind to the evident danger of that silly attitude or even to the gelid breeze that apparently believed to be pleasant and insisted to blow right against my face.

Once so charming, the boulevards did not seem any appealing anymore. The city had apparently lost some of its colours.

A couple of friends, a couple of drinks and a couple of dance steps.
It was not properly Vinovia, I felt. Or it was just a different side to it.
The whole set did not differ from my routine in the slightest, which felt weird, unfulfilling, but well - the night was not lost.
I did enjoy the moment after all, in quite good company.

Nevertheless, the broken promises were echoing through my mind, as was the agony of being aware that I could forever be just a foreigner in the glimmering land of gold.

All my dreams, they might all be plain hopeless and I might never grow out my tiny little box.
Is papa to be blame blamed and mama to be hated?
I may never get to climb outside these walls.

Perhaps I should just settle down and accept the facts.

And no longer believe in breakable promises.

Good week, dear reader.

Wednesday, 1 June 2011


And the time had come. Finally. At last.

My life had been left purely on the shelf of oblivion while the clock was slowly ticking.

The experiment was coming.

Every detail (that I could think of or handle at least) organized and then we were all set, headed into the always-unknown metropolis that lays hidden in the end of that road.

As the long straight way was reached, the city blossomed beautifully in front of us, as normal. With it, all the fear and the anticipation - especially on the fierce lady beside me.

On the green boulevard, we found the spot where we would stay for a while.
Smiles waiting.

Night felt and I was there, in the best of companies, waving goodbye to what seemed, at that point, to be an ending era.
"No chocolate tonight", I thought. I didn't want the dinner experience to be fulfilling, as to maintain intact the sense of 'there's more yet to come'.

Every moment was being carefully photographed by my retinae. Acting as poetical and dramatic as normal, I was fearing those could be irreplaceable memories.

Now the precise moment was coming, and we were all eager for it.
Sitting on those comfortable yet frightening little couches, watching any random news about any random death or tragedy, hearing biased comments given by a snobbish upper class woman in the room.
Time would not pass, it seemed.

I was called in several times.
A few blue scratches and I was ready to go.

Bright lights shining and then time stropped. And jumped hours forward.

We're done.

As soft as a breeze it passed through, and I was, well, pretty alive I'd say.

Now sit back, relax, enjoy it.


A new dawn.

For an entire month it feels like I have been sleeping, it seems.

Idle times, lazy times.

Time ticking off so slowly, so damn slowly.

My mind was inexorably taken over by the most ludicrous bunch of nonsense it could come up with.
Well nonsense that is? I could not quite say so.

When you are stuck in a non-move situation, your mind will eventually burst out the ache to fly.
A hectic life cannot stay for very long in this abrupt absence of emotion. Movement is indeed needed and any boredom feeling will therefore be shaken off by your thoughts, sending themselves as far away as your understanding might try to follow.

You engage fighting, you engage mental tricks, you engage plans change.

What am I doing here?

Incomprehension, sadness, insecurity, all them nagging feelings that also come in the same bag.
More importantly at this moment, you look yourself in the mirror and you are not quite pleased by what you see.
Satisfaction lies way ahead.

Several days I could have dedicated to some more productive activities, but no. I gave my time to an uncontrolled thinking, to a poorly led thought experiment that ended up being ridiculously shallow.
All I have is a full package of blurred images of what seemed to be my desires - and my absolute inability to chase after them at this very moment.

That is, perhaps, frightening, terrifying. Then you might choose to just put it all aside and keep living a more comfortable life.
This, my friends, is what separates big achievers from flimsy, null individuals.

Which group do I want to belong?

So many days and drama after, I am ready to be back, I guess.

Not absolutely sure, however, if I am absolutely ready to read my future and set it all apart.

Must I add, no sadness is involved. At all.
There is this smile in my face and I am keen to see what waits on the road.

After this month full of experiments, physical and mental experiments, figures have changed slightly, all building up to the world looking appealing for a change.

I might be being quite a bit silly or naïve, but I am just a youngster who has tasted too little of the world after all.

Life goes on.

Smile, dear reader, smile.
For the future has just begun.

Tuesday, 26 April 2011

April fools

No, I am not a writer.
Nor a dancer.
Nor a lover.

These are, perhaps, some of the most basic things one should know about me.

In this rather tight little piece in the southern world I was given to call “home”, I am, indeed, just another grain of dust.

Apart from the bright days – and they do come – and the scintillating stars on an occasional colourful night, life is just passing by, sometimes too quiet to even be bothered being noticed.
What remains is just a set of dreams. It is all just the dust of a utopia, too silly and prolix for me to bear the memories.

It all may have been rather loud for someone lately, though.
Pretty much as if a perfectly shaped shiny and happy portrait of life were losing, day after day, most of its vivid colours, which ironically revealed how faux the image is.

In that crowded train station, amidst the voices, noises, screams and the rails being scratched by the iron wheels in high speed, you had several directions to take. Not a single guiding sign.
You take the first train, whatever one it is.

And then you feel such a stress taking over.
And then you do not feel happy anymore, you are not smiling anymore.

…Where is the light?

You look in the mirror and clearly do not recognize that bland figure you see.

Not a single feeling.


And April progresses, while we fool ourselves, in hope to complete another abstract masterpiece of painting depicting ‘perfection’.
We keep pretending life is just beyond skyrocket fantastic.
We keep pretending that we own a star in the skies.
We keep pretending that there is a candy land of the wonders unknown just before us.

We are so fools.

Wednesday, 2 March 2011

Vinovian Nights

As the year progressed and my mind was taken over by my everyday schedule, all the hurting and deeper feelings and reflections about life fatally had to be put to bed.
There is just too much I ought to do and there is just so much time… – a lifetime.

February took over and I had to meet a rushed appointment, located somewhere unknown. A lot of doubts, expectations and, in my pocket, a bit of good hope.
Despite not knowing the exact location, I was aware that a few kilometres were lying ahead, so I took the luxury coach all the way to my destination.

After a slightly comfortable trip, I found myself arriving on a rather packed station, feeling quite bemused.
Still, I did not know exactly where I was getting – I had certainly laid my feet on that sole… But where was it again?
This was the question I had not much time to come up with an answer as I, all of a sudden, had to focus on my struggling to fight the road sickness, the fear of the danger and the despair after a couple of things went just way too wrong.

Oh you city, serving me with the worst welcome one could wish on a Friday morning…

It was still hardly dawning, but the day was not promising much of a relief.
Feeling watched by the remaining night-lights of the city, I took a cab, in hopes to soon have a better overview of the situation.

As we reached the beautiful boulevard, I found myself on a sweet déjà-vu of times of yore – still unable, though, to determine my location. Where am I, for heaven’s sake?!

On my very temporary room, I was looking out the window, feeling nowhere close to pleased. That set of big blocks of solid concrete surrounding me carried a soul of its own; an aura that was certainly aware of my foreign origin and was clearly not delighted with my presence.
A slight bitter sense of despair was swirling through my bones, giving me chills and fear. I did not feel welcome whatsoever.

Oh, dear…

Some time later, sun was properly up, so it was time to pick up a company and get to the goddamned appointment, which was, after all, the primary reason I got to that unidentified metropolis.

Well, good morning.

A taxicab drive and another set of troubles away, there was I, in the office of that blue-eyed gentleman. Business, business. Far from satisfaction or safety, but well, one never knows – and this is not exactly important.
A glimpse of hope perhaps?

We then left back home, by foot, all the way down the hill.
Sun was far up by then, casting a proper light upon the city, which, for the first time, seemed a little less hazardous.

A little bit of adventure followed, in order to patch some of the bad events of the morning. With no despise to the funny, interesting and somewhat dangerous moments, the highlight and perfect summary of that morning was, undoubtedly, the strengthening of a good friendship.
And the early morning puzzle, well, it was slowly being solved.

Friday afternoon and I was alone at the very downtown of that big city.
Wandering around the high buildings, I had the insistent feeling I had certainly been there before – but then again, where was I?
The question kept bugging me and there was not a thing I could do to solve it.

Night fell, breaking apart any hint of a will to stay indoors on such a welcoming dusk scene.

So my friend and I hit the streets, having nothing but free and unpretentious fun around those crowded corners and curvy sidewalks.
It was time to play the parts of anyone else but us, to our hearts’ will, enjoying to the most the anonymity of the metropolis.

Observing the forms of life around me, it became a little clear that I had reached a different kind of world – which I did not quite belong to, though this was never exactly important.

I had just hit the night of that big city whose name I still did not quite know. Had never been in those corners before, but it was feeling just properly nice.

Despite the interesting experience, my pockets were still full of good hope and rather pushing expectations I had, somehow, to meet.
The past night had just not been enough, I remarked on the following morning, as the rain broke into my window, waking me up on a wet, but still weirdly gentle fashion.

Walking up and down the streets again and again, the feeling of intense boredom and frustration was slowly taking over, hence spoiling somehow the whole trip experience.
The hours passed dully, while I myself was, at times, bordering the numbness.

Laid my head on her lap and shared my heart with her – and so did her to me.

That was when magic took place.

Our fingers came together. They were drawing neon lights. We were letting ourselves be expressed on a glimmering, colourful output.
She was writing beautiful neon poetry.
I was scratching my dreams for a night.

So strange, though, how talking my soul out takes so much energy of me… Perhaps it is a protection of some sort, preventing me from opening too wide.
I do not quite know.
A few hours later, I was exhausted. And so was my friend.

Night-time was, however, consolidated outside, inviting us out. We then decided it could not be so insanely bad to give ourselves another go after all…

And so we, once again, hit the night scene. This time around, the situation relevantly conformed to my innermost desires more profoundly – a detail I would keep to myself.

Making our way deep into the club dark corridors, I felt a weird sense of fear and excitement lighting up a flame in my soul.
None of those persons facing me were known. None of those persons, however, were strangers.
Uncanny how that place was familiar. Uncanny how it brought out something in me.

The calling of the night was not just an invitation. It was a dare.
I knew I was up to a brand new thrill.

We then reached the dance floor. Electronica pulsed immediately through my veins.
It was my night.

I danced boundlessly to the beat, not giving the smallest notice to my rough moving abilities or to the intense heat inside that overcrowded place.
Lights shone and blinked so bright that got hypnotized and unable to stop.
The challenge set by the dusk had met a fearless contender, not afraid to talk to strangers, not afraid to look into people’s eyes and not afraid to feel renewed and somehow powerful.

A tequila, a vodka and a few hours later, I was finally getting a hint of the name of the city I had been taken to.
The tone was set to perfection in such a way that I sincerely did not care much of whatever would happen.
I finally had my heart tuned to that big city.

This is when it became clear that the big and before unknown metropolis was actually Vinovia.

I may assume you, dear reader, may not know Vinovia by its name.
No big wonder, however, that you may have been there before without even knowing.

Vinovia is a city, big in size, huge in wonders.
It is a metropolis, centre of one’s world, packed with all the good moments and proper emotions, bound to shake deep inside of oneself.
It is a land of dreams coming true amongst glimmering lights and glittery glamour.
It is a place of intensity.
It is the result of meticulously hand-drawn project, conceived to be perfect.
Wide streets and arborized sidewalks being the relief of the claustrophobic – but, still, gorgeous – skyscrapers and the perfect pathways for love, beauty and passion to flow on.
Nothing else matters but love, beauty and passion.
Nothing else you feel but love, beauty and passion.

There is no better definition on Vinovia, my friend.
One can see it, one can touch it, but one is only properly in Vinovia when he is feeling it.

Without even knowing, I had been in Vinovia for the last couple of days and had even reached the Vinovian nights.
Points were being connected and it was all suddenly making sense… - or not so quite. When one is in Vinovia, heart is the only guide, and when it comes to the matters of the heart, sense is never properly a priority, I can assure you.
How clear had it been all along?

Back to the club, hours passed by so quickly… Time does fly when one is enjoying the moment.
Already late, late of the night, the time was perfect to run away with feeling the wildest liberty… The pouring rain, however, had its own plans, and got us stuck inside that tiny box.

It was, properly, a destiny trap. A plot concerning myself.

The electronica music paced all the way up to a raving melody.
It was not just a song; it was a political scream for liberty, coming from the far east.

That was the exact moment when that little figure moved over to challenge me.
Cherry blossoms fell from the roof as the battle began.

And then I was in the wild battlefield, while the music was just a distant soundtrack.
Never a poetic scene, such a bloody war that was.
Violence. Killing animalistic instincts.
The rage made me feel so alive.
It hurts, but it sure feels so right.

Two winners in Vinovia.

Reaching home as the daylight was making its way into the skies, I was once again feeling as glorious as in happy past days.
It hurts, but I sure deserve it – physical pain that could never compare to my inner joy.
And the wounds, well, they were nothing but a trophy.

Last day in Vinovia was placid and slow-paced, as an extended after-party relaxing lounge.

And as another night felt, it was time to leave the city, leaving my dearest friend behind.
A sad farewell, sealed with a close hug, giving us a glimpse of how deeply we would miss each other.

Not long after, I was on the coach, heading back to homeland. Before I could even notice, Vinovia had vanished behind the hills.
Painful departures…


Back to Vinovia, a few days later.

A few days later, Vinovia dawn light was waking me up once again.
Just like the last time, I had been taken to Vinovia without even knowing, and it took the sun shining in my face for me to realize where exactly I was.

As I moved in the bed, trying to get to a comfortable position and hopefully fall asleep again, there were just so much memories in my mind, in a puzzle slowly completed minute after minute.
A strange hotel room, a feeling of solitude and, to some extent, of regret and shame.

Last night had been intense.
And drawn in champagne.
A festive drink to a festive occasion. How fitting.

Such a luxury environment I recall, filled with classy figures soaring around, in their flowing gowns and perfectly aligned suits, in a glamourous top-notch celebration, thrown by the Vinovian high-society copula.

Making acquaintances and just pretending to fly as high as the nose-raising people, I was having my own pleasant and fun time.

A sip or two of champagne and I was in the mood.

Dancing to the track, whatever track it was and whoever the dancing partner was – who cares?
Vinovia does bring you the wildest nights and the most bizarre situations.

All the craziness eventually hit the streets, in a situation that, from the outside, makes it look quite remarkable how we managed to get home just fine.

But hell, who cares?
Almost fainting in bed, struggling to stop laughing out of nothing… The day was dawning outside.
I finally fell asleep.

The following day started with no hangovers. This is just too weird.

Time, however, to drive back home, in the sweet company of good friends. Vinovia, once again, was left behind.


Homeland, today.
Life goes on.

Vinovia is far away.
Vinovia is just a dream.

And how I miss the Vinovian nights.

Have you ever been in Vinovia, dear reader?


Monday, 17 January 2011

Dog nights are over / Just an Illusion

A big city, a big avenue, late, late at night.

There was him, driving back home in high speed.

Sun would soon break in, illuminating the concrete jungle into a summer morning tone.
The city was calmly sleeping – too asleep to wave him goodbye as he returned to the nearby town.

Inebriated by his own feelings, he was feeling glorious.
A poetry being whispered at the tip of his ear, becoming a beautiful melody inside his head.
Oh, poetry.

His nights, though, would start on a more animalistic fashion.
He was not himself. He was the dog, the predator – or even the prey.

It was a game of survival.
It was a test to all five, six senses, all calling him into a trap.
The touch and, finally, the taste of the body… And, why not, of the soul.

Magic, however, would only happen when the flesh was cut so deep that a soul was bare and touchable.
Oh, the taste of one’s soul.

Then the dog would become a poet, a writer.
That would be a night to remember.

So he kept heading into the nights, heading after the locked freaks, the hidden fears, the disguised exuberance.

Day after day, night after night, he would go even deeper in his endeavours.

I witnessed it all.


And before the sun descended he screamed, his voice so loud that echoed even in his past, not long before he slowly luring himself into a swirling and mild dance in pure dedication to the night that was ending, to the luxury and the lust, to the present and the future, to the glory and the victory, to his own figure and person; And this dance itself so full in ode to oneself and so fully glorious on its own right - so shiny and somewhat stomping to whoever would take a glance. As he danced, he would repeatedly ask himself the deepest question of the night, trying to figure out the meaning of his own quests and the sense on every disorder, by singing, again and again, “what are rules for if not to be broken?”


He was living, at last.

Laying in so many beds, waking up in different places, intoxicated by his own luring mind.

A different night, a different lover.

Let’s burn the stars.

Fire was being made; love was being created, erupting from every pore.

His fingertips were capturing every figure.
He was falling in love every night.
He had so much love to give, and he would give his heart away so easily...

Oh, silly boy, splitting his heart into so many, so many pieces.
It would certainly break eventually.


Without love, where would you be now?


Nothing, as you may now, lasts forever. He was running out of time, but he sure enjoyed every moment of it so intensely… Maybe he was tired, maybe he’d had enough. I don’t know. He just ran away.

The last night was then bound be different.
It wasn’t him anymore, he was gone.
It was me.

A door being opened, and then those dizzyingly deep black eyes of a - then - stranger were staring back at me. I felt that unknow energy taking place, wrapping me around.
Where am I?

Statues of goddesses luring us inside a luxury fantasy world.
A moment of awkward silence to contemplate - rapidly broken, though.

How many hours of simple, unpretentious conversation, of experience exchange?
Laughter, connection points, plain silly moments.

It was not just a night.

Long after, when hearts were in synchrony, lips touched.
And magic happened. Hearts collided.

“Shall you date me tonight?” I asked.
I shall.”

Such a fresh feeling.
For one night only, I was no longer a lonesome soul.
For one night only, love was being proved, while lust was merely an accessory – a good one, though.
We were caught in a moment, in a parallel universe, in parallel space and time.
Away from the troubles and the boring everyday lives.

Hours later, I was having the most glorious moment of my life so far.
With my lover’s head hanging on my shoulder, I was driving.
Nowhere to go, just a big city to be split in two, in high speed.

Lights going by, making us starry eyed.
A pulsing sense of freedom, of glory, of the most utter and intense happiness I’d felt in such a long while... Such a sense of completion.

It was the most perfect picture of each one of my dreams, of my lost future, of the life I would draw in my imagination.
I was living, at last, everything I had fantasized about.

I don’t want this to end, I don’t want this to end

Rather obviously, though, it was just an illusion - a sweet fantasy world that eventually crumbled to its predicted end.

Single again, I was, once more, driving back home. Now for the last time.
The feeling inside resembled something like the most terrifying despair one could feel minutes after the glory.

I’m surrounded by confusion,
and I’m lost in this illusion

Broken dreams bring so much pain…

A couple of days after, all the dream world would have been gone anyway, so I decided that the dog nights were over.
Nothing else would count, no adventure would matter.

And the despair, it would only grow stronger.

Back to homeland, far, far away from the big streets, towers and avenues, I was still trapped in the painful broken illusion, and only able – as natural – to break it all into even more pieces.
How terrible is it to realise you are the only one who cares?

All I have is questions and questions.
What is going to happen?
Where are my dreams?
Where to move on to?

Oh, life.

I need some glory back.
Need some thrill, need some (more) fresh air.

That’s what has gotten me running in my undergrounds, puzzled and unable to find the directions back to sanity.

I only run, I only run, while I hope I can get to live again. Or for the first time.
I want life.

What about you, dear reader?
What do YOU want?


Tuesday, 4 January 2011

ourselves, v. 20.11

Curitiba, State of Paraná, South Brazil, January 4th, 2011.

Another year has dawned.
Another decade has dawned.

It is time to look back and contemplate all the conquers and achievements.
It is, definitely, a celebratory time.

Once again, though, I am terribly late at writing this unpretentious post.
2011 has been quite full of emotions so far.

I mean quite.
And not everything in necessarily good... I happen to be feeling excessively out of track and rather muddy right now.

But, well, it is a new year - brand new feelings were expected to come! It has actually always been one of my wishes for this year. Good feelings only, though.

And, well, what else?

'11 is a good number, my dear reader, do believe that.
It is, basically, the number of rebirth, of renovation.

Therefore, I have some little beliefs in this year.

I do believe that 2011 will renovate every inch of the soul of anyone willing to be reborn.
I do believe that 2011 will bring many news and unveil many, many new adventures and emotions.
I do believe that 2011 will draw bigger smiles on every good-hearted's face.

My plans to the new-born year sum up to always, always keep on the run, but definitely slow down a bit (or two).
I plan to enjoy life better and reach unknown levels of my emotions, my feelings and, well, my own self.
Will let my hair down, let me loose.
Let emerge a refreshed version of myself.

And leave all the dark clouds behind.

It is my way, now, to have my own rebirth.
Sounds quite fragile and incipient, I know.
Nevertheless, I do expect to find thrilling and exciting new ways to be reborn.
Anyone coming along? :)

And for you dear reader, oh dear, I wish you the grace of having yourself renewed.

Let the year begin, feeling fresh and new!

Happy 2011!!