segunda-feira, 24 de janeiro de 2011


Para quando a gente crescer.

Quando a gente crescer, deviamos-nos lembrar do melhor livro.

Ou da quantidade de vezes que vimos o melhor filme.

Saber qual foi o primeiro CD.

Ou ainda recordar a grande maioria das músicas da MIXTAPE que gravamos no velho HI-FI.

Ou das primeiras sapatilhas que nos fizeram pensar que eramos o Ninja cá do Bairro.

Ou da chapada na cara que doeu mais e a razão por a termos levado.

Ou da coça que levamos no recreio da escola e o que dissemos "face to face" a quem nos apertava o pescoço como se não houvesse amanha.

Do primeiro Golo ou da ultima grande defesa no alcatrão já extinto da Secundária de Penafiel.

Do nosso primeiro Crush.

Do nosso primeiro carro desde que nos lembramos que o carro é um carro e que têm uma marca e que dá para ir na A4 a adivinhar as marcas e os modelos e as cores.

Da primeira Palavra.

Do primeiro jogo de xadrez com o Pai de Familia.

Do primeiro jogo da Bola nas Antas.

Do avô a berrar para sair da frente da televisão. Tenho pena que não tenhas visto o Jardel a marcar tantos golos...

Dos pães com Ovo e das tardes na casa da Maria.

Das voltas nos carrinhos de choque ou das idas à churrasqueira.

Da quantidade infindável de jogos do Penafiel no 25 de Abril.

Do primeiro vaso partido em Canelas.

Da vitrine da Açoreana e do primeiro Sucol lá tomado.

Da primeira bicicleta amarela.

Da ultima frase da Educadora de Infância antes de irmos para a Primária.

E da primeira frase da professora da Primária.

Ou da primeiro insulto do colega de carteira.

Ou do primeiro recado para casa que a Claúdia fez questão de lembrar quando tocou à campaínha cá de casa e me fez enfardar mais uma vez.

A primeira vez que roubamos fruta e o sabor que ela teve, mesmo que azeda para cacête.

Do primeiro desenho que a mãe guardou na gaveta das meias.

Da primeira Playboy.

Do primeiro concerto a que assistimos ou do primeiro concerto que pensamos que demos.

Da primeira carta.

Da ultima também.

Do primeiro livro do Asterix.

Recordar as mil vezes que nos disseram que os Calipos eram só água e que o Mini-milk alimentava mais e nos fazia crescer.

De fugir do saco vazio "do Bicho" que faz mal a quem não se porta bem.

Dos Ficheiros Secretos que são a fazer de conta.

Lembrar da primeira vez que fugimos para a sala para ver televisão fora de horas.

Do primeiro Clube fantasma super secreto do qual toda a gente sabia.

Da primeira vez que se tenta ser guitarrista de vassoura na mão e se caí redondo no chão.

Da primeira tábua e do primeiro queixo partido.

Do primeiro ataque de ansiedade quando a solidão aperta.

Da cabeça rachada na porta de Casa.

Da primeira Bola a sério.

Do primeiro LEGO Technic.

Do primeiro buraco que não encontramos quando a vergonha esmaga.

Da frase que nos queima e nos assa e nos mói como um cilindro esmaga o alcatrão.

De todos os momentos em contraluz que ficam no banco de trás das nossas memórias.

Da partilha e da entrega.

Do primeiro festival.

Ou do primeiro festival que tentamos organizar.

E do primeiro festival que realmente organizamos.

De todas as opções que tomadas, tomadas ficam, para o bem e para o mal.

A primeira viagem.

Ou a primeira viagem sozinho.

Da lágrima ou da baba ou do ranho

Ou do sorriso de miúdo

Pelo Certo e pelo Errado, nada mais posso acrescentar à chamada de valor acrescentado,

obrigado pelas caneladas e santolas, stress e ansiedade,

sem as costas grandes não se levanta nenhum peso.


"goddamn", he said, "i promised myself
i'd never feel this fucking way
again, this world has got me praying on my knees
for one peaceful thought

in my mind,
my stride,
my life,
my time
is consumed with a thousand thoughts

flying free like a flock of birds
with no direction or intention of finding home

it's so hard to think,
it's so hard to change
when this world doesn't see you any other way

in this world, they choose to see me,
they choose to see me
like a setting sun

so it's up to me,
i have to see me,
i have to see me
like the rising one

in my days somebody told me that the rain would always come,
always come to wash away the pain
but nothing changes and this world still wants me down,
wants me down on my knees praying in that rain

"born this way, die this way"

i'd rather die on my feet
than live on my knees
i'd rather die on my feet
so you can watch me,
you can watch me

with the things we carry

the loss,
the scars,
the weight of heavy hearts

so i say to the slaves of depression
and sing the sweet redeeming song
about living this life free and long

watch me, watch me,
for Miles and miles

terça-feira, 18 de janeiro de 2011


The gazelle left the shelter, climbed the tides, the wind hummed in his once rigid bone structure, now reduced to a body dented by the owner of a distant land, where deer do not climb hills or mountains are pleasant places for a deer. It was just another Tuesday night, a night of jazz, bebop night, night of Heineken, a night of pleasant prattle.
The custom of sitting on the terrace, the cracking of cold, white hands clutching the frozen , Dutch beer with cream, golden malt, in conversations disjointed and random, without the chance cared until Nelson told us about the workshop, travel, change of habits, of the shock. We said we would think about it, that would be epic and we would see, that we would consider, or basically, we went.
And we did. And I went, and came back, and now I keep every yard, every mile, every second, every drop of sweat or tears, each squeeze of the heart or inner released, every kick in the stomach, every crumpled or kneading clay that I shot through the hole in the ground. Kept the hugs and insults, anger and joy, the empty feeling of emptiness that engulfed me when I felt accompanied by millions of others who lived in his individuality, on their way, their journey, their story just like mine as mine did not exist.
The smell that filled the void that was once down the middle where I insert, I released the weight and I straightened the spine, the vertebral but not the psychological, not rational but the abstract attached to theorems and equations that only illogical maths can be resolved elsewhere than here.
The physical weight on me was inversely proportional to the interior and in the end I lost too many kilograms under the mind and looking beneath the dermis layer and not through flesh. Understood perfectly the meaning of many words that once were part of a dictionary on the shelf of forgotten home office, or any of the crosswords filled on a summer sun, on a beach towel, without the slightest sense of belonging, not to be the meaning of your number of vowels and consonants or if horizontal or vertical.
There are invisible victories, marked by small gestures and small words, sometimes one thousand conversations, sometimes a look, or just a hug or a smile. There are victories that we won because we risk it in the dark, because the step might have been greater than the leg but the leg shaky and unstable that withstood the pressure. There are times when nothing makes as much sense as wearing a little tissue and breath to kiss the hot wind that blows against us, without ever letting it dictate the way forward, never thinking that will happen, never want everything to end up fast.
There are days when all this passes me in a flash, it all passes me on the front sight can be seen as a disappointment to the erotic slide placed between frames of a movie that is now another, a reality that is so true. I had predicted a return this hard and bumpy, not the flight segment, not in the zone, but the mental gap. In those days the head back on the pillow, pull the sheet up, close my eyes and I came out of the bag made bed, get up that yellow-brown sheet, at a terrace overlooking the lights deep down where all day he heard the train, down the dark marble stairs, clutching the red rubber guard and going right to the ground-floor, hear the murmur of a partner´s sleep who lays on the sofa broken in half, while the table is crowded by Aluminum with remains of baked potatoes with cheese and tomato and olive oil, turn on the kitchen light and watch the cockroaches seeking shelter, give up the chase and exterminate, grab an iron glass and lean over the water purifier that could well be a boiler, swallow two sips so strong, turn out the light and make a new climb to the roof without shingles.
The stories that follow were written mainly in Internet cafes, travelling or during periods of reflection after them. Were written on keyboards often hard and blackened by dirt, in places without air conditioning, high temperatures and where the most typical characters crossed me.
The reflection was a constant, I understand now more than ever and I guess right, I should write about the great number of events and situations with which I was confronted about the everyday or unexpected, about the conflicting feelings that plagued me ever not to forget such a life lesson.
These little "posts" were also letters, complaints, confessions, testimony, memos or a simple invisible friend externalized through the words where I painted a state.

This song is for you all my dear friends, my deepest me, warriors of a space without time, of a war without casualities, of a sun without a limit.

Miles Away – Rain Eyes

Reflect against a mirror of yesterday
Laughter we shared, a moment of clarity
The best ones you know, the first ones to go
So think back, look deep within, don’t let the burden suck you in
I know there are times we question reasoning
The best ones you know, the first ones to go

And now we’re grown up, we forgot all we had to say
Like sand running through our hands, eroding days away

Against a window of yesterday
Drama we shared, wouldn’t change a thing
The best ones you know, the first ones to go
In the end tragedy closes in
Stealing young lives before they even begin
And taking old lives that need to be read
The best ones you know, the first ones to go
We won’t forget times that were shared, the memories remain
We won’t forget times were shared, the knowledge engrained
So flick through old photographs, remember the lives that have come to pass
Holding back the year that come so fast

As the tears roll down your face
The pain of seeing your love laid waste
This is not in vain, we will not forget

Now we’re grown up, we forgot all we had to say
Like sand through our hands, eroding days away
We won’t forget times that were shared, the memory embraced