No matter where you go in life, you will always carry someone with you in your heart....

Amanhã

Amanhã vou te dar o abraço de hoje.

Tituloless

Every author is the main character in the great non-fictional fantasy that is life.

Some, however, do not even make it beyond the first page.

Others are still stuck in the middle.

A select few make it to the end.

An almost non-existant minority finds a happy ending.

There is no sequel. There are no extra copies. There are only those pages which we are given to write.

Thus spoke Zarathustra

"When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at the people, and was silent. And to his heart he said:

There they stand; there they laugh: they do not understand me; I am not the mouth for these ears.

Must one first batter their ears, that they may learn to hear with their eyes? Must one clatter like kettledrums and penitential preachers? Or do they only believe the stammerer?

They have something of which they are proud. What do they call it, that which makes them proud? Culture, they call it; it distinguishes them from the goatherds.

They dislike, therefore, to hear of “contempt” of themselves. So I will appeal to their pride.

I will speak to them of the most contemptible thing: that, however, is the Last Man!"

And thus spoke Zarathustra to the people:

It is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for man to plant the seed of his highest hope.

His soil is still rich enough for it. But that soil will one day be poor and exhausted, and no lofty tree will any longer be able to grow there.

Alas! there comes the time when man will no longer launch the arrow of his longing beyond man -- and the string of his bow will have unlearned to whiz!

I tell you: one must still have chaos in oneself, to give birth to a dancing star. I tell you: you have still chaos in yourselves.

Alas! There comes the time when man will no longer give birth to any star. Alas! There comes the time of the most despicable man, who can no longer despise himself.

Lo! I show you the Last Man.

"What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?" -- so asks the Last Man, and blinks.

The earth has become small, and on it hops the Last Man, who makes everything small. His species is ineradicable as the flea; the Last Man lives longest.

"We have discovered happiness" -- say the Last Men, and they blink.

They have left the regions where it is hard to live; for they need warmth. One still loves one's neighbor and rubs against him; for one needs warmth.

Turning ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful: they walk warily. He is a fool who still stumbles over stones or men!

A little poison now and then: that makes for pleasant dreams. And much poison at the end for a pleasant death.

One still works, for work is a pastime. But one is careful lest the pastime should hurt one.

One no longer becomes poor or rich; both are too burdensome. Who still wants to rule? Who still wants to obey? Both are too burdensome.

No shepherd, and one herd! Everyone wants the same; everyone is the same: he who feels differently goes voluntarily into the madhouse.

"Formerly all the world was insane," -- say the subtlest of them, and they blink.

They are clever and know all that has happened: so there is no end to their derision. People still quarrel, but are soon reconciled -- otherwise it upsets their stomachs.

They have their little pleasures for the day, and their little pleasures for the night, but they have a regard for health.

"We have discovered happiness," -- say the Last Men, and they blink.

And here ended the first discourse of Zarathustra, which is also called "The Prologue," for at this point the shouting and mirth of the multitude interrupted him. "Give us this Last Man, O Zarathustra," -- they called out -- "make us into these Last Men! Then will we make you a gift of the Overman!" And all the people exulted and smacked their lips. Zarathustra, however, turned sad, and said to his heart:

They do not understand me: I am not the mouth for these ears.

Perhaps I have lived too long in the mountains; I have hearkened too much to the brooks and trees: now I speak to them as to the goatherds.

My soul is calm and clear, like the mountains in the morning. But they think I am cold, and a mocker with terrible jests.

Now they look at me and laugh: and while they laugh they hate me too. There is ice in their laughter."

You're not a bad person, you're a terrific person, you're my favourite person. But sometimes you can be a bit of a cunt.

Carta aberta à antiga, muy nobre, sempre leal e invicta cidade do Porto.

Querido Porto,

Não imaginas a saudades que eu tive de ti! Tanto mar nos afastou, tanto tempo se passou! Nem sabes o quanto eu sentia falta das tuas pequenas e elevadas ruas, do magnífico esplendor do Rio Douro, da Ponte D. Luís, da Ribeira, da Praça dos Aliados, da Foz, do Dragão, da tua culinária, das tuas meninas, do eterno nevoeiro as quatro horas da manhã. Mas senti mais falta ainda do teu povo, dessa gente simples, mas tão bondosa de alma e coração, sempre a receber os estrangeiros de braços abertos. Dos sorrisos que abundam nas faces dessa gente. Do humor presente na sua fala.

Querido Porto, deves já saber que o nosso futuro é incerto, mas o nosso passado foi uma bela história, cheia alegria e felicidade. Foi em ti que passei os anos mais felizes da minha vida. Foi em ti que me formei na escola da vida, que passei a ver um mundo por outros olhos. É a ti a quem devo agradecer por tantos momentos inesquecíveis.

Não estaremos juntos no futuro. Mas quando eu voltar, acredite em mim, irei te cumprimentar com aquele abraço "quebra-costelas" e com aquele grito retumbante, "Bibá o Puorto, carago!".

 Com muito carinho,

 El Cid

Besos de licor

"Tu risa me da risa
Tu calor me da valor
dame otro beso de licor"

Apetece-me matar o mundo

Aprendi uma coisa com o homem mais velho do mundo.

Nos seus cento e tal anos de vida, ele me disse que a única queixa que ele tem sobre a vida é que ela é demasiadamente curta.

Também me disse que a vida é feita por triunfos e perdas, mas que no fim só lembramos das coisas boas.

A vida é amarga. É áspera. É dura. Mas é a vida.

Existem pessoas que te odeiam. Odeiam-te porque és inteligente, no meio de tanta ignorância. Odeiam-te porque és jovem, no meio de tanta velhice. Odeiam-te porque és uma pessoa politicamente e socialmente correcta (apesar das tuas falhas humaníssimas), no meio de tanta gente corrompida. Odeiam-te porque és uma pessoa bela, no meio de tanta feiúra.

Odeia-te, sobretudo, porque foste amado e elas sofreram nas mãos do ódio de outras pessoas.

Entretanto, essas pessoas só ganham somente quando TU passas a odeia-las. E aí perdes tudo.

Como nem disse um velho sábio muitos anos atrás

"É preciso amar as pessoas, como se não houvesse amanhã"

Boa noite

The Crying Rhinocerous

I'm in love with you.

I'm sorry.

I shouldn't express myself on the Net. It's pathetic, it's humiliating, it's sad. It's not me.

Yet I can't help it. I hope one day to tell you how I feel in person.

This is me without my armour - the crying rhinocerous.

I'm sorry.

I hope you are happy for the rest of your life.

No man on earth will ever know how lucky he is to have you.

But you'll never be mine.

Best wishes

Forever yours

The Crying Rhinocerous

On Heroes

Heroes are not nice people. They are do not ride on big, white horses, are NOT physically fit, DO NOT speak several languages, are NOT patient and in love with life. Girls, they are not that knight-in-shining armour myth that you are lead to believe when you're very young. Mates, they are not Superman.

Rather, our heroes are impatient, work many hours a day and get very little respect from other people, They are usually ugly, with very little sex appeal and often, no charm. They paddle up a stream of shit so often and vigorously that our arms feel their tiredness. They are mostly never around, but their presence is always felt. They are rarely kind - unless you have something important to say, you're taking up their time, and therefore deserve to be insulted, you stupid idiot.

But if they were not so extraordinary, to the extent that they influence our lives and gain our respect and admiration, they'd be ordinary. And, in an age where everything follows a certain norm, we need more people who stand out from the crowd and shape our lives and our futures in ever more brilliant ways.

This is a call for more heroes. Please respond. Yours truly, Cid.

On dreams.

Adoro dormir, mas prefiro sonhar acordado. Somente neste estado de lucidez consigo concretizar os sonhos mais profundos.

I love to sleep, but I prefer to dream awake. Only then can I live my dreams.

You've become what you hate and you hate what you've become

Recently, I've been having a bit of a personal crisis: I have slowly transformed into a person with shallow values, no morals and an unbound arrogance regarding other human beings. There's a person in my University like that. And my worst fear of turning into him are slowly materialising.

Dear reader, don't end up like me. Remember your childhood days, when everything was so much simpler? You didn't have to worry about work, money, love, etc. You just lived. You played in the sand during the day and slept during the night. You had no idea about physics and history, yet you remembered all the characters from your favourite TV shows. You woke up early to watch Saturday morning cartoons. You remember your parents, aunts, other adults always speaking badly about someone, yet you were too innocent to understand these type of emotions that plague modern adults and spoil life-long friendships and relations. I guess we lived our childhood with our hearts, whilst as adults we use our brains. Maybe if we remembered that our heart actually exists, and used it from time to time, we could live happier lives instead of the automatic ones we live right now.

In short, it's about being stupid. Smart people survive, stupid people live. Diesel has recently announced this groundbreaking discovery to the masses. Maybe it's time I got with the programme. Perhaps, you should as well. Be stupid!

Me in my very own words.

"Great and good are seldom the same man. "

Today is the happiest day of my life, for I have figured out who I am (and not many people can claim that about themselves). What I'm about to tell you is, in my own words, an accurate description of myself. I am my own antihero. I'm the sort of person to sell my mother's pension and donate the money to charity. I'll chain smoke for many years, yet go to the gym everyday. I would torture someone, sometimes for information, other times just for fun yet die happily for another human being. I would study very hard for an exam yet still cheat at the end. I would drink and then I'd drive myself home.

I am my own antihero. Now, who wants to be my friend?

A Renatinha? Ela é safadinha!

Eram três da madrugada no final de Agosto e eu estava cantando "Bohemian Rhapsody" num bar na ABC de São Paulo com o meu primo e duas amigas nossas. Estávamos todos rindo, numa onda de alegria que contagiava qualquer ser humano que estivesse naquela zona do bar. Por outras palavras, estávamos todos bêbados. E, como é costume para quem já conhece e é amigo do álcool, nós nos sentíamos os réis (e rainhas) daquele local.

Era o meu último dia em São Paulo. O meu primo, uma espécie de pseudo-irmão que tinha desde infância, queria me levar para as famosas badaladas paulistanas (que dizem que são as melhores do Brasil) só que, devido às suas prioridades profissionais, só teve tempo no meu último dia.

"Vou te levar lá pra Avenida Kennedy, o lugar dos bares aqui e onde a galera passa a noite, ok?" disse ele.

Dito e feito. Chegamos cedo e começamos a descer a Kennedy toda (que, num frio de 5 graus e com pouco agasalho, é um suplício enorme) quando chegamos a um bar que me chamou a atenção: era um bar estilo Pub inglês, algo que nunca tinha visto antes no Brasil, que se chamava "Liverpool". Logo, relembrei-me dos meus dias na Inglaterra e disse que queria passar o resto da noite ali. E o meu primo concordou, mas por outras razôes: logo na entrada, estava a Renata, uma loira de olhos verdes, fumando um cigarro com uma amiga dela, também loira de olhos verdes.

"Tomás!!! Quanto tempo, lindo! Vai entrando lá dentro e se senta na minha mesa, vai!"

Sentamos e logo percebi que um sorriso se espalhava lentamente na cara do meu primo. "Aquela ali é a Renata! É uma amiga minha. Todos conhecem ela porque ela é safadinha! Ela não tem frescura não: sabe bem o que o homem quer!" disse ele, todo entusiasmado.

Quatro horas mais tarde, depois de muito papo e muitas e muitas Norteñas (uma cerveja uruguaia que tem gosto de ácido e era a preferida da Renata e da sua amiga) bebidas, decidimos ir para casa. Mas não acabei no conforto da minha cama e sim, vinte minutos depois de termos saídos do bar, na casa da Renata.

"Vocês dois podem dormir no sofá" disse a Renata ao meu primo e a amiga dela, apontando para o local. "Cid, você vem dormir comigo na minha cama".

Entrei no quarto dela enquanto ela foi ao banheiro. Tirei o sapato e o meu colete de lã, o único agasalho que tinha, ficando somente com uma camisa e calça jeans. Deitei-me na cama, debaixo de um edredão de penas de ganso, bem quentinho e extremamente confortável. E foi quando a aconteceu: o sono bateu

"Não posso dormir!" pensava. Mas, cada vez que dizia isso, ás pálpebras sentiam-se mais pesadas. De repente, escuto a porta do quarto abrir e a Renata entra, se deita ao meu lado e diz "Acho que você ficava melhor sem essa camisinha aí, rapaz" e lentamente, começa a desabotoar um botão da minha camisa

"Fique acordado, seu idiota!" gritavam os meus neurónios. Mas não dava: os meus olhos guerreavam com a minha cabeça e não deu outra: os olhos fecharam e adormeci. Vitória do sono.

"Acorda Cid!" disse a Renata, me apertando o braço. "Merda!". Virou-se e foi dormir também.

Acordei duas horas depois com uma enorme dor de cabeça. A Renata encontrava-se todo enrolada ao meu lado. E eu não lembrava de nada, nem de quem ela era.

"Vamos embora, Cid!". Era o meu primo que tinha acabado de entrar no quarto. "Vou chegar atrasado pro trabalho."

Pegamos um táxi até o apartamento dele. Contei-lhe o que tinha passado comigo e perguntei a ele se, pelo menos, ele tinha tido um final mais feliz.

"Que nada!" disse ele "Eu até dei uns agarros lá na menina, mas ela adormeceu também!"

Chegamos lá na porta do apartamento e, mal colocamos a chave na fechadura, que já ouvimos a mãe dele gritando, lá no fundo do apartamento

"Vocês são safados! Passei a noite inteira acordada esperando por vocês! Onde estavam?"

"Fomos a casa da Renata" respondeu o meu primo

"A safadinha? Meu Deus, então eu não quero nem saber" disse ela.

Poucos minutos depois, o Tomás foi trabalhar. Fez uma promessa que viria me visitar aqui na Europa. E hoje aguardo, ansiosamente, a sua visita aqui.

"Então garoto? O que foi que vocês fizeram ontem?" perguntou um outro primo meu, no caminho para o aeroporto.

"Ah, fomos num bar no Kennedy e depois fomos pra casa da Renata" respondi

"A Renatinha?!" disse o meu primo, com um enorme sorriso na cara "Essa aí é bem safadinha!"

Windows

Here she was. Tired. Worn out. Sleepy. Hair was slightly unkempt, showing just how overworked she was. But she still looked beautiful. And even though I was there to comfort her and tell her everything was going to be okay her gaze, in turn, was comforting me, telling me that she was a fighter and was going to win this in the end.

"I've found a new place" she said, as she sipped her Peach Ice Tea. "It's not far from here, just a few blocks. It's only twenty squared metres and I have to pay for all other utilities" she paused, took another sip of that golden drink and continued "I'm paying 225 euros, even though I only earn 275".

"What?! Are you insane" I replied in disbelief "for that amount of money, you can find a much better place in any part of the city".

"I know" she said softly "but it has something special which is very important to me."

"What?" I retorted

She fixed her big beautiful eyes on mine and said "The only thing I need. The only thing I want: a window."