Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Hilflos

Wußte nie genau, warum ich es tat! Möglicherweise tue ich es um meine gefühle innerhalb bestimmte grenzen zuhalten... Bitte stellen Sie mir nicht zu viele Fragen. Vor allem, stellen Sie mir bitte keine Fragen, die ich einfach nicht beantworten könnte.

(Fotographie: Frankfurt, Deutchland, März 2001)

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Monday, July 03, 2006

Save my soul

Some months ago I met an American girl that lives in Rome, with whom I developed a great friendship, and even went to visit her in the Eternal City. She was kind of my eyes in there, and ears too. With her, amongst many other things, I learned to pay attention to the sounds of the cities. She’s from New York and we talk about everything, just as if we’ve known each other since little kids. I hope we can grow old seeing each other frequently. There’s also a Spanish girl I met in the same occasion, from Madrid, with whom I maintain a nice relationship, although presently only trough mail – I’ve never seen her again, and maybe the time is coming to do just that or simply to let go. There’s also a young Belgian girl that works with me, with whom I hang out a lot. She’s quite nice, and although extremely young we get along very well. She’ll be leaving in early September, and the challenge is to make a relationship last after she’s gone. Last Saturday I’ve spoken with a tall Dutch girl, from Utrecht, and she seemed very nice. We talked mostly about Holland, but unfortunately only for twenty minutes or so. I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again, I think not – sometimes we loose, and that’s not even a shame, it’s just how things work. And today, well, today I’ve spoken for the first time with a German girl, from Dresden (the white dove), which caught my attention on the bus to work the first time I saw her – she’s an architect and beautiful as an alabaster statue! This one I can not let go – she has already made me dream a lot, with her smile, and I simply can’t throw that away!

The phonebook of my mobile phone has lots of numbers preceded by international dialling codes – as well as many others from my home country, of course – but I confess that sometimes, apparently for no reason at all, I enjoy sending messages I know will be read in distant locations in this world, in different time zones, in different weather conditions, in cities with different stories and maybe discussed after in different languages. Somewhere, for some reason or other, someone in this world remembered us at that specific moment! I don’t know if this planet is getting shorter or larger, and I really don’t care about that. I just have this idea that getting to know people from different parts of this world and, most difficult, build with them a strong and lasting relationship, will make my life worth living. I need that! I’m getting addicted to it.

Some years ago, I don’t even remember exactly when or where, I read this: “Some day someone, in a far away city, will say I am dead”. For some reason I kept this sentence in my thoughts always. Sometimes it came to the surface of my mind and just floated there for a while, and eventually it started to make some sense. To be loved and remembered by people from very different places, and missed as well, just as if I had lived all over this blue and brown and beautiful planet, will maybe be my personal statement about how I think life should be: lived without restraints and prejudice! That is, perhaps, the best thing I will ever leave here after I’m gone, and I do hope the ones who met me see it that way also! Maybe it’s not much of a statement, but the ones who met me and like me should maybe bear in mind that I need that to save my soul.

(Photography: Rome, Italy, March 2006 / Text: Coimbra, Portugal, July 3rd, 2006)

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Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Excess

Too many sleepless nights, too many nightmares and whiskey on deserted pubs / Too many stories told by fireplaces and sheets of paper filled with beautiful hollow thoughts / Too many advices I’ve never followed / Too many light and far too many darkness / Too many women pretending to like me / Sex made with too many people for whom I didn’t really give a fuck / Too many happiness for one person and also too many pain / Too many music taken on dance floors on huge amounts / Too many purposeless conversations / Too many time wasted on insignificant things, and many more wasted on more significant ones / Too many hours spent turning the living-room lights on and off for no reason / Too many drugs diluted in my blood stream / Too many kisses / Too many shaking hands with strangers / Too many shit / Too many diseases taking me to the hospital as a child / Too many pills / Too many travels through strange and far away lands / Too many languages spoken / Too many luggage lost in airports and books left on coffee tables / Too many signs sent to people around me / Too many emotion, too little motion / Too many years spent in college just to shatter completely the person that I was / Too many expectations / Too many wishes made with shooting stars crossing the night of my eyes / Too many of those wishes that never came true / Too many silences when I wasn't alone and too many confusion when I was / Too many pictures taken of places I’ll never return to / Too many parties I never was invited to, and many more I was requested to attain / Too many time trying to think or say something that really made some sense / Too many years trying not to be a clown but acting just like one / Too many precautions with my appearance / Too many Martinis / All this I had, and many more, and for too many time now I’m sure that I’ve always lived my life in the excess of everything / Which road should I follow from here? / Because I simply can’t stop now!

(Photography: London, England, November 2003 / Text: Coimbra, Portugal, June 14th, 2006)

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Monday, June 05, 2006

Neste mundo daqui

Quando o caos chegou à minha cidade eu fiquei. Todos fugiram, uns levando pertences e outros deixando-os absolutamente para trás. Entre gritos e tiros, paredes sendo derrubadas pela explosão de minas, ruas manchadas de um vermelho atroz porque de entranhas, eu fiquei. E não porque tinha inevitavelmente de ficar. Fiquei porque quis. Fiquei porque não fazia sentido que partisse, porque a parte alguma pertenceria jamais como àquele lugar. Fiquei porque estavam ali os meus sonhos e eu não os poderia nunca deixar sós.

Nessa amálgama de sangue e fome, mantive o meu corpo ileso à espera de que tudo passasse e de que pelo menos alguns dos que tinham partido regressassem para que eu os abraçasse de novo. E esperei. E todos os dias fazia exercícios com as mãos ao vento para as preparar para um novo abraço, para novas carícias que ainda não chegaram. Mas esperei, não fugi. Não fazia sentido, percebe-se? Fiz do medo esperança, fiz da fome força, fiz da escuridão a manta debaixo da qual me deitava e sonhava, sonhava… E por entre o brilho das estrelas desse meu cobertor de noite nunca esqueci o teu rosto! E quando as tropas pressionavam o uso das armas eu cobria-me e imaginava-me sempre contigo nas festas populares, dançando dançando dançando…

Se calhar deveria ter partido com todos os outros, com todos aqueles que me tentaram puxar dali para fora. Mas agora é tarde para tentar imaginar como poderia ter sido acaso tivesse sido diferente da forma como foi. Não faz sentido, entendem? Resolvi esperar e esperei sempre, mesmo quando a espera não comportava esperança. E fiz dela uma bandeira para a inevitabilidade de estar aqui, onde ainda estou, à tua espera.

(Fotografia: Nápoles, Itália, 23 de Fevereiro de 2006 / Texto: Coimbra, Portugal, 5 de Junho de 2006)

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Friday, June 02, 2006

Blue smell of the sea

Fireflies on warm summer nights, dancing over my grandparents garden, under the pale moonlight / Colourful crackers all over the small village, lighting the night sky for the festivities and being taken by the breeze / Candy cotton stuck to my small hands, tongue red from lollypops, all that music in the air / And the promise of a long and happy life…

Ice creams in winter, eaten under the heavy rain / Clothes soaking wet, dripping all over the house / Mum gently drying my hair / Dad washing my face, with his tobacco smelling hands / From the kitchen, that sweet smell of familiar harmony / Going to sleep already dreaming of a thousand white clouds in which to rest my body / Sensing a last kiss / Closing my eyes with that promise of a long and happy life…

Wearing red sweaters in Christmas, with open windows to let the sound of the church bells into the house / Books full of fairies and queens and horsemen chasing beautiful fantasies / The roar of the sea outside, saying goodnight to us all, and its blue blue smell / Seagulls at my window right in the morning, and presents just waiting to be opened / Within each one of them a promise of a long and happy life…

The full moon / The birth of a sister, a new presence in the house / A small puppy bought to do us company for a portion of our lives / Dragonflies in dry summer afternoons / The reflexion of my face in the pond, asking so many questions / The calling of grandmother for dinner / My knees bleeding from falling while climbing trees / Oranges eaten right under the burning sun / Dad coming from a trip bringing presents / Falling asleep in front of the TV / Feeling a little strange inside but yet, the promise of a long and happy life…

It's all gone now.

(Photography: Rome, Italy, March 2006 / Text: Coimbra, Portugal, June 2nd, 2006)

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Wednesday, May 10, 2006

What a way!

I am immortal,
I can not go away!
I can’t just leave,
I’m bound to stay.
Oh dear God!
I’m not allowed to get out or to get off.
I’ll get by, though,
Maybe one day He’ll let me go.
I am immortal
And no friends will last.
Their future will always be my past.
What a way to live,
What can I say?
I can’t just leave,
I’m bound to stay.
So if you’re sure you do not want me
You should not worry of what to say:
One day you’ll leave,
And I’ll just watch you go away.

(Photography: Capri, Italy, February 22nd, 2006/ Text: Coimbra, Portugal, May 10th, 2006)

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Monday, April 24, 2006

Geography of emotions

When asked about what she felt Simone answered that it wasn’t easy to explain! For many years she tried to deal with what was going on inside her, with her feelings about what she had seen. She didn’t knew how, and where, she had kept all that! Definitely, she didn’t know what to answer. Paul could tell all she wanted was to be left alone now; she didn’t really want to be having that conversation. Just by looking at her anyone could see she didn’t want to talk anymore. Her hands and legs were restless, willing to move out from that room and from that life. Her mind was already outside, and the body would soon follow.

Suddenly Paul went to the window, turned his back on her, and stared at the quiet marshes as he lighted a cigarette. It was very cold outside. He stood like that for quite a while, silent as the day itself, lost in his thoughts for a long moment. And when she made a movement to leave he asked her suddenly, without facing her:

- And if it happens again Simone? How will you deal with it?

She sat back again and stared at him, waiting for him to turn and face her. But he didn’t, his eyes kept looking at the marshes, and she felt an urge to hit him, to hit him hard for what he was doing, for all his questions, for making her remind. But instead she lowered her eyes to her waist, smiled grotesquely, and caressed her left wrist with her right hand. She thought: Behind all those windows something must be happening… She stared at the bottle of whiskey over a little table in a corner of the room, and with her right hand she took a small knife from the pocket of her bathrobe. Then she spoke, as she stood up:

- I need a drink, Paul! I really need a drink now!

(Photography: Purmerend, Holland, March 2001 / Text: Coimbra, Portugal, April 24th, 2006)

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Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Post scriptum

What do I know about tenderness? If happiness came today I think I wouldn’t know what to do with it.

(Photography: Rome, Italy, March 2nd 2006)

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Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Descobrir novos planetas

No âmago da minha viagem esteve também a ausência de ti – tínhamos finalmente atingido Plutão, lembras-te? Sim, este é para ti… E então encontrei-me com alguns amigos, tomei uns copos, fiz alguma conversa de circunstância quando, na realidade, já ali não estava mais, e lá entrei eu na noite, sozinho e tão cheio de mim, com bagagem atrás. Depois… autocarro, avião, comboio, táxi, e mais comboio uns dias depois, e finalmente um barco e de repente… um rochedo no meio do Mar Tirreno onde descansei vendo o barco que me trouxe afastar-se de novo e procurando na cerveja esquecer-me de tudo por algumas horas. E esqueci! Apenas uma semana se tinha passado e eu já nem recordava o facto de não ter estado em espírito à mesa dos amigos. Mas de ti não me esqueci, ali naquele lugar. Porque nunca me quis esquecer. Posso até dizer-te mais: que te recordei próximo das nove da noite de 22 de Fevereiro de 2006. Não interessa a razão de ser assim mas recordar os motivos para que assim acontecesse, e eles existiram ali, na bela ilha de Capri. Se em algum momento houve naquela viagem um propósito para o regresso – sendo que esse seria inevitável – esse propósito eras também tu! Conhecia-te antes de te conhecer, e sempre tive a mais absoluta certeza de que te iria tocar, de que te iria beijar. Mas como imprevisível que é, a vida depois pregou-me mais uma partida. E essa eu não previ, felizmente! Desejo agora que um dia novos planetas possam ser descobertos para que nós os dois possamos continuar a nossa viagem sem nos desviarmos da rota traçada.

(Fotografia: Capri, Itália, 22 de Fevereiro de 2006 / Texto: Coimbra, Portugal, 11 de Abril de 2006)

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Peekaboo

Que viagem é essa? Em que lugares de antes posso encontrar-te agora? Deixando-me na sala com um livro aberto sobre o colo, os olhos conhecedores nas páginas que já não lês. Lembro-te descalça pelo jardim com aquele teu vestido, branco longo, correndo, saltando, gritando frases soltas, rodopiando, suja de terra e de ervas. O nosso cão atrás de ti, louco de alegria, e eu olhando-vos, rebentando de risos, da varanda. Olho agora esse jardim sem flores, por detrás da janela orvalhada da sala onde lias o teu livro eterno. A catedral vizinha dá as cinco da tarde e as badaladas perpetuam-se pela casa nos acordes de Charles Lloyd. The water is wide. Há uma distância impossível entre nós dois, e no entanto pretendo ainda tocar-te e sentir o teu cheiro nas minhas camisas brancas. As tuas mãos cobrem-me os olhos, e a tua voz quente anda à minha volta e faz-me lembrar as vezes em que propositadamente me fazias nódoas nas gravatas para que eu tardasse um pouco mais a sair pela manhã. Lembra-me os duches quentes a dois, totalmente vestidos, antes das festas onde éramos sempre os últimos a chegar. Peekaboo. Provocas-me correndo louca, nua, pela casa, gritando alto, escorregando nos tapetes, indo de encontro às esquinas, fugindo, escondendo-te de mim para me encontrares lá onde me querias contigo. E os gemidos e os beijos e tudo o que não consigo descrever. E os risos, e as mãos à minha volta ao descobrir-te dentro do armário do nosso quarto. Amor feito ali mesmo entre as roupas e os lençóis dobrados com tanto cuidado. E as autoridades chamadas à noite por um vizinho zeloso e preocupado contigo. Tínhamos coração em demasia tu e eu! E agora, que jogo estranho e cruel é este em que te escondes numa derradeira partida? Pensas esconder-te para sempre? Estranha viagem a tua.

(Fotografia: Roma, Itália, 2 de Março de 2006 / Texto: Porto, Portugal, 3 de Julho de 2003)

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Friday, April 07, 2006

Onde tudo foi sendo perfeito

Voltar a partir.
Regressar ao silêncio,
Aos espaços amplos,
Invisíveis,
Transparentes.
Regressar à felicidade,
Onde a vida é feita de minúsculas fracções
De um tempo imperceptível.
Deixar de vez o negro da noite
E abraçar o azul cobalto
Do céu das manhãs frias do norte.
Regressar ao tempo de paz,
Abandonar a guerra
Pela última vez
Sem olhar para trás.
Apagar toda a dor de espírito
Da noite perpétua.
Regressar ao silêncio,
A casa,
Aos filhos,
Aos pais,
Aos teus braços,
Às transparências,
Ao outro lado das existências,
Ou simplesmente regressar
Para que seja possível voltar a partir
(Ainda que os lugares fiquem para sempre dentro de nós)

(Fotografia: Roma, Itália, Fevereiro de 2006 / Texto: Coimbra, Portugal, s. d.)

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Here I am

I love you but it’s all so silent now! What more words should we have said to each other? What more could we have done? I think it’s alright, we’ve lived enough. The truth is that I still feel your arms around me; I can still sense your breathing close to my neck; I still feel your eyelids touching my cheek, sometimes! Now it’s all so quiet and I always feel so sleepy. But in my sleep we kiss as we used to kiss! And in my sleep you’re always there as you used to be! And you know that when you’re there I feel alive, and for that reason I want to stay here with you. And so I will, my sweet love, for all eternity.

Yesterday I had a strange dream. I dreamt I turned into stone and yet I could smell geraniums! Suddenly I sensed movement on my back and realised that there were this beautiful pair of wings, white as heaven, over my shoulders! And I remember looking at the window, smiling one last time, and starting a journey towards you, a long journey towards you, to be with you again, to stay with you again, forever more. And so I will, my great love, for all eternity.

Here you have me. Although it’s silent I feel quite comfortable now, I want you to know that! Although the clouds look like bringing rain again and some wind is blowing and making a mess of my hair I don’t mind! Don’t worry. Nothing matters anymore; I’m home. I don’t feel cold or pain; I don’t feel the need of anything except to be with you, as we were meant, always and always and always. And so I will my one and only love, for all eternity, in this most eternal of places.

(Photography: Rome, Italy, March 2nd 2006/ Text: Coimbra, Portugal, March 2006)

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Thursday, April 06, 2006

Away from home # 7

While travelling I couldn’t help thinking I was loosing someone back home! And I did. And so I want to say goodbye now…

(Photography: Naples, Italy, February 22nd 2006)

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Thursday, March 30, 2006

Fausto

"Enquanto Fausto esteve longe, expandindo-se para além do alcance de Margarida, o «pequeno mundo» de que a arrancara – aquele mundo de «ordem e completa satisfação» que achara tão doce – desabou sobre ela. Assim que a notícia correu, os seus antigos amigos e vizinhos caíram sobre Margarida com bárbara crueldade e fúria vingativa. (…) Margarida leva o seu lamento para a igreja, na esperança de aí encontrar conforto. (…) Tormento e aflição é tudo quanto o seu mundo lhe pode oferecer: os sinos que salvaram a vida do seu amante dobram agora pela sua condenação. (…) Os acontecimentos precipitam-se: o filho de Margarida morre, ela é metida na cadeia, julgada como assassina e condenada à morte. (…) Fausto adoece de culpa e remorso. Num campo desolado, num dia sombrio, enfrenta Mefistófeles e queixa-se do seu destino. (…) O crescimento humano tem custos humanos; quem quer que o deseje tem de pagar o preço, e o preço é altíssimo. (…) Claramente, não há possibilidade de diálogo entre um homem aberto e um mundo fechado".

(Fotografia: Amsterdão, Holanda, Março de 2001 / Texto: sobre Fausto de Goethe, in Tudo o que é sólido se dissolve no ar, de Marshall Berman)

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Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Fugas # 2

Como é simples a vida! Com tanta gente preocupada em sinalizar-nos o caminho nada mais simples do que deixarmo-nos levar. Mas a que preço? Vá lá, quero ser surpreendido! Só que há coisas que nem eu me atrevo a desejar…

(Photography: Breezanddijk, Holanda, Março de 2001)

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Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Away from home # 6

Can I ever find the way back to this place? Will I ever really want to? Happiness is not a place to reach; it’s the road we walk trying to get there, I’m sure. Am I happy here? Yes I am! Will I ever really want to come back here? Yes I will. What am I really saying? I’m saying that maybe my heart belongs to this place, for I can’t feel it beating within me anymore. Anyway, it was good to be awaken by the church bells and the seagulls today. I’m glad I’m alive.

(Photography: Capri, Italy, February 23rd 2006)

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Friday, March 24, 2006

Away from home # 5

Here I am, waiting for you to come...

(Photography: Breezanddijk, Holland, March 2001)

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Muros, barreiras e porcarias do género

Proibido atravessar! Perigo de ser feliz!

(Fotografia: Porto, Portugal, Setembro de 2005)

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Fugas # 1

Quando a noite parece a um passo de me engolir, quando a rapidez das gentes que passam por mim a correr não me permite focá-las com nitidez, quando tudo parece perdido e começo a sentir algumas dificuldades em respirar, um desejo urgente de fugir, há sempre um meio! Por mais escura que esteja a sala, a saída de emergência não deixa de existir só porque não a vejo!

(Fotografia: Lisboa, Portugal, Novembro de 2005)

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Silent mornings

Give me oblivion… Allow me to forget, please, because sometimes I just don’t know if I can make it!

(Photography: Podentes, Portugal, January 2004)

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