terça-feira, 27 de julho de 2010


"They entered the restaurant..., They entered the restaurant..., They entered the restaurant..." He was trying to go beyond that phrase but then suddenly he stopped writing. He lighted another cigarette. His old house was in total stillness. He looked at his computer and thought why he was writing this story about a dinner he had in his blog. Why in his blog? Everybody will see it, everybody will know about the intimacy of that dinner. He felt he was selling his memories for free to the world. Not only his memories but the memories of the person that was with him on that dinner. Was that fair? Should he ask permission to the other person to write this for the world in a random way to see? Should he stop to write while e has time? He stopped writing. But he wanted to finish this task, he wanted to finish something. He has to write this story.
He rewrite the same sentence.

They entered the restaurant. It was a small and cosy place. They seated in a table for tow.

They ordered red wine...

sábado, 24 de julho de 2010


"We walked through the street till we find a place." He was very quiet. He was in those days where the words disappear from his body and stay very tight in his mind. They find the restaurant and seated in the stone stair in the street waiting for a table. They both lighted a cigarette. Silence. -"Are you alright? - he asked him. Long pause.
-"You really don´t seem well! What´s wrong?" - he asked him again.

-"Hummmm" - he muttered - "I don´t know..." - Long silence from both.........
-"Tell me what´s wrong? Please talk to me!" - he anxiously asked him again. - Was it me? Are you mad at me?"
-"No it´s not you!" - He said. Silence. - "Hummm... I don´t know, i think it´s the same we have been talking over and over again!"

-"That´s ok we can talk as many times as you need!" - he said.
In the same time that that sentence came out of his mouth a table inside became free.

They entered the restaurant...

sexta-feira, 23 de julho de 2010

Aprender a rezar na era da técnica

Com que determinação se pega num livro? De que lado determinas que a tua vida esteja? Dos fortes ou dos fracos? A minúcia do cirurgião. A minúcia do cirurgião na política. Determinação, objectividade.
Lenz Buchmann morreu. Deixou que a doença o vencesse. A importância de um dedo tornou-se o extremo da importância na hora de puxar o gatilho da arma com que Lenz Buchmann poria termo à sua vida. Devido à doença o dedo não teve forças para o fazer, mas teve sim forças para dar a Lenz Buchmann uma nova posição no mundo, nova posição esta que o tornou o objecto caçado.
A perversidade de uma extrema racionalidade inconscientemente irracional.
O Homem adulto que brinca sem complexos no parque de diversões que é o mundo. O Homem que cria a rede onde os peixes, sem darem por isso, vão parar obstruindo-lhes a capacidade de nadar até mais longe.
Um Homem que criou o seu mundo para o ter a seus pés e no golpe final escorregou em si, tornando-se a presa de um caçador dentro de si mesmo. Lenz Buchmann o matemático das pequenas, médias, grandes acções quotidianas, no golpe final encontra conforto numa luz que já não consegue distinguir de onde provém.

terça-feira, 20 de julho de 2010


He leaves him at the bus station. He walks to the street till he gets home. He enters his big old house. He lives alone. There´s a lot of space in that house. Big silence. He opens the lights. He likes to have all the lights open when it´s night. He sits on the sofa, he lights a cigarette. He watches the seagulls flying very near to his window. He wants to capture them in video. He had a great dinner, he was sad before that dinner, now he feels light. He feels lucky. He know´s he´s lucky, that´s why he gets sad when he feels sad. But he knows that it is ok to feel sad sometimes, he mustn´t be ashamed. He knows that. He opens his computer. He writes on his blog. He wants to write something that moves him. Something that gives him passion. He starts to write about the dinner he had that night. The house still´s quiet. He lights another cigarette. He starts to write.

"We decided to have dinner out of the house that night... We decided we should do something funny...!"

segunda-feira, 19 de julho de 2010


"There was a woman at Alexandria named Hypatia, daughter of the philosopher Theon, who made such attainments in literature and science, as to far surpass all the philosophers of her own time. Having succeeded to the school of Plato and Plotinus, she explained the principles of philosophy to her auditors, many of whom came from a distance to receive her instructions. On account of the self-possession and ease of manner, which she had acquired in consequence of the cultivation of her mind, she not unfrequently appeared in public in presence of the magistrates. Neither did she feel abashed in going to an assembly of men. For all men on account of her extraordinary dignity and virtue admired her the more."

Socrates Scholasticus, Ecclesiastical History

Socrates Scholasticus (5th-century)

"Yet even she fell a victim to the political jealousy which at that time prevailed. For as she had frequent interviews with Orestes, it was calumniously reported among the Christian populace, that it was she who prevented Orestes from being reconciled to the bishop. Some of them therefore, hurried away by a fierce and bigoted zeal, whose ringleader was a reader named Peter, waylaid her returning home, and dragging her from her carriage, they took her to the church called Caesareum, where they completely stripped her, and then murdered her by scraping her skin off with tiles and bits of shell. After tearing her body in pieces, they took her mangled limbs to a place called Cinaron, and there burnt them."

John of Nikiû (7th-century)

"And in those days there appeared in Alexandria a female philosopher, a pagan named Hypatia, and she was devoted at all times to magic, astrolabes and instruments of music, and she beguiled many people through Satanic wiles...A multitude of believers in God arose under the guidance of Peter the magistrate...and they proceeded to seek for the pagan woman who had beguiled the people of the city and the prefect through her enchantments. And when they learnt the place where she was, they proceeded to her and found her...they dragged her along till they brought her to the great church, named Caesareum. Now this was in the days of the fast. And they tore off her clothing and dragged her...through the streets of the city till she died. And they carried her to a place named Cinaron, and they burned her body with fire."

quinta-feira, 1 de julho de 2010

Susan Sontag

"Eu não queria que os meus sonhos interpretassem a minha vida, mas antes que a minha vida interpretasse os meus sonhos."

Susan Sontag