My Blog

“You don’t survive in me
because of memories;
nor are you mine because
of a lovely longing’s strength.

What does make you present
is the ardent detour
that a slow tenderness
traces in my blood.

I do not need
to see you appear;
being born sufficed for me
to lose you a little less.”

(Rainer Maria Rilke)

“Who are YOU?” said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation.  Alice replied, rather shyly, “I–I hardly know, sir, just at present– at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”

(in Alice in Wonderland)

It baffles the mind how, people you once adored and gave so much to, people that were the center of your universe, are shown to be such perverse liars and manipulators. And when unmasked you know what they do? They accuse you of the things they themselves did, and are prone to do. No regret, no remorse, no guilt. Just plain pathological lying.

Horrible, sick, mean little people, that kill our faith in the goodness of Mankind.

“First
it is one day without you.

Then two.
And soon,

our point: moot.
And our solution, diluted.

And our class action (if ever was)
is no longer suited.

Wherewith I give to looting through
the war chest of our past

like a wily Anne Bonny
who snatches at plunder or graft.

But the wreck of that ransack,
that strongbox, our splintering coffer,

the claptrap bastard
of the best we had to offer,

is sog-soaked and clammy,
empty but for sand.

Like the knuckle-white cup
of my urgent, ghastly hands

in which nothing but
the ghost of love is held.

Damn it to hell.”

(Jill Alexander Essbaum)

“I loved you once: perhaps that love has yet
To die down thoroughly within my soul;
But let it not dismay you any longer;
I have no wish to cause you any sorrow.
I loved you wordlessly, without a hope,
By shyness tortured, or by jealousy.
I loved you with such tenderness and candor
And pray God grants you to be loved that way again.”

(Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin)

Master Po: [after easily defeating the boy in combat] Ha, ha, never assume because a man has no eyes he cannot see. Close your eyes. What do you hear?
Young Caine: I hear the water, I hear the birds.
Master Po: Do you hear your own heartbeat?
Young Caine: No.
Master Po: Do you hear the grasshopper that is at your feet?
Young Caine: [looking down and seeing the insect] Old man, how is it that you hear these things?
Master Po: Young man, how is it that you do not?

(from Kung Fu)

“Terror de te amar num sítio tão frágil como o mundo

Mal de te amar neste lugar de imperfeição
Onde tudo nos quebra e emudece
Onde tudo nos mente e nos separa.”

(Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen, in Antologia)