SAIBA

Because we don’t want to hear about

the things that join us together

the things we all share

The unavoidable, precious commonalities

The natural, the ugly, the precious and the monstrous

(Yes, what makes us human)

Because we don’t want to recognize our multiple natures

that we are home for evil and good

that we can lead or go astray

kill and love

destroy and nurture

and all there is in between

When and if we get aware

of our simple precious humanity

that makes us the ultimate family

we will forgive all

we won’t blame the Other

we will sooth each other

and help each other to understand

to really KNOW

We will learn to see the common and not the difference

We will accept we are not better than anybody else

We will realize our names rhyme with everybody else’s

Saiba: todo mundo foi neném
Einstein, Freud e Platão também
Hitler, Bush e Saddam Hussein
Quem tem grana e quem não tem

Saiba: todo mundo teve infância
Maomé já foi criança
Arquimedes, Buda, Galileu
e também você e eu

Saiba: todo mundo teve medo
Mesmo que seja segredo
Nietzsche e Simone de Beauvoir
Fernandinho Beira-Mar

Saiba: todo mundo vai morrer
Presidente, general ou rei
Anglo-saxão ou muçulmano
Todo e qualquer ser humano

Saiba: todo mundo teve pai
Quem já foi e quem ainda vai
Lao-Tsé, Moisés, Ramsés, Pelé
Gandhi, Mike Tyson, Salomé

Saiba: todo mundo teve mãe
Índios, africanos e alemães
Nero, Che Guevara, Pinochet
e também eu e você

HANDLING FARES

Look at my hands
Just look at them

In my hands
all the wisdom there is
all the beauty

No compromise there
my faithful hands
are mine

If a choose not to raise them
not to know the asnwers
they'll stay still on my desk
pretending ignorance

Should you need answers
don't look elsewhere
look at them

Look at my hands

UM AMOR

steps can sing

words can vow silence

eyes can touch

stillness can be frantic

humour can be fire

your heartbeat can go crazy

time can stop still

a scent can ignite

a dream can sooth

a man can cry

a lover will find

a wanderer can rest

a road can twist

a silence can move

            A spark can fly

UM AMOR (MAria João, Mário Laginha)

Eu lhe ouvi entrar
vi no seu olhar
que estava querendo me atormentar

E reagi sem ver
coração tocando o céu da boca
minha alma louca
Ai minha voz saindo
andando sem roupa
nua de palavras

Queimando de intenção
digo afogueada
algo sem retorno e sem razão
Foi como se pegasse fogo em fria agua
como se empurrasse a escuridão,
como se iluminasse
meu amor ficasse pertinho
jurando servidão.

LUA LINDA

Olha a lua partida ao meio
de tão baixinha que está
quase leva as copas das árvores
e o cabelo dos homens altos.

Se eu fosse muito guloso
comia esta lua em forma de queijo.

Olha a nuvem, a nuvem branca
quer tapar o nosso queijo
nuvem gorda e sem vergonha
invejosa da luz da lua.

Tu já viu que esta noite não tem vento?

Olha a lua partida ao meio
se eu pudesse sentava nela
e ficava espiando a terra
e me via olhando ela!

MAKING PLANS (III)

Remember

I’m the one guiding the feather

Yet (alas!)

 this feather has retained

some autonomy

from its owner’s ecstatic and pompous majesty…

You can’t avoid that sometimes,

and I tell you in advance:

that can even be a desirable thing

Now open  your eyes

If you so wish

You know how a peacock feather

can be mesmerizing to watch

Or then close your eyelids to save yourself

for other things to come

That should be for you to decide


see Making Plans (I) e Making Plans (II)

VERY TOUCHING

Ears tend to think they know it all

(but no they don’t)

Fingers can be enlightened listeners as well,

for they share

         the secret brotherhood

                     the ancestral wisdom

                                    the touching knowledge

Believe me:

Like white virgins, 
your ears would blush

if they knew 
just a tiny fraction of

your fingers’ 
                 accumulated 
                                    wisdom

MAKING PLANS (II)

Good

You know peacocks are not regular fliers

No, they’re not.

Nonetheless, through the years

they developed somehow

the selective art of flying to trees

(I like digressing because

I can sense you are listening,

and digressions might be

essential 

      after all

             anyway)

See Making Plans (I)

MAKING PLANS (I)

Close your eyes

but keep reading

I’m not asking the impossible,

you understand,

for I meant  your inner eyes

Now picture a feather

not a swan’s, not a goose’s

Their feathers may be good for pillows,

or so I‘ve heard,

but for you I want

nothing but the peacock’s

THE LOVER

Venturing further away

no fear of going astray

For your aim is nothing

but  the future

YOU SUCK, MAN

Satânico é meu pensamento a teu respeito, e ardente é o meu desejo
de apertar-te em minha mão, numa sede de vingança incontestável pelo  que me
fizeste ontem.
 

A noite era quente e calma e eu estava em minha cama, quando,
sorrateiramente, te aproximaste. Encostaste o teu corpo sem roupa no
meu corpo nu, sem o mínimo pudor! Percebendo minha aparente indiferença,
aconchegaste-te a mim e mordeste-me sem escrúpulos. Até nos mais íntimos
lugares. Eu adormeci.
 

Hoje quando acordei, procurei-te numa ânsia ardente, mas em vão. Deixaste em
meu corpo e no lençol provas irrefutáveis do  que entre nós ocorreu durante
a noite.
 

Esta noite recolho-me mais cedo, para na mesma cama te esperar. Quando
chegares, quero te agarrar com avidez e  força.Quero te apertar com todas as
forças de minhas mãos. Só descansarei quando vir sair o sangue quente do teu
corpo.
 

Só assim, livrar-me-ei de ti, mosquito Filho da Puta! '

                                                                                        Drummond de Andrade

WONDEROUS STORIES

A seamless source of tales
some are fairy tales
some are flesh and bone real
made of what, it doesn't matter


They all point to something
not higher not divine
but just near our real dimension
Our real height results 
from adding our fantasy 
to the rest of us,
from gathering the courage 
to dream higher


Tell me your tales
(I don't care so much as I used to
whether they are real or not)
Just need you to keep up
watering your dreams every night
with the misty dew of fantasy





Wonderous Stories Lyrics (Going for the one)
Yes
(Anderson)

I awoke this morning
love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.

He spoke of lands not far
or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
if I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.

Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
You're close
and were you there to stand
so cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
to hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.

Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing.

WORLD CREATORS, ARCHITECTS OF WONDERS

Since my entrance, I've been wandering. I've been admiring the beauties around, without ever asking myself if I need a place of my own to be. 

And these observations, these precious moments of contemplation have had the most profound effect on me. 

Yes, of course I know all I find here is an icon, a symbol, something that represents or replaces something real.

"All this is done by someone" I thought to myself on my first day. And I started admiring these secret entities, the creators, the builders. I even met some brilliant ones.

Virtual, people call it, I think. But the care and the love that these creation show are not necessarily iconic or virtual. Most of the time, the builder cares to build, to insert the detail. Like a painter, he/she steps back to judge the effect the viewer will have, places herself as the user. And smiles, in anticipation, feeling the pleasures his/her work is going to produce. It may look as a painful effort, but I know it must be a joyful one, too.

I post this unbelievable film as my homage to all SL world creators, the architects of wonders. Thank you from my heart!


(watch it in fullscreen mode)

THE FOGGY FOGGY DEW

I've talked before about chance. About unpredictability. Today someone spoke to me about fog and I was immediately drawn to a beautiful song I accompanied years ago. A folk song. The setting was by Benjamin Britten.

But what really draws me to the song is how it tells a life story in a few verses. I've been envying this ability in poets and writers. Also in composers. To tell a lifetime in a few seconds. Zooming out and enjoying the perspective. If we could only do this once a day...

When I was a bachelor, I liv'd all alone
I worked at the weaver's trade
And the only, only thing that I ever did wrong
Was to woo a fair young maid.
I wooed her in the wintertime
And in the summer, too
And the only, only thing that I did that was wrong
Was to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.

One night she came to my bedside
When I was fast asleep.
She laid her head upon my bed
And she began to weep.
She sighed, she cried, she damn near died
She said what shall I do?
So I hauled her into bed and covered up her head
Just to keep her from the foggy foggy dew.

So, I am a bachelor, I live with my son
and we work at the weaver's trade.
And every single time that I look into his eyes
He reminds me of that fair young maid.
He reminds me of the wintertime
And of the summer, too,
And of the many, many times that I held her in my arms
Just to keep her from the foggy, foggy, dew.

JULIA MEETS YOKO

JULIA (or Lennon's Oedipus Rex)

Julia Stanley was a woman who was ran over a car driven by a drunken police. If there ever was a solemnly stupid death, it was Julia’s.

Julia Stanley was, by the way, John Lennon’s mom.

Julia is also a gentle, almost drowsy beautiful song, written by John.

The melody drifts away, jumping on a repeated note first, just to follow an imaginary line, as un-purposeful as the flight of a capricious butterfly.

So is this a hymn? A musical epitaph? John’s love song for his dear lost mummy?

Half of what I say is meaningless
But I say it just to reach you

So John, you telling us you spoke nonsense whenever you wanted to feel your mother’s presence? You babble as a charming act to call her attention, to bring her back from heaven?

Julia, Julia, oceanchild, calls me
So I sing a song of love, Julia

Not so easy. We’re getting psychoanalytical here (lol) …

Seemingly, “oceanchild” is English for “Yoko”.

Yes, you heard it right. Yeah, you got the idea.

Yoko appears in the middle of John’s homage to his ran over mother.

Why not?

So Yoko-Julia, Julia-Yoko, mixed up, almost interchangeable in this Lennon’s Oedipus Rex. The following scene is the imaginary and impossible introductory meeting between John’s two women.

John:  Dear Yoko, come nearer. I introduce you mamma Lennon. Mom, this is Yoko.

Julia: Well, dear, isn’t this about time, Johnny!  For how long have you been courting this girl, for Christ’s sake? [To Yoko]: Exceedingly nice to meet you dear. Johnny has told me a lot about you. You look a little pale … is that the Liverpool smog, or just your complexion, dear?

Yoko: Hi, Madame Stanley. It’s, like you say, my natural Asian completion. Very nice meeting you [to John]: Come on baby, we’re already late for my happening.

Poor Julia,

sleeping the eternal dream,

inhabiting John’s ethereal slumber

of lost youth

Rest in peace, Julia

JULIA (John Lennon, 1970)

Half of what I say is meaningless
But I say it just to reach you, 
Julia

Julia, Julia, oceanchild, calls me
So I sing a song of love, Julia
Julia, seashell eyes, windy smile, calls me
So I sing a song of love, Julia

Her hair of floating sky is shimmering, glimmering,
In the sun

Julia, Julia, morning moon, touch me
So I sing a song of love, Julia

When I cannot sing my heart
I can only speak my mind, Julia

Julia, sleeping sand, silent cloud, touch me
So I sing a song of love, Julia
Hum hum hum...calls me
So I sing a song of love for Julia, Julia, Julia

A THEORY OF (mean)TIME

You have TIME
and then you have the MEAN time

MEAN time tries to eat you alive
whereas TIME
(provided you find It)
restores the connection

In order to find TIME
you need to kill MEAN time
There's no way around it

Once you've murdered
that mean bastard
then TIME may reign


You will notice the change
for TIME provides
a vision of eternity

Once you live in TIME
you will immediately recognize
that your time has changed
and you will become an adept
perhaps an addict
(but do not worry, TIME is good)

Once you decide
to kill MEAN time
remember all you need
is a bunch of light beams
or something of similar beauty

ELEMENTAL GIFT

At certain times
I can see you
floating over the clouds
laying there,
relaxed yet alert
as if helping the horizon
keeping its straight line,
as if teaching the elements
to be merciful
to behave

Maybe announcing
maybe letting the elements know
you will not last forever

Then the elements
blend together in a whirlwind
(they know well their physics)
they seem to be conferencing
and finally
they give their joint present to you,
asking you
almost begging
to stay a little longer,

They give you in a pretty little box
all the colors and forms in the world
and all the lines and circles to be found
so that you can draw
forever

GENTE HUMILDE

I cried yesterday. This is hardly news, lately, true. 

I cried while listening to a story. A life. A childhood that was stolen. By untimely deaths, by abandonment, by separation from her kin, by prejudice.

And this girl grew, against all odds, to reach her full stature, to make true all her potentialities. Today she is a caring mother and wife, a soon-to-be grandmother, a perceptive observer and a wise story teller. A good friend. Someone who fights to avoid her story to be repeated again and again.

She still lives feeling the remainings of a deep sadness. But I know she will heal, eventually, and that shadow will be removed. By loving others, her love will reach finally the last shadowy corners of her own soul.

I lovingly devote this post to her. She will know.

GENTE HUMILDE
(Garoto - Vinícius de Moraes - Chico Buarque, 1969)
Tem certos dias
Em que eu penso em minha gente
E sinto assim
Todo o meu peito se apertar
Porque parece
Que acontece de repente
Feito um desejo de eu viver
Sem me notar
Igual a como
Quando eu passo no subúrbio
Eu muito bem
Vindo de trem de algum lugar
E aí me dá
Como uma inveja dessa gente
Que vai em frente
Sem nem ter com quem contar
São casas simples
Com cadeiras na calçada
E na fachada
Escrito em cima que é um lar
Pela varanda
Flores tristes e baldias
Como a alegria
Que não tem onde encostar
E aí me dá uma tristeza
No meu peito
Feito um despeito
De eu não ter como lutar
E eu que não creio
Peço a Deus por minha gente
É gente humilde
Que vontade de chorar

DANCE LOCAL, LOVE GLOBAL

Life should be devoted to change

to surprise

I have found that

there is a boundless longing

for surprise

in everybody

I will welcome the upbeat

the syncopated twist

the unlikely happening

the crazy, unprepared laughter

I will receive surprise

with generous, open arms

I will unleash change myself
altering your recipes
subverting your formulae

Who knows?
By relocating your coordinates
I even may find you

The beautiful, gentle waltz on this song attempts to change the world. A man caged in years of routine comes to his woman. Instead ignoring her in a corner, he takes her and stares at her differently, he invites her to waltz. So she makes herself pretty, transformed by his will, by her own surprise. They dance embraced, tenderly glancing to each other, still unbelieving. But the waltz goes to the street, in a frenzy of kisses, and everyone around is infected with joy, change, and dance. Dance local, love global.

Valsinha (Vinicius de Moraes - Chico Buarque, 1970)

Um dia ele chegou tão diferente do seu jeito de sempre chegar
Olhou-a dum jeito muito mais quente do que sempre costumava olhar
E não maldisse a vida tanto quanto era seu jeito de sempre falar
E nem deixou-a só num canto, pra seu grande espanto convidou-a pra rodar

Então ela se fez bonita com há muito tempo não queria ousar
Com seu vestido decotado cheirando a guardado de tanto esperar
Depois o dois deram-se os braços com há muito tempo não se usava dar
E cheios de ternura e graça foram para a praça e começaram a se abraçar

E ali dançaram tanta dança que a vizinhanca toda despertou
E foi tanta felicidade que toda cidade enfim se iluminou
E foram tantos beijos loucos
Tantos gritos roucos como não se ouvia mais
Que o mundo compreendeu
E o dia amanheceu
Em paz

THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

Thinking on something to draw you to me
anything that impels you to draw me
If I could only find the word
that turns everything upside down

Not an easy task
but a delicious one:

Even when I fail, I enjoy knowing
you will take my words inside
at a later time,
and zeroing the delay effect
your smile will travel
in my direction
through space

It's called the butterfly effect:
I move my wings here
and sometime later
your thinking stops for a while

WHERE THE RAIN GOES

I sneak through the cracks

I made myself on the circles of time

like the rain

or even softer

wishing intently that you don't ever fix that hole

willing that I'm forever enabled

to enter your reign

Stepping in your lines and circles

being somehow drawn as I walk

my mind wanders

creating the endless tales

our fantasies may rewind

and play 

one by one

for ever

And sometimes you will wonder

(perhaps)

what I am made of

whether I am a pixelated dream

or just real rain fighting its way

through the cracks