segunda-feira, 8 de março de 2010

Untitled Science Fiction Story


Introduction

I am writing this on board of the alien ship out of Earth. They put me in a cell, although it doesn’t look like what we are used to call cells on Earth. They let me write; for what, I don’t know. I don’t think anyone will read this and they have no interest on me telling anyone what I know. I don’t think I’ll see another human being again. Still, I write, if only to keep myself busy and sane, to hear my own voice as I read what I’ve just written and to know that my story is told no matter who will read it or not.
My cell is filled with books, classics, I think; and music, a television, some old movies. There is a chair and a table where I am now writing. They’ve left me some food and water. It just looks like a normal living room, with a bathroom in one corner, and I believe it is so because they wanted me to feel comfortable with the things I like: this cell looks a lot like my own house down on Earth. I call it a cell because for now I can’t leave and because I am alone. The door just disappeared after they closed it and through my window I can see my room is on an exterior wall of the ship. I can still see Earth from here despite the fact that we left two days ago. I think we are still in orbit.
I don’t know how I should start to tell what happened to me. I don’t know what is important and what is a meaningless detail. I have read many books but I am not a writer, I don’t know anything about structure or pace. Besides, it is all very fresh and recent so despite the fact that I remember the things that happened vividly, I did not have the time to structure it into any conclusions. It will just be a story that actually happened, no polish, no style attached.

The Arrival

I believe we can say that it all started on their arrival. Before that, humans lived their lives peacefully. Our History was our own, exclusive to the humans. The other planets we had found and ventured to didn’t have any advanced form of inhabitants, any civilization or culture, they just had bugs and trees. And a kind of oil that could be used in industrial production on Earth. A single drop of that oil was the equivalent to some hundred barrels of Earth oil. It was highly profitable and journeys to the newly-found solar system started about a decade ago. We were now at the stage when we were preparing to move entire construction sites to the three planets of that system in only a few months so that we could start extraction right way.
The aliens came about two years ago. It wasn’t like the Hollywood movies where they land at some important American landsite. They landed in Kazakhstan. They could speak any language they wanted to and they assumed human forms and names. They were nice as much as they had to, being, as they were, the visitors. They didn’t look much warm at first or either capable of expressing complex forms of joy or contentment, sadness or distress. Later we learned that they didn’t because they had no need for it. They wanted to communicate and make their point but they didn’t want to connect with us.
The very first reaction of the very first human beings that saw them as they came out of the odd spaceship that had landed on Earth was to think that it was a time capsule. The humans saw five ordinary men and women coming out of a ship that was built with a technology that was by then unknown to any human scientist. They were three males and two women, two of them blonde, one brunette, one read headed and one black. Their bodies were carefully chosen to be representative although they couldn’t physically send five humans that were representative of ALL the human ethnics and according to all possible physical appearances on Earth. In the weeks that followed the official announcement, some opinion groups argued that it was inconsiderate, for instance, to send only one black or that the women were outnumbered or that there were no Asians on board. Back then I thought it was a very poor welcome to the aliens, accusing them of racism straight away but then again it was useful for them to learn from the beginning that they can’t please every human being on this planet. At least not at once.
As they opened the door of their small spaceship and came out into this world, their hands stretched forward or up to the skies as if to say “we come in peace”, their first words were, in Kazakh, something like: “Good morning, we are pleased to have arrived safely. Nice meeting you.”
Some weeks of physical and psychological tests followed – again it wasn’t, in my opinion, the best way to welcome them but they seemed to be expecting all of that – and about one month and a half later, the official announcement was made live on every television and internet channel on Earth. Theories, rumors and conspiracies were already surfacing from “day one” – as we called it later – but they were very much underground, recipes for nut jobs and fruitcakes. But it was true, after all. Nut jobs and fruitcakes were very proud that they were right in the first place but slightly disarmed for the fact they were right for – officially – the first time in History. Now everyone believed them; they became ordinary journalists reporting a fact or were invited to join panels of scientists and specialists on television so they lost their aura. Only political conspiracy buffs maintained their underground influence.
Although speculation arose everywhere in the media conspiracy theories didn’t get much air time because this was not like the movies; this time we could just ask the aliens why they were here. And they were very honest and straightforward: they were here to tell us to stay where we were.

The Negotiations

Apparently the planets we had found ten years ago were supposed to be off-limits. There was an “intergalactic” non-written convention that said that. The planets were rich not only in the oil we knew and wanted to extract but also in very basic forms of life that were developing at a rapid stage (rapid as to the average speed of these things; as we know on Earth it took us millions of years; so to be able to observe changes in entire species in a matter of centuries is a magnificent breakthrough). Were we to go there and extract their vital energy off their soil we could risk their development and the future of an entire species.
It was not easy to convince the humans that we needed to stay away from those planets. Environmentalists were right on board. Scientists wanted to help at analyzing and processing the information from the planet and hoped the aliens would share their knowledge base with us. Engineers, economists and politicians were outraged. Their investments – that were in the area of trillions, all combined – were now at a very serious risk.
The aliens did what we would call the right thing. They had a huge database of knowledge about the humans, from social interactions to language skills, political relations and governments. They knew they needed an international forum in order to make their point. They went to the UN.
It took them only a few months to reach the right people, which was very fast considering the usual time it takes for someone to address the General Assembly. But they did it. Countries that were not members of the UN were invited to join the Assembly on “special reasons that concerned all of mankind” and humanity was astonishingly united to hear what these beings had to say. After that, whether we were to cooperate with them or not, that was an entirely different story. By then, we were just listening and we couldn’t promise anything else.
They chose one of them to be their representative and their speaker. They chose the blonde male, Vincent, who spoke with a pristine British accent that gave him a certain aura of confidence and just the right dose of arrogance that was needed to talk to the representatives of mankind as a whole. I was working as head of security at the UN at that point so I had the pleasure of meeting him. He was a remarkable character. He was nice but distant. It was the natural arrogance and superiority of someone who is at a development stage that is light-years ahead of ours. But he also had the personality of an elementary school teacher: he wanted to inform us; he wanted to let us know.
I met him at the security briefing. They were all there. We had received several threats on their lives and safety – as usual – but they didn’t seem to worry. Most of them didn’t listen to me at all. Vincent was attentive the whole time, smiling at me and encouraging me to go on. He thanked me afterwards while all the other aliens were talking to each other in a corner of the room. He came to me and said in that magnificent accent of his:
“John, that is your name right? I hope you don’t mind me calling you just John… I feel I need to honestly thank you for everything you’ve been doing for us – for our safety – in the last few days.”
I didn’t know what to answer. I was glad he was recognizing my cares and worries. But I thought I’d better be professional about it:
“Yes, Mr. Vincent, it is my job. I am only doing my job.”
He smiled. He had the most cryptic smile I had ever seen. It seemed very honest and sympathetic but it showed that, deep down, his mind was racing. He reminded me of the Terminator movies where the machine has a set of possibilities of dialogue. It was as if his smile was simply hiding the fact that he was thinking: “Option 1: answer politely. Option 2: terminate.” Or maybe I just watched too many movies…

The Speech

“Ladies and gentlemen. Members of the General Assembly. Madam Chairwoman. Misters and Madam Presidents. Your Royal Highnesses. Madam Empress.
I am honored to be here at this important stage of your planet’s History as I believe it is fair to say that I and my colleagues are now, most humbly, a part of it. My people have a tendency to be short and concise. Our message is clear. Your exploration of what you call “New Earths” is a danger to the survival of several species on those planets. It was explained in accurate details to the scientists of your several nations and countries, I am sure they passed the message along to your governments. And it is my understanding, if only by my coming here, that you are willing to listen.
You could say we are simply on a mission to protect species and entities that are less developed than us yet most promisingly developing rapidly into new stages of natural evolution. It is easy to appeal to scientific minds: we presented them the opportunity of studying those species and those planets and we told them that their survival is of deep importance to the very tissue of the universe – since we can never know what developed and conscious minds will they evolve into. Now, politicians and economists are harder to convince. We cannot offer you an alternative site to explore. We cannot pay you to stay away from those planets.
So we appeal to what we know is probably your best feature as humans: your consciousness. I believe you pride yourself on taking decisions not only rationally but also taking into account your emotions and feelings. It is not at all difficult for us to understand that, though it is impossible for us to share them. And that is why we appeal to it. Because we know how much those feelings mean to you, to your identity as humans, as people.
You are now faced with the opportunity to make a decision that will most likely have an effect in the development – that is not only physical but potentially psychological – of entire new species. You have to ask yourselves: are you willing to destroy other beings’ evolutions solely to guarantee your own survival? Can you, as human beings, live with that? I hope you do ask yourselves that as I hope you consider our message wisely and unselfishly.
That is all. Thank you very much. Have a nice day.”



The Reactions

Vincent had struck a chord. They knew what they were doing; they were appealing to what we treasured the most: our consciousness. Despite the initial reactions against his message, people were puzzled and it got them thinking. For about a year and a half politicians continued on stating that the human race needed that oil. Economists continued to emphasize on the financial importance of such discovery, saying that the advantages of extracting the oil would be equally shared by all human kind. But then, public opinion stepped in and made their part. People everywhere started demanding that politicians and people in power would reconsider. It took a while and it took Vincent many trips around the globe but finally they made it. A declaration was made and signed by every government on Earth: we solemnly swore to abandon the project.
During those eighteen moths the aliens stayed in a hotel in New York. Well, not all the aliens. Vincent, their speaker and the one that was more social oriented, he stayed in my apartment in NYC. We started talking more often with all his visits to the UN, with me being the chief responsible for coordinating their security, and we became friends. Good friends, I may say. He stayed with me while he was in NY, while he wasn’t away in his mission all over the world. He travelled every single country in the world for over a year. He was the typical tourist: he visited the countries, he spoke with the people, he took pictures, he ate the food, learned a bit of the language and he brought souvenirs. He brought them back to my apartment - which became like a museum dedicated to ethnology – and it became the place he learned to call his base on this planet, his home away from home.
He was in fact one of the most interesting fellows I had ever met in my entire life. He was eager and interested in learning our ways, our different cultures, our music, our food, our technology, our History, our systems of communications between peoples and between nations but mostly between common people in their everyday life. He told me very few things about his planet and his Home but he told me many other things about other planets he had visited. Far-off places in the galaxy, odd species, odd solar systems. I knew very little about astronomy but I learned much with him while he stayed at my place. I bought him a map of the sky, like those ones that come in astronomy books, and a set of markers of different colors that he used to draw a circle around the places he’d been, connecting them as they were railways on a map. I could see he was the typical tourist only on an intergalactic scale. Every time I asked him about his home though, he would say that it wasn’t very interesting and that he couldn’t explain in ways I could fully understand so he always changed the subject to some other planet he had seen somewhere else or he would simply change the subject by asking something about Earth and the humans.

The Conversation

Then it finally came the day when they had to leave our planet. The US government asked to move their ship to Cape Canaveral. Since our country wasn’t the one they landed on, at least it would be the last country they set foot on before leaving. The night before their departure I stayed with Vincent on his hotel room – he had asked my superiors to bring me to Florida, as a “body guard” and as a friend – and we ordered some drinks so we could have a proper goodbye party. His colleagues and fellow aliens were downstairs in some dinner party with fancy and important people. They didn’t mingle at all throughout the time they were on Earth so I could imagine them at the corner of the room drinking silently while everyone else was having their pictures taken for the magazines.
Because Vincent and I were drinking I don’t remember much of the conversation we were having until the part where I asked him:
“So, now that you’re leaving, where are you planning to go next?”
I remember he looked confuse, as if he didn’t know if he wanted to answer that, so I thought it would be top secret and told him I understood if he wasn’t allowed to tell me. He thought about it for a while, with a very serious expression on his face, the most serious I had ever seen him and then he opened the door to the corridor to make sure there wasn’t anyone listening. Then he closed the door and answered my question:
“We are going to the New Earths system.”
I didn’t understand why he had to close the door to say that so I said:
“Ok, I see… are you going to study and observe the species there?”
He got more concerned and his tone got more serious. He was still doubting if this was the right thing to do when he said:
“No, John, we are going to start drilling and extract the oil.”
I was puzzled. I didn’t understand right away what he was saying, it didn’t make any sense to me. The whole purpose of their visit was to stop us from going there because of the rare species that lived on those planets and that were in danger were we to extract the oil... and then, it hit me: “The whole purpose of their visit was to stop us from going there…”
I had so many questions. For some reason, I didn’t feel angry or mad at him only a bit betrayed and confused. He was standing in front of me within the same human form I had always known him in; he was my friend, the one I had learned to love as if he were human, as a stranger from a far off country with whom I shared so much of my culture, to whom I had shown my town, my country and my fellow citizens. And now, though it all made perfect and rational sense, I had so many questions…
He understood he was going to have to explain. He sat down and he lost all his apprehension. He became a teacher or a parent who had to explain a difficult matter to a child. He put on his sympathetic smile and he looked at me waiting, giving me the time to digest it all, and waiting for me to ask. I knew I could ask anything, but the only thing that came out was:
“Why?”
Now that I think of it, I suppose “Why?” is the most important and recurrent question humans ask. And now I had the chance to talk to a “superior being” and ask directly for the reasons of his actions. I understood the importance of it, I understood I was the only person on Earth who had access to this information, so I took a deep breath and put on my most respectful tone of voice, as if talking to a god of some sort, and asked again:
“Why?”
It was a vague question, I knew it. But he understood.
“We had to make sure you wouldn’t go there. We had to make sure you would listen. We had to reason with you in order to accomplish our mission.”
He knew I, of all people, would understand if he talked in those terms, about a “mission”. He knew I was a professional specialized in “missions”. But it didn’t make it any easier for me. My next question didn’t make much sense either:
“Please be honest with me; I think I deserve an honest answer – there isn’t any hope for us, is it?”
“Look, John, you are an extraordinary race. You are tremendously gifted and you are capable of such generous acts that sometimes you even put your own interests behind everyone else’s so …”
He was lying, I could tell.
“I asked for honesty, so please cut the bullshit!”
I was feeling my anger rise, all of the anger I knew was justifiable in someone who felt as betrayed as I did then.
But he calmly replied:
“Right. No, the answer is no. There is nothing you can do.”
I felt myself going increasingly mad. I took a deep breath and considered punching him, stabbing him, insulting him. But then I realized I should keep things inside a certain logic; I’d just go on talking reasonably with him. After all, he was answering all my questions. I couldn’t understand why he was telling me this, why he was being honest after all this time since he was leaving in the morning and he had no apparent obligation to tell me all this.
Also I could not understand why they came at this time, at this moment on this planet’s evolution, when there were times in our History where we could have used an alien “invasion” to unite us. Everything seemed pretty much out of place. Then one thing made sense to me, one thing it had been bothering me since they landed but that I could not formulate before. They were so developed, so technologically advanced and yet it was the first time they made contact.
“Why now?” I asked him. “Why didn’t you come to us sooner?”
“We’ve been watching you, you know? But before this point you did not pose a threat to us. You did not venture into outer space in search for new planets to harvest. You must understand, John, that we are highly practical and pragmatic in our actions. We think in terms of advantages and disadvantages to our own species. And before, you were none. Look, we have absolutely no problem with you dying or killing each other or killing other species on this planet. This is your planet. We have the same thing you have here; I believe you call it non-interference. Whatever is your business, it is your business. Now, when you start moving camp to a planet that is of OUR own interest, then we had to act, of course. It posed a threat to our own selfish – I admit to that - interests. You understand that, don’t you, John?”
“Yes, I believe I understand your reasons, though they seem very inhumane.”
“Well” said Vincent “that word is of your species’ exclusivity. We really know nothing of that.”
He was right. And that was all very good and reasonable but I couldn’t understand why they lied to us so I said:
“Yes, of course. What I do not understand, though, is your coming to us with your moralistic speech about preservation and responsibility. Why would a very practical and pragmatic species like yourselves use such words to keep us away from planets where you only have financial interests?”
“That question surprises me, John, coming from you. I thought you would have understood by now… The thing is we had to use something that you would ALL understand, that you would all relate to. Consciousness, regardless of what some people might think, is still the thing that bonds you, that differentiates you from other species, is it not? Look at it this way: we considered the more opportunistic approach. But think of it, John, what could we possibly offer you in exchange? Alternative planets – that are of no interest to us anymore – are way too far, you could never reach them with your technology. Money, of course, would be impossible to convert from our currency to yours, since we don’t have a currency per se – I will not explain to you the intricacies of our financial system, it would take years and give you a massive headache, possibly a stroke – and besides, you know better than I do that things are not of the same value to different people. A goat would be of more service to a rural spirit than a Ferrari and I don’t see what service a business man in a big city could get from a goat. That came out wrong… I’m sensing that that could be interpreted as a joke but believe me; I had no intention of being less than serious in my analogy.
We thought about using you as a work force but I’m afraid slave work based on oppression is, how do you say? Out of fashion. Mind control would be great but we didn’t perfect the technology yet so using you as labor without the mindset to go with it is like having a computer without the software. Besides, we have stronger bodies than yours already in use and they’re paid. They would be very angry thinking they could be out of work, we would have a mutiny.
And there was of course the idea of a full-blown invasion. I am sorry to disappoint you, John, but contrarily to what some of your scientists infer, superior beings are not always peaceful. I’ve met such a case, it’s true, in one of my journeys through space. A very interesting race indeed, but very feeble. Their philosophy was amazing and they actually managed to hold on to it in order to stay safe from themselves for millennia, living peacefully and quietly in their so-called monasteries in a corner of the universe. They just didn’t anticipate a danger from the outside, being invaded and all. The best way to fight pacifism still is, as I found with those beings, an aggressive invasion that cuts through peoples’ wills and passions. Even the most pacifist people get confused when they are faced with a situation where they have to fight to survive, which is an exercise they never had to worry about before and obviously a contradiction in terms, as you say, because…
I am digressing, John… I’ve asked you before, do stop me when I do this, my sensor is always a bit late.” Vincent tapped himself on the side of his head, in a manner that was supposed to get his “sensor”, as he called it, working but that came out like I was in the middle of a cartoon from the 1940s’. “Well, carrying on, where was I?”
“You were considering invading us…”
“Oh yes! Some of our ‘experts’, as you would call them, did consider that. We disagreed a lot about that, there were many meetings and lobbying in order to convince people that were supporters of an early invasion. But we managed that. We decided to appeal to your softer side at first. And it worked!
I have to be honest with you John, I was a firm supporter of the ‘invade first, ask questions later’ methodology and even I had to secede. At first, we had very little expectations that we could convince you. Our practical side made us think that we would lose so much - financially speaking, that is - wasting resources on something we could not know for sure if it would work. And even I was convinced in one of my first visits to this beautiful planet of yours. Gosh, you are so gullible, aren’t you? Just a quick look at your History and anyone can see how easy it is to manipulate you, to mold you, to make you believe in something even if it is contrary to what you used to believe before. There is one thing I still do not understand about your species, John. And I don’t think you or any of your kind could explain it to me. Your contradictions, John. It is very difficult for us to rationally understand something that seems so irrational to us. For instance, how can you pride on being an individual and act as a mass? How can you brag about having one brain, one mind, one consciousness and then run towards the same emergency exit when there’s a fire? How do you explain socialization and communal coherency in a planet like yours where your very natural and animalistic ways should simply teach you that it should be “every man for himself”? And more importantly, how the hell did you manage to survive all this time?”
I didn’t know what to say. Those ideas weren’t new to me, it was like he knew me so well from our living together for so long that was reading my mind and using my own words, expressing worries I never told him about, worries I wouldn’t even share with my psychiatrist. I had no answer for him.

Going Home

As Vincent got up on his chair I saw that the sun was rising outside the window. I looked at the clock and I saw that it as now 6 o’clock. Vincent and the other aliens had to be on their ship by 8, preparing their things to go. I didn’t know what to do next. I could think of no way of telling everyone else the truth and I could think of no good reason to do that. They were leaving in a few hours. We would stay. Their mission was accomplished and they would go on drilling wherever they felt like it. Life would go on peacefully on earth as life goes on naturally and peacefully when a visitor leaves your house. You say your goodbyes, you take them to the station or put them in a cab and you close the pull-out bed on the living room. I had a feeling that these visitors wouldn’t write after they left our home.
As I looked up after a few pensive minutes of staring at the floor, Vincent had gone to the corner of the room and was now giving me one last glass of whiskey. I sure needed it. I took it, raised it and said a much ironic “Cheers” to my good friend Vincent. I drank it all and laid back on the sofa. I fell asleep a few minutes later.
I woke up in this place, this ship, lying on a bed. It was a strange feeling because I couldn’t remember getting here. Then there was a knock on the door, it opened and Vincent was on the other side of it. He came in and closed the door behind him. I asked him where we were.
“We are on board of our ship. I hope you like your room. Our trip won’t be long, with our technology and all. We are going to the New Earths system, as I told you before. We have some bases in one of the moons there that we kept hidden from you and your telescopes and we are going to tell our colleagues there that the mission went according to plan. Then they’ll move to the planet and start drilling. And we’ll go back to our own planet.” He smiled to me and then said “See, John? Now you’ll finally meet our planet.”
I turned on the bed to face the wall. I saw no point of talking to him, I felt like a prisoner being taken against my will and without much consideration. I cooked up every sort of response in my head, like asking him to stay or demand that they would take me back to my house.
“Why the hell did you bring me along? Am I some specimen that you’re bringing back to your planet? Am I an experiment?”
“In a way, yes. We’ll study you but we won’t dissect you, don’t worry. You will be our guest as we were your guests while we were on Earth. I learned many things about you while I was there and now it’s your turn, now it’s your chance. Of course, you will also teach the inhabitants of my planet, better than I could by simply reproducing what I learned from you; but I have a feeling will be learning much, much more about us. You’ll see how we live and you’ll live like one of us. Think about it Vincent: we are so much more developed than you are! This is a blessing for you!”
I had to laugh at this, at his superiority. I was used to it, to his mild arrogance, but this was very odd, even to me. This conversation became then pretty ironic and bizarre when I asked him:
“Is this some kind of civilization voyage then? You abduct me to take me to the real center of civilization and then you teach me, you make me smarter than I ever thought I would be? And I have to thank you for that?”
“Yes, John! You got it, that’s exactly that! Oh… wait… I sense you were being ironic there…”
“Yes, I was! Of course I was! Do you have any idea how confusing this all is? To suddenly realize that I am being taken by beings that are supposedly superior to me to a different place, a whole different planet, so you can teach me? Do you realize that we humans have been repudiating and trying to forget that we did this to ourselves and to “inferior” animals throughout History? Didn’t our History teach you anything?!”
“Yes, John, I believe I understand what you’re saying. But there is nothing I can do now. Please understand that I chose you because you are the one I knew best, because you are the one I talked to more frequently. And please understand that this is the best for you.”
I knew the question I was going to ask afterwards was stupid and irrational from the moment I thought it up in my brain. But I asked it anyway:
“And all we’ve talked, all we’ve shared, didn’t it make you change your mind? The fact that we were friends… that alone… didn’t it make you…?”
“Well, John, let me tell you one thing then… and I’ll just be blunt ok? That doesn’t make any sense to me. We are practical and rational people, I told you. I took you on for “scientific” reasons, if you like. I chose you specifically because you were “closer”. It makes no sense that I would have chosen you because I’m your friend. Let’s not be hypocritical here. That would be highly sentimentalist and we both know we are not like that. I’m guessing you humans would like to see that scene playing out, as in one of those amazing movies about aliens you watch. I can see the title: The Human Who Thought the Aliens how to Feel and Love! That, my friend, is pure science-fiction. I’m sorry.”
“Yes, of course…”
I wasn’t disappointed. I had known it all along…
He started to say his goodbyes:
“John, I have to go now. Much to do, I’m afraid. The ship won’t drive itself.”
But I had one more question, one that was burning me for some reason I couldn’t explain:
“Vincent, may I ask one more thing before you go?”
“Yes, John, of course. Go ahead.”
“What happened to that peaceful people you met? Those seemed pretty interesting and advanced to me. You said you invaded them but what happened after that?”
“Oh… the same thing as with every other people we met and that were of no use too us afterwards. We destroyed them. They all died.”
I turned on my bed, away from the wall. I didn’t understand, I wanted to ask him why, why would they kill them, what threat could those peaceful beings possibly pose to these aliens? But he was leaving and I saw he was smiling, very peacefully, very honestly, as he walked out the door that was now opened.

Vincent had left me. I got up and explored the room. I looked out of the window to see Earth, from the very first time from above. It wasn’t as beautiful as they say. Maybe I wasn’t in the best conditions to appreciate its beauty since I was being taken against my will. Or maybe it was because deep down I was desolate and nothing, not even looking down on Earth with all its masses of land and water and the clouds in the skies, could make me feel better about myself or about what I had experienced in the last moments.
I saw that we were still in orbit. I saw this desk, looking over to the window, and the papers and I sat down writing. I don’t know when we’ll leave and I don’t know how long it will take. I must admit I am curious to see other planets, to get into a new skin. I realize I am being given an opportunity that no other human has ever had: I’ll get to be other thing than a human. It is somewhat ironic that, while in moments of deep depression, I asked so much to be able to disappear, be invisible, “shed my skin” or be someone other than myself. The irony is that now that I got my wish ,I don’t really know what to think of it or if I really want it after all. In a way I’m peaceful, I’m quiet though slightly anxious while anticipating my future. I’m going on an adventure no one else has gone before. I wonder if the Earth I know will change too much when I’m gone and if I’ll ever be able to come back?

The moment I asked this, I got my answer. It was as if some god had heard me. I looked out of the window and I realized we were moving away from the Earth, flying in space. I had a feeling it would be like in those science-fiction movies where ships go through a wormhole in order to travel faster through longer distances. In a way it was like that. The stars began to disappear around us and there was a moment, a fragment of time before our own ship “disappeared” and “appeared” somewhere else, at some other point of the galaxy. And the last thing, the very last thing I saw before that fragment of time when we were propelled to another place in the universe, was the Earth exploding before my eyes. For no apparent good reason, the aliens had blown it to pieces. We were just one more colored dot in Vincent’s map of the skies that had disappeared. And I, of all people, had lived to tell the story.


quarta-feira, 3 de março de 2010

Dia Temático #1


Em todas as profissões que exigem o contacto com o público parecem haver dias temáticos. Hoje, para mim, foi um deles. Apresento-vos de seguida o Dia Temático #1, o dia do Cliente Chato:

- O cliente que telefona e fica 10 minutos ao telefone a fazer a mesma pergunta;

- O cliente que aparece e demora 30 minutos a ver um único produto.

Menção Honrosa: por vezes estes clientes são simpáticos, fazendo com que o tempo desperdiçado passe mais depressa.

domingo, 28 de fevereiro de 2010

Cheshire Cat has a point



Dialogue from Disney's "Alice in Wonderland":

Alice: (...)I just wanted to ask you which way I ought to go.

Cheshire Cat: Well, that depends on where you want to get to.

Alice: Oh, it really doesn't matter, as long as I g...

Cheshire Cat: Then it really doesn't matter which way you go!


He's mad as a hat (as everyone else in the movie) but he's got a point...

quinta-feira, 18 de fevereiro de 2010

A Arrogância da Mediocridade


Uma das melhores revelações que já experimentei na vida foi a constatação de que sou medíocre. Como todas as outras pessoas, sou normal, banal e indistinguível da multidão. Sou medíocre aos olhos de quem me vê, de quem me analisa e avalia, de quem me dá emprego e de quem me quer ver integrada. Para que me pareça mais integrada. Para que nem eu nem mais ninguém destoe.


Todo o ser medíocre tem o seu papel na sociedade, desde o esquecimento à banalização, desde as funções de formatação à capacidade de ser formatado, desde o instigador do pequeno poder àqueles que por este são subjugados.
As condições e as capacidades excepcionais, se as existem, se as têm, guardem-nas. Ninguém quer saber delas pela simples razão de que ninguém as vê ou ninguém as quer ver. Não é tanto uma questão de lhes dar ou não valor, é antes uma questão de o valor estar a ser atribuído de forma errada, ás coisas erradas e ás pessoas erradas, nas circunstancias erradas.


Se querem valor, dêem-no a vocês mesmos e não o esperem de quem é medíocre. Se alguém vos dá valor, agradeçam humildemente mas dissequem-no porque se ele for realmente merecido, têm nessa pessoa um pequeno anjo. Se querem uma sociedade que dê valor, dêem-no aos outros. Se querem ser arrogantes, sejam arrogantes em relação ao facto de serem medíocres. Finalmente, se têm a verdade, guardem-na.

Ensaio sobre as dores do frio


Quando temos frio, encolhemo-nos. Enroscamo-nos numa posição nem sempre confortável na tentativa de não deixar escapar o nosso próprio calor corporal. Protegemos as mãos, os pés, a cara, o nariz e as orelhas, o topo da cabeça. Vestimos as nossas armaduras de lã, algodão e polyester e pomos um xaile aos ombros. E avançamos destemidos para o frio agreste do mundo lá fora. Ou ficamos cá dentro e aproximamo-nos das fontes de calor artificiais que temos ao nosso dispor.


As outras dores, o tempo e distância que as curem. Só tenho medo do vento frio que vem de lá de fora porque ele faz doer a cara e as mãos e porque me põe o nariz duro como um pedregulho. Dessas outras dores~, já não tenho tanto medo. Dessas, tal como do frio, protegemo-nos como podemos: encolhemo-nos e escolhemos as nossas armaduras. Inventamos fontes de aquecimento alternativas que nos trazem uma fugaz sensação de conforto vinda de origens localizáveis e apreciáveis pelo que são em si mesmas. E tentamos não deixar sair o pouco calor que ainda temos cá dentro.

domingo, 14 de fevereiro de 2010

Classificados - Anúncio


URGENTE - Para venda ou permuta: VALORES MORAIS

Muito usados mas estimados pelo próprio. Em mau estado mas com óptimas possibilidades de recuperação. A colecção completa inclui: Integridade, Lealdade, Sentido do Dever, Adequação de Acções a Princípios e ainda Abnegação.

Aceitam-se em troca: Segurança, Sucesso Económico e/ou Social, Prestígio e Aceitação e ainda Uma Falsa Sensação de Consciência Tranquila.

Os interessados devem consultar a sua Glândula Pineal [fnord].

Exemplo de resultados de permutas anteriores:

segunda-feira, 11 de janeiro de 2010

The contents


Keep in your back pocket
Along with the blades,
the pins and the needles.


That's where I belong,
next to the erased footprints.


And keep the safety pills at hand.

terça-feira, 29 de dezembro de 2009

The Queen of Clubs


I don't know how much of this is my doing.


Certainly there is a path to follow. There must be some kind of music to be heard. I'm sure there are some things I could have done. There are some things I should be able to remember. But I have the feeling I forgot to do something along the way. I have this vision on my mind of someone saying "I should have asked you to marry me when I had the chance". It sounds like something from a movie...


I could use a direction. One arrow to point the way. I have a card, that's the Queen of Clubs. I found it once, on the street, in front of the building where I live. I thought it meant something, I looked it up. "Strong, dark-haired woman."


I need to draw another card. I bought a deck today. I am certain there must be something for me to do. Maybe something is my doing, maybe it's not all Fate and faith.


So I bought a whole deck today...

sábado, 19 de dezembro de 2009

The Last Man Alive


The year of this story is one that is lost time.


Time, as we all know, is a fabrication. It was invented by humans to measure our living and to adorn life with a little bit of an illusion of control and order. Time is of no importance to The Last Man Alive.


The Last Man Alive was, like time itself, forgotten. He had no memory of what his real age was. He didn’t know what year he was born. He had no idea if cars flied in the skies above when he was a kid or if postal service still existed when he was a teenager. And he was used to being alone for so many times that he had no concept of human company, social conventions or even fashion. He wore the same clothes everyday for he didn’t know that there was a time when washing machines existed. Besides, there was no one left to tell him his smell was less than pleasant. The only company he’d had in the last decades (and trust me, it had been many, many decades) was his loyal Dog.


Technology had advanced into stages that are beyond comprehension to the men of the twentieth century. It eventually allowed people to live longer and longer than their parents and grandparents had lived. History was in the meantime lost. Someone just stopped writing. People just stopped recording. Throughout many decades people only lived and died and eventually they stopped living. The population became so old that there was no way to procreate, to create the next generation. So, replacement of the species became a distant memory.


No babies were born for a few centuries. Adults lived, for long years. They learned to enjoy the advantages of “almost eternity”, as they called it. Lovers stayed together for longer than before. Marriages lasted decades. Sons and daughters lived in their parents homes until they were middle-aged people (and middle-aged by that time’s standards accounted for more than forty decades).


Animals started to disappear too. Men and science became too selfish to extend their advancements in technology to other animals. First, the animals that weren’t needed to satisfy human needs died. Then, all the other animals, including cattle and domestic pets, stopped reproducing enough to guarantee the next generations and, as the same thing happened to humans, it happened to all kind of animals as well. Their time on earth was over. They were gone.


Men realized too late that they needed to extend the curtsey of science to their fellow animals on this planet so it eventually mankind was forced to go back to being a certain kind of primitive nomads, eating from trees and feeding on fruits and berries. By that time, humans were so old and few that the impact on nature was barely noticeable and food was available for everyone. Not even the best of technologies could cheat death. So people died, slowly and not so painfully, but they died. And so, The Last Man Alive became exactly that: the last man alive.


He and his dog wandered through the ruins of the old world, of past civilizations, travelling freely or staying put, whatever their wishes were for the day. They had no cares about finding food or shelter. They didn’t need money to buy conveniences. They didn’t need to open the newspaper every morning or watch football on television on Sunday afternoons. The Las Man Alive and his Dog lived happily, free and content as they were. They enjoyed the sunrise and the sunset everyday for what they were: sunrises and sunsets. Not exactly a measure of time but rather two unique moments in one day, two beautiful events that The Last Man Alive and his Dog watched together as if to remind that they were still alive, still on this planet and still breathing the same air. Every flower they found on their path was a miracle to behold. And every remnant of old civilizations, like a piece of jewelry or simply a piece of wood from an old door were simple but charming treasures.


One day, roaming through the rumble of old buildings that had fallen to the ground, The Last Man Alive and his Dog found a threshold making an arch at a distance, where once stood a door to a beautiful room.


He knew it was a beautiful room because The Last Man Alive was a man whose imagination allowed him to recreate the places he visited. Though limited by the end of the recording of history and betrayed by his own memory, the old man still had the imagination of a young child. He kept in his brain the vivid images of old houses, big houses, big apartment buildings. He could enter a room, or what was left of it, and recreate it entirely in his mind as if he was standing there when it used to be a room to entertain presidents and ambassadors. Or when it used to be a kitchen where a mother prepared her children for school everyday (he could see the nice ladies kissing their kids on the forehead and telling them to be nice to other kids). He could see the sofas, the dining tables, and the exact distribution of the plates, forks and knives on the table. He could see the fireplace at the far wall of the living room, with the fire burning red and orange and filling the air with the comforting and warm smell of burnt wood. He could see Christmas trees, with red garments and golden stars atop. He would visit old movie theatres and delight in the memories of classic movie stars, beautiful divas and handsome cowboys, as if he was sitting in the red chairs, smelling the moldy air of the projection room or recreating every cut in the film, every tremble of the rolling tape. He could see bookcases filled with the greatest books ever written, entire libraries opened to the public.


The only thing he couldn’t imagine, and that was when his memories betrayed him, throwing him suddenly out the realm of imagination and into the cruel and dirty world of ruins that was his reality; he could not see the printed letters on the book. Not one book, not one page, not even one of the letters that were written in gold across the red cover of the big book on the coffee table of a regular reception of a roadside motel.


So that day, as he found that place he had never visited, he went bravely to the direction of the threshold. He could not read the letters on top. He could see that it was an important place for the lettering was big, carefully imprinted and marked as if to call attention. It stood on a higher place, probably on the top of what used to be a big staircase. He followed his Dog to the top of the hill and passed through the arch.


Across the floor he swayed, slowly, walking on his wooden stick. In front of him the Dog sniffed the wooden floor as it walked. The Last Man Alive could see that for some reason he could not understand, his Dog was more excited than he had ever seen him. He followed him, not knowing where he was taking him and went straight through the corridor to the last door of the hall.


There was no ceiling left, not anymore. The doors on the corridor, some of them were already gone, some were only half standing, gave passage to numerous rooms that now stood out in the open, like old patios, with wild weed growing in between the cracks of the floor. He passed them all because he knew his purpose on that abandoned building couldn’t be the same old destroyed rooms as he had seen in so many other buildings and he walked patiently after his Dog to the last wall on that long and large corridor.


The door at was different from any other on that corridor. It was intact, as if no one had tried to open it before, and carved on the floor. He leaned down and tried to open it. It was dusty and heavy but the old man pulled it towards himself and opened a little hole on the ground. Right under him, was a staircase going underground. He looked down but he could only see a couple of flights down for the darkness in there was bleak and frightening. He was, for the first time in his long life (or as long as he could remember) experiencing something new and exciting.


The old man caught a couple of stones from the floor and made a small fire with some pieces of this wood. He then caught a bigger chunk that he used as a torch and lit it in the improvised fire he had just started. He took a deep breath and took a step forward down the stairs.


The air was damp. He could see that that little room had been closed for decades, maybe centuries. He had no idea of what he was going to find down there. He moved along with his Dog following him, sniffing all around him. He could see that his Dog was now scared and shaking. But that only convinced him that he needed to go down, much further and find out what was it that the room was hiding. He felt like a little kid again, searching for a hidden treasure. With every step, the wood creaked under his feet until finally he reached the last step.


The room was empty. The walls were covered with dust and molder. A mixture of disappointment and rage filled the old man’s chest as he realized that his descent had been in vain. There was nothing new or old there, just the same old disappointment and boredom of the rotten world above his head. A rat passed next to his right food, squeaking. He followed the rat with his eyes, concentrating in his gaze all the anger he was feeling towards that place, wishing that he was a younger and faster man so he could stamp and squeeze the rat as an act of revenge for the time he had lost going down the stairs, for the time he had lost roaming in a world that was sterile, futile and utterly useless. He thought, for the first time in his long, very long life, that maybe he had no place there, that maybe he should just go upstairs and find a rope and a roof beam that was wasn’t soaked in humidity so he could hang himself.


But the rat hid under something, a wooden structure with straight lines, like a small closet, that caught the man’s attention. The old man’s eyes followed the lines of the structure on the way up and they found a lid on top. The man got closer. He reached his hand to the lid and realized it was shaking. There it was again, the feeling of something unknown to come. He thought the feeling was useless, that the hope of finding something new was useless in the world he lived in. Still, his hand was shaking with anticipation.


He opened the lid. Inside the cabinet there was a magnificent instrument that he had never seen. The lid had kept it safe from dust so it was the most pristine thing the old man could remember seeing in his entire life. It was black and round, with a round hole in the middle. Around the hole, there was an inside circle made of paper that had something written on it. He damned himself for not being able to read it, for not being able to remember how to read. There was a small structure, like an arm or a bridge that went across the black circle from the side and stopped at its middle. He passed his finger above it and then under this thin bridge, from its beginning to its tip and got stung at its end. It had a needle there.


For some reason he could not explain, he knew in only two seconds, exactly what to do with that machine. His hand passed gently on the side of the cabinet as if it was looking for something and it found what he was looking for. His hand found a handle that the old man slowly started to turn in the direction away from him. He then grabbed the “bridge” carefully with his thumb and forefinger and placed the needle above the edge of the black circle.


Suddenly, there it was. The moment the old man had been waiting all his life. Something that he could not explain filled the air around him and echoed in the cramped space of the small room. His Dog barked once, than again, and then ran upstairs. That was the last time the old man saw or heard his Dog. All he could hear now was the sound coming from the machine. He could say that it was something different from everything else he had ever heard. The only human voice that came out of that black circle spoke in a language he could not understand. And she (for he could hear it was a magnificent female voice) did it with such grandeur and power that the old man asked himself how was it possible that the voice of one woman could fill an entire room. And she did it with a certain cadence as if obeying strict rules about the timing that she was instructed to speak. Her voice went high, then low, then high again. It had a hidden pattern within it. Behind her voice, the old man could hear different sounds that could only be made by dozens, maybe a hundred different objects. They all sounded in synchrony, as if everyone knew their place and knew when to start and when to finish, as if someone was commanding them and instructing them all to sound exactly like that at that exact time. He doubted that this could have been made by ordinary men or women, he doubted even if it wasn’t the work of the gods. The most amazing thing was the feeling he could not explain, the feeling that he was in the presence of something wonderful and transcendental that made him feel more alive than he had ever been in decades, maybe centuries, of existence.


He took a step back. He sat slowly on the last step of the stairs, down in the darkness. He dropped his wooden stick and his torch to the floor and leaned on the wall. He could feel the vibration on the bricks. The fire of the torch on the floor started to fade slowly as it burned the last chips of wood. The sound stopped with a scratchy noise. The black circle ceased to spin. Silence filled the little room because the old man’s heart had stopped beating only seconds ago and note even his slow breathing could be heard anymore.


The Last Man Alive died on a time unknown and he left no record of his experience. His Dog had died seconds before, of natural and unknown causes, as soon as he had reached the threshold of the building. The last sound that was heard on earth was an opera of which the title and the author are unknown because no historical record lasted of it and because the last man that heard it could not read the words on the label. But the sound of the music echoed throughout eternity in the air of a doomed planet that is this earth.


Inspirado pela minha amiga Sara e pela nossa conversa sobre música. Obrigada.

A brief essay about sell-outs


Sabem aquela música do Meat Loaf que começa assim:


"On a hot summer night.
Would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?"


Pois acontece que:


On a cold winter afternoon
while the wolves talked to me
I sold my soul for a cup of tea
and it fell damn good!

sexta-feira, 18 de dezembro de 2009

Movie Wisdom


Há uma cena no filme "You got mail", com o Tom Hanks e a Meg Ryan, em que a personagem do Tom Hanks diz (ou melhor, escreve num e-mail) que quando se tem dúvidas sobre a vida ou sobre o que fazer, se deve recorrer de imediato aos filmes do Padrinho. O exemplo que ele dá é a famosa cena: "Drop the gun. Grab the cannollis".


Mas para além dos filmes do Padrinho, que são, sem dúvida alguma, a obra-prima do século em termos cinematográficos, quiçá em termos artísticos em geral, existem bastantes mais filmes aos quais se pode recorrer para buscar sabedoria. Ontem descobri que existe uma cena no filme Matrix Reloaded que ilustra o dia que eu passei. Fica o vídeo e ficam as frases mais importantes:


Merovingian: Action. Reaction. Cause and effect.
Morpheus: Everything begins with choice.
Merovingian: No. Wrong. Choice is an illusion, created between those with power and those without.


Link para Youtube

segunda-feira, 7 de dezembro de 2009

The City


"The City" by Constantin P. Cavafy:


You said: "I'll go to another country, go to another shore,
find another city better than this one.
Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong
and my heart -like something dead- lies buried.
How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?
Wherever I turn, wherever I look,
I see the black ruins of my life, here,
where I've spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally."


You won't find a new country, won't find another shore.
This city will always pursue you.
You'll walk the same streets, grow old
in the same neighbourhoods, turn grey in these same houses.
You'll always end up in this city. Don't hope for things elsewhere:
there's no ship for you, there's no road.
Now that you've wasted your life here, in this small corner,
you've destroyed it everywhere in the world.


Excerto de "The City of Dreams" by The Talking Heads:


We live in the city of dreams
We drive on the highway of fire
Should we wake
And find it gone
Remember this, our favourite town."

quinta-feira, 26 de novembro de 2009

Natal (para quem não sabe o que é)


O Natal é, portanto o dia em que se celebra o nascimento de Cristo. Porque ele recebeu os presentes dos Reis Magos, nós damos presentes uns aos outros para manter a tradição e fomentar a febre consumista do capitalismo vigente.


BULLSHIT!


Para mim, a melhor descrição que eu encontrei do espírito natalício é, espantem-se, uma citação Budista. Ora vejam lá se não é melhor:


"If beings knew, as I know, the results of sharing gifts, they would not enjoy their gifts without sharing them with others, nor would the taint of stinginess obsess the heart and stay there. even if it were their last and final bit of food, they would not enjoy its use without sharing it, if there were anyone to receive it"

Itivuttaka 18


Ora toma lá que já almoçaste...

terça-feira, 24 de novembro de 2009

"I had to know, so I asked..."


Suddenly I find myself not caring, not paying attention, not listening, not talking, and not even breathing upon a castle made of imaginary cards…

Suddenly I find myself not here, not existing, not for this world, not for this life; not for things that are good and great, not even for things that are here and in every day…

Suddenly I find myself not dealing, not with people, nor societies, nor entities, not even with ghosts…

And so I just have to ask: am I finally learning?

“Letting the days go by
(let the water hold me down)
Letting the days go by
(water flowing underground)
Into the blue again
(after the money is gone)
Once in a lifetime
(water flowing underground)

Same as it ever was…”

sexta-feira, 20 de novembro de 2009

Letter to God


You sick Fuck,


I am guessing this is all a big cosmic joke to you, right? Just a big ensemble, put together to amuse your Holy Highness, the big, omnipotent, omnipresent Fucker who created the Universe...


Well, I hope you're enjoying the show, you old fart. I'm not planing to leave anytime soon...


Sincerely NOT yours,


Me


We need to be talking about a truly cruel God when the thing that puts you back on track is the one that drives you insane again...

terça-feira, 27 de outubro de 2009

O Sonho



O Tempo não existe,
é um sonho, uma sensação;
uma parábola sem sentido,
a mais humana ilusão.


O Tempo é um reflexo ilusório de luz num espelho sujo.


segunda-feira, 26 de outubro de 2009

Ode à memória de uma respeitável amiga


Não, não, não, não, não! Não, minha cara e altiva senhora, não me estou a rir de si! Apenas acontece, e apenas por mero acaso, que o seu mais profundo intelecto me faz, por vezes, soltar uma alegre e despreocupada gargalhada, plena de ironia e secretismo.
E o seu intelecto raramente se engana...

O Escuro


Tal coisa não existe. A busca incessante pelo momento, a palavra, os gestos; as luzes em sintonia com os tons; ou o escuro...
A busca não existe para o fim. O fim existe para a busca.
É no escuro que podemos ser quem somos. Não somos mais que o sonho de nós mesmos.

sexta-feira, 23 de outubro de 2009

Breaking News


Floods ravage Farmville


Those of you who walked today through the crops of the Farmville setting know it is not hard to find someone with tears in their eyes. The catastrophe hit during the night; nobody saw it coming.


Around 9 p.m. last night, it started raining. Those who were still outside, enjoying the cold breeze that came with the early winter nights went inside their homes and barns to take cover. Nobody could predict that in just twenty minutes the skies above would start to roar in fury, sending down wave after wave of pouring cold showers and blocks of ice the size of chicken eggs. The cows went mad. Horses were struck by lightning. Entire crops were lost...


Now, at the break of dawn, the sun shines defiantly in the morning sky. People roam around their once great farms, their beloved animals beaten up by the cruelty of a god they can not even begin to conceive. A man from Holland, PrettyGirlsOnly2000, told us in tears how he lost all his savings:


"I was depending on this to win coins and meet chicks. Chicks digged my cute pink cows and my huge plantation of tulips... What am I going to do now, penniless and alone?"


The despair is written all over people's faces. Some are even willing to take drastic measures. A group of Portuguese users decided to unite in an online forum to discuss the consequences of this tragedy and also means to help eachother. They plan to ask the Portuguese government for help:


"We can't go on like this! This is all the Prime-Minister's fault! I mean, s**t happens and the PM isn't even willing to meet us for an open discussion?! I have mouths to feed!"


The government suspects of the interference of leftist parties in the negotiatian and accuses the farmers of being nothing but puppets in the hands of the opposition. Smartly dressed political experts say this is a bomb waiting to go off.


Economic experts are also avid to contribute with their opinions and suggestions to help control the crisis. An oil magnate from an African country is already planing his next step of action:


"I am hoping people will now have to sell their homes and lands for a very low price. Than, we can start an application called Oilville"


This devastated reporter can not help but think that political quarrels and large scale economy is driving away the attention from what really matters: the people. Today I saw people in the worst day of their lives. But I also saw an avid sixteen year-old from NYC, ThaBong16, provide us with a scenario of trust and hope:


"It's like, man... we gots to keep movin, like... dude..."


Words of hope and wisdom in a time of change.

quarta-feira, 21 de outubro de 2009

Irra!


"Batem leve, levemente
como quem chama por mim..."
Esta gente que não se entende,
que só me fode o juízo
sem sequer querer nada de mim!


Irra!

segunda-feira, 19 de outubro de 2009

Afinal o mundo é redondo


Afinal o mundo é justo. Estive enganada até agora.


Nós, humanos, gentinha de merda de popula este planeta abençoado, não merecemos nada de bom da vida e a vida também não nos dá nada de jeito. Está, portanto, tudo ordenado e tudo perfeito.

A única justiça com que podemos contar é a ilusão que criamos de que fizemos sempre tudo bem.


Quem quiser contestar esta lógica (perfeita, modéstia à parte) vai levar com um camião do lixo em cima. Achas injusto? Temos pena...

sexta-feira, 16 de outubro de 2009

Mr. cummings (again)


"i shall imagine life" by e. e. cummings


i shall imagine life
is not worth dying,if
(and when)roses complain
their beauties are in vain


but though mankind persuades
itself that every weed's
a rose,roses(you feel
certain)will only smile

quarta-feira, 14 de outubro de 2009

We Are a Cosmic Joke


Perguntava eu, do alto da minha ignorância: Mas porque é que nós só conhecemos pessoas com o mesmo nome da última pessoa de quem gostámos?


Ao que depois conclui: Parece que o Universo goza com a nossa cara...


A minha caríssima e douta amiga Xana, como sempre um baluarte de inteligência e bom-senso, informou-me imediatamente: Deve ter bueda piada, a gente é que não percebe.


Para mais informações sobre a condição humana, o universo, a metafísica ou o estado do tempo, perguntem-me a mim que sou uma espécie de Deus. Eu comunicarei à minha amiga Xana que também não é humana, mas antes qualquer entidade superior a todos nós.

sábado, 10 de outubro de 2009

Desenganemo-nos


A pior parte de não se saber o que se quer é quando confundimos essa ignorância com a ganância desmedida de querer tudo a todas as horas ou, por outro lado, com o vazio constante de nunca querer nada.


É mais difícil chegar a algum lado quando não sabemos para onde vamos.
Somos logo apelidados de vadios.
Mas é nessa altura que a aventura começa.


"I'm not going anywhere in particular. I'll just go until I run out of places to go" My Blueberry Night

terça-feira, 6 de outubro de 2009

Worried Shoes


"I took my lucky break and I broke it in two
Put on my worried shoes
My ah ah worried shoes
And my shoes took me so many miles and they never wore out
My worried shoes
My ah ah worried shoes
oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo
My ah ah worried shoes
I made a mistake and I never forgot
I tied knots in the laces of
My ah ah worried shoes
And with every step that I'd take I'd remember my mistake
As I marched further and further away
In my ah ah worried shoes
oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oo
My ah ah worried shoes
And my shoes took me down a crooked path
Away from all welcome mats
My ah ah worried shoes
And then one day I looked around and I found the sun shining down
And I took off my worried shoes
And the feet broke free
I didn't need to wear
Then I knew the difference between worrying and caring
'Cause I've got a lot of walking to do
And I don't want to wear
My ah ah worried shoes"


By Karen O.
Da Banda Sonora de "Where the wild things are".

terça-feira, 29 de setembro de 2009

Segundas impressoes


Coisas que so acontecem na Alemanha (Parte II)


1 - Conhecer uma espanhola chamada Carmen.
2 - Comer batatas fritas do McDonalds mais estaladicas que as de Portugal.
3 - Ir a um parque de diversoes e ver uma foto do Ronaldo.
4 - O traje tradicional das mulheres tem decote bem grande.
5 - Ouvir o "Eye of The Tiger" traduzido para alemao.

Primeiras Impressoes


O post que se segue será escrito com alguns erros gramaticais. Os teclados alemaes nao tem til nem acento circunflexo...


Coisas que só acontecem na Alemanha:


1 - Apanhar um comboio e ver um soldado chamado Fritz.
2 - Pedir uma informacao numa estacao e imprimirem-nos o horario dos comboios em 10 segundos.
3 - Ver mulheres grandes...
4 - Comer um gelado numa esplanada e as cadeiras da esplanada terem mantas para nos protegermos do frio.
5 - Comer uma sandes de salame e encontrar duas fatias de pepino!


quarta-feira, 23 de setembro de 2009

Revelations


Ode a um idiota


Temos, portanto, a noção de que se torna imperativo admitir, em certas alturas da vida e de acordo com circunstâncias específicas, que somos idiotas.


Mais! Torna-se absolutamente necessário admitir a nossa própria capacidade de reconhecer a nossa própria consciência em relação à nossa própria idiotice!


Somos, assim, idiotas perfeitamente capazes de admitir a nossa idiotice, de a analisar, processar e dela retirar conclusões, fórmulas e modelos de acção.


Podemos escolher continuar a ser idiotas. Porque os idiotas sempre são minimamente desculpáveis nas suas acções geralmente idiotas. Corremos, no entanto, o risco de ser marcados socialmente e excluídos de uma sociedade que não aceita os idiotas como modelo ou parte do modelo.


Ou podemos tentar deixar de ser idiotas o que traz a vantagem de nos integrarmos mais facilmente num mundo de pessoas normais. Ainda assim, impõe-se a dúvida de saber quem é que é realmente idiota: se são os idiotas ou se são os normais...


Conclusões precipitadas à parte, há gente que nasceu para ser idiota.


Obrigada à Sara (não-papagaia) por inspirar este ensaio absolutamente idiota com as suas perguntas inconvenientes.


"Ah, espera... mas a idiota sou eu?" pergunto eu do canto da sala.

terça-feira, 22 de setembro de 2009

Starlight


We can but look at the stars
Shining bright in their velvet sky.
Make a wish, make it right;
And may all your dreams come true…


segunda-feira, 21 de setembro de 2009

SMS Futurística


Para quem ainda tenha dúvidas que a minha vida é toda uma season do "Twilight Zone", aqui fica a SMS que eu recebi hoje no meu telemóvel:


"Remetente: ò

Mensagem: @ NédMB§ºÍÍ|1.Áj
7îËÙp2Ù,ér1.f£Íj:Y
FÕju.g£Ar4L|ËÙI´Xn
ér+/-XΣáfºmFËU`º.
gAb0-§Ad2"


Ah e tal, deve ser erro da TMN... dizem vocês.


Pois... isso seria tudo muito bonito se a SMS não tivesse a data de 09/01/2093!
Estou a ser contactada por gente do futuro!

terça-feira, 15 de setembro de 2009

Conselhos e Adágios da Minha Santa Mãe


Por ordem cronológica, do mais recente para o mais antigo:


- Aprende de uma vez por todas que não podes confiar em ninguém.
- Eu, se fosse a ti, mandava-a à merda…
- Olha lá, mas quem é que te ensinou que o mundo é justo?!
- Achas que já passaste por muito? Vais passar a vida toda a levar com a merda dos outros em cima…
- Comentário à frase de Orson Welles “Ser realizador de cinema é o refúgio perfeito para alguém medíocre” – Mas tu achas que és medíocre…?
- Podes viver a tua vida onde quiseres e com quem quiseres. Ninguém te prende a lado nenhum. Compra uma casa no campo, cultiva a tua hortinha e podes sempre voltar à civilização para comer um hambúrguer.
- Não discutas com o teu patrão por causa do dia do trabalhador… (2 meses depois) Eu avisei-te…
- Filha, cala-te lá com a merda da flauta… não queres antes aprender piano?
- Os All-Star são feios…
- Quem se deserda antes que morra, merece uma cachaporra.
- Não toques no ferro que está quente! (5 minutos depois) É bem feito! Eu não te disse para não tocares no ferro?!
- Ó senhor doutor, então não acha que eu me apercebia se me tivessem rebentado as águas?!


sábado, 12 de setembro de 2009

Singin in The Rain


Só para o caso de quererem saber, é esta a música que eu ando a cantarolar quando acordo, antes de deitar, na pausa para o cigarro, quando pico o ponto...


"I'm laughing at clouds
So dark up above
The sun's in my heart
And I'm ready for love.


Let the stormy clouds chase
Everyone from the place
Come on with the rain
I've a smile on my face


Because I am living
A life full of you"


sexta-feira, 11 de setembro de 2009

A Teoria do Cubo de Rubik


Cubo de Rubik - objecto irritante composto por 36 cubos que se articulam para formar um cubo maior cujas faces, de cores diferentes, devem formar, através da colocação dos cubos mais pequenos no sítio certo, um objecto completo e de aparência equilibrada e harmoniosa.


Quem já tentou sabe que não precisava desta informação toda para comprovar que é um objecto fodido.


Tal como a vida. Essa também é fodida. E a minha parece-se cada vez mais com um cubo de Rubik. Porque quando parece que uma face fica completa, é necessário desfazer a outra face, tendo em conta que o objectivo é o todo e as faces são apenas o meio para atingir o objectivo final.


E mesmo quando já temos uma feita e tentamos não desfazer essa face, rodamos e fartamo-nos de rodar e a qe já está feita vai com os suínos... Não é justo. Mas, porra, quem é que te disse que a vida é justa?! É que se disseram, meu caro (a), tenho uma má notícia para ti... Enganaram-te!

quinta-feira, 10 de setembro de 2009

Surrealismos II ou Coisas Que Só Acontecem a Mim


Quando eu digo "Estou enjoada", as pessoas respondem "Se calhar estás grávida".
Sim, é verdade; umas noites atrás apareceu-me o Arcanjo Gabriel que me comunicou que eu vou ser mãe do próximo Cristo. Ao que eu respondi: "Foda-se! Mas que merda é esta?! Não sabiam escolher outra pessoa?..."


Ano 13 d. C.: Jesus estava na sua escola, no curso de Novas Oportunidades de carpintaria, quando os seus colegas lhe perguntaram: "Olha lá, quem é o teu pai?"
Jesus respondeu prontamente: "Meu Pai é Deus todo-poderoso que mandou o Espírito Santo inseminar a minha mãe e eu serei o próximo Messias."
Os colegas de Jesus riram-se, dizendo: "Tá calado, pá! A tua mãe é uma meretriz, o teu pai é corno e isso foi uma história que inventaram para não saíres traumatizado!"
Jesus ficou desolado. O seu amigo Pedro, o único que ficou com ele, pôs-lhe o braço à volta do ombro e consolou-o: "Não fiques assim, rapaz! Qualquer dia vingamo-nos desses cabrões! Ainda vamos criar uma religião com essa história e aí ninguém te vai chamar filho da puta!"


Ano 2020 d. C.: Jesus estava na sua escola, uma qualquer instituição pública portuguesa num bairro degradado, quando os colegas lhe perguntaram: "Olha lá, porque é que te deram esse nome?"
Jesus respondeu: "Meu Pai é Deus todo-poderoso que mandou o Espírito Santo inseminar a minha mãe e eu serei o próximo Messias."
Os colegas de Jesus, riram-se, dizendo: "Tá calado, pá! A tua mãe é lésbica e foi-te buscar a um banco de esperma..."


Sim, porque com tudo aquilo que me acontece na vida, não me parece muito descabido que isto me venha a acontecer também...

quarta-feira, 9 de setembro de 2009

Persona Innutilis


Facto Histórico:"Em 1245, o Papa Inocêncio IV, através da 'bula Inter alia desiderabilia e Grandi non emmerito' excomungou e depôs Sancho II, considerando-o um «rex innutilis» (governante incapaz)(...)"


Conclusão, da minha autoria, inspirada pela leitura do acima mencionado facto histórico e após cuidadosa análise da minha vida até ao momento presente: eu sou um desperdício de pessoa.


Para alguém que não quer ter filhos e "naturalmente invertida", é extremamente irónico que eu tenha sido apetrechada pela natureza com um sistema reprodutor eficaz, ainda que altamente incómodo em certas alturas específicas.


Para alguém que se considera arrogantemente inteligente e dotada de autonomia intelectual, é despropositado que eu tenha nascido num mundo que eleva aos píncaros a capacidade mundana que os mais normais, vulgares e comuns seres humanos têm para ser carneiros e para se rebaixarem perante alguém ou alguma instituição que se lhes afigura "superior".


Para alguém que odeia a humanidade em geral, é absolutamente cruel que eu tenha nascido com e desenvolvido uma capacidade cega e estúpida de amar profundamente pessoas específicas, desenvolvendo amizades completas, caracterizadas por uma total lealdade e confiança, ao mesmo tempo que revelo uma profunda incapacidade para me relacionar com as pessoas que amo.


Desperdício de recursos e meios físicos e emocionais que me impedem de concluir, de chegar a um fim ou, por vezes, sequer de começar. Que desperdício de pessoa...

terça-feira, 8 de setembro de 2009

A Dream Within A Dream


Eu quero arrancar o mundo da minha cabeça à dentada.
Se isto é um sonho, eu quero acordar.
Se isto é a vida, eu quero dormir... Sempre as luzes, apaguem-me o raio das luzes!


"Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.


I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?"


Edgar Allan Poe

The Boxer Theory


"The Boxer Theory" by yours truly, Patrícia Dinis aka Paty, Tixinha, Sally or what the fuck you want to call me


You take a hit. You take the blow.
Even if it's a sucker punch, you didn't see it coming.
Even if you're in the middle of the fuckin ring, getting your nose punched every time you open your eyes.
Even if you tell yourself it's ok to let down your guard, just this time...


You take a hit. You take the blow.
You get back up.
Back on your feet.


Even if it's hurting like hell.
Even if you're bleeding from every cut.
Even if old wounds are being torn apart, you can feel the stitches from the last fight cutting away.


You take a hit. You take the blow.
You get back up.
Back on your feet.


Until the very last minute of the very last fight.


And that's life under the "Boxer Theory".



Thank you for reading.

quarta-feira, 2 de setembro de 2009

Sem título


Há que escrever... não sei bem o quê, mas a necessidade existe e é latejante e começa a magoar.


Não sei bem o quê, tanta coisa a acontecer. Eu não quero fazer exames; eu gosto de tardes no café, ainda que estivesse frio e eu tenha fumado um terço de um cigarro, coisa que faz mal aos pulmões. Ainda que a vã esperança se tenha desvanecido; como sempre, como de costume.


Atrevo-me a dizer que gosto de ter esperança, mas não gosto, não posso gostar... como dizia o Albert, "o homem absurdo não tem esperança". Ter esperança é admitir que há algo de ordenado, um 'após' que vem depois de um 'antes', que vem curar qualquer coisa, tratar de qualquer coisa e pôr qualquer coisa bem, no sítio certo. Mas não; a previsão diz que está tudo trocado e eu acredito. A confusão e o caos reinam, não há princípio ordernador e o fim é sempre pior do que o início.


Não, não lhe dou importância; claro que não lhe dou importância! Não quero dar importância a nada. Nada tem importância; a vida é um sonho. Não tarda hei-de acordar... não tarda muito e eu acordo...

quinta-feira, 27 de agosto de 2009

The Meaning of Life


Music Junkie: God, what is the meaning of life?


God: Well… you know when you put a music CD on, or just select all the music files in your computer and play them? Sometimes you just hit the ‘random’ button, right? Just for fun… and then, you actually get a music you like and you enjoy listening to it despite the fact that it wasn’t one choice of yours in the first place. And you just get a good thing, literally randomly.


Music Junkie: Yes. But I already knew I liked all the songs. It’s my CD; it’s my computer, my music. So the odds of actually enjoying the song are close to 100%, right?


God: That is correct. However, the music was scrambled from the beginning. It’s like taking a card out of a regular deck: you know you have limited options, 52 to be exact, but you shuffle the deck so you don’t know what you’re going to get. You can get anything, limited only by the amount of cards in your hand.


Music Junkie: So, where does that get me?


God: That teaches you that, no matter how scrambled and chaotic everything looks from the start, no matter how random things appear, the ones that do appear, can be interpreted as good. Even if you think the odds of getting a good song were huge because you knew the CD, don’t you enjoy the song anyway?


Music Junkie: Yes, of course I do, if I like it.


God: Well then, the meaning of life is whatever meaning you give to it. You just have to learn to recognize good things and enjoy them when they randomly appear out of a seemingly chaotic and scrambled start.


I do believe God, Nature, The Universe, whatever you want to call ‘it’, if you believe ‘it’, has a way of showing specific clues in specific messages to specific people. Like using a music analogy when ‘talking’ to someone who loves music. We just have to learn how to read the signs.


sábado, 22 de agosto de 2009

Variações (mania de escrever em português)


São os dias que passam, numa varanda, debaixo de um sol quente e pesado.
São as tardes e as noites; as horas, tantas as horas...
A única realidade que conheço são as luzes desta cidade perdida, encerrada em si mesma, claustrofóbica ao ponto de eu duvidar que ela existe, que os seus habitantes sejam reais. A ilha a que chamas mundo, a que eu chamo refúgio ou talvez paraíso (utopia, com certeza).


São as luzes surreais que não calam e nunca se apagam. O escuro que parece mais táctil, mais verosímil e familiar do que qualquer outro estado de alma. Porque é no escuro que podemos ser quem somos. É ao escuro que estamos a destinados a mostrar quem somos verdadeiramente.


É inútil tentar fazer do dia-a-dia uma nota solta, em jeito de conclusão. Tudo se coaduna, é tudo um conluio, nada se conclui.
E assim, como previsto, é o cheiro do vestido que passa que deixa a certeza; que deixa para trás o rasto da vã esperança.


Conclusão: a rotina de trabalhar num centro comercial. São as luzes... sempre as luzes...

terça-feira, 18 de agosto de 2009

Mas porquê este estado de alma?


Tanta coisa para sentir
e eu sem nada aqui à mão...
Assim sendo,
que não me entendo,
não sou nem verso de canção.


Não me venham dar música
nem literatura
nem poemas
nem nenhuma citação;
não sou ninguém que valha a pena
dedicar tal atenção.


Assim cansada como estou,
no meio de tanta confusão,
não vale a pena,
não me liguem.
De que adiantam os livros
para quem sente com o coração?


Só queria descansar os braços
na areia do tempo,
"na aventura dos sentidos"...
Mas a areia faz comichão
e a música dói como o caraças!


Não me liguem...
Não digo coisa com coisa
nem coisa sem coisa.


As coisas não se dizem; sentem-se.


quarta-feira, 12 de agosto de 2009

Shades of Gray


It is my firm beleif
that happiness can be measured
by different shades of gray,
ranging from one extremity to the other;


from the starkest
ravaging
stormy
cloudy
afternoon of tempest


to the clear
nearly
opaque
film


as the distant reminisce
of a sunny day.


Please forgive
my inability
-unwillingness-
to see happiness as
a palette of
bright
vivid
pastelike
paint.


I do not believe
I could measure happiness
using the colours
of your
perfectly normal
averagely boring
rainbow.



(which always asks for rain
in exchange for its
magnificent
charming
precious
glimpse
of an appearence)


I'd rather have myself a storm!

segunda-feira, 10 de agosto de 2009

Para pessoas que não são Pessoa


Como é que o Pessoa, que nem era pessoa, pôde influenciar tantas pessoas? Pessoas como eu que, não sendo pessoa, pareço o Pessoa, que também não era pessoa. Não que eu me compare ao Pessoa! Não sou pessoa nem Pessoa para fazer tal coisa! Mas se até Pessoa sabia que não era pessoa, como hei-de eu que, de certeza absoluta, não sou Pessoa nem pessoa nenhuma, alguma vez saber se serei pessoa?


Nem às pessoas eu posso perguntar isto, porque nenhuma dessas pessoas é Pessoa, apesar de todas elas serem pessoas, coisa que nem eu nem o Pessoa éramos.
Como, então, buscar em Pessoa, que não era pessoa, a inspiração necessária para que alguém como eu, que não sou pessoa nem Pessoa, possa alguma vez vir a passar por pessoa, sem nunca desejar ser pessoa nem tão pouco se atrever a julgar-se Pessoa?


Não sei... pois se nem Pessoa sabia! Eu só sei que a nós, que não somos pessoas e temos só um pouco de Pessoa em cada um de nós, nos basta que tenha existido Pessoa, mesmo que ele não fosse pessoa e que por isso mesmo não ajude muito em certas questões da metafísica...

sexta-feira, 7 de agosto de 2009

The Equation


In a known and specific equation that many chose to call “life”, the constant reoccurrence of some variables shows me the invariability of the constant.


I was never meant for this world. That’s the constant. I am the constant, me as that sense of inadequacy. That is something I have to live with every single day of my life: knowing that whatever I do, whatever form my personality shifts into daily, I will never fit with my surroundings.


Those are the variables, the surroundings. The city I live in, the people I meet and love, my hopes and aspirations, the political regime that is en vogue at the time of my life, the ideological concept behind every human action and reaction; those are things that appear to change in the world. I do note however that some of the variables keep appearing more often that randomly. And the reoccurrence of those variables, when they are viewed and understood by other humans as “truths”; those are the ones that provoke in me the said feeling of inadequacy. If those are truths and common knowledge, am I merely to conform to them, for the sake of peaceful societal coexistence? Am I destined to become what I see only because those are the variables that appear more often?


Please remember that those are variables only because people can change them (to a certain limit). You can move to another country or another city, meet new people everyday, get a different job or a promotion, acquire different and broader tastes in music, art and food; if you disagree with the political regime you live in, you can try and make a revolution or simply change your political views on the subject. On the other hand, if the regime is sound enough, it will provide its citizens with its own democratic process of renewal (whether that is an illusion or not is not the subject of this essay).


And people seem to be just fine with that, changing the variables they can or are allowed to change. In Portugal, we have a saying (that was made into a song by one of our most respectable popular musicians, António Variações) that goes something like “Change your life”. It is difficult to understand the idiom with a literal translation, but the song helps when it tells you that you can “change your life if you don’t live happily / change your life, there’s always time for a change / change your life, you shouldn’t live under strains / change your life if there is life pounding inside you”.


For many people, it’s simple. Change a variable; change the whole set of variables, those you know and can control. Change your haircut. Get a crazy tattoo. Get married. Live alone. Have children. Adopt. Adopt a pet. Buy more books. Rest more. Work more. Make more money. Spend less money. See a foreign country. Buy a trailer and go see the world. Sell your house. Give it to the poor. Become an artist. Learn music. Call your father. Go meet your mother. Find your brother. Cut relations with your family. Go gay. Go back to the closet. Get a girlfriend. Dump your boyfriend. Become obnoxious. Become nicer. Be selfish. Give more. Set your priorities in life. Live free of goals and responsibilities.


Let’s not forget that there are those variables you do not know and cannot control: the will of an omnipotent power superior to yours (if you believe in that); the forces of nature; and of course, other people’s ability to change their own variables, interfering, whether on purpose or by accident, on your own equation (and by equation, I mean life).


My present state of mind forces me to drag away from the question of the variables (and even more from the question of the equation itself, the whole question of the purpose of life) to focus philosophically on one thing and one thing only: the constant. Me.


Everything else changes and even our own identity can and will change as we grow, as we become more mature, as we live more and new experiences and as we change those other variables. Everyone tells you that you look peppier when you get a fresh haircut in the summer. Maybe it’s the summer, maybe it’s the beautiful girls walking around in their bikinis; maybe the haircut did make you look more handsome than ever so now you’re more confident, slightly happier or more hopeful. Who knows? But it’s still you. Maybe a more confident “you”. Maybe a “you” that will get laid more often. But it’s you. Trust me, it’s still you.


Because I know that it’s still me every time. After every change, after every battle, after every strain; it’s always me. I can’t change into another (though I sense something like that is happening right now) and I can’t change into something other than myself. As the idiom goes, I can’t shed my skin.


Which begs the question: am I wrong? I am out of place; that I know. But am I wrong? Am I fated to conform and comply like everyone else to the mere possibility of changing the variables? Are we all destined to comply? Is it a precondition of life, to accept the variables we do understand, to live with the ones we can change and merely conceive philosophically the ones that we do not know and understand, maybe subjugating to an external power that is greater than us?


All I know for now is that with this constant effort of trying to resolve life’s equation, or at least part of it, my eternal battle is set so that everyday I fight with myself to attain one more piece of certainty in relation to one variable. Not one of those variables I mentioned before; the variables inside myself: those pieces of identity that one collects every step of the way, towards the unknown, and never knowing which of those one should pick up and save as precious pieces of one’s heart, mind and soul or discard as rotten feelings of greed, selfishness and utter inadequacy towards the world, oneself and others.


A música do Variações está traduzida porque este texto foi originalmente publicado num site internacional, onde os "meus leitores" lêem geralmente em inglês. Desculpem a arrogância da coisa. Mas mais importante: espero que o António não se importe.