"Como que Chamas you?"
"Não digo."
"Eh lá! Os teus pais de Estavam cheios imagination! Nãodigo Santos!? Nãodigo Silva!?"
"Não vou-te dizer como me chamo! Baza!"
"Ó! Estavas a espera do Brad Pitt, estavas não?"
moving away from this city, I notice that over time I created more 'links with objects or places in Lisbon rather than with people. For some time it had become more 'a deliberate choice that a more random' or less fortunate, and the last meeting and the last nights have done nothing that dramatically confirm the goodness of my decision.
The night letters, for example, came after a short period in which I found myself catapulted back into the heart of the ancient city, which has allowed me to riammirarne the dull colors, the tiles, houses crossed on the hill of the Alfama or appalling indolence Portuguese clip the wings to the frenzy that should characterize any capital of the world.
Although the provincial character of this place is constantly being reaffirmed, when people would not want to ever again 'recapitalization will review regularly on the road to shake a cold and artificial balance created Essert pretend food, as if it were still need a force of soul that never ceases to scare me because of its unexpected extent, and which continues to support me in the rare moments of lucidity when I look at the immensity of what 'I'm destroying, but paradoxically disappears each time returning to devour the soul and the body with a consumption of alcoholic beverages back to the glories of the past. And the ruthless and comparative analysis that follows, almost always shows that many people had even removed the memory, in pathetic and futile attempt, entirely instinctive, I assure you, even to suppress the feelings that were related to them: Vanessa reappeared out of nowhere in an alley of the unknown when Bica absinthe had already done his duty and she no longer exists', even as a distant memory, along with this unfortunate and feelings of defeat and consciousness dell'irrealizzato related to her, I could go with her, the last time she had offered his company, lost as I was in Bairro Alto that I am overwhelmed with cruelty, that night I had to choose something less inward smile when I sat down in front.
And as if by magic, I realized a few minutes later, when consciously, once again, I surrendered weapons and weaknesses, to the nth inconclusive relationships, the moral of the story so far but I had told everyone that I still had not foolishly read: If há uma coisa que opening Portuguesas com voces, is Melhor que a Palavra is aquel que aquel que não foi ou diz if late Demais fingers, that is, if there is one thing that the Portuguese taught me, is that the word best is the one that has not been said or what has been called too late. More 'or less. Even the translation of feelings is difficult for me, and I do not know if I'll miss this too: every time you come back will be like reliving an entire inner world, and I do not need to be taken very carefully to keep it in the best possible.
Because even if too often people give me the nausea in the end I was at that fucking dark bar which everyone was talking about even to dance a tribute to the Cure t-shirts even with the electric blue even with intervals of cranes Pixies, Pulp, Morrissey, Smashing, as if something could tie them, cursed emolusitani incompetent. Damn emo, in fact. Indeed, the company was so disappointing that soon even the beer he held me and I took the usual taxi with his usual fado usually around the Morais Soares that ripples under the lights of neon green which will never be able to enlighten you enough to hide its marginal nature and unhappy, not at all ends miserably in a cemetery by high walls that do not exorcise the finitude of his long and erratic pace. The same fickle
gait that every day 718, at dawn, propina me, since I sold the car, the furniture and everything else, to take me to work as a good commuter Schiavetto production: Praça do Chile, Alameda, Saldanha, Campo Pequeno, São Sebastião, Parque Eduardo VII, Amoreiras, half an hour of slow dripping emotional: the Calçada portuguesa is made of pebbles precarious, the dim light of the sun just risen remove the crust case revealing details that travel by car could never show ; kids immerse themselves altered by an inexplicable interest in reading hieroglyphs still interpret: I swear the other day by my side sat a young man reading a book about full of smiling happy twenty-sixth grade, the old men tell of the origins of the nicknames of the people of his district (Manoel de Oliveira and say that I had also suggested, in the opening scene of his Uncertainty Principle), the toxic goggle's other guests while listening to mp3 players in futuristic vintage heavy metal. It's all so strange that I mean, all too convincingly, why I'm forcing myself to affix with violence rigorous endpoints for each chapter: I can lose myself in endless mental swings in travel and thoughts and dreams with tales of the lives of others, but the My heart can not 'bear any longer and that this absolute disintegration glacial mismatch from the society of men. I do not want surprises induced: nothing more than 'I am amazed and surprised at these latitudes.
Neither the failure of the architecture I had in mind for these lines, I wanted to create a circular argument around the core of my remorse, and promised to dodge his presence, and instead I stumbled to the end, finally colliding with the problem of the one true unfinished these long three years and eight months in Portugal and Iberian bright orange sunsets, the words that we said we'd swear were our only. You promised that you would have formed sooner or later, our world, finding the courage to separate yourself from the boredom colossal to which you had forced the daily presence of 'very high obstacle, using your own words.
I collected a lot of objects that speak to you, in these cold and lonely month. I put them in a row, I've collected, I ordered them in intensity, chronology, by value, I have categorized them as best, without some give great resonance, without the aim of making them attractive to those who watched them, without marketing logic, without following current artistic or Prefabricated almanacs, but giving my taste and instilling patience and every day of my essence, it will not be anything extraordinarily appealing, but you said it was unique and precious.
will stay here, just where I left them, just as you have them criminally ignored, suddenly, I look at them and indifferent, now they can no longer 'talking to me, even when in fact even the stones of the street I turn to remember events or feelings, and your objects I do not want to carry inside.
I leave them here, then, exactly where I started collecting. I am a mere dreamer, and my love of them has pervaded just a confused mess: you can ask your interior decorator the system, optimizing the space and giving publicity to various shades of yellow that characterize them. I doubt, however, 'that all his efforts of bold color combinations can never remove the patina gray slowly and inexorably stands out about your day, and subtly violated your soul, your essence cheating, selling out our diversity, mercilessly torturing the fate of our happiness.
Até a Próxima vida, de Pequena Perola olhares profundos.
St. Thomas Aquinas, to you who have classified the sins I wanted to know the result of the respective parties in the elections. Flywheel Envy (8 per cent) and throat (10 percent), falls Pride (26 percent), Lust takes (35 percent). The Sloth consolidates its position (6 percent). By comparison with previous consultations, spiritual sins, "more serious than the flesh" as demonstrated in the Summa Theologiae, are in decline, being the motive of only one third of Italian citizens. Thomistic speaking things are therefore a bit 'less evil, that, humanly speaking, is a great result. 
