The Pillars of Heaven

Some legends, tell of a Titan which hold the skies in his shoulders... but, they were not entirely true...

Some parts of Earth, could not be supported by a mere son of Iapetus...
Some places, were not allowed to be touched by conscience or justice...
...The angels call it, the mazes of thought... but they are indeed, a captivity of genius and talent...
...The secret prisons of Heaven...

Alchemy of the Divine
(First Requiem to God)

“Afterwards, he raised the stone through the void and foolishly believed to understand its powers...
He was wrong beyond emends, freeing the ever hiding possibility to choose – freedom – towards humankind and its weaken conscience...
This was the third mistake of God...: King of Arrogants and Fools.
The first – I can remember – was the creation of Time...: the sick virus of natural equilibrium that never ceases – the formula to create formulas – the first and only language to limit all others...
...And the second, the creation of Life – the selfishness that eats itself towards infinity, falling through pain and pleasure as if it was balance and not fact.
(...)
What fallowed was not far from what we see today among others and ourselves: metaphysical stairways climbed everyday, with no reference or purpose, but their crossing in perspective we profoundly named society...
To permit communication, he then created Love: the fear of others... a dependence we wish to repel before it is over, a parasite of misdemeanor attracting us madly to a blinking white light...
...And then – alas – after all the effort, there it was...: the modern man – a simple dot proudly standing alone as a lie in a chaotic universe of pain... a cocoon with no seed... with no reason to be alive...
...and so hard to kill...”

The average human brain has a liquid composition of 872 Terabytes of information...
Enough to contain personal memories, happy dates, classified information... and dark political secrets...
Some, take form in simple phrases, like: “micro-genetic changing polymers” and “Human SBC – Simple Binary Coding” that still arose fear and suspicion to those involved more or less directly...
Occasionally the truth finds its cracks and ways to the public, shocking those who were to shortsighted to guess the strange whispers behind the economical doors of power...
And then, the conspiracy begins...
Suspicion... half-way phrases... and ignorance mingles with fear, creating the most hideous of creatures to elude the caring mind of the innocents... filling them with concern, but especially: misplaced anxiety...
Occasionally, someone... weaker than the web, gives up the fight – embracing comfortably the concept of family, an average wife, and a clone as a son.... forgetting what makes them humans and alive...
In the other hand, sometimes, this can create heroes – extraordinary men and women, that risk it all, for a glimpse of truth and the means to share it with others...
But even then – sometimes – the price is to high...
A comrade I knew since college years, fell down near a 5th level genetic facility: a “Doomsday Lab” as some now refer it... leaving us little more than his last direct-camera report...
...The collapse of freedom... a grim image of the present...

November the 2nd, 2018
Daily CTS-Evolution News – Front-Page Editorial
First non-censored revision – DOC 173584225

ErebusNyx
Ontologia da Dor

Olhos cerrados pelo sono doentio da preguiça, a headache slowly compressing my skull like I've never felt in life, empurrando-me sem calma ou dó para uma cama qualquer, desaparecida nas ruas...
A wheel of constant pain rolls over my mind cambaleando pelas pedras de um pensamento que é meu e confuso, trapped in a cycle of never-ending agony...
Pequenos sons de onde saem pessoas, rodeando-me com pequenas conversas, saying little things that I forget before the sound:
Fascinante esta cara estilizada... estes olhos, this mouth drawn to small to the scale... why...?
Perhaps a metaphor... the scream of the mute... perhaps there is no reason...
Talvez um estilo... Sim... talvez o seu desejo fosse não falar...
I sit down, scroll my face with one hand... o alívio é curto e ilusório...
...placebo...?
The pain is back, crawling... companheira e atenciosa na sua longa saudação...
Voices continue to speak:
...Is life a placebo of death...? Ou será esta cabeça – comida pela dor – uma noite a explodir no mundo...?

A mischief god trapped between dimensions…

Loki… disguised as a frog… stands still in a mystical lake between Ásgarôr (Asgard) and Miôgarôr (Midgard)… avoiding at all cost the terrifying wrath of Odin’s spear… This wrath was instigated by the discovery of his horrendous plan to kill the immortal god Balder…

The dense leaves of Yggdrasill (the World Tree) are a safe place… for now…

The secret forge of Apollo

Deep in the innermost regions of Delphi – unknown to the dreadful Hephaestus, the great Metallurgic God – Apollo, father of Asclepius, worked in secret to develop a way to win Hermes in a race, for the opportunity to court the nymph Daphne, and gain her love…

Poliglomorphia – Muse of Universal Language

The eyes that listen…
The mouth that thinks…
The ears that speak…
…Inside the grand house of words…

When speed was still

They grab me by the shoulders with promises of life and words, that ended by the painful stabbing in my chest… By the knife… and by the death of your dream, my dear…
you… who never lost hope in my recovery, and the salvation of my soul through the silence of God…
you… my sweet pearl of desire… my canvas of thoughts, my darkness in the grey of existence…
you… precious, tender you… were left alone…
Because the pleasure of being alive is slowly drifting from my senses – and as Orpheus is my star – so mistake is my fate…: Prophetic and fallacious…
The gothic meadows we calmly walked by as three, and the family we dreamed… were never real, nor disturbed by indifference…
...They stole my speed… and I was left still…
But alive… Alive to the useless routine and tediousness of life… Alone with you…
So… with all hope… I urge thy to kill me, my dear…
…and with tears… you do so, for the pleasure of angels and demons within the fable…
Death will bring us closer…
…And in death… our son still lives…
…Our son still plays…

A Soul in a Dream
(Successful Experience 002-19)

The grim future…a place where we will lose the authority to exist in face of the paradox of unexplained reason for reality…
The replacement will be made in the meta-linguistic world, through a series of experiences of soul transfer to poli-organic beings…
Metal will be fused with skin and pain – existing in the ever-present doubt of individuality, as an illusion or a fact…
Life…: The marvel presented by Lucifer, will be the first damnation…

- I strongly disagree!
The notion that we have no purpose in life but the search of perfection – and that this flawless goal is contrary to existence itself – is pointless…

- What do you suggest? Individuality in the form of interdependent selfishness…?
…That is suffering at present, and death in the future…

- Only if we don’t accept a purpose…

- Accept or create?
The illusion, and the illusion that we are not being eluded, is indistinct from the state of “must be” and confusion…
Life is selfishness, presented to those who have no choice… but to be born…
Let’s end this injustice…

- Even being a mistake… its product is already existing and among us…
Embracing it, will preserve a purpose and postulate possible happiness…
...As you said…: We have no choice but to be born…
So, what crime did we committed… if all are innocent?

- Innocent at first!
But what of the crimes that we can commit?
The one’s that make us grow in number…! Every day of every year…

- And what of the fallacious of this statement?
You could be right… This could all be hypocrisy, and pointless at best and useless at worst…
But if it was not for life, this discussion and the possible truth contained in her, would not be taken place and found…

- And why should it…?
…Why do we need the doubt…?

- It is a part of us… and you will need it, to subsist…

- No...!
Through others… I don’t need to be alive…

Contrastes da paisagem

Em lugares assim recolhi lendas,
pedaços de tecido e linha com que me coso
e essa luz que passa pelos interstícios,
dão coesão há tela ou cortina de fendas,
mostrando a quem caminha ao sol, pesaroso,
que o homem é a amalgama de cheios e vazios.
A pequena folha do sobreiro constrói maciços
e o mato, singelas vivazes, cobre o imenso solo
protegendo até os austeros capotes de cortiços,
nesta irmandade verde seco sedento de consolo,
que chora ao astro impiedoso a sua sede,
efémero exercito de vida que regressa anualmente
ao lugar onde morre e onde a semente sente
o efémero festival que a seca antecede…

Many asked why…: why was it empty…?
…and what was it diverting our attention from…?
…if the Truth is so far away…
…and the distance is yet to come…

No acontecer

No momento em que cais
seguro-te parando o tempo,
admiro as tuas cores fatais
e congelo o teu movimento
com a curiosidade infante
de quem vê chegar o Outono
no primeiro instante
depois do primeiro sono…

acaricias-me a inocência
perdida na tua sombra,
coroas-me com paciência
e observas a minha ronda
aprendendo com a criança
como se mestre do fado
trovasse modas em transa
que nunca haverias sonhado…

…tua humildade é a lição por beber

(foto de Ricardo Alves)

The tree in which the World is planted…
The roots from which the Universe is born…
The light through which Art is created…

The Reinterpretation of Exodus

The hands of Mankind creating the excess of information…
The Overabundance of Man…

The Reinterpretation of Genesis

The hands of God creating the modern world…
…The Contemporaneous in God…

The Domino of the Insane…

Dialogue between the left and the right side of the Heart…

Memórias de um Profeta

Entornando um labirinto de sábios sobre o brilho de um deus profético… soprei a vossa morte para dentro de mim… consciente de que o Uno não existe, nem se encontra…
…Consciente que o timbre passado é um coro demente… e que o futuro já tem nome e propósito…
No fundo… consciente da triste ilusão dos objectos…
…e do objecto que é o homem…

Memórias de um Poeta

Passeava para longe da cidade, dos ruídos e da poeira… quando após um instinto, te encontrei sozinha e pensativa, enquanto descansavas sobre a vida…
Tália – Ninfa da Juventude
Logo pensei…: Como é bela… graciosa…
Tentei em vão tocar-te, agarrar-te…
…Fugidia…
…fiquei somente com as palavras… e um solstício de magia outonal…

A Cristandade dos homens

Disfarçada de religião,
essa necessidade tão antiga
como a conquista da razão,
força e motor de moral
que lhes dá a ilusão
de compreender o infinito

Nobre nome emprestado
a esta nova disciplina,
exercício de auto bajulação,
que os faz esquecer o ditado
pela mãe de toda a sina
anterior a esta falsa religião

O ídolo não é culpado,
porque a sua lição tinha valor,
mas os homens destruíram
a bela mensagem do crucificado
com as suas acres formas de amor
e o ceio da deusa envenenaram
com uma ingratidão apodrecida
pela avara vontade de esquecer
as antigas lições da terra traída,
que continua a absorver,
sem alento para retaliar,
as punhaladas da prol adulta
disfarçadas de um doce beijar
espiritual, que a ignorância exulta.

Digging up the Rainbow
(Desenterrando o Arco-Íris)

Shiro
(Branco)