.
Thursday.
Just a few hours before dawn and I am back to one of my wonderings through Lisbon.
It’s amazing the amount of life one can witness at the Lisbon’s airport around 4 am.
Granted that Lisbon is not a very active city during nighttime. There are no libraries where one can ease his hunger for a particular book, or a theatre that shows movies all night long, or an all-nighter video club to replace those old VHS tapes in the old Sony VCR.
Here, nightlife is usually associated, with going out towards bars or discos.
There you can enjoy a night out with friends either by: getting loaded; watching others getting fully drunk; scream your head off while competing with the musical selections of the DJ, in an attempt to get a simple “hello” message to reach your friend, who is just there on the other side of the table.
There is a group of people, however, who need some place to study, to read a book, to enjoy a coffee with a friend while talking at a very common low level, without forcing those precious vocal cords.
Lisbon’s airport has an all-nighter coffee shop called “Astrolabio”, where you can do this and more.
Late January is a crucial time for College and University studies, with the final exams and report’s deadlines coming; there is a great demand for a quiet place to study. There is a group of people who, like me, enjoy the magic of the night to dwell with the challenges of a report or the wild preparation for whatever an exam has in stored for us.
Last night, I entertain myself with the lovely conversation with a friend of mine, about the supposed meaning of life had for us. Meanwhile, I could not resist contemplating those eager minds, who defied the night’s rest at Astrolabio. In front of me, a group of hectic pens copied notes from History books; on the table at my left some game cards served as a distraction to a group of four youngsters who apparently had enough of the precious knowledge closed in their books.
Walking through the airport at 4.00 am is always fun, you get to see people from all over the world, even from Lisbon apparently. There are always those who find that the floor of the airport is very suited to a night’s rest, apparently it all depends on the sleeping bag’s quality.
By 4.30 am, I could watch a group of frenetic Japanese walking to the KLM check-in line, to catch their 5.50 am flight towards Amesterdam. What the heck makes a group of Japanese people get out of bed at 3.30 am to take a plane towards Amsterdam departing from Lisbon at such an early hour in the morning? I guess it’s those little doubts that make life so great in the process of wondering about it.
Obviously, one of my favourite pastimes is to gaze at the timetable for the day’s flights, and then imagine some preferred destinations.
Hmm… Maybe I could catch that first KLM plane, flight nr. KL1692, and then take a nice bicycle ride through the streets of Amsterdam, gazing at the tulips, or even enjoying the windmills as if I was a commoner of the city for ages! Who knows where would a lovely stroll through the streets of Rome take me, after a soft landing from TAP’s flight nr. TP5230, scheduled to depart at 7.50 am. I think, I am ready to embrace Barcelona with all its splendour, starting with a nice window perspective from the plane in flight TP5732. No, I guess I can wait for the noon and take flight nr. RG8707, from Varig, heading to Rio de Janeiro in Brazil. Ah sweet Brazil, I guess I can see me now getting lost in those beaches from paradise. (Oh, you dirty minds!!!)
For all that is worth, I think that even if I don’t go anywhere, it is always a pleasure to wonder about some possible destiny in my life, in that timeless gaze at the timetable.
It’s 5.00 am, in Lisbon’s airport and I feel a sort of freedom, the kind that makes me want to flight to the moon and back, for as long as a flight like that may take, even a year, or a split second.
Frankly, I don’t care. I just went to the airport to see nightlife in a way I don’t get to see anywhere.
One day, someone will be standing at Astrolabio, gazing at me, as I am hectically rushing towards the check-in line, while that someone is wondering “where is that stranger going?”; “what will he be doing?”.
Possibly, I might look back and reply: “I don’t know, I just got fed up of looking at all those planes leave, and feeling left behind. Today, I am going somewhere, just because I can!”
cocasman@zmail.pt
Friday, January 30, 2004
Monday, January 19, 2004
The memories I bring from Electa
.
For the first time, a year ago, I was setting foot at Electa Hall.
Carrying my luggage, to the room 300, that expected me, I stumbled upon a young sleepwalker, as I surprised him with my arrival. Adam James Langton was suddenly kicked back into reality, after a few hours a rest that followed a very hectic night, as he later described me.
It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, a truly life-jacket kind of a person who helped me realize some aspects of my reality, by sharing me some details of his own.
Electa Hall was composed of two buildings – Main and Annex. Main had 3 floors and a basement, while Annex had 6 floors. I was in Main. My room had a lovely view, towards University Avenue, Leddy Library, Assumption Church, Law School, a bit of the Ambassador Bridge, a bus stop, a set of stairs and a flag pole with the Canadian Flag.
Electa had everything I needed, a kitchen, bathrooms, laundry and several entertainment lounges. Most of all, Electa had people, who at some point of my 3 month stay, become my friends, some more than others.
David Stemp – a true giant in the city of friends, and in my opinion, one of the favourites to get the Award for Outstanding achievement in the field of friendship.
Bob Steele – a humorous person I know using the less number of words possible, a shy to some, a kind friend to those blessed enough to see it.
Hakeem Matti – the Eire-man who lived in Windsor, but that was kind to share with me my last resting place in Windsor.
Doran – the Russian who came from Vancouver. He might look harmless, but he has the mind of a twisted genius of crime that is living undercover.
Kaegan Walsh – a violent words pacifist, who did wonderful impressions of Goldfinger while playing chess with me. To many he was misunderstood, however I think of him as a good friend, who has many hidden talents, hopefully not for long.
Adam Langton – already mentioned, deserves all the best the world can offer him, even if he represents all the emotions that linger in a human being. A creative writer with a touch of magician; a unique rival in chess, as he both tied in 5 victories each and a draw during a series of 11 long games we had at Electa’s room 300!
I could try and find more things to say about all these persons and more.
For instance, I remember the heating man, who came to my room to fix my heater and was desperately in need of a friendly conversation. He rumbled on about his loving wife, his daughters, his depression, the fears he had that overcome him, the trip he was planning to have to Paris with the family but which scared him immensely.
Or the Janitor in a different building, who came from the Philippines over 20 years ago, who had a brother in California, and some Portuguese friends in a community in Leamington.
My experience has a foreigner in a strange land was very rewarding; it showed me that there are good people and bad people everywhere. That humanity thrives on perfection while dwelling in it’s on common imperfections.
The world is a beautiful place, for all to live in. I said this before, but to this I add that the world become ugly when all of us forget our place in it and develop a sense of blaming someone else in the process.
Electa was a home to me in the winter of 2003; it was a place where I laughed, I cried, I watched TV, I listen to music, I talked to friends, I did my laundry. I discovered a bit of my independency there in those rooms and hallways, that continuously was the stage for each of us to be the character we wanted to be.
I left Electa for good, but I brought a wonderful load of memories and a group of good friends. In the End, that is all that matters.
cocasman@zmail.pt
For the first time, a year ago, I was setting foot at Electa Hall.
Carrying my luggage, to the room 300, that expected me, I stumbled upon a young sleepwalker, as I surprised him with my arrival. Adam James Langton was suddenly kicked back into reality, after a few hours a rest that followed a very hectic night, as he later described me.
It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, a truly life-jacket kind of a person who helped me realize some aspects of my reality, by sharing me some details of his own.
Electa Hall was composed of two buildings – Main and Annex. Main had 3 floors and a basement, while Annex had 6 floors. I was in Main. My room had a lovely view, towards University Avenue, Leddy Library, Assumption Church, Law School, a bit of the Ambassador Bridge, a bus stop, a set of stairs and a flag pole with the Canadian Flag.
Electa had everything I needed, a kitchen, bathrooms, laundry and several entertainment lounges. Most of all, Electa had people, who at some point of my 3 month stay, become my friends, some more than others.
David Stemp – a true giant in the city of friends, and in my opinion, one of the favourites to get the Award for Outstanding achievement in the field of friendship.
Bob Steele – a humorous person I know using the less number of words possible, a shy to some, a kind friend to those blessed enough to see it.
Hakeem Matti – the Eire-man who lived in Windsor, but that was kind to share with me my last resting place in Windsor.
Doran – the Russian who came from Vancouver. He might look harmless, but he has the mind of a twisted genius of crime that is living undercover.
Kaegan Walsh – a violent words pacifist, who did wonderful impressions of Goldfinger while playing chess with me. To many he was misunderstood, however I think of him as a good friend, who has many hidden talents, hopefully not for long.
Adam Langton – already mentioned, deserves all the best the world can offer him, even if he represents all the emotions that linger in a human being. A creative writer with a touch of magician; a unique rival in chess, as he both tied in 5 victories each and a draw during a series of 11 long games we had at Electa’s room 300!
I could try and find more things to say about all these persons and more.
For instance, I remember the heating man, who came to my room to fix my heater and was desperately in need of a friendly conversation. He rumbled on about his loving wife, his daughters, his depression, the fears he had that overcome him, the trip he was planning to have to Paris with the family but which scared him immensely.
Or the Janitor in a different building, who came from the Philippines over 20 years ago, who had a brother in California, and some Portuguese friends in a community in Leamington.
My experience has a foreigner in a strange land was very rewarding; it showed me that there are good people and bad people everywhere. That humanity thrives on perfection while dwelling in it’s on common imperfections.
The world is a beautiful place, for all to live in. I said this before, but to this I add that the world become ugly when all of us forget our place in it and develop a sense of blaming someone else in the process.
Electa was a home to me in the winter of 2003; it was a place where I laughed, I cried, I watched TV, I listen to music, I talked to friends, I did my laundry. I discovered a bit of my independency there in those rooms and hallways, that continuously was the stage for each of us to be the character we wanted to be.
I left Electa for good, but I brought a wonderful load of memories and a group of good friends. In the End, that is all that matters.
cocasman@zmail.pt
Friday, January 16, 2004
A strange moment of my past
.
About a year ago, I was leaving home towards a country many miles away, hoping that I could fix my life.
The story starts a bit earlier.
Somewhere in the early days of the summer of 2001, I was dwelling hard with my final report for the University. During those days I was totally lost for ambitions, desires, nothing was quite appealing. In a nutshell I was a shadow, an echo of myself.
In one of those weary nights I hid my fears in the countless corners of the World Wide Web, and like I had secretly hoped, finally, a voice came to me. A shy question from Canada would shape the trails of fate for the following years.
A friendship developed; a few days later the voice became a picture, a few weeks after that the picture became someone in my world.
Remembering those days, with the nostalgia that the moment deserves, I must confess that it was very rewarding to make a new friend, that a few months after that would turn into a big love.
The months passed, the “headache” report was finally finished, but no personal objective was quite defined in my own mind. In me there was no sense of fulfillment. I had just spent the last 5 years committing my resources to study in the Biotechnology field, and nothing – my soul was immensely quiet, with the apathy caused by emptiness.
Destiny had set a journey to Canada from December 2001 to February 2002. During that time, I fell in love, like merging myself into an infinite sense of happiness, embraced by a bubble of joy. To this day, I find it difficult to compare the feelings of certain days I had. The whole experience was quite rewarding, through the blending of cultures and the reality of a country so distinct of my own, I was awaking to something new.
Alas, after all the woods, the bowling alleys, the Christmas lights, the awe and the love, I had to come home.
I felt like I was being robbed. I felt extremely lonely, I cried for many days powerless to explain to whomever cared, what powered that. I hated my home world and everyone in it, for taking away my utopia. I pledge to myself a new future in Canada.
After some stormy months, seclusion from my friends, I finally managed to get a new chance to get back to Canada. Every since seemed perfect, I was about to indulge myself to a Masters in Biochemistry, in the hope of making something of the 5 years of biotechnology, but mostly I had a chance to be again in the dome of love.
Yet, as it so often happens, destiny had installed a twist of fate in my path. Something happened, that broke what could not be broken.
By late August of 2002, my love had run away, took everything away, only my emptiness remained.
Obstinate usually takes me over, and this time was no exception, as I felt that as soon as I could be in person, in Canadian lands, I could make the whole thing work.
2003 came.
On the 17th of January, I was leaving to Canada, for the second time, convinced of my own abilities to rule the empire of fate.
The following day, I set foot into Electa Hall. That is a different story.
After countless attempts of getting back to a reality that had lost it’s time in the past memories, I finally accepted destiny conclusion for that chapter.
I had lost myself. Without love and with no will to change the world, I had given up on working with Biotechnology. It took a while to realize that that utopian world had collapsed.
Finally, I realized that the chances in one reality are endless, as long as I believe that if there is a will to do something, then there must be a way of doing it.
Listening: Daniel Lanois - Acadie
cocasman@zmail.pt
About a year ago, I was leaving home towards a country many miles away, hoping that I could fix my life.
The story starts a bit earlier.
Somewhere in the early days of the summer of 2001, I was dwelling hard with my final report for the University. During those days I was totally lost for ambitions, desires, nothing was quite appealing. In a nutshell I was a shadow, an echo of myself.
In one of those weary nights I hid my fears in the countless corners of the World Wide Web, and like I had secretly hoped, finally, a voice came to me. A shy question from Canada would shape the trails of fate for the following years.
A friendship developed; a few days later the voice became a picture, a few weeks after that the picture became someone in my world.
Remembering those days, with the nostalgia that the moment deserves, I must confess that it was very rewarding to make a new friend, that a few months after that would turn into a big love.
The months passed, the “headache” report was finally finished, but no personal objective was quite defined in my own mind. In me there was no sense of fulfillment. I had just spent the last 5 years committing my resources to study in the Biotechnology field, and nothing – my soul was immensely quiet, with the apathy caused by emptiness.
Destiny had set a journey to Canada from December 2001 to February 2002. During that time, I fell in love, like merging myself into an infinite sense of happiness, embraced by a bubble of joy. To this day, I find it difficult to compare the feelings of certain days I had. The whole experience was quite rewarding, through the blending of cultures and the reality of a country so distinct of my own, I was awaking to something new.
Alas, after all the woods, the bowling alleys, the Christmas lights, the awe and the love, I had to come home.
I felt like I was being robbed. I felt extremely lonely, I cried for many days powerless to explain to whomever cared, what powered that. I hated my home world and everyone in it, for taking away my utopia. I pledge to myself a new future in Canada.
After some stormy months, seclusion from my friends, I finally managed to get a new chance to get back to Canada. Every since seemed perfect, I was about to indulge myself to a Masters in Biochemistry, in the hope of making something of the 5 years of biotechnology, but mostly I had a chance to be again in the dome of love.
Yet, as it so often happens, destiny had installed a twist of fate in my path. Something happened, that broke what could not be broken.
By late August of 2002, my love had run away, took everything away, only my emptiness remained.
Obstinate usually takes me over, and this time was no exception, as I felt that as soon as I could be in person, in Canadian lands, I could make the whole thing work.
2003 came.
On the 17th of January, I was leaving to Canada, for the second time, convinced of my own abilities to rule the empire of fate.
The following day, I set foot into Electa Hall. That is a different story.
After countless attempts of getting back to a reality that had lost it’s time in the past memories, I finally accepted destiny conclusion for that chapter.
I had lost myself. Without love and with no will to change the world, I had given up on working with Biotechnology. It took a while to realize that that utopian world had collapsed.
Finally, I realized that the chances in one reality are endless, as long as I believe that if there is a will to do something, then there must be a way of doing it.
Listening: Daniel Lanois - Acadie
cocasman@zmail.pt
Friday, January 09, 2004
A little tale about dreams
.
Once upon time there was a computer, one of a kind, it's purpose to record dreams.
Being a prototype, with a built-in artificial intelligence processor, the D-1 started being tested with the dreams of its makers.
The process was rather simple, a person would be hooked with a pair of special glasses that would touch the skin of the eyes, in order to measure the intensity of the rapid eye movement. The length and the duration of the movements would then be stored into the memory of D-1. Afterwards, the dream sequencer would convert the signals recorded into images and sounds.
During several weeks D-1 recorded dreams from the entire crew of people who had put their effort in creating such a machine.
The dreams were extraordinary; D-1 would draw the dreams, much like a painter would create an oil painting, adding the sounds as the sound-processor translates the residues of sound conveyed by the REM.
Once a child tried the machine, the myriad of colours and the characters that were depicted by D-1 were the most cheerful ever to be put into the memory bank.
D-1 had been running continuously for the past 10000 hours, and had accumulated hundreds of dreams.
For the first time, D-1 asked to be shut down, leaving only the memory bank active.
The scientists didn't quite know how to explain this behaviour on the D-1 part!
A question was then asked to the AI inside the D-1:
- Why does D-1 want to be shut down?
The answer came:
- The D-1 unit has recorded suficient amount of data, and it is ready to fullfill it's purpose.
Baffled by the D-1's reply the head scientist then asked:
- What is the D-1's purpose?
- To dream
---------------------------
P.S. Written after a sleepless night.
Once upon time there was a computer, one of a kind, it's purpose to record dreams.
Being a prototype, with a built-in artificial intelligence processor, the D-1 started being tested with the dreams of its makers.
The process was rather simple, a person would be hooked with a pair of special glasses that would touch the skin of the eyes, in order to measure the intensity of the rapid eye movement. The length and the duration of the movements would then be stored into the memory of D-1. Afterwards, the dream sequencer would convert the signals recorded into images and sounds.
During several weeks D-1 recorded dreams from the entire crew of people who had put their effort in creating such a machine.
The dreams were extraordinary; D-1 would draw the dreams, much like a painter would create an oil painting, adding the sounds as the sound-processor translates the residues of sound conveyed by the REM.
Once a child tried the machine, the myriad of colours and the characters that were depicted by D-1 were the most cheerful ever to be put into the memory bank.
D-1 had been running continuously for the past 10000 hours, and had accumulated hundreds of dreams.
For the first time, D-1 asked to be shut down, leaving only the memory bank active.
The scientists didn't quite know how to explain this behaviour on the D-1 part!
A question was then asked to the AI inside the D-1:
- Why does D-1 want to be shut down?
The answer came:
- The D-1 unit has recorded suficient amount of data, and it is ready to fullfill it's purpose.
Baffled by the D-1's reply the head scientist then asked:
- What is the D-1's purpose?
- To dream
---------------------------
P.S. Written after a sleepless night.
Monday, December 29, 2003
Restaurants and butter knives
.
I am one of the many pieces that fit in at the restaurant Water and Salt, one of many that make the whole machine work.
But unlike any common machine, the main pieces are made of flesh and bone, and like the good characters of Shakespeare if you tickle them they laugh and if you hurt them they cry as well, and pay attention you don't have to go to Denmark of the dark ages.
Here at the "Água e Sal" you get all that and more, because we are like butter knives constantly being exposed to the buttery events that pull us up or push us down, whatever the odds.
This is a place where sanity and insanity go hand in hand, allowing for a touch of madness and reason to make all the darn thing work.
Dividing the hierarchies, I can start with the management. My sister the owner and the main manager, followed by another sub-manager and then me, the sidekick of the universe. Three sectors follow: - the kitchen, divided by 2 shifts, with lunch and dinner; - the saloon - one double shift for lunch and dinner, with rest intervals; - the cleaning - with double shifts as well. The latter one doesn't give me as much hassle as the rest.
Humanity.
Ever since I discover them with all the subsequent feelings of envy and competition, I knew, that we as a species were condemned to a very agitated course through the rivers of time.
Such is the case of this, our little haven of food.
A word of warning, to you, the eager romantic minds, who foolishly dream of, one day, opening a restaurant of your own:
Eject that thought from your skulls, right now!
Please, perform a self-surgery and remove the dream part that might have put that nightmare-vision there in the first place.
If Hannibal Lecter can do it to Ray Liotta, so can you to yourselves, there is nothing to it. The Chloroform is in the first shelf of the medicine cabinet in your bathroom. I always leave it there, for any such emergency.
It's too late for me, because I am already involved, but there is still hope for you. You don't believe me. Fools, do you want to be just another butter knife in the grand scheme of things!?
I let you know this, opening a restaurant implies, a great skill at balancing the accounts, and you have to be a perfect juggler with the bills, the pay checks, the income and the outcome.
Be prepared to be a priest or at least a good psychologist with a Masters Degree in mind disturbances, to hear and help out all the restless persons that daily come through the office with a middle life crises.
E.g. "the people from the Kitchen refuse to collaborate with us, and we are unable to provide a good service to the customers"
E.g. 2. - the kitchen strikes back - "the guys at the saloon, always come with difficult requests to change the cooking process of some standard dishes, but we can't when we are in the middle of making a storm of requests.. They are unreasonable"
Then there all the little details to resolve everyday, that usually linger because you depend on someone else to resolve them.
The heating system, talk to the landlord maintenance - Good Lord! They are as helpful as bag of peanuts in the middle of the desert when you are fighting hard to get your hands in a cool glass of mineral water without gas.
What do you do to a waiter that does this! See the scenario.
A lady enters into the restaurant, sits at the table and asks with a German accent:
- I want water without gas!
The waiter brings her a glass of vodka and comments with a fellow colleague:
- How can someone drink Vodka at this time of the day!?
Same lady:
- Excuse me! This water tastes strange!
Oh well!
Getting back to butter knives and troubles, the details one have to resolve are so many, with all the routine events (checking up on the products that daily get to the restaurant, making a list of all that is required for the following day, calling the different companies for new orders, controlling the costs, balancing the expenses), just that is enough to drive you mad.
I guess this is something you have to be very keen on doing it, because, after all the inside wars, come the plethora of customers whose personality can be as diverse as all the different characters that have been lay down on film, theatre and in real life performances.
Despite all the harshness of it all, it has a kind of madness underlying the nature where we are blend in that is very rewarding.
You get to be a psychic for a few hours, learning all there is to know of a person or a pair or a group of people, by the way they move, the way they look, the way they talk.
Analysing it all, you check everything to the slightest detail, but in the end, you two were being stared from the other corner of the room by any customer who judges you by all the same criteria.
That place is indeed a stage where humanity performances stand out of the raw nature of each one. Nevertheless, we get to do it over and over again, never knowing where all might lead us.
Listening: Vangelis - Soil Festivities
cocasman@zmail.pt
I am one of the many pieces that fit in at the restaurant Water and Salt, one of many that make the whole machine work.
But unlike any common machine, the main pieces are made of flesh and bone, and like the good characters of Shakespeare if you tickle them they laugh and if you hurt them they cry as well, and pay attention you don't have to go to Denmark of the dark ages.
Here at the "Água e Sal" you get all that and more, because we are like butter knives constantly being exposed to the buttery events that pull us up or push us down, whatever the odds.
This is a place where sanity and insanity go hand in hand, allowing for a touch of madness and reason to make all the darn thing work.
Dividing the hierarchies, I can start with the management. My sister the owner and the main manager, followed by another sub-manager and then me, the sidekick of the universe. Three sectors follow: - the kitchen, divided by 2 shifts, with lunch and dinner; - the saloon - one double shift for lunch and dinner, with rest intervals; - the cleaning - with double shifts as well. The latter one doesn't give me as much hassle as the rest.
Humanity.
Ever since I discover them with all the subsequent feelings of envy and competition, I knew, that we as a species were condemned to a very agitated course through the rivers of time.
Such is the case of this, our little haven of food.
A word of warning, to you, the eager romantic minds, who foolishly dream of, one day, opening a restaurant of your own:
Eject that thought from your skulls, right now!
Please, perform a self-surgery and remove the dream part that might have put that nightmare-vision there in the first place.
If Hannibal Lecter can do it to Ray Liotta, so can you to yourselves, there is nothing to it. The Chloroform is in the first shelf of the medicine cabinet in your bathroom. I always leave it there, for any such emergency.
It's too late for me, because I am already involved, but there is still hope for you. You don't believe me. Fools, do you want to be just another butter knife in the grand scheme of things!?
I let you know this, opening a restaurant implies, a great skill at balancing the accounts, and you have to be a perfect juggler with the bills, the pay checks, the income and the outcome.
Be prepared to be a priest or at least a good psychologist with a Masters Degree in mind disturbances, to hear and help out all the restless persons that daily come through the office with a middle life crises.
E.g. "the people from the Kitchen refuse to collaborate with us, and we are unable to provide a good service to the customers"
E.g. 2. - the kitchen strikes back - "the guys at the saloon, always come with difficult requests to change the cooking process of some standard dishes, but we can't when we are in the middle of making a storm of requests.. They are unreasonable"
Then there all the little details to resolve everyday, that usually linger because you depend on someone else to resolve them.
The heating system, talk to the landlord maintenance - Good Lord! They are as helpful as bag of peanuts in the middle of the desert when you are fighting hard to get your hands in a cool glass of mineral water without gas.
What do you do to a waiter that does this! See the scenario.
A lady enters into the restaurant, sits at the table and asks with a German accent:
- I want water without gas!
The waiter brings her a glass of vodka and comments with a fellow colleague:
- How can someone drink Vodka at this time of the day!?
Same lady:
- Excuse me! This water tastes strange!
Oh well!
Getting back to butter knives and troubles, the details one have to resolve are so many, with all the routine events (checking up on the products that daily get to the restaurant, making a list of all that is required for the following day, calling the different companies for new orders, controlling the costs, balancing the expenses), just that is enough to drive you mad.
I guess this is something you have to be very keen on doing it, because, after all the inside wars, come the plethora of customers whose personality can be as diverse as all the different characters that have been lay down on film, theatre and in real life performances.
Despite all the harshness of it all, it has a kind of madness underlying the nature where we are blend in that is very rewarding.
You get to be a psychic for a few hours, learning all there is to know of a person or a pair or a group of people, by the way they move, the way they look, the way they talk.
Analysing it all, you check everything to the slightest detail, but in the end, you two were being stared from the other corner of the room by any customer who judges you by all the same criteria.
That place is indeed a stage where humanity performances stand out of the raw nature of each one. Nevertheless, we get to do it over and over again, never knowing where all might lead us.
Listening: Vangelis - Soil Festivities
cocasman@zmail.pt
Saturday, December 27, 2003
Empty - Sleepless in Lisbon
.
It's now almost 3.00 a.m. and I just woke up, after sleeping a dreamless 4 hours period.
This is me today, a guy with no dreams. This is not quite true; I might have 2 or 3 in a holding cell, waiting to be bailed out by a will that does not seem to gain form.
I cannot understand this feeling of apathy that grabs my personality like a large slug who lingers at a cozy corner in a weary city.
This is me today, a weary guy, trying hard to break free from the boring edges that confine me to a state of undesirable emptiness.
I feel as alone as alone can be, surrounded by millions of souls that pass me by as if I was one of many unknown drifters, in a city where nobody has the time to wonder about any strangers. In my own town I feel a stranger! What is about solitude, that seems to have a more cunning nature, exactly when you are surrounded with people.
I am also to blame for this; after all, I prefer to exist in my own cave, a room filled with empty dreams, glued to dusty walls; but alas, I've given up on them. And so, like my shallow dreams, I have also renounced on the memories of my old buddies, who now lead a most active life with such a meticulous division of time, that neither me or them worry too much about the other.
Well, I might in occasion spare a thought or two about a friend in particular, a given group of friends, as I allow my imagination to carry me through a journey triggered by the little things of my current day; a sound, an image, a voice, any little thing will do, unfolding a series of buried recollections that are longed past.
Nevertheless, I am more impatient now and life is more demanding, so I don't allow my spirit to run wildly on any events of the past, or that my soul wonders of to dream rooms of tomorrow where anything is possible.
I guess this is all about meaning; the meaning of purpose as I once saw it in a cartoon that entertained me so much. What is my purpose here, now? A vague question; a pointless quest of meaning; a mirage on a road to perdition, where all is quite defined, and no hopeful exit doors lay in this strict corridor of destiny.
A poor image of doom it seems, as I wonder off in a depressive state of searching without a purpose.
Oh, I might say that I am searching for Happiness - an utopian city ruled by the fools of the realm - or instead I can be looking for Love - a spit of harsh realities when all relations that end in failure come to surface.
My caring readers, you who are too few to mention,by choosing a state of anonymity - for you also dwell too much in your own worries to even care for my own - I can tell you that currently, I am buoying in the sea of turmoil where the ghosts and dragons that once scared seamen from the promised lands, now scare me from the promised dreams.
I think of me as a once calm and determined spirit that headed his ship in the hard oceans that lay between his home and the island of hope, where supposedly exists the city of joy - a legendary place where many seek refuge from the unknown mysteries of the future.
However, contemplating the world from my cold windows, I dare not to imagine what possible truth are in these stories from my past imagination, as my present needs my weak reason and unsteady focus, instead of my joyful awe and merry wonder that not so long ago made me dream of a better tomorrow.
Today, I live in grey, rooming from home to work and back again, with an empty sight filled with a tearless vision of a harsh reality that I lead myself to be.
I guess I have somehow felt into the quicksand of uneasy comfort, where my will to change is compromised by my sloth. A glimpse of hope remains, when in a few months from now, I will have to leave my cozy family and my comfortable room and somehow manage in a nearly strange Montreal, that will be my home for half year. I just hope I won't sink even further in the muddy roads of my shallow contentment and try to escape from my next Canadian venture.
I am sure this is just a post-mental depressive state that is hovering over me like a big grey cloud about to burst into the fury of a storm, washing the world below, but then, leaving it refreshed, for whatever bonanza might be lurking around. I am sure this won't be a double storm without the serenity of a new sunshine.
P.S. I miss the rain, usually it has a reinvigorating power over me that I guess that my dream bags have grown empty out of some much common reality. I feel a cloud of tears coming soon, I am sure it will wash my face and allows me to gaze the world with a more sincere smile than the one I carry.
Listening: Pat Metheny's - Beyond the Missouri River
cocasman@zmail.pt
It's now almost 3.00 a.m. and I just woke up, after sleeping a dreamless 4 hours period.
This is me today, a guy with no dreams. This is not quite true; I might have 2 or 3 in a holding cell, waiting to be bailed out by a will that does not seem to gain form.
I cannot understand this feeling of apathy that grabs my personality like a large slug who lingers at a cozy corner in a weary city.
This is me today, a weary guy, trying hard to break free from the boring edges that confine me to a state of undesirable emptiness.
I feel as alone as alone can be, surrounded by millions of souls that pass me by as if I was one of many unknown drifters, in a city where nobody has the time to wonder about any strangers. In my own town I feel a stranger! What is about solitude, that seems to have a more cunning nature, exactly when you are surrounded with people.
I am also to blame for this; after all, I prefer to exist in my own cave, a room filled with empty dreams, glued to dusty walls; but alas, I've given up on them. And so, like my shallow dreams, I have also renounced on the memories of my old buddies, who now lead a most active life with such a meticulous division of time, that neither me or them worry too much about the other.
Well, I might in occasion spare a thought or two about a friend in particular, a given group of friends, as I allow my imagination to carry me through a journey triggered by the little things of my current day; a sound, an image, a voice, any little thing will do, unfolding a series of buried recollections that are longed past.
Nevertheless, I am more impatient now and life is more demanding, so I don't allow my spirit to run wildly on any events of the past, or that my soul wonders of to dream rooms of tomorrow where anything is possible.
I guess this is all about meaning; the meaning of purpose as I once saw it in a cartoon that entertained me so much. What is my purpose here, now? A vague question; a pointless quest of meaning; a mirage on a road to perdition, where all is quite defined, and no hopeful exit doors lay in this strict corridor of destiny.
A poor image of doom it seems, as I wonder off in a depressive state of searching without a purpose.
Oh, I might say that I am searching for Happiness - an utopian city ruled by the fools of the realm - or instead I can be looking for Love - a spit of harsh realities when all relations that end in failure come to surface.
My caring readers, you who are too few to mention,by choosing a state of anonymity - for you also dwell too much in your own worries to even care for my own - I can tell you that currently, I am buoying in the sea of turmoil where the ghosts and dragons that once scared seamen from the promised lands, now scare me from the promised dreams.
I think of me as a once calm and determined spirit that headed his ship in the hard oceans that lay between his home and the island of hope, where supposedly exists the city of joy - a legendary place where many seek refuge from the unknown mysteries of the future.
However, contemplating the world from my cold windows, I dare not to imagine what possible truth are in these stories from my past imagination, as my present needs my weak reason and unsteady focus, instead of my joyful awe and merry wonder that not so long ago made me dream of a better tomorrow.
Today, I live in grey, rooming from home to work and back again, with an empty sight filled with a tearless vision of a harsh reality that I lead myself to be.
I guess I have somehow felt into the quicksand of uneasy comfort, where my will to change is compromised by my sloth. A glimpse of hope remains, when in a few months from now, I will have to leave my cozy family and my comfortable room and somehow manage in a nearly strange Montreal, that will be my home for half year. I just hope I won't sink even further in the muddy roads of my shallow contentment and try to escape from my next Canadian venture.
I am sure this is just a post-mental depressive state that is hovering over me like a big grey cloud about to burst into the fury of a storm, washing the world below, but then, leaving it refreshed, for whatever bonanza might be lurking around. I am sure this won't be a double storm without the serenity of a new sunshine.
P.S. I miss the rain, usually it has a reinvigorating power over me that I guess that my dream bags have grown empty out of some much common reality. I feel a cloud of tears coming soon, I am sure it will wash my face and allows me to gaze the world with a more sincere smile than the one I carry.
Listening: Pat Metheny's - Beyond the Missouri River
cocasman@zmail.pt
Friday, December 26, 2003
The Christmas Blog
.
Every year around late December, many of us gather around, in familiar packs, under the auspicious nature of a so-called Christmas spirit. Usually we spread around well-meant sentences like: "Peace on Earth and Good will to all men and women".
How much commitment do we put into our actions to give these words a chance?
For myself, I must say that I do not undertake as much love towards fellow friends, acquaintances and strangers as I ought to.
Words are easily spoken, after all, most of them come out as a reflex action to any surrounding stimuli, that granted a bit of ponder and consideration, these words would probably be closer to the truth than they currently seem.
I am sorry; I am fighting hard with current emotions towards Christmas.
This year I have been extremely busy with work, for the last couple of weeks, and all that the merry season meant was work and more work, and even more after that.
My PONDER with no consideration, lead me to this electronic canvas where I draw my words, out of pure imagination and sensitivity of mad inspiration.
Here, I realize that I lost the purpose of Christmas, somewhere along the way. I cannot blame the hard work for it, nevertheless, one always manage a bit of time to do the things he likes. I guess, this year I was not a merry man with a holy spirit to guide me through the process of making others merry with my traditional Season's Greetings.
This celebration was a purpose of gathering without the mystic of past years.
Why?
What set me off, this year?
I always believed in magic, particularly in Christmas magic, where our dreams gained form and vision, where we could be kings for a night and rulers of wishes. This year, I had too many wishes and a little heart, too small to allow any love to get out and magic get in.
This time, I feel as similar to a rock as I never thought I would be.
I bought 2 gifts, for my parents no one less. I didn't feel like it. Anyway I still got a whole bunch of presents, from caring friends and family, but I must confess of dividing myself in feelings of careless for everything, the sort that makes my eyes run dry out of the emotionless state I am in; and the confusion of this attack of the conscious thoughts!
What a heck of Christmas blog?
A rumble of mixed thoughts and emotions, which makes me think what the heck I am living for?
No peace on earth and no good will towards any one on this or any other Earth that might be laying around the vast universe.
At the moment, this message is filled with no magic, no love, no passion, no nothing, alas only empty words with an bare purpose that I fight hard to understand it's meaning.
Still, these words stand out as a warning, for the cold-hearted disease that has been spreading through mankind as a social plague ever since the past Eternity, for it's my believe that the love the surrounded us in the first moment of creation or evolution (choose your belief) has been consumed by humans with the cold fervour of a oil tycoon.
However, my condition is not as advanced, which prevents me of putting my last drops of love to fill the vase of hope that reads, "Tomorrow things will be better".
This is a world where most of us stand in our own path, without moving to the right corners of civilization. A world, where brotherly souls lay desperately in need of the love we carry in our body bags. Selfishly we refuse to share any, forgetting that our love only grows and stands by us, if we share it with others instead of greedily saving it in cold shaped vaults, where eventually love dries to it's doom.
Despite all this, I believe in the vase of hope, and that indeed things have to get better.
If we learn to put aside prejudice (a leech of the soul), hatred (a murderer of love), selfishness (a drain of unity) and stand by all of those who quietly scream for love, then this, that I don't understand, must only get better.
Tonight, I take my time to fall asleep, as millions of empty of souls cry out, starving for a true friend that comes out through the mist of solitude and politely says:
"Hello! How do you do?!"
I can't count the number of voices that screamed continuously scream through night and day out of such despair, but I know that they are everywhere; in the lost fields of hard violent wars; in the gold covered cold rooms, where all the richness of life-gathered objects are but powerless to call for Love; in the sad faces that cross the streets and avenues in towns and cities throughout the world; in many places, here and there, that spread, unfortunately, towards everywhere, where love is described as legend, a myth from times long ago, that now are past.
A true feeling of Christmas will always have a bitter taste to my conscience until I learn to put aside my prejudice, my hatred, my selfishness, my sloth, and god knows how many more cancers of my feeble personality.
Only when, I can go towards a stranger in need and truthfully intend to transpire the words: "Can I help you?" and actually feed friendship and love to the hunger soul whose tears cover the face of discontentment; only then, will I restore the level of love in my own soul and will then be able to continue on in path towards my most precious goal: Happiness.
This Christmas, I have realized how far I am from that utopian Happiness, that I keep on searching. Nevertheless, I now know where I stand, and at this point I can see my path. Like all long journeys, also does mine starts with a first solid step, one day, however, I will say: "I finally got here".
Don't worry my friends, when that day comes! You will be the first to know, we will all be there.
Reading: Laura Esquivel's "Law of Love"
Listening: Acustico - Rui Veloso
Seeing: Amelie from Montmatre
Thinking: Is it colder inside or outside?
cocasman@zmail.pt
Every year around late December, many of us gather around, in familiar packs, under the auspicious nature of a so-called Christmas spirit. Usually we spread around well-meant sentences like: "Peace on Earth and Good will to all men and women".
How much commitment do we put into our actions to give these words a chance?
For myself, I must say that I do not undertake as much love towards fellow friends, acquaintances and strangers as I ought to.
Words are easily spoken, after all, most of them come out as a reflex action to any surrounding stimuli, that granted a bit of ponder and consideration, these words would probably be closer to the truth than they currently seem.
I am sorry; I am fighting hard with current emotions towards Christmas.
This year I have been extremely busy with work, for the last couple of weeks, and all that the merry season meant was work and more work, and even more after that.
My PONDER with no consideration, lead me to this electronic canvas where I draw my words, out of pure imagination and sensitivity of mad inspiration.
Here, I realize that I lost the purpose of Christmas, somewhere along the way. I cannot blame the hard work for it, nevertheless, one always manage a bit of time to do the things he likes. I guess, this year I was not a merry man with a holy spirit to guide me through the process of making others merry with my traditional Season's Greetings.
This celebration was a purpose of gathering without the mystic of past years.
Why?
What set me off, this year?
I always believed in magic, particularly in Christmas magic, where our dreams gained form and vision, where we could be kings for a night and rulers of wishes. This year, I had too many wishes and a little heart, too small to allow any love to get out and magic get in.
This time, I feel as similar to a rock as I never thought I would be.
I bought 2 gifts, for my parents no one less. I didn't feel like it. Anyway I still got a whole bunch of presents, from caring friends and family, but I must confess of dividing myself in feelings of careless for everything, the sort that makes my eyes run dry out of the emotionless state I am in; and the confusion of this attack of the conscious thoughts!
What a heck of Christmas blog?
A rumble of mixed thoughts and emotions, which makes me think what the heck I am living for?
No peace on earth and no good will towards any one on this or any other Earth that might be laying around the vast universe.
At the moment, this message is filled with no magic, no love, no passion, no nothing, alas only empty words with an bare purpose that I fight hard to understand it's meaning.
Still, these words stand out as a warning, for the cold-hearted disease that has been spreading through mankind as a social plague ever since the past Eternity, for it's my believe that the love the surrounded us in the first moment of creation or evolution (choose your belief) has been consumed by humans with the cold fervour of a oil tycoon.
However, my condition is not as advanced, which prevents me of putting my last drops of love to fill the vase of hope that reads, "Tomorrow things will be better".
This is a world where most of us stand in our own path, without moving to the right corners of civilization. A world, where brotherly souls lay desperately in need of the love we carry in our body bags. Selfishly we refuse to share any, forgetting that our love only grows and stands by us, if we share it with others instead of greedily saving it in cold shaped vaults, where eventually love dries to it's doom.
Despite all this, I believe in the vase of hope, and that indeed things have to get better.
If we learn to put aside prejudice (a leech of the soul), hatred (a murderer of love), selfishness (a drain of unity) and stand by all of those who quietly scream for love, then this, that I don't understand, must only get better.
Tonight, I take my time to fall asleep, as millions of empty of souls cry out, starving for a true friend that comes out through the mist of solitude and politely says:
"Hello! How do you do?!"
I can't count the number of voices that screamed continuously scream through night and day out of such despair, but I know that they are everywhere; in the lost fields of hard violent wars; in the gold covered cold rooms, where all the richness of life-gathered objects are but powerless to call for Love; in the sad faces that cross the streets and avenues in towns and cities throughout the world; in many places, here and there, that spread, unfortunately, towards everywhere, where love is described as legend, a myth from times long ago, that now are past.
A true feeling of Christmas will always have a bitter taste to my conscience until I learn to put aside my prejudice, my hatred, my selfishness, my sloth, and god knows how many more cancers of my feeble personality.
Only when, I can go towards a stranger in need and truthfully intend to transpire the words: "Can I help you?" and actually feed friendship and love to the hunger soul whose tears cover the face of discontentment; only then, will I restore the level of love in my own soul and will then be able to continue on in path towards my most precious goal: Happiness.
This Christmas, I have realized how far I am from that utopian Happiness, that I keep on searching. Nevertheless, I now know where I stand, and at this point I can see my path. Like all long journeys, also does mine starts with a first solid step, one day, however, I will say: "I finally got here".
Don't worry my friends, when that day comes! You will be the first to know, we will all be there.
Reading: Laura Esquivel's "Law of Love"
Listening: Acustico - Rui Veloso
Seeing: Amelie from Montmatre
Thinking: Is it colder inside or outside?
cocasman@zmail.pt
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