7.2.17

Animation1: Balls


I started programming with javascript 7 days ago. This is the first draft of what's to become my MOT :)

24.8.16

Poema

Este poema é arte
Este poema is art
Este poema é ar
Este poema é a
Este poema é
Este poema
This poem
This põe
Este pó
Esse p
É-se
Est
És
É
'
Arte

14.4.16

Into the Wild - a commentary

I just finished reading the book Into the Wild, by John Krakauer.

I want to leave here my impressions since my memory fades quickly.

Chris McCandless is a hero. Everyone dies, and many people have died, but few have died as nobly as Chris. His failures and errors were deadly; had he not errored, he would have survived to tell his story.

He was a bright genius man. Just like Pirsig, McClandess had a geniality that went beyond that what society can handle. Society generally deals with geniality with awe and praise and spoil. A genius is often raised as god and hero. No matter what, these geniuses have a general trend by impacting society with their stories. Both Pirsig and McCandless high intelligence, but also lack of modesty and humility, destroyed them as they attempted to understand reality, and to go beyond. They were ticking bombs not well handled, that exploded. Pirsig lost his mind, and almost lost himself, and Chris died discovering an uncataloged poisonous seed. Many other, I assume, had similar fates.

Most people blame their parents for their problems, and then again, most people talk to their parents and try to solve them.

I am fortunate to have parents with greater wisdom, and to have lived and seek to be amongst older and wiser people.

One needs to be smart to handle manipulative and smart people; one needs to be at least equally smart and manipulative. The wisdom necessary is not that of the phenomenology, of metaphysics, of math, of street fight. To handle a genius, one needs a gentle touch and a firm hand.

I do not wish to compare myself to them; I know I am not as smart as they were, but I'm also glad that that is the case.

But Chris and Pirsig are heroes because they risked their lives doing what everyone wants to do, but weren't able to. A real life hero is the one that does what he can with what he has, but defies society and its norms, questions the paradigms and fight for greater days.

A hero does not need to be an altruist like those two weren't. They sought nature for the sake of nature, and that is the ultimate intellectual heroism.

The secret they sought, however, lays not in nature, but in society. The chest of gold that they were seeking it's not out there. I am, however, grateful that they sought those paths. So I can learn with their mistakes, sorrow their errors. I'm glad I have not to sacrifice myself to find it out, that someone did it for me.

Discipline. Courage. Wisdom. Patience. Nature. Metaphysics. Happiness - Happiness lies on accepting our undeniable deaths, accepting our loneliness and on being with others who make us happy. Nature, Nurture, Science. Love. Life. Duty.

15.3.16

Rains of Sorrow

I love you - he said
I love you - she said
They hugged. They kissed. He got on the train.
Two tears ran down her face. 
One of hope.
One of rain.

13.2.16

My Jenn

When I got in that plane, I thought I was alone. I was brave, and I could not not be. I was abandoning a reality to search for a dream. I used to say that big dreams are the only dreams worth dreaming, and I was right.
I was alone. When I arrived, everything was eerie. But with time, I found friends and nice folks, but deep down I knew I was alone. I got used to it. I got used to bare the one ring, even started liking it.

And like an earthquake, you shook my life. You were the dream I though I would never find. I had lost hope, at least most of it. And now, out of sudden, everything was fine. I found home in your arms, in your heart. I had friends, but I was alone. But now I'm not alone. If I could dream of a better life for myself, I couldn't. You make my life complete. Things wouldn't be easy without you. The colors are vivid, the world is shiny; the darkest days in the coldest winters are the warmest and happiest because I have you by my side. 

You are the strong link of the chains that hold me to the ground when I'm high, you are a deep breath when I'm out of air, you are the sound of rain on the ceiling, the cure of the pain drilling in my skull.

You're my hero, here and then and than; my grizzly bear, my Jenn, my sweet sweet sweet little Jenn.

28.10.15

When it rains, it pours.

The rain pours.
It pours on the window.
It sounds obvious, doesn't it?
That the rain pours, I mean.

It's not obvious when it's sunny.
It's not obvious when it snows.
But the rain pours down my window,
And it's clear as water.
That it pours.

The shallow water on the ground.
The deep darkness of my heart.
The worst of me comes out,
When it pours. On the window, of course, and not from my eyes, 
It pours. The rain.

The worst comes out of me
When I'm drowning.

I wish everything was fine.
And it is, I mean.
But the rain pouring down my window;
It brings me back to when it wasn't.
Outside, the rain is not even heavy.
Outside it could be even sunny. Or snowing.

I wish everything was fine.
And it probably is,
Could I see it; but my eyes are blurry.
Because it's raining.
And when it rains,
You know,
It pours.

25.10.15

Autumn Lullaby

Tha dark moon was kind and let us make love under the starlight.
We missed the sun rise 'cause we're slackers, but we held hands under the sunset sight.
With calm and peace we meditated while autumn leaves felt.
The rustle sound, the fire pit warmth, the logs cracked, the marshmallow melt,

Today we leave this sacred place,
with tears running down our face,
with this scenery stamped in our eyes,
Knowing where our spirit lies.

28.9.15

Existence

Things are to things the things they are.
And there's nothing to it,
besides the thing themselves,
and what the things were, are and will be to them.

23.8.15

O Farfalhar/ The Rustle

O farfalhar das folhas não é uniforme.
Quem assiste vê um conjunto,
Mas, na verdade, cada folha dança sozinha.
Eu, tal como a árvore, sou também a dança
individual de cada célula em meu corpo.
Olho pra árvore e imagino
A seiva fluindo, floema
Em mim, sinto as veias fluindo
Poema.

The rustle of the leaves is not uniform.
Who watches sees a set,
But, in reality, each leaf dances alone.
I am, like the tree, the individual
 dance of each cell in my body.
I look at the tree and imagine
The sap flowing, phloem
In me, I feel the vessels flowing
Poem.

13.8.15

Yes.

One day, when I get old and wrinkly
I'll say it was all worth it.
One day, I'll say I wasn't afraid
That I did what I loved
That I was rational, but passional
That I was young, but brave
That I was smart and kind,
I was an optimist
I was strong
Strong for too long, but never gave up my dreams.

I was afraid
I'm still afraid
But I master my fears.

If I was too afraid to dive
I would never have found the treasure chest,
That I spent all my life looking for.

I'm here to do what I have to do;
I'm the one who say what that is.

Maybe it's not here nor there,
But some dark paths can lead to very amazing places; if you're brave enough to cross them.