Sweet sixteen

E já lá vão 16 anos. Não é coisa fácil, mas como numa montanha russa, o que conta é a viagem e não o destino. E esta é uma viagem feita de solavancos, de medos, mas também de um prazer e de uma euforia difíceis de descrever por palavras.... deixo esse trabalho complexo aos poetas.  

Vinicius de Moraes, rapaz, tu que sabias tanto sobre estas coisas, o que me tens a dizer?

"Que não seja imortal, posto que é chama

Mas que seja infinito enquanto dure."

E pronto. Quem sabe sabe!

A minha alma está desolada

So if I asked you about art, you'd probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life's work, political aspirations, him and the Pope, sexual orientation, the whole works, right? But I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling. Seen that. If I ask you about women, you'd probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You're a tough kid. And I'd ask you about war, you'd probably throw Shakespeare at me, right: 'Once more into the breach, dear friends.' But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap, and watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. I'd ask you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on Earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of Hell. And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn't know about sleeping sittin' up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes that the terms 'visiting hours' don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss, 'cause that only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much.

"O bom rebelde"

Há notícias tão tristes que nos tiram qualquer capacidade de nos expressarmos. O desaparecimento de Robin Williams é uma delas. Sei que a distância que medeia um autor dos papeis que representa é na maior parte das vezes infinitamente grande. Mas diria que no caso de RW, é quase impossível não estabelecer pontes entre esses dois universos. É certo que nem sempre foi acarinhado pela pseudo-intelectualidade de alguns críticos de cinema, mas isso pouco me importa... alguns dos seus papeis ajudaram-me, de alguma forma, a compreender um pouco mais esta loucura agridoce a que chamamos Vida. E isso é dizer muito.

Não direi mais nada. Não me apetece.

Carpe Diem