​ the sunrays hurt they burn through my masks piercing right through the layers and layers and layers who am i  am i i am one layer after another added with each new moment construction sometimes deliberate sometimes less aided by another but always approved by me i didn’t know nobody told me who am i  am i i i i am unlayering hurts wind cools down the open wounds thank you sun thank you pain for reaching the point each layer is flawed always needing another as a cover i am tired burn through me take me to who i am i am am i  sun moon  stars wind fire ocean sea… see See ..read more

I have been getting this image today… Do you remember those experiments we did in chemistry class where we would use a little catalyst paper or stick and put it into a container filled with liquid and then observe how it changes the colour showing us whether the environment it is immersed in is acid or alkaline? Well, let’s say that the catalyst shows that the acidity of the liquid has the value of pH3 and we are not satisfied with that and want to make it less acid. What do we do? Do we make the adjustments in the ingredients of the mixture or get angry with the catalyst and proclai ..read more

crack crack cracking cracking of the flooded gates on the precipice yet to be revealed take my hand do not be afraid of its unfamiliar grip its taste of clouds and smell of lands buried and pulled back over when the moment was right the moment is right come crack my darling my dear my shadow my light the turning point mirrored ceiling of the floor that offers no support for your wrenched body let go of the barren grounds there's nothing to feed you there come darling crack trust the mosaic of the lines that's surging on your surface dive into the cracks do not lift your sight it's on ..read more

​I was extremely resistant to writing this post, as I know it will trigger tons of people… but fuck it. I feel it needs to be addressed and spoken about and I will not feel in peace with myself if I don’t do it… So here it is. I saw a video on Instagram today entitled  ‘Always find time for your loved ones’ which depicts a typical, so often seen scenario of a daughter visiting her old father, promising that she’ll call him, then she doesn’t, always being busy with other stuff, days passing, missed calls accumulating, she delays calling back and then she finally does call… and bam. Dad ..read more

I can still recall the flavour  of excited anticipation whenever you arrival  was announced I can still feel the flushes of hope and terror stepping over each other dripping from the sides  of my neck and cheeks while trying to foresee  what the familiar wrapping holds for the day A bittersweet risk A guessing game All or nothing I refined my senses Attuned my inner ear in order to perceive the subtleties the ingredients of the air that spoke before you did so I could protect myself put up the blinders to reflect the arrows and stay immune to the unconscious sharpness of your words ..read more

​here she comes again the one that cleanses the one that rebirths both wanted and unwanted both  despised and craved  sending tides to announce that she’s on her way never revealing though the exact time  of appearance  she walks boldly agitating the sand lifting it to the surface together with all that's  been thrown down there whilst she was away no one is spared when it comes to revision there’s no escape  when she pulls things  from the bottom and leaves you marinating  in those foul waters  of yours and your mother’s and your mother’s mothers and your mother's mother's mothers ..read more

Sometimes I think I have done too much hypnosis, ‘cause every time I walk down any stairs I find myself getting more… and more… relaxed…. So, I take advantage of that and I walk down the endless stairs that chain the Cathedral to the Ribeira, indulging in the increasing inner softness that culminates as the river appears in front of me.  River Douro.  I am not sure of the origin of its name nor I am about to bother myself and look it up.  I prefer having my own stories about the names and I like to believe that this river is made of gold (de ouro, in portuguese), nurturing the city wit ..read more

​ My shoulders, as golden balls shimmering in the light of the midday Sun, reflecting the warmth back to my earlobes, where it gets absorbed as a melody whispered to me by a fairy of a place that I once called Home. One of the thousand places, that is. (This is another, I believe.) My feet, hidden and caged in a light pinkish cloth dangle from the edge of a thick wall, losing their depth seen from the above and animating static dryness of the grey, rocky background.  I can see the particles of sand, vomited by the Ocean, sparkling like pieces of crystals around rough massiveness ..read more

So funny you, humans, are. Praying for help yet internally terrified of having to change any of your ways. Praying for change, for a miracle, a mystical intervention and then holding with your palms, teeth and feet prefering to die before shifting the way you see. There are undiscovered lands of joy and abundance waiting for each one of you if only you trusted a bit more and controlled a bit less, listened a bit more and talked a bit less, WERE a bit more and DID a bit less. Each one of your prayers  is answered. The question then is:​ are you ready to hear the answer? are you ..read more

The wall was covered with circles, drawn by the hand of a child. Wobbly and insecure circles sprouting in the greasiness of a thick pencil against the illuminating whiteness of the background, yet circles all the same - no doubt about that.  Anyone could see it, but they didn’t agree. They told her to look better or, better yet, not to believe what she sees, but to switch on that creased thing located in the top of her body and try to think her way out of it. “It is important”, they said and seemed very worried ‘cause no one can live knowing that those were circles. That much th ..read more