a mesa de luz

light gazing, ışığa bakmak

Wednesday, June 20, 2018

Tales of a dying blog #8

Feel the steel. When some words sum up loads of poetry and all of the oceans' breeze.

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

tales of a dying blog #6

"I dare you to deny me that Istanbul is the greatest city in the world after crossing the Bosphorus by ferry. Or having an amazing breakfast anywhere. Or witnessing a jaw-dropping sunset. You know pretty well the rest of the long, long list."

Wednesday, May 23, 2018

tales of a dying blog #5

Ena! a quantidade de Malta que tinha o meu contacto. vai ser cá uma limpeza.

Monday, May 14, 2018


Parabéns a mim.

Sunday, May 13, 2018

tales of a dying blog #4

"This is Wild River Expeditions out of Bluff. Pros. (...) Take great pride in cleaning after themselves. The drill now is they urinate right beside the river, so it dillutes fast. Everything else they carry out. Portable toilets. Build their camp fires in fireboxes so you don't get all that carbon in the sand. Even carry out the ashes. in The Thief of Time. Hillerman has carried me before and is still carrying me now. such an author. The Beauty Way.

Monday, May 7, 2018

tales of a dying blog #3

olho para cima e daqui as andorinhas são maiores do que os aviões.

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

tales of a dying blog #2

Brautigan's book covers in Cigarettes After Sex Sunsetz. it's a gift.

Saturday, March 31, 2018

Ok, li 51 e depois?


Sunday, March 18, 2018

a entrar

na noite escura.

Monday, March 12, 2018


"Acordo sem o contorno do teu rosto na minha almofada, sem o teu
peito liso e claro como um dia de vento, e começo a erguer a madrugada
apenas com as duas mãos que me deixaste, hesitante nos gestos, porque
os meus olhos partiram nos teus.
E é assim que a noite chega, e dentro dela te procuro, encostado ao teu
nome, pelas ruas álgidas onde tu não passas, com a solidão aberta nos
dedos como um cravo.
Meu amor, amor de uma breve madrugada de bandeiras, arranco a tua
boca da minha e desfolho-a lentamente, até que outra boca e sempre a
tua boca! comece de novo a nascer na minha boca.
Que posso eu fazer senão escutar o coração inseguro dos pássaros,
encostar a minha face ao rosto lunar dos bêbados e perguntar o que
aconteceu... "

Tuesday, March 6, 2018

o que ando a beber

de preferência a Cafuné da Musa.

o que ando a ler

uma mistura de alves redol e de piketty

a shortest term plan


a plan


das coisas boas

G. García Marquéz

boa surpresa matinal.

Monday, February 19, 2018

eu também não volto a comprar o jornal do sporting ahahah

para rir só para não chorar. malta populista: parabéns, um a zero. restantes: não façam nada não.

Friday, February 16, 2018


no primeiro dia em que me sentei ao volante: afinal andei a ter medo disto porquê?

Wednesday, February 14, 2018

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

another day, another widget

so old fashioned that I couldn't remember the word widget. I bet my kid doesn't know about it. check the instafeed on the side bar.


"love is the only place where you assume that the prison is just a nice dream", no início de Siyah Beyaz Aşk. vejo-não vejo-vejo-não vejo.

Sunday, February 11, 2018


I finished Kırmızı Saçlı Kadın in the most peculiar way, DB would say. I picked it up a few chapters after I had left it months ago and followed the narrative till the end, admittedly jumping a few lines of the last chapters that were re-read once I unveiled the resolution of the story. then, I went back to the chapters before the Iran voyage from the beginning of that section. And then read chapter by chapter back until the place where I had left, or at least where I remembered the words clearly. could the author ever intend it to be read this way. does the reader have this reading freedom, power over the story's facts?
returning themes: east-west, the missing woman who leaves a red trail, this time not a scarf but the memory of her hair, an obsession with an idea, the willingness to integrate or explain a nationalist religious youth, the outskirts of Istanbul and the growth of the urban areas, old narratives and disappearing traditional jobs, the new westernized rich of Nişantaşı and so on. totally new and something that I had yearned for: the Iranian view. finally the two worlds meet somewhere, I wish Pamuk could somehow meet Kiarostami, who knows. another novelty: describing a world I was a part of: I was actually there then; the mention of muhteşem yüzyıl, the tv show I watched blindly for so long, eagerly hearing each word and expression.
not as convoluted as other novels, or is it the translator? equally rich in quotes and authors and text. how I miss the city of dreams.