Omnes una manet nox

As I followed the less traveled road I reached a great old mansion. I knocked at the gate of lost time, nobody answered. I knocked a second time and kept knocking again and again. No response. No sounds. The house of lost time has ivy covering half of it, and ashes of a vanished past laying over the rest. Is a house where no body lives, and I kept rattling and calling, calling just to feel the pain of not being heard. Simply a lonely beat. The echo returns my urges to half-open these ice palaces of mine own. And in the end, night and day are mingled and confused by my hope, hope of waiting for the knocking to produce an echo or a reply…

The lost time certainly does not exist. Is just an empty condemned house…





"Illusion is the first of all pleasures." - Oscar Wilde





Listening to "Skeletons" - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Fabas indulcet fames

It started to thrill me every time I begun speaking about friends. Must be age, people say that as years pass by we get more sentimental, or a constant feeling of movement, as if life was in a eternal shape shifting mode for me. But the fact is: when I think about my personal achievements and valuable belongs, friends are on equal footing with my family. And when I hear people saying that friend, real friends, we have no more than two or three, I can proudly hit my chest and say that I have way more than two or three. They are a bunch. It is not my privilege, anyone could have as many friends, but who is willing to commit? Who is willing to be engaged? People often say that John Doe is my friend, or Marie is my friend. Lie. You know them. They are people that we greeted on the street, talked quickly at a party, and we may even hear something about them, but friends? Not even close. Some actually were, but not anymore due to lack of care from both parties. Friendship is way more than just mere empathy, is a constant harvest, dedication and an eternal process of commitment. It takes time and willingness. And its most important feature is that the love involve do not need, or should not need, any reason. People often talk or commingle in Birthdays, Christmas or to ask for favors. There are always hidden motives behind it. And is that exactly paradox that can show us the factual difference between a casual and a true friend, just take the reason of the scene. I don’t need a reason. Just to miss that particular person. And, by being together, fell treated well. Hard to exemplify that feeling of being treated well. If you are in the presence of true friendship you don’t even need to put anything into words, the companion and the walk, side by side, in silence are sufficient. No need to constant praise each other, you may even pick on the other from time to time, gently. Also no need for endless demonstration of affection, and harsh truths can be said, sometimes they are needed. But the bottom line is that there is something sublime in the air between two friends. Perhaps respect is the corner stone. Affection, indeed required. Complicity? No, something greater. Tuning? No, I think is love. Only by loving you will be able to trust another person with your own personal hell. And also not to envy the battles won by the other side. For love you can share, lend, commingle and enjoy your time, you are honest in your answers, take care not to offend, embrace causes that are not yours, go into adventures, divide experiences and accept some disappearances, but reach out when that disappearance is exaggerated. All of this is dealing with friendship. If a friend like this comes into your life, do not let him go away. However, generally, people do not just let it slip from their fingers, as they contribute so they can evaporate. They ignore the mechanisms of maintenance. People think that friendship is something done, that its nature is to be constant, and we do not have to give it a helping hand. That sentiment continues up until the day that they open their little hands and are not able to count even two friends. And they start arguing that loneliness is a symptom of the modern days, so full of emergency, so individualistic. No. Loneliness is just a symptom of our negligence.





"Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies." - Aristotle




Listening to Hoodoo Gurus - "Come Anytime"

Amat victoria curam

Maybe the world is not small after all, not even life is a consummated act. I want to invent my own kind of sin and end my good life with my particular medicine.

I need, once and for all, to loose your head. My mind needs to get rid of your senses.

Facing the every day, restructuring loose pieces, tying loose ends, that’s how we walk on, everything can be re-experienced, even death.

If I’d to believe in everything that I think of, I would be insane by now…





"A person needs a little madness, or else they never dare cut the rope and be free." - Nikos Kazantzakis





Listening to Porcupine Tree - "Collapse the Light into Earth"

Liberate te ex inferis

For those who lived a good and eternal love…
Two life’s that were instantly set apart,
By the awful misleads of the naïve heart,
Can never end the motion, like a deep light...
They are like little morning shinning stars,
Running through the infinity of the sky…
Now, in different but common directions,
Following their once routed path of happiness
But never losing each other eyes from sight…

It’s like keeping an inner secret from ourselves,
From a heart that just spread its wings and flew…
It is an old alive affection that was left in our veins,
From a heart that could not left its present owner…
It’s the constant certainty of an eternal presence…

From all life that was…
From all life that will…

It is longing for that good feeling,
Happy, Singing…





"A man's moral conscience is the curse he had to accept from the gods in order to gain from them the right to dream." - William Faulkner





Listening to Stan Getz - "When Your Lover Has Gone"

Mens agitat molem

Following one reverie that I always wonder about since my childhood, I came up with a quite interesting question on my demented mind: What if a person with “Capgras Delusion” entered an eternal house of mirrors? What would happen to that person’s sense of being? Would that person starts to ask himself about the veracity of himself? That question always hunted me… Like a demon in a world without candles…

“Capgras Delusion” is a rare mental illness, or disorder according to more political psychiatrists, in which the “haunted” one holds a deep belief that other people, or people that are around them are in a certain manner impostors, or more commonly have being replaced by an identical-looking impostors. In general cases, the syndrome is related to a paranoid nature where the delusional person truly believes in its dementia.

But returning to our main topic, image a poor haunted soul entering a place where even the best cognitive system would be putted at test. Someone that is doubtful of his closest friends is faced with its most inner self. As a grain of sand drops, the soul that once questioned the veracity of his own family now starts to look inside itself, and as Nietzsche would probably say: The abyss gazed back into him.

Suddenly all that was inside that needy soul gets released, like a inner Pandora box, all his villains, fears, sensations, emotions, memories, sins, knowledge and information converted into one and many person as his ego, id and superego were liberated to participate in his walk through the valley of mirrors. Now he is not alone anymore, there are several “me’s”, formed through the mix of his ego, id, superego in a never ending dance as they shape-shift from one reflection into the other as the haunted soul just stares through the looking glass trying to get familiar with all this “new” impostors that have being replaced, and now surrounds him.

As the person starts to walk deep inside the maze of mirrors delusion and beliefs regarding him are at clash. Every time he looks at a different mirror the reflection shows itself as a new “him”, or more properly said the reflection brings light into a new side of his personality that was up to now in a deep shadow. Every single stare at the mirrors is a window to his haunted soul, and so as the reflections are replaced by impostors, id, ego and superego take turns or commingle in a venture to expose its truly identity. As the journey continues, I can only imagine that questions regarding the “true me” start to pop into his head. As Id, ego and superego starts to make the mirrors become more and more alive and one starts to ask himself whether the reflection is the real self and the flesh and blood is an impostor. And in this exact moment is where the subject is faced with probably one of the most difficult choices during his walk into the self-awareness: “Who am I?”

Sartre would probably argue that deep down this appeal to a transcendental ego, or a true me, conceals a conscious flight from freedom. Our pour soul quest into knowing the veracity regarding himself is truly a search for authenticity, as it is the true virtue, in a society marked or defined by oppression and exploitation. The foundation remarking our subject quest, again, is the basic ambiguity of human reality that in the darkest hours “is what it is not” and “is not what it is”, an eternal motor of internal negation. Sartre would say that authenticity, or in our case the search for it, is fundamentally a condition where the human kind remains in a deep sleep state dreaming about the basic ambiguity that states that one is never identical with one’s current state but remains responsible for sustaining it. And in that way, the claim “who I am” would be tantamount to a manner of self-deception or bad faith as would all forms of determinism, since both instances involve lying to oneself regarding the fact that one’s nonself-coincidence and the concomitant responsibility for “choosing” to remain as one self.

Given the essential division of the human condition into factice and transcendence, bad faith or in-authenticity can assume two principal forms: one that denies the freedom or transcendence component and the other that ignores the fatidic dimension of every situation. Sartre talks as if any choice could be authentic so long as it is lived with a clear awareness of its contingency and responsibility. But his considered opinion excludes choices that oppress or consciously exploit others. In other words, authenticity is not entirely style; there is a general content and that content is freedom.

So as the “Capgras Holder” ventures into the jungle of self’s, realities, choices and thoughts translate as impostors reflected in every single mirror, deep down his journey into reveling its truly form turns into a quest for freedom. A quest for learning how to live with his choices. As certain as he is about a particular decision he becomes aware that no other alternative is possible, when a particular decision is made a new path is set. And since each path is full of possibilities, it seems that he cannot accept the responsibility for his choices, the responsibility of letting others paths go, or more likely of not exploring every single path possible.

And as a Salomonical curse, the feeling and memories of missed paths and opportunities will eternally hunt the “Capgras Holder” and all his inner self-reflections seen as impostors, but truly representing all dreams, emotions and sensations stored deep down at the holders id, ego and superego that were not properly followed…




"In all intellectual debates, both sides tend to be correct in what they affirm, and wrong in what they deny." - John Stuart Mill




Listening to "Dr Jackle" - Miles Davis feat. Milt Jackson Quintet

Saepe creat molles aspera spina rosas

There must be a place, space or time
Working like a kind of special bazaar
Where all our lost and broken dreams
Go to rest in a never-ending symphony…

Made of absences, draining out of excess
The dreams and fantasies are not straight.
Not fitting in straight lines or concepts
They are made and live in the extremes…

Opening each single bottle, yes, do it,
Let all that inner geniuses leave, free…
Courage must be wear all the times,
To tear, cut, burn, so we can start over…

I never wished or wanted to be always right
I sincerely prefer to be right and wrong
It’s always better to be complete, dual
And the first step is wanting to…





“In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.” William Blake





Listening to "The River" - Bruce Springsteen

Fiat Lux

There is a certain art in drawing with light, of searching for the perfect balance between light and shadow, brightness and darkness, a balance that just that exact second will reveal. This certain art presents a unique opportunity to play with the shape of objects, with the colors presented and reflected; and as said a unique opportunity to commingle with life, being able to shape shift these social construction call world memory. And this journey through the realm of light and shadow end up being a eternal quest for one’s soul, just as one starts to dig into their conscience, going into places where he do not know that were there, experiencing with unfamiliar events, facts, dreams, memories and feelings, one discover itself trapped in a realm where light and shadow are one, where much light represents a greater darkness to be discovered. While looking through that magic rectangle where the sensitive soul frames the beauty of the simplest day-to-day activity an entanglement of emotions and sensations take apart in that process. In that exact moment beauty is not just at the eyes of the beholder. Beauty now is part of a different spectrum of realities; beauty is now an amalgam between the figurative representations in the subconscious of the artist and the viewer. A construction forged inside two separated bodies, set apart by singular convictions, realities, knowledge, beliefs and experiences. A composition, so ephemeral, delicate and special, that only exists at the exact moment of the first gaze, vanishing like a mist in the hot morning as the viewer walks way from that particular angle, time and set of thoughts that were present in that exact second of the first gaze. Being able to imagine and experiment, only for a second, this sensation of being part of a production alien to my body and mind, that can only exist at the wiliness of two complete distinct set of minds and bodies, and so momentary that only the true look can captivate it is what delights me in the pursue of the perfect light-shadow combination. Or going further into this dream, being able to construct a so everlasting creation that the first gaze will be just the propelling vehicle where this two bodies will further develop a unique set of fantasies, dreams, emotions where that first gaze will forever renovate itself into a cycle of same gazes being seen by different angles, time, emotions and viewers that end up at that unique first gaze by this two special actors.





"Hay que ser realistas ...soñemos lo imposible." - Ernesto Guevara de la Serna






Listening to "Anos Dourados" - Chico Buarque & Tom Jobim