Slowly, first touch, the scent. Word by word, a sentence comes. Nothing else matters in the cosmos, just you and me. You and I sojourn in the valley of verbs and nouns, in a corner of our times; you are the book, and I am the reader.

Music, a spark that kindles our fantasies, understands our fears, verbalizes what we cannot say, verbalizes ideas that don't have a match in the dictionary. Music, a match that set on fire a tear of salty memories, of sweet saudades. Music is amazing, there is only one thing that I can think of that is better: Dogs!

My dogs and my roses! That's a good deal! That's better than perfect; that's not a display. That's not an offer, as a kind soul is never on sale.

If we’re either living the chaos as a consequence of the melodrama that the universe and the creator are enacting, or trying to contain the decay towards entropy as the equations suggest, it is uncomfortable to be alive.

All the scenes were explained,we thought what we meant.You revisit each cornerand rethink what was meant.I don’t claim innocence,but do you understand?There’s a chord, there’s a note—and you hate,in your words, in your tone. It’s insane. Now my words are sinister;that’s not part of my charm.That’s an old wound, now a blister…

Taking a break to reassess the facts outside our narrative has a positive psychological effect: it reminds us that we’re humans, that we make mistakes, and that we can amend them. Although, as said before, it is much easier to think that we’re humans just because we feel, and what we feel and think is an absolute truth, and everyone else is wrong, however, as my people say “you do you, I do me.”

And my mornings are eclipsed by a womanwith soft hair, and deep eyes that sigh.There's a dove resting on my shoulderwith a melody that was made to cry.There's a needle guarding my eveningsand the pieces of my frosted heart. "Ay" says my heart.Be the dart, be the part.Be the dart of souls in my chart.

And well, just like in the myth, where a Babel tower grows a primordial language is split into several. We’re next to each other speaking the same tongue, but converting entirely different languages of meaning. Some of us have been impregnated with a set of paradigms that are too distant to the ones that reign in the mind of who is by our side. Yes, it adds diversity and stimulates our minds, but also it alienates the sense of belonging.

There is another benefit (the one I am fond of) of having a healthy relationship with a mentor: it provides a sense of belonging for the mentee, as a conducive learning atmosphere spins off of that relationship. Respect, appreciation, and intergenerational complicity are also fruits of this relationship.

Some time ago, I decided to run a marathon. As part of the training, I lost about 19 ki~... friends, not kilograms. The wishful thinking of accomplishing a goal was supported by those friends. However, the actions that took me to the goal created space and distance. Why? Because the execution of a decision transforms us, and sometimes we become unrecognisable to our own circles.

We should have seven dogs, nay, seven golden retrievers, and seven labradors, and seven little beagles, and with each beagle 2 soft ears.

In the beginning there was nothing, and a creator verbalised a desire that materialised into this universe. In the beginning of our projects, there is plenty of information, and resources, yet no verbalisation, no words, no actions. Only the feeling of… nothing moving, and too much happening. That’s what I call The Paradox of the Frozen Beginnings.

Question to the Space industry: with all the problems that Earth is facing, does it make sense to pour our energy and effort into defense only, focusing blindly on revenues, as the Joker would advise? Or should the great power that technology has given to us be used differently?

Perfection doesn’t exist, does it? Then, practice makes what? Practice pushes the boundaries of the technique.

I To embody reality: nature, the everyday, food; the scents of cinnamon, of ginger; the morning of coffee and tea; the silhouette of the steam, the dew of a night of passion on the windowpane, the long walks and the moon. The blue sky with its explanations; those nameless colors; those intricate shapes between circle and cylinder, between concave and convex; a three-centimeter line and one that is free verse.

Creativity has its roots in boredom, innovation has its roots in creativity. We shouldn't let Innovation commit suicide by killing creativity.

Extremes are never good when imposed, but pragmatically they are needed to stir discussions and challenge perspectives. As anything in nature, they may evolve or disappear–but only when encountered…

Enjoy the videos and music you love, upload original content, and share it all with friends, family, and the world on YouTube.

Enjoy the videos and music you love, upload original content, and share it all with friends, family, and the world on YouTube.