IT'S JANUARY

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Mobirise

THE RIGHT WING WE’VE LEFT

20 JANUARY 2020

When Portuguese right wing MPs consider the tax increase on infamous bullfighting the biggest issue in this government’s cultural policy, it says a lot on what we can count on from that side of the parliament. And it adds on a few more black spots to the undeniable crisis of the democratic right wing in Portugal.

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BREAD AND BUTTER AND CHOCOLATE MILK

20 JANUARY 2020

How does such a cold sunny day (trees rubbing their branches on each other to warm up, the lawn-mower’s song and the green smell of grass) has made me miss some chocolate milk and a simple bun with butter?

2 JANUARY 2020

IT'S JANUARY

The first poem (the first part) of my book, 366, is called “Janeiro” (“January”), as it must, in a book that is a leap year. I made this video to promote the book and the afore-mentioned poem. It’s about this month, but in 2016. The music was kindly supplied by João Páris.

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THE FIRST JOURNEY IS ALWAYS AN ADVENTURE

2 JANUARY 2020

The news at home is called Prenda (Present). She’s a sweet dog, no pedigree, like every dog should be. Today we took her to the vet for the first time. She found the car unfamiliar but didn’t make much noise. She lives on patting and in return she gives love.

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BEYOND THE DOOR HORIZONS AWAIT

1 JANUARY 2020

Today is believe day. The first day of the year is, conventions accepted, a synonym of hope, a naïve belief in the regenerative power of calendars. Everything changes. Even if it stays the same. We look at shadows in kindness and at doors like portals to new adventures. All of them lead to a kind of Hogwarts.
 

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ONE QUIET AND COLD DAY

30 DECEMBER 2019

It was just in May 2018 that I published my first “official” book of poetry, 366. Before that, for years, I manually crafted (with the precious help of miss printer) a whole collection of books I gave my closest friends. Though most of the poems lacked the necessary maturity to be appreciated as literature, the truth is I still see them with a full heart.

Like the first of them, “Flor Silvestre”. It was no more than my adolescence in bloom, all the passion my body couldn’t keep for a girl with very blue eyes and pale skin. The exaggeration brings a smile to my face.

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