probriqueza

O paradoxo do rico/pobre manifesta-se outra vez duma riqueza evolvente. A ultima vez foi quando com um bilhete de 500 euros fiquei com fome. O que pode ser mais evolvido do comprar uma casa e ficar sem casa? Mais esquisito e ter todas as camas da paris como possibilidades nocturnas com toda a gente que pode ficar na mesma casa, curato, cama ad nauseam.  Fui numa festa com um amigo e outra gente que nunca conheci, fiquei ate as 6 da manha ate o fim da festa para "dormir" na sofá com um desconhecido e a patrona da casa que conheci na festa porque a sua cama já estava cheia dos invitados estimados que nem pediram a permissão da invasão... Hoje soube-me pouco.

The reason behind my dis-contempt

I woke up early this morning feeling a certain emptiness that neither friends nor family can fill. I looked around my studio and thought of the mediocrity of its spaciousness. I thought I should either move into a bigger space which can accommodate and entertain a larger potential or trim down the space and in turn my expectations therefrom. On a similar note, I questioned the extramural city size and concluded similarly. I should either keep striving for a quixotic stability in Paris or accept to dull my life elsewhere. In a previous post, I had compared people to places, hence, analogously, I can keep striving for Mrs. Right++ quixotically or give in to a Mrs. Smith (or Madame Dupont) and settle accordingly. The dis-contempt arises neither from choice A nor from choice B but from the very indecision and tentative instability.  

 

Introspective physiology

I have observed that my life can be reduced into long and empty intervals of time separating heart breaks. I have equally observed that during those heart breaks, my body can be reduced to a few organs, namely a nose, a larynx and a heart that Biology must have always confused with lungs.

I am vaguely aware of anything besides the air entering my nose and flowing to my lungs or heart through the larynx as I breath my present existence. More precisely, I sense an infinitely thin thread puncturing my larynx all the way to my heart. More than a piercing in my heart, I feel an entanglement possibly by the very thread therein.

An invisible weight hibernates at the bottom end of my heart as if chained with and suspended from the thread entering my larynx. No matter how hard I inhale or how much air I try to fill my lungs with, I feel a lack of oxygen as if there was a hole in my lungs (or heart). While the hole hypothesis is ridiculed by science, I adopt the alternative hypothesis claiming that my lungs must be filled with tiny men breathing my oxygen into their own lungs, that are perhaps filled fractally and recursively with tinier men and so on and so forth (see below). The lack of oxygen induces an inner pressure that is often unbearable and analogous to an ever-going implosion.

Heart breaks are not only the product of  personal relationships but a myriad of existential events and encounters such as personal, professional, and intra-personal achievements, disappointments and life-decisions. Personally and professionally, I have put my heart on the (thin) line separating arts from science and that very life-decision, with all its bells and whistles, exhibitions and conferences, ups and downs, breaks my heart chronically.

But how much worse are those long and empty time intervals with pointless invisible walls and no notions of time and space? When not heart broken my perception is perhaps more pathetic as my self is extended and contained in all that I see. I become all I see with my eyes and imagine in my third eye that is including the people, animals, places..etc around me and those not around me. The latter might defy the laws of physics, however, it is known to science and to most men that we are all made of atoms and more universally even sung with a twist of wording towards us coming from stardust. All this empty wholeness makes me feel as if my heart was floating in liquids of unknown substances and unpredictable properties. This puts me under more pressure and makes me anxious to the point of desiring what is to eventually break my heart, over and over...

Love letters to Anhedonia

Dear Anhedonia,

Please understand that my desire for our relationship to end in this last letter I write you is not dictated by my own passion that you have slowly and coldly sucked into what defines you and your friends of the DSM jargon. You have inspired in me a sense of satire that has eventually ridiculed my own thoughts to embrace ones of nihilism paired with a desperate search for the impossible.

Not that this really matters, but I have never betrayed you with your cousin, Dysthymia. You both come from a wealthy Greek family but I have no interest in your Greek names nor in your submissive games.

Forgive me if my admiration for the dead languages ever gave you the impression that our affair was one to outlast me for your own sake of shining amongst my family and friends.

Good bye,
Al  

I am sound

I am sound
I am light
I am vely light 

Missing

I miss many people but most of all myself. I have been missing for a while. Please report me or the misuse of a transitive verb!

je m'en voulais pas assez pour te mériter

Je me suis bourré la gueule, arraché les yeux, et bouffé le nez afin de t'en vouloir mais hélas je m'en voulais pas assez pour te mériter. Je ne te cherche point, mais l'amour qui te rendra belle et rendra hommage à ma recherche de temps perdu...

L'amour est aveugle pour que les amoureux ne puissent voir les douces folies qu'ils commettent . - William Shakespeare.  

I am the Mother of Artificial Immune Systems

I am aspiring to a postdoc in Artificial Immune Systems (AIS) at a warm and gay coastal resort such as Brazil, needless to mention that the founding father of AIS, Leandro De Castro, is Brazilian and lives in Brazil. However, to a great disappointment, he quit academia and science for business, thus making the field of AIS he fathered an orphan! The funny irony or pun is that I adopted AIS in my doctoral career before it was abandoned by its father which makes me and all those in the same boat, mothers of AIS. "Mother of artificial immune systems" is a title I have long held and to a certain extent bared! it allows me not only to celebrate Mother's day but be proud of my artificial immune system that was the basis of my dissertation, that was my baby, no pun intended!

No one is me(rri)er than me but am I who I want to be?

I don't know to what extent cognitive dissonance, in particular sour grapes, is influencing my daily decisions even those of writing this blog. I don't know for how long I will be haunted by the comfort zones that I have learned to build so effectively wherever I settle yet misprize for the sense of adventure and vigor that they slowly suck off my mortal life. I don't know whether I should be eternally grateful for what I have become or more grateful for all the things I have not become. No one is meer than me but am I who I want to be? 

Alas

Alas, I have cloyed you too!


Indeed, but I had no other choice as I have been cloyed myself until serendipity guided me towards you, a needle in a haystack. .