The Tobacco Shop, by Fernando Pessoa

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I am nothing.
I shall always be nothing.
I can only want to be nothing.
Apart from this, I have in me all the dreams in the world.
Windows of my room,
The room of one of the world’s millions nobody knows
(And if they knew me, what would they know?),
You open onto the mystery of a street continually crossed by people,
A street inaccessible to any and every thought,
Real, impossibly real, certain, unknowingly certain,
With the mystery of things beneath the stones and beings,
With death making the walls damp and the hair of men white,
With Destiny driving the wagon of everything down the road of nothing.

Today I’m defeated, as if I’d learned the truth.
Today I’m lucid, as if I were about to die
And had no greater kinship with things
Than to say farewell, this building and this side of the street becoming
A row of train cars, with the whistle for departure
Blowing in my head
And my nerves jolting and bones creaking as we pull out.

Today I’m bewildered, like a man who wondered and discovered and forgot.
Today I’m torn between the loyalty I owe
To the outward reality of the Tobacco Shop across the street
And to the inward reality of my feeling that everything’s a dream.

I failed in everything.
Since I had no ambition, perhaps I failed in nothing.
I left the education I was given,
Climbing down from the window at the back of the house.
I went to the country with big plans.
But all I found was grass and trees,
And when there were people they were just like the others.
I step back from the window and sit in a chair. What should I think about?

How should I know what I’ll be, I who don’t know what I am?

Funeral Blues, by W.H. Auden

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(Cambridge, England. Photograph by Alice Fagiolo)

 

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum.

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling in the sky the message He is dead.

Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policeman wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;

For nothing now can ever come to any good. 

Trinity College

Trinity College

One of the most beautiful colleges in the world, in my humble opinion. Founded by Henry VIII in 1546. Isaac Newton was one of its most illustrious students. That tiny person is actually me. One of the best times of my life. Wish I had studied there. Anyone in Cambridge care to adopt me? Or just give me a scolarship to study in Trinity? Well, it is worth a try. 😉

Russia and Ukraine appeal to God

I found these two pictures truly powerful. In Russia, an orthodox priest blesses the troops. In Ukraine, another orthodox priest gets in front of the troops ready to stop the Russian troops.

I wonder: what century are we in again?

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Skies

The sky today and yesterday. Mind-blowing. No filter was used.

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