I bought a small box of slime at The Flying Tiger for 2€, just to play with it for a while because I felt bored and I can’t stand boredom. It was my first time playing with slime, one of my students brought his lime green phlegm like slime to class and I felt jealous… So I, a grown ass adult, bought me what resembled unicorn phlegm. It is fun to play with it, but it got old.

This is how it occurred me I could use it creatively, the picture that popped into my mind…



Love in Ultralight

They’re so many things at once yet, in a world with no super heroes, they hold their own

Grava a minha essência como um selo sobre o teu coração. Que minha memória ressoe através do cerne do teu ser. Deixa-me brilhar e erguer-me através do centro da tua paixão, através das margens da tua acção, através de cada parte de ti que se torna viajante e deixa o lar. Grava-me como um monograma que alerte todo mundo: Eis o sinal da integridade, eis o sinal do amor. A força dos cosmos se oculta sob sua superfície.
 in Cântico dos Cânticos





My camera died last summer, and so did my cat. It’s been sad, lonelier and boredom stroke.

I had to get a new phone recently and this one has a camera. I had no idea just how much I actually missed taking photos. I captured this one through a telescope, I think it turned out really nice. I need to get me a new camera!!



Long sleepless nights praising Mother moon, I love the night especially the light in the night sky, an open book of neverending stories and wonder. We have a special relationship, the moon and I.

#moon#moonlight #moonlightmagic #telescope #nofilter#darkmotherdivine

Photo: moon as seen from Lisbon, around 10 PM, 24/04/18. Got her good 


“The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, 
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.

The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness —
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.”

in The Moon and the Yew Tree, Ariel, Sylvia Plath

Deaf Splash of Growth



I’m feeling full today, I can’t stomach any food, so I’m making a soothing warm soup, plenty pumpkin, squash, turnips, carrots, beets, a little ginger and a handful of fresh minced mint. The sizzling hot day turned the roads and sidewalks into radiators, the air is thick and hot at eight pm. As I sip on an icy cup of ginger tea the soup is cooking and the water is reaching boiling point, foaming, lifting the lid, while in the sink water is dripping, from the tap that needs fixing and its constant dripping sets my teeth on edge. It took only one drop splashing on the already large pool formed by the leakage, splashing into a few more droplets, to send me back to the time when I believed whatever would happen then would shape my whole life. Whatever happened before and after I realised the truth didn’t shape the rest of my life, whatever happened on those blissful days spent in hidding, in young love didn’t define me –  that’s the story.

It was, after all, young love, utter and unnerving short sighted bliss, that encouraged me to spend my days in longing, waiting for my lover to come back, parting ways at the train station and staying close for when the time came up being faithfully there to walk back home together. That last day I wondered ‘round the valley and up the ridges in Sintra, I still know the trails by hand, all of them. I had the camera with me, as well as bag with books, water and fruit. As the day progressed, the cartridge filled up with photos, the bag filled up with flowers I had been collecting and the books remained untouched.

At dawn, I sat nearby the train station, at an oddly crowded location. I could see the house in the valley from the belvedere, I dreamt about the future living there, grazing the wild flower bouquet resting on my lap. Famished and thirsty, could barely hold myself, there was still no sign, no familiar grin surfaced from the hasty croud getting out of the train. The night rose quickly and damp, with a thin coat of fog which soaked up the tragedy in alluring gusts of heavy, bleak, perfumed wind.

I was left alone and I knew already then wallowing in loneliness was not on my plans so I left alone and dropped the flowers in a sort of shy gesture.

Today I’m a little faint from both the heat brought by summer and all my loving and affection, having a little bit of a weak stomach from loving deeply and having nothing even remotely as heavenly to treat myself with, spending my days writing endless love letters with everything I do, fueled by it, sipping on unimaginable quiet.

By the fountain, at the ridge, I took a while to absorb the nature around me, just sit down and listen. The water flowed dully and silent from the canals to the fountain. Only the sound of the drops from the water dully and almost criteriously splashing on the rocks dripping on the wavering water could be heard. I spent the night.



Ouroboro, tantas grafias, um símbolo apenas





Este símbolo representa a natureza cíclica da alquimia. A serpente que engole a própria cauda simboliza os ciclos naturais, o eterno, e processos indivisíveis das práticas alquímicas.  Os alquimistas eram ainda muito interessados pelos fenómenos naturais, e usariam o Ouroboro quando necessitavam de ilustrar os conceitos de renascimento e regeneração.  Mais importante ainda, este poderoso símbolo animal alquímico representa a máxima “a unidade do todo” que é, por defeito, a filosofia mais complexa de compreender. O Ouroboro direcciona o subconsciente para penetrar n”a unidade do todo”, e abastece-nos do foco necessário à reincarnação, à aceitação dos contínuos ciclos da vida, sendo um sublime símbolo alquímico para o infinito.




Swinging in Space


She is drifting on water
She conceals
all a girl can feel
in recklessness and poise
the boys and the praise
her and the boys
in a haze
of false pretenses

when she walks on water
she’s herself without her name
when she walks on water
she blows her flame

she wants the truth
she can’t handle

she’s contending love

– song lyric project