There are two things that I am obsessed with: poetry and strangers.
While I was Erasmus student in Porto I was wandering on the streets. There was one of my favourite streets known as the street of art galleries. I like it especially because it has brilliant painted walls. One day I was walking in that area. I do not check my phone very often but I have received some messages from the best flatmate I ever had. She was concerning about me. She wanted to tell me about a shotgun fight there. Then, I saw that the street was blocked. I felt a kind of pressure.
Another day, on the same area, I approached a guy on the street. He was playing guitar and then he was reciting poetry. He was great. I have never seen before people who read poetry on the street. I spoke with him. He sent me some poems in Portuguese and he translated one of them into English. I have sent to him Nichita Stanescu because I found a good translation.
My point is that there is a sense of excess in the world. I believe in forms of excess, and of madness, and of greatness at the same time. Some people will understand what is about. I have never been able to explain all of these things using precise words. At this moment what crosses my mind is a particular quote that I liked from On the road by J. Kerouac. It is a very popular one, by the way: “the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!” ”.