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!” ”.
