So... Based on our latest statistics, we've come across
a lot of some people from the northern lands. That's why, we decided to post one text in english just to give it a shot, like a test if you will.
A big and worm "Hello" to the people by northern lands
#Google-Translator's-version: Então... Baseado nasE um salve pro povo nórdico.
altas estatísticas que rolam por aqui, a gente vê quem tem uma galer ona do norte da terra. Portanto, vou colocar só um textinho em inglês pra ver se é só marmelada. :D
Click on "Mais informações" to see it.
At a unknown city – placed somewhere close to some other place, where the signs lighten in medium buildings color the night and misguide the focus of my sight; where men, unknown by my weakened memory, bang in their instruments some dissonant song such as a protest to the early goodbye of the night - I sit.
In silence, swallowed by the environment of noise and festivity, I ponder about what I’ve gained in the year that, very soon, will have pasted. I learned with the drag of the time not to categorize these years into good or bad – for each of them are filled with moments, which, then, I label into good or bad. My years, by this logic, have been either fruitful or useless.
This one, I assure you, was one of my most productive. Not that I gained a lot of money, or got any better with my health, or even found some new greatest love of my life… I say that because I have a positive balance, and for that, I have lived more happy moments than sad moments. And still, sadness has a very simple definition, don’t you think? To me, it’s like a moment of happiness I didn’t recognize, like a momentary sensation bringing me the feeling of not being really alive but to be accepting the time determined for me.
And, really, none of this matters.
Sitting on the front balcony, in the night of December 31st 2010 of the gregorian calendar, I conclude that there is, in it, nothing special – maybe because I’m too old or too hard to see magic in things. Besides the white clothes and the excessive hugging watered by promises of eternal friendship and vows of peace and success, the ticking of the clock and the typical moves of the others 364 days stir me the same way, which means they don’t.
Having not much to consider, since I am consumed and withdrawn to a increasingly smaller piece of the strong man I was, I start to observe the lives of passers - believing that, perhaps, that would make me feel more haughty, aware that today's youth is lost in a world of sex and drunkenness I have never witnessed in my own time.
I add lines, in my mind, to their wildest movements. All of those, filled with my octogenarian bias, mentioning the idiotic and incomprehensive routine they’ve surrendered to. Doomed, I’d say, to die in some accident with no plausible cause other than by their own youthful irresponsibility.
I watch as they climb on buses still in motion, or weave motorcycles and bicycles among cars and pedestrians; while they seduce girls who dance with the sound of those instruments I can still hear, with malicious eyes whereby eating them. They just stand there. I feel their elevated real voices in an almost monosyllabic conversation, until one grunts, leaving.
That is enough for me to laugh. I get up, close the front door of the hut in which I live and sit back inside, assessing the scenes and, in fact, they seem so funny that I burst into laughter until I cry. And when the tears travel down the winding path of my wrinkles, I wonder:
- Oh… So this is how it feels to be alone.
PS:Please don't mind my
possible horrible mistakes.
PS:Please don't mind my