From love i choose all

 

For me, there are three pillars of life: LOVE, WISDOM, the COLLECTIVE.

In these three pillars are all things material and immaterial of humanity.

When one animal devours another, a butterfly is chewed by the bird, it becomes itself into something greater, in the spirit of the bird. Such is LOVE. When we feel infinite and unconditional love for another, we become the other. Therefore, I know that I am your shadow and your steps, your slow and labored breathing, your charming smiles and your sadness, also your disappointments and joys, your failures and successes, your struggles and also your progress. It is not you who benefit from this love, I hope that if you feel (feel?) that it strengthens you, but not only, it is me, Especially me, because by feeling you, by having you in me, I recognize myself, too. I feel the wind in your hair and face, your tears and also the love you have for others and that, Faustino, adds up in me. That powerful formula that transforms everything around it, that dignifies the human species, is not only through coitus, nor through war, nor through jealousy, nor through sadness.

LOVE is freedom to be and to think, to allow oneself to experience. And even when I'm sad, I get emotional, because it's enough for me to think of you, to look at you and the desire to see you again moves me, notice the power you have, through a photo, to burn longing for you! And to feel you is to close my eyes and see you in the same way, growing like the sea and lapping inside me, in your waves, in your comings and goings of foam, in your eye of every color, of the moods that the sea has, in your voice expressing itself synthetically and romantically. In your peculiar expressions and silences and the more I feel your silence, the more I appreciate the music you create and between memories and fantasies, you gain all the space and I wonder (to that god that lives in me) how much space you can occupy more, if inside I have organs full of lesleys and arteries, blood and water, epithelial cells and bones and sighs,  bacteria, emotional and exposed wounds, pulmonary ventricles and neuronal synapses, hemispheres and glands and remnants of everything and nothing, how do you fit and become me, because you are already me, without borders, only bridges, many bridges between all this and what inspires me and allows me to feel. In your absence.

Physics, only. Because you have never been as present as you are now, in this second, when I think and express you and sing how I feel you in me, for me. I sit down and look at you with my head down and notice the details of the gradient colors of the photos of nineteen eighty-peaks, nineteen ninety-peaks, worn out, yes, but with rich details that open up other memories for me, the war in the gulf, for example, the time of the fireworks, the stops at the verges of Mesão Frio, Santa Marta de Penaguião, in the vertigo of the race between shows, sleeping around, S. João da Pesqueira, Besteiros and Granja do Tedo, quick dawns between a coffee and a dinintel, between a dinner in Oliveira do Bairro and the meeting of long-time friends,  Canela and Ana and the tour of Portugal by bicycle and the occasional pimbas, and set up lights and sound in nightclubs, in Cinfães, in Castelo de Paiva, everywhere and the green island, in Canedo, the leds, the final countdown and the music, always the music between us, the Camel, B.J.H, Nina Hagen and Lene Lovich, Alan Parson's and Vangelis, PG and Genesis on our worn-out cassettes,  in our jokes and conversations about the cosmos, Carl Asimov and the big bangs, and you always by my side, for everything, and Lina going to Morocco and me crying at home for you, and Lina and David and Xana and Mingos, and the place of Salto and the card games every Sunday and on the beach of Aguda with the sweet Dina, and Ana a girl, always such a beautiful blue girl, running inside the kitchen, wearing an apron, keeping bags in the drawer under the fridge, the carrot cream served, the gothic Miguel arriving with his beautiful girlfriend still, and Pimenta and the rehearsal room, the catraios, always the laughter of the catraios and Dina in the backyard plucking lemons from the lemon tree so that our son wouldn't be born with his hair standing on end and my giant hunger for seafood rice,  in the backyard, in Espinho, so many times before the boy, so many times after the boy,  And the Citroen that went up and down, the GS and the Diane, the four éle without handbrakes, and the urbanization of Sá and António's house and JVC in the heights and our love for the floor, in bed, everywhere, our frequent trips to Augusto and Céu and then to Augusto and Céu and their boy,  the pregnant Filó, playing the violin in the orchestra, Isaac biting his nails while doing breaks on the drums, at the optician, the sweet Filó with the boy Isaac junior and Alcino playing Quim Barreiros on the accordion on stages, and Diana in the gymnastics and Brito playing guitar like no one else, full of cock and Rosarinho dying of love for him and him for her and Veludo and Nizo and his beautiful Inês who was One more account that God did with your help, and Gena, and Fernando, and Rafael, and Aníbal on keyboards, and our drumsticks climbing machines and cranes and motorcycles and moons and batteries, and our Almerinda, Adérito, Copinga, and the churchyard and speaking of that churchyard, because of that churchyard,  I bought this land, because I had a bell in the chapel and because I could hear the trinities, as I did in Castelo. And there is no point without a knot that does not make me shed tears and I am surprised by the sea in my eyes that this love still provokes in me, because instead of water, if it were blood (I would give my life for you, no doubt), if it were blood, I would already be dead, me and my longing for us.

Wisdom is not born in the stone of the path, but contains the way and the stone. Nor of the impulses that lead us to make mistakes in life, but the mistakes of life bring wisdom and are lessons that we cannot forget. And life has done nothing more with me but teach me, especially through love, that not everything we choose is a linear translation of wisdom. Illusions are fantasy, but they contain in themselves the wisdom of childhood, which we keep, as well as the dreams of those that we do not fulfill, as children, or later, as adults, for lack of maturity, sometimes for lack of time in our meager chronology. The maturing of the soul contains wisdom, while that of the body contains wrinkles, lesions, blackheads and dysplasias, that of the soul has paths and intersections, crossings and interruptions, distances and approximations, the binomials of first and second importance, the judgments of first and second evaluation. the first and second category priorities. Verbiage is not wisdom, but between lines you can read what has not been written and in the love I have for you you can feel my agony. In what is not ours, we can find poetry. And poetry is wisdom. Ancient, childish, prophetic, dialectical and pathetic, but wisdom. And in humor and art, whether street or museum, private or collective, there is wisdom. But what is wisdom without the high motivation of love for the other? And you, my greatest love, God soon put you on my path so that I, privileged without knowing it, could feel what it was to be whole and to be wise. And my stupidity mixed with my ignorance and my impulsiveness has taken me away from you, forever and always will be more time without love.  And who am I without a compass, without inspiration, without a star and without motivation for life, if you are my life, if I lost my life twenty-five years ago? Wisdom belatedly came, injecting me with longing, light, motivation, truth, agony, eternal melancholy, longing, longing, longing, longing...

And I have learned so much from you and the other so much because of you. To live without love is to give pearls to swine. And the God in me says that my pearls have your name, the color of your eyes, the taste of your mouth, the measurement of your arms around my body, the beautiful music you compose that comes directly from your fingers to my ears and keeps me happy. Wisdom is ancient and I recycle it and tell you, without you I am an empty shell, whom the sea has forgotten! 

And the collective interests me, the well-being of the whole has always concerned me.

It is with wisdom and a lot of love that I call you and that I cry out to you and that I am moved to know that I have a lot to give of myself to the whole, to the collective, but that without you I do not move, I do not run, I will not go, I am not, I do not want, I do not expect anything else! And if what you live until you leave is this great love, so be it, let it go completely crazy, let it lose any notion of what is expected of me, while I wait for you here. And I cover myself with the pillow on my face, and I cry and I am moved and I call you and I love you and I die without you. My dear love, without you, the collective be damned. 

You are my star king, my emperor, my wizard sorcerer, my scientist Sparrow, always creating new machines and alarms and crazy circuits and musical compositions, you are everything and I am the shadow of what I was by your side, but I will go with you wherever you go, I will be wherever you are, no matter what they say and think of these declarations of love,  my love, what matters to me is you and the light of God that you have projected in me that is called LOVE.