Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category


Life itself by Dr. Nonsensee

February 11, 2009

People often ask me, are you happy??

When asked I often think- uhmmmm, if I am nor super happy, or very sad, what am I?? Do you know?  It’s a hard question to answer because people are not happy all the time, and people don’t want to hear how  unhappy  you are! (if that’s the case).

The reason why I’m posting this today is because I woke up and felt very happy,  whole as an orange…hahaha:)

I like my job, my partner, my house, my dogs, my plants, my weight…

But that is today tomorrow is a new day and who knows?!

I think people should be allowed to feel however they like!

Nonsense… this post…maybe?!!

I just feel like sharing!



a while….

August 17, 2008

Long time and nothing….

I know!!! I haven’t had the time to do anything! I had a crazy year, really REALLY insane with tons of random things happening, some good, some so so sh$tty, and some very sad….

It’s calming down as work requires all of my time basically…. but yes, it has been crazy …

So many things to talk about….

1) I miss you Biba, you are very special and you will never be forgotten!

2) Teacher Rosangela and Mr. Arnold I would love to apologize for being a brat in school, I understand how hard it is to teach a class full of brats!

3) Sabrina, you are strong, beautiful and you are going to overcome all of this, I just know it!!!

I cannot believe so many things have happened, in such a short time, live and learn, that is all i can take from 2008 so far!

When My Mind is Still

When my mind is still and alone with the beating of my heart,
I remember things too easily forgotten:
The purity of early love,
The maturity of unselfish love that asks —
desires — nothing but another’s good,
The idealism that has persisted through all the tempest of life.

When my mind is still and alone with the beating of my heart,
I can find a quiet assurance, an inner peace, in the core of my being.
It can face the doubt, the loneliness, the anxiety,
Can accept these harsh realities and can even grow
Because of these challenges to my essential being.

When my mind is still and alone with the beating of my heart,
I can sense my basic humanity,
And then I know that all men and women are my brothers and sisters.
Nothing but my own fear and distrust can separate me from the love of friends.
If I can trust others, accept them, enjoy them,
Then my life shall surely be richer and more full.
If I can accept others, this will help them to be more truly themselves,
And they will be more able to accept me.

When my mind is still and alone with the beating of my heart,
I know how much life has given me:
The history of the race, friends and family,
The opportunity to work, the chance to build myself.
Then wells within me the urge to live more abundantly,
With greater trust and joy,
With more profound seriousness and earnest service,
And yet more calmly at the heart of life.

Paul Beattie


Porto Alegre, Tchê!

June 19, 2008

I just recently went to visit my family in Porto Alegre. Despite all the sad news I’ve been receiving lately from that side of BRASIL, I had a great time with my family and friends. First night, I arrived and went to my cousins bday dinner/gathering, then after that I went to a club called “Chairs” with some of my favorite girls and my bff 🙂 Pedro de Pacas. As we arrived to the place Pedro said, I’m not sure guys, this place cost a lot and it is late, plus it looks fancy in there!….Aninha tried to bribe the security for half price but nothing. Then when we were about to leave and go home a familiar person came out and said:

– hummm you shouldn’t go in now, it is insane in there! All the good people have left and now only the crazy ones are left !

That was like a letter of recommendation! Pedro no longer was worried about the price, and Aninha was willing to pay double!! We immediately thought let’s go in! It wasn’t that crazy but as we went in and reached the dance floor, we all looked at each other in a weird kinda way. Maybe it was the cheesy trance music or all the people that were so into it! We don’t know what was going on but we sure had to a lot of laughs!!!

Thoughts on the crazy club were:

A) I no longer know how to dance to electronic music..

B) I understand that people must be on drugs to listen to that sh$t.

c) Is that time of the year again (winter)!! The women are looking orange!!!

d) Finally!! I know one song!!! (it was a weird remix with pump the jam by Technotronics)

e) is it a plane, a monkey, a human??? OHHH!!! Just guy on “e” dancing in a (hum mm) indescribable way!

f) Do you need a fork and a knife to finish her off?? (a couple doing more that just making out)

Not my type of party or my friend’s type of party but I can’t say it wasn’t fun!


Crazy and saints…to my real friends!

June 3, 2008

Real friends are the ones that are there for you when you need it, but not only that…they are there when you don’t need it too. Real friends are honest, real friends can tell you everything, there are no secrets between good friends.

There is a text by an unknown writer that I think is perfect! I couldn’t agree more…


I choose my friends not by their skin or other archetype, but by their eye pupil.
It has to have questioning shine and unsettled tone.
I’m neither interested in those who are of good spirit nor those of bad habits.

I’ll stick with the ones that make me crazy and blessed.
From them, I don’t want an answer, I want to be reviewed. I want them to bring me doubts and fears and to tolerate the worst of me.
For that, only being crazy.
I want saints, so they don’t doubt differences and ask forgiveness for injustices.
I choose my friends for their clean face and their
exposed soul .
I want a shoulder to lean on; but I also want their greatest happiness.
A friend that doesn’t laugh together doesn’t know how to cry together.
All my friends are like that, half foolish, half serious.
I don’t want foreseen laughter or weepings that are full of pity.
I want serious friends, those that make reality their fountain of knowledge, but also fight to keep fantasy alive.
I don’t want adult or boring friends.
I want half kids and half elderly.
Kids, so they don’t forget the value of the wind blowing on their faces and
elderly people so they’re never in a hurry. I want friends to know who I am. I want to see them being clowns and being serious, crazy and saints, young and old. I will never forget that normalcy is a sterile and imbecile illusion.”


Guillermo Habacuc Vargas…a real monster!

May 29, 2008

How can some people be so mean? When I come across news like this one, I just wonder how can people find justification or just plain consciousness relief to go ahead and be so cruel…

Guillermo Habacuc Vargas (an artist from Costa Rica) had the nerve to put a starving, thirsty puppy, tied up on a small rope, inside the BienArte 2007 in Costa Rica ( Bienal of visual arts in Costa Rica), and called it a form of art. He prohibited anyone to feed or give it some  water. The puppy soon died. The name of the exposition was ” You are what you read” and it was written in dog food on the wall right next to the starving dog.

How can anyone use the name ART for such an inhuman atrocity!!!! Please if you’re also wondering you should sign a petition that will stop him from representing Costa Rica in the next “Bienal Centroamericana Honduras 2008”. Here is where you can go to sign it:


Hermann Hesse fantasies…

May 28, 2008

Pictor’s Metamorphoses by Hermann Hesse [1922]

( Taken from the book called Pictor’s metamorphoses and other fantasies)

Pictor has scarcely set foot in paradise when he found himself standing before a tree that had two crowns. In the leaves of one was the face of a man.; in the leaves of the other, the face of a woman. Pictor stood in awe of the tree and timidly asked, “Are you the Tree of Life?”

The tree kept silence. Suddenly, coiling itself around the single trunk that joined the tree’s two boughs, there appeared a Serpent. And because the serpent, and not the tree, was about to reply, Pictor turned around and continued on his way. His eyes widened in wonder and delight at all he beheld. Somehow he knew the source of life was near.

Soon enough, he came upon another tree, whose two crowns held the sun and the moon. And once again Pictor asked, “Are you the Tree of Life?”

The sun seemed to nod its assets; the smiled down at him. All around grew clusters of flowers, strange and wonderful, unlike any Pictor had ever seen. From within the circles of their many-hued petals, bright faces and eyes peered out at him. Some of the flowers nodded on their stems, smiling and laughing like the sun and the moon. Others were silent, drunken sunken within themselves, as if drowned in their own perfumes.

And their colors sang to him: this one a deep mauve lilac song, that one a dark lullaby. Oh, what a huge blue eyes this one had, and how much that one resembled his first love. The scent of another sang in his mother’s voice, made him recall how they’d walked in the gardens when Pictor was still a little boy. Yet another flower teased him, stuck out its tongue, long, arched and red. He bent down, put his own tongue to it. The taste was wild and strong, like honey mixed with rosin, and yes, like a woman’s kiss.

Pictor stood alone amid the flowers, Filled with longing and timid joy, he could feel his heart beating in his chest, now fast – in anticipation of something he could only surmise; now slow – in time with the rolling waves of the ocean of desire.

Just then, he saw a bird alight in the grass. The bird’s feathers were ablaze with color, each plume a different color of the rainbow. And he drew nearer to the bird and asked, “Most lovely Bird, tell me, where can one find happiness?”

“Happiness”, the bird replied, its golden beak brimming with laughter, “happiness, friend, is in each thing, valley and mountain, flower and gem.”

Even as it spoke these words, the bird began to dance, ruffling its feathers, flapping its wings, turning its head, beating its tail on the ground, winking, laughing, spinning around the whirl of color. When it came to a standstill, what had been a bird was now a many-colored flower: feathers to petal, claws to roots. The transformation was marvelous. But even as Pictor stood there blinking, it went on changing. Weary of being a flower, it pulled up its roots, set its anthers and filaments in motion. On petal-thin wings it slowly rose aloft and floated in mid-air, a weightless, shimmering butterfly. Pictor could scarcely believe his eyes.

And the new butterfly, the radiant bird-flower-butterfly, flew in circles around and around Pictor. More and more amazed, Pictor watched the sunlight glint off its wings. Soon it let itself glide down to the earth gently as a snow flake. There it rested on the ground trembled as it changed once again. It became a gemstone, out of whose facets a red light streamed.

But even as it lay there, radiant red in the dark green grass, the precious stone shrank smaller and smaller. As if its homeland, the center of the earth, called to it, the gem threatened to be swallowed up. Just as it was about to vanish, scarcely aware of what he was doing, Pictor reached for the stone, picked it up, and clasped it firmly in his hands. Gazing into it, transfixed by its magical light, Pictor could feel its red rays penetrate his heart, warming it with radiance that promised eternal bliss.

Just then, slithering down from the bough of a withered tree, the serpent hissed into Pictor’s ear, “This crystal can change you into anything you want to be. Quickly tell it your wish, before it’s too late. Swiftly, speak your command, before the stone vanishes.

Without stopping to think, afraid of losing this one chance for happiness, Pictor rashly uttered his secret word to the stone, and was as soon transformed into a tree. Pictor had always wished to become a tree, because trees seemed so serene, so strong and dignified.

He felt himself strike root in the earth, felt his arms branch up into the sky, felt new limbs growing from his trunk, and from the limbs he felt new leaves sprout. Pictor was content. His thirsty roots drank deep in the earth. His leafy crown, so near the clouds, rustled in the breeze. Birds nested in his branches, insects lived in his bark, hedgehogs and hares took shelter at his feet. For many years, he was happy. A long time passed before he felt something amiss; his happiness was incomplete. Slowly he learnt to see with the eyes of a tree. Finally he could see and he grew sad.

Rooted to the spot, Pictor saw the other creatures in paradise continually transform themselves, Flowers would turn into precious stones or fly away as dazzling hummingbirds. Trees that stood beside him suddenly were gone: one turned into a running brook, another became a crocodile; still a third turned into a fish – full of life, it swam away joyfully. Elephants became massive rocks; giraffes became long-stemmed flowers. While all creating flowed into one magical stream of endless metamorphosis, Pictor could only look on.

He alone could not change. Once he new this, all his happiness vanished. He began to grow old, taking on that tired, haggard look one can observe in many old trees. Not only in trees but in horses, in birds, in human beings, in all life forms who no longer possess the gift of transformation. As time passes, they deteriorate and decline, their beauty is gone. To the end of their days, they know nothing but sorrow.

Time passed as before, until one day a young girl lost her way in Paradise. She had blond hair; she wore a blue dress. She sang happy songs; dancing, she wended her way among the trees. Carefree, the girl had never thought of wishing for the gift of transformation. Many of the creatures in Paradise took a keen on her. Animals smiled at her; many of the trees tossed their branches out to touch her; many of the trees tossed fruits, nuts, or flowers her way. But she paid them no mind.

The moment Pictor caught sight of her, he felt and intense longing, a firm resolve to recover his happiness. It was as if an inner voice, the voice of his own red blood commanded him to take hold of himself, to concentrate, to remember all the years of his life. And he obeyed the voice and became lost in thought, and his mind’s eye summoned up images from his past, even from his distant past when his was a man on his way to Paradise. But most clearly he remembered the moment when he held the magical stone in his hands, when every metamorphosis was open to him, when life had glowed in him more intensely than ever before. Then he remembered the laughing bird and the tree that was both the sun and the moon. And he began to understand all he had lost. The serpent’s advice had been treacherous.

Hearing a loud rusting in Pictor’s leaves, the girl turned her gaze on the tree. She looked up at its crown, and felt strange new feeling, desires, and dreams welling up in her heart. What was this unknown force that made her sit down in the shade of the tree? To her, the tree seemed lonely and sad, and yet beautiful, touching, and noble in its mute sorrow. The song of its gentle swaying crown held her captive. Leaning against its rough trunk, she could feel the tree shudder inside itself, and she felt the same passionate tremor in her own heart. Clouds flew across the sky of her soul, heavy tears fell from her eyes. Her heart hurt her so, beat so hard; she felt it would burst out of her bosom. Why did it want to cleave to him, melt into him, the beautiful loner?

Pictor, too, longed to become one with the girl. And so he gathered in all his life forces, focused them, directed them toward her, Even his roots trembled with the effort.And now he realized how blind he had been, hoe foolish, how little he had understood life’s secret. That deceitful, that treacherous Serpent had had but one wish: to lock Pictor up inside a tree forever. And it was in an entirely different light-albeit tinged with sorrow- that he now saw the image of the tree that was Man and Wife together.

Just then, in arc, a bird came flying, a bird red and green; lovely, daring, nearer it came. The girl saw it fly, saw something fall from its beak, something that shone blood-red, red as embers; and it fell in the green green grass, so promising; its deep red radiance called to her, courted her, sang out loud. The girl stooped down picked up the bright red stone. Ruby-garnet-crystal gem, wherever it is, no darkness can come.

The moment the girl held the magical stone in her white hands, the single wish that filled her heart was answered. In a moment of rapture she became one with the tree, transformed as a strong, new bough that grew out of its trunk, higher and higher into the heavens.

Now everything was splendid, the world was in order. In that single moment Paradise had been found. The tired old tree named Pictor was no more. Now he sang out his name: Pictoria, he sang out loud and clear: Pictoria, Victoria.

Out of a half he had become a whole. Fulfilled, complete, he had attained the true, eternal transformation. The stream of continuing creation flowed through his blood, and he could go on changing forever and ever.

He became deer, he became fish, he became human, and Serpent, cloud and bird. In each new shape he was whole was a pair, held moon and sun, man and wife inside him. He flowed as a twin river through the lands, shone as a double star in the firmament.


Bom Dia!

May 28, 2008


I am not a writer or a journalist, I am just a girl with lots of thoughts and this is where I am gonna relieve myself every other day! Yes!! Because a girl like me, needs to share… There are too many things going on in this head of mine! Here in this Blog I’ll write about everything , things I like, things I dislike, And things I find funny! I hope you enjoy it!!!

Starting from Zeroooooooo….