Eduardo Alexandre Pinto

The perception of silence during the initial solitude portrait while we

keep growing with the sowing seeds which are here, in the logic of a

zillion stories inside the ear, in every memory sign of a visual sound of

the things that are the clamour of understanding by a straight thought

which acts with what we hear, feel, wish, dream, in the preparation for

silence after it came and keeps coming as we are also our own star dust

remedy.

To stand and have it all from the working walks in  smooth  spoken  memories

where cars takes us with the landscape  and  we  talk  with  ourselves.  The

speed  of  thinking  is  higher  than  our  conscious  and  these  invisible

archipelagos which offer  images  of  fast  gestures  wherever  they  are  a

screaming morality or they are a bite from a silent creature, both  are  the

notion of being in  the  giant  family  called  brotherhood.  To  live  with

changes among the growing thoughts, with the mighty star, the  sun  and  all

the sources of energy is natural. The sense of  justice  is  like  a  little

fountain who knows about the ones who bled and who were held to embrace  the

labour of a pair of spoken eyes into the waiting of  the  rolling  mind  for

the right calm and fresh breeze to follow. And we don’t have to  die  before

the new born infinite shining sound comes.

Being an atom with a guarantee personality is the first  appearance  of  the

social erection, which are the people who make me noises  for  company.  The

need of immediate pleasure turns into  a  lost  shopping  somewhere  in  the

collection of meetings with mathematic wills and there  were  times  when  a

fair social trade existed to become a   nuclear  crowd  of  peace.  The  sum

cannot equal a cyclic consequent love, it leaves in the  perception  of  the

innocent body,  a  respect  for  the  secret  waterfalls  inside  the  human

condition of being like petals in the arms of mountains, which extension  to

the horizon is the resting way to perceive the rhyme for life, in the  lucid

trait within the pure love of floating  dreams,  in  beautiful  bodies  with

hair and skin.

Pogue Mahone’s saying, regarding the human haunt  by  irony  with  the  same

sound and image combined in the expression  of  union  between  planets  and

that is the whole inspiration  centred  into  the  daily  mirror  where  our

ancient thoughts have muscle to breathe with more  articulated  perpetuation

of true, than every economical vision of freedom. Eyes  succeed  the  moment

which they are aware of the responsibility of knowing that the whole  is  in

us, figures the poetic freedom that chooses to  ascent  the  warmth  in  the

rusty face of the words. We met when we provide a journey  in  thought  from

death not to be caught but the next move  has  counting  years  with  former

hurting souvenirs. It should be known what is the climbing  of  the  liberal

thinking and his ejaculation of power, feeling lucky  or  not,  but  we  all

have something that holds us, in  spirit.  The  difference  of  enigmas  and

visible words, appears in the hard human time  researching,  coming  from  a

view of the passing present, with those arms that are no longer  a  wall  to

defeat but a longing for keep going in  passion  for  the  graceful  musical

dialog with the honest worker, which also ascents from basic  introspection,

into a vast and radiant discovery from the  existing  limits  in  our  human

multiplied life.

The solemn truth organizes all the sorrow produced in  wondering  wills  and

           it feels like

when the heat of a song can bring joy to calm an unquiet soul, in need of  a

           mighty nude hug, where the generous  act  of  he,  in  energetic

           human rays with

proteins, distributed and more exercised for what it lasts in  sediments  to

           stay in, for long years of vivacity as they sound as they spell.

           Now with smoke  in  the  actual  rotten  way  of  Orwell’s  1984

           prediction is totally real, only letters  can  save  privacy  in

           words as they don’t come easy in the ascetic truth or they  hurt

           more than a stone in our throne, where the archery squad, uses a

           kind of sliding paralysing act in real salted tears.

 

We’ve got something going on, as in every living  tribune,  the  first  play

           comes with a farewell riddle with all the treasures awaking from

           an eloquent truth, like a voice preserved to bear a  noble  warm

           regard and to love above the intense stillness  of  the  mystery

           rhymes. The good  influence  of  an  prodigal  book  moves  with

           plumes, the firm fever  is  in  quality,  where  the  troops  of

           tomorrow sum a quick time promise to perform liberty  and  where

           the profound pleasure lives in the conscious and on  the  nature

           of things. They honour the epic journey to hold the good will.

 

A fissure in scenes with love themes and the  nature  of  power  by  a  duty

           tempest seen in shifting ideas, when the same source  of  poetic

           liberty, accepts in its own form,  the  ideal  in  action,  that

           lives somewhere in the secret ego  nudity  which  we  wear.  The

           whistle says to keep the salted thoughts when the washing of the

           sober veins in humans are the drying horror seen by the chant of

           a mass murder that no artistic or political thought can hold.

Therefore, the noble civilians should be able to distinguish where  are  the

           souls and where to send our confidence in strong compassion  and

           give provisions to any creature, which are unique.  Accepting  a

           brave healthy image in reality and dream.

Yet to withdraw the  human  lament  is  the  ability  to  recover  from  the

           sempiternal myriad of a delicate faith with a giant live  energy

           in the  nucleus  of  the  problems,  seen  here  as  a  friendly

           diameter.  A regular farewell waking and who are who,  think  in

           you, what to do, like a impossible yes, still true, to the  last

           echo. To forsake what you know, come  little  palm  finger,  the

           treasure roses from every single room,  where  a  jazzy  feeling

           cares for your inner silent promenade and you  are  in  here  to

           look for a message to the other  side  of  the  medallion.  This

           metal has a rusty face, I came to assist  the  forest  and  cosy

           suburbs of friendship, the see what you found, this night  watch

           has no vertigos, it is the forbidden locomotion proud  to  allow

           Ufos, the errors in a lifetime and the forgiveness. To start all

           over again, then you and me,  allies  from  the  pleasure,  will

           never stop to give relevance to this pansexuality.

I am hearing music from my heart, it tells about  the  mentality  of  living

           under dictatorship. Why people prefer to  have  a  good  economy

           rather than freedom in societies all over the  world’s  history?

           Historians should have guts to explain the facts, rather  than

           to aim for their social status, like in Portugal, with his  post

           colonial guilty complex and  bourgeois  feelings,  which  denies

           respect for wisdom. In the media for example,  where  there  are

           orders to keep the taboo regarding Salazar and this silencer  of

           truth is a nature of strong oppression.

 To have time to remember the blood of fighters who died  for  a  nation  in

           the name of a nowhere idea, cause to show the way to the  future

           has its basis in the independent  courage  from  any  government

           list. So please, every time this statement vocalizes your  fear,

           he can be treated by important techniques, imported from you and

           from some international wisdom.

There are invisible connections between humans, crucified or not,  they  are

           an intense appeal from the soul on  the  way  to  the  knowledge

           before death comes along.  Some  of  these  appeals  often  have

           happened in many of my precise thoughts and this kind of  spiral

           unknown energy is like a  poem  which  feels  the  lips  of  the

           poetess while she sleeps for long in  the  cold  winter  nights,

           holding warmth with someone similar to her in  feelings  and  we

           are in bond for the  body  from  her  into  the  agile  infinite

           quintessence of love.

 

Being physically thinking over time in the procedure  of  the  territory  of

           adventure, where I have lived in so many places and with so many

           people, they are inside me and I wonder what happened  to  them.

           Do they owe me a living? The advent of a call into  my  thoughts

           tender in the night, calm me but gather my soul in those ancient

           lives and matter. They existed as a secret waterfall  and  again

           in the mountains, I came across the beautiful expression of joy,

           when I could start my adventures. I was a calm child,  liked  to

           play alone with a ball, over trees, bikes,  walking  and  always

           thinking of great things to come. My curious mind met  thousands

           and thousands of people, I help them, gave them my  time,  love,

           journeys and kept going alone by  the  sunset,  wondering  about

           something higher. At night my thoughts continued and they are my

           main pillar as a human.