This is the last free page of this notebook, so the year is ending.
This is to you friends!

It's 23rd, December 2010. Western Road, Hove
I've walked in the laundromat to move my clothes from the washing machine to the dryer.
A guy, sitting down, is writing a letter.
Launderette = Good place to write.
One pounds inserted, 10 minutes.
I go home, around the corner, get this notebook and a pen.
Back to the laundromat, 16:47, two minutes after ten minutes.
Another pound coin, another 10 minutes.
I sit down and place the notebook on a little table against a wall full of poster os parties and gigs.
I write the first phrase.
A guy gets up on the table to put a poster up on the wall.
An old man walks in and shouts out load: -Does anyone need pound coins?
A girl says: Yes.
He says: Go to the shop across the street.

Clothes are dry.
16:58. But anyway…
The day after tomorrow is Christmas.
It's not about time!
I (always) wish you all the best, lots of happiness and great moments for every day of your lives.

And as this notebook is nearly finished, so is time for this year.
I hope that everyone can start a new cycle with full power and BE more for the one that's coming, to evolve the cycle of life.

Tava com alma virada
Tombo descido de susto
Queria ver
A espera toava o ritmo
Na espera a indecisão tomou o tempo

Enfim, escrever para descontrair a indecisão
Não olhar ao redor, Confinar-se a essa escrita de improviso, muitas vezes mal escrita ou escrita com desdem.

How foolish I am
I can only be a fool to believe I could grasp the world
I can assimilate no pain, no sadness no frustration
It’s foolish to think I can understand fear or anger or hate
By no means I know what is revenge, malice, malevolence or vitriol
Harsh, hostile, bitter, caustic, corrosive, damaging…
I could never acknowledge that the world is spinning and that’s what it’s meant to do
What else could I expect from the world?
Why shall I try to comprehend the nature of human been?
I’m a fool
I cannot even fit myself into my heart
I don’t fit my own love into my heart
It’s everywhere, it’s lost
So say, should I think of myself?
I’m trying to divide my individual
To leave pieces of me in every street
So people could throw me away
What a fool, so say!

Poesia em Movimento

Now you know who I am

Passport lost… Where do I belong to?
An improvised piece of paper is printed and signed by someone with authority to say I belong somewhere… so I go with this new piece of identity. Now it’s a matter of convincing another authorities that the ones that signed my new improvised identity are reliable and hold friendship with those inquiring about the legitimacy of my document.
OK… I lost my Italian passport in Spain, but I was traveling in Portugal… ok, lets put it right. I have two citizenships, one is Brazilian, one is Italian… in Europe I travel as a Italian. So I went to Portugal traveling and when I was in Portugal I went to Spain for a day… when I returned to Portugal I realized I had lost my passport. So I went to a police station in Portugal to report the loss of the document and on the next day I had a plane back to the UK where I’m a resident.
Right, so if you followed me so far I had to convince the Portuguese police that it’s true that I lost my passport in Spain, then I had to go to the Italian consulate in Portugal and convince them that I’m Italian/Brazilian, that I lost my passport in Spain and reported it to the Portuguese police and I need some sort of document that allows me to go back to England where I live and study.
OK, they believed me in the consulate and gave a piece of paper with a stamp and a signature that, theoretically, allows me to go back to Italy… anyway I’m using this document not to go to Italy but to the UK. So, got to the airport in Porto, showed the document to the Portuguese immigration officer and after a few questions he said it was ok… got to the gate and showed the document to the flight attendants who were checking boarding card and passport… I explained the situation and they said I could board the flight…
Slept all flight long, got to Gatwick Airport and went to the passport control area… showed the document and explained what happened to the officer. She asked me a few questions and took me to an designated area for those waiting to get in the UK. She comes back and shows me something I haven’t noticed before… the police report from Portugal says that my nationality is Portuguese!! Stupid police officer!!!
So great… I don’t have a passport, I’m trying to get in the UK with a document from the Italian consulate saying that I’m Italian, a police passport report that says that I’m Portuguese and the only photo ID card I have is a Brazilian driving license…
Quite interesting, isn’t it?
Oh well, anyway… after three hours waiting, fingerprints taken, bag searched and all life questioned I was allowed to get in without any nationality…
I kind of really enjoy not belonging to anywhere!