📷Travel Photography

"TABACARIA"
I am nothing. I will never be anything. I cannot want to be anything. Apart from that, I have within me all the dreams of the world. Windows of my room, From my room in one of the millions of the world that no one knows who it is (And if they knew who it is, what would they know?), Opening to the mystery of a street constantly crossed by people, To a street inaccessible to all thoughts, Real, impossibly real, certain, unknowingly certain, With the mystery of things beneath the stones and beings, With death putting moisture on the walls and white hair on men, With Destiny driving the cart of everything down the road of nothing. Today I am defeated, as if I knew the truth. Today I am lucid, as if I were about to die, And I have no more brotherhood with things Except a goodbye, turning this house and this side of the street Into the row of carriages of a train, and a departure sounded From within my head, And a shaking of my nerves and a creaking of bones on the way. Today I am perplexed like one who thought and found and forgot. Today I am divided between the loyalty I owe To the Tobacco Shop across the street, as something real on the outside, And to the feeling that everything is a dream, as something real on the inside. I have failed in everything. Since I had no purpose, perhaps everything was nothing. The learning they gave me, I descended from it through the back window of the house, I went to the field with great purposes. But there I found only weeds and trees, And when there were people, they were like the others. I leave the window, sit in a chair. What should I think about? What do I know about what I will be, I who do not know what I am? Being what I think? But I think I am so many things! And there are so many who think they are the same thing that there cannot be so many! Genius? At this moment, One hundred thousand brains conceive in dreams geniuses like me, And history will not mark, who knows?, not even one, Nor will there be anything but the dung of so many future conquests. No, I do not believe in myself. In every asylum, there are crazy madmen with so many certainties! I, who have no certainty, am more certain or less certain? No, not even in me... In how many attics and non-attics of the world Are there at this hour self-geniuses dreaming? How many high, noble, and lucid aspirations - Yes, truly high and noble and lucid -, And who knows if realizable, Will never see the light of the real sun nor find human ears? The world is for those who are born to conquer it And not for those who dream they can conquer it, even if they are right. I have dreamed more than what Napoleon did. I have clutched to my hypothetical chest more humanities than Christ, I have made philosophies in secret that no Kant wrote. But I am, and perhaps I will always be, the one from the attic, Even if I do not live in it; I will always be the one who was not born for that; I will always be only what had qualities; I will always be the one who waited for the door to be opened next to a wall without a door And sang the song of the Infinite in a chicken coop, And heard the voice of God in a covered well. Believe in myself? No, nor in anything. Let Nature pour upon my burning head Its sun, its rain, the wind that finds my hair, And the rest come if it comes, or must come, or may not come. Cardiac slaves of the stars, We conquered the whole world before getting out of bed; But we woke up and it is opaque, We got up and it is alien, We left the house and it is the whole earth, Plus the solar system and the Milky Way and the Undefined. (Eat chocolates, little one; Eat chocolates! Look, there is no more metaphysics in the world than chocolates. Look, all religions teach no more than confectionery. Eat, little dirty one, eat! Would that I could eat chocolates with the same truth as you do! But I think and, while unwrapping the silver paper, which is tin foil, I throw everything to the ground, as I have thrown life.) But at least what I will never be Remains the quick handwriting of these verses, A broken portal to the Impossible. But at least I consecrate to myself a tearless contempt, Noble at least in the wide gesture with which I throw The dirty clothes that I am, without a roll, into the course of things, And I stay home without a shirt.

"ÁLVARO DE CAMPOS"

I am sharing photos of landscapes, moments and experiences. Nature and sea are the most visited themes in my photo collection, but any attention-grabbing aspect can be photographed. Hope you enjoy it...

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