not yet
Desde que descobri as histórias com 10 palavras que me divirto a “tentar” criar histórias. Hoje ao ver um esqueleto estas dez palavras saltaram para o papel.
‘Está escuro aqui. Estou morto?’
‘Ainda não,’ cochichou a Morte.
Desde que descobri as histórias com 10 palavras que me divirto a “tentar” criar histórias. Hoje ao ver um esqueleto estas dez palavras saltaram para o papel.
‘Está escuro aqui. Estou morto?’
‘Ainda não,’ cochichou a Morte.
Apesar de ter criado uma história. Não a publico. Fica apenas a imagem de um lol tirolês.
Armand Sillègue and Henri d’Aramitz left behind the Hotel Chez le Pacha. They walked unhurriedly towards the Draa River. In each step they felt the throbbing desert presence and even the M’Hamid Mosque displayed a unique melancholy silence. The atmosphere of M’Hamid El Ghizlane was impregnated with an indescribable glow – poetry. This night promised to be even more special. The day before they had heard the aromatic music of Génération Taragalte; they had been enraptured, lying on the sand of the desert, idyllically stargazing, but they had felt, above all, how it is exhilarating to listen to the legends of the Sahara told around the campfire – a paradise on earth.
They stopped near a tree that guarded at its feet an Al Khayma. They led themselves in through the south entrance and sat next to the host, Isaac de Porthau, a Frenchman, captivated by the charms of the desert, who had invited them to a ‘night of magical discoveries!’
Sitting on a carpet composed of symmetrical geometric patterns, they inhaled, from a hookah, the aromatic tobacco smoke. The peach smell deodorized the environment. The eyes scrutinized the only object that dazzled, with an illogical gold inside the Al Khayma, a lamp.
The magical silence that could be felt was broken by Isaac de Porthau.
‘It is said that the tale of Aladdin was placed in One Thousand and One Nights by Antoine Galland to outwit the curious. Aladdin’s story is true and his magic lamp is this one that our eyes see.’
‘If that is so, why did you invite us?’ asked Henri d’Aramitz.
[… an excerpt …]
A minha versão de lol para o halloween. Para já sem palavras, sem história.
Homenagem à criação do Dr. Frankenstein.
The ship raced fast and the Jolly Roger waved proudly. Kissed by a steady wind the “Black” galleon caressed the waves sensuously – elegant. The buccaneers, led by Black Dog, knew that they would find good fortune as soon as they left the Bristol Harbor behind. Black Dog always had an ace up his sleeve, but this time he had the full deck. Black Dog obtained from Walter Raleigh, his great friend still imprisoned in the Tower of London for having seduced a handmaid of Queen Elizabeth I, the indication that El Dorado was located in the area of Guyana; in the tropical rain forest that extends from the mouth of the Orinoco to the Amazon: a better tip than this, impossible. Black Dog did not need great encouragement to aim to confirm firsthand the confidential information. If this proved to be true, Walter Raleigh would be a great friend; if it were false, Raleigh would not go through the shame of having been deceived. There are currently not many friends, true friends, like Black Dog: right? A golden friendship!
They landed on Tortuga for a light decompression and refueling. When they spotted Barbados, Black Dog ordered the crew to assemble on the deck. From the top of the castle, he told them they were going in search of the mythical El Dorado. His companions of fortune shouted sonorous “Hurrahs” and in joy sang the song:
‘Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!’
[… an excerpt …]
lol goes up the stairs … 1, 2, 3, 4, 34 … He is 10 meters above the ground – verticality. Once he reaches the platform he travels its six meters of length. Inhales, exhales, inhales, sighs. He turns his back. lol is standing perched on the edge of the platform. He takes a deep breath. He boosts himself and jumps. And so we see him travelling in seconds the distance to the water with his legs bent, glued to his chest and his arms holding his shins. At the last moment he opens himself up in such a disorderly manner that the aim of entering the liquid in blue at a 90 degree angle falls apart. He plummets (a perfect “belly-flop”) into the water in a cross position: arms open, legs open – X marks the SPLASH!
[… an excerpt …]
This story will be published in Le Scat Noir #217.
I began to write a story about lol but the story forced me to be more than what I wanted.
Sources of inspiration:
– Le Scat Noir #215 by Black Scat Books
– Waiting for Beckett by Jason E. Rolfe
– Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett
lol in typical Next Thursday fashion has navigated through books never before navigated. He has left the three-dimensional space and entered the multidimensional space. He is looking for the perfect book for his hideaway. So, he jumps from book to book like a grasshopper – free of responsibilities, of deadlines to meet. His current motto could almost be “Pack your knapsack and go.” After so much jumping and running through amazing, minimalist and tragic books, of dense, light and dour writing, he opts, for his lair, for an illustrated book filled with people sitting on roofs, peering from windows and doors, descending and ascending stairs, dressed in blue, green, brown, yellow or striped, traveling on a train, ship or submarine; with strange and normal objects; with real bears and teddy bears; with fish and dinosaurs, horses, cows and even robots. In that crowd, that mosaic of confusion, lol realizes, finally, that he will be camouflaged. Then we hear him say ‘let me through’ while bypassing a green tank driven by a yellow fish; ‘do not push’ as he crosses paths with a blue group of soldiers; ‘do not fall’ as he faces Humpty Dumpty, who is on top of a wall made of books. Then we see him getting more than annoyed when he observes that the house made of cards is occupied by an astronaut, a skier, a conductor, a matrioska. lol throws his arms up high and grumbles loudly ‘SERIOUSLY! EVEN A MATRIOSKA?’
[… an excerpt …]
lol is sitting in a chair while nibbling, indecisively, between a croissant and a pains au raisins. From the balcony of one of the rooms on the third floor of the hotel Plage des Pins he enjoys a beautiful view of the blue sea and concludes that the smell of the Mediterranean Sea in Argelés-sur-Mer has a distinct fragrance. He finishes a delicious orange juice and decides to throw some balls – A game of pétanque is taking place on the beach.
‘Bonjour! Il y a une place pour une personne? J’ai mes propre boules.’
‘Bien sûr. Nous sommes jusqu’à fini ce match.’
lol smooths his mustache, fixes the béret and waits – satisfaction.
[… an excerpt …]
221B Baker Street, London receives mail addressed to a fictional Sherlock Holmes – ‘strange world we live in’, lol sighed as he observed the blue plaque. lol wore a suit snugged by an inverness, the head was decorated with a derby. lol was perfectly camouflaged and therefore did not understand why some passersby looked at him with staring eyes – in suspicion, almost. When lol took a pipe out from his pocket, someone shouted: ‘IT’S SHERLOCK HOLMES.’ Flashes, more flashes were being fired in his direction.
[… an excerpt …]
são regularmente gastos na produção e manutenção deste blog uns bons pedaços de caldo, suaves e frutadas cervejas.
my goal is to keep me satisfied!
porta VIII is my personal site. Grab a beer and sit tight.
Are you comfortable? Take a look around to the new stuff and adventure trough the archives. Cá me podem encontrar a percorrer o mesmo caminho; a arrotar bom dia, boa tarde, boa noite, e por vezes um até já.