"Animula vagula, blandula,
Hospes comesque corporis,
Quæ nunc abibis in loca
Pallidula, rígida, nudula,
Nec, ut soles, dabis iocos..."
P. Ællius Hadrianus, Imp.

Eu acreditaria nessa associação do amor às alegrias puramente físicas (supondo-se que tais alegrias existam) no dia em que visse um gastrônomo soluçar de prazer diante do seu prato favorito, tal como o amante sobre um ombro amado. De todos os jogos, o do amor é o único capaz de transtornar a alma e, ao mesmo tempo, o único no qual o jogador se abandona necessariamente ao delírio do corpo. Não é indispensável que aquele que bebe abdique da razão, mas o amante que conserva a sua não obedece inteiramente ao deus do amor. Tanto a abstinência quanto o excesso engajam apenas o homem só. 

(...) 

Concordo em que o sono mais perfeito é necessariamente um complemento do amor: repouso tranquilo, refletido sobre dois corpos. Mas o que me interessa aqui é o mistério específico do sono saboreado por si mesmo, o incontrolável e arriscado mergulho a que se aventura todas as noites o homem nu, só e desarmado, num oceano onde tudo é novo: cores, densidades, o próprio ritmo da respiração, e onde reencontramos os mortos. 

(...) 

Esforcemo-nos por entrar na morte com os olhos abertos...

Yourcenar, M. (1903-1987) in Mémoires d'Hadrien, in reference to MUTIPLEX performance by Rui Horta

bitch in order to be awake,  try to get up fucking earlier!

{random poetry #80}

[ For the Traveler ]

Every time you leave home,
another road takes you
into a world you were never in.
New strangers on other paths await.
new places that have never seen you
will startle a little at your entry.
Old places that you know well
will pretend nothing
changed since your last visit.
When you travel, you find yourself
alone in a different way,
more attentive now
to the self you bring along,
Your more subtle eye watching
you abroad; and how what meets you
touches that part of the heart
that lies low at home:
How you unexpectedly attune
to the timbre in some voice,
opening a conversation
you want to take in
to where your longing
has pressed hard enough
inward, on some unsaid dark,
to create a crystal of insight
you could not have known
you needed
to illuminate
your way.
When you travel,
a new silence
goes with you,
and if you listen,
you will hear
what your heart would
love to say.
A journey can become a sacred thing:
make sure, before you go,
to take the time
to bless your going forth,
to free your heart of ballast
so that the compass of your soul
might direct you toward
the territories of spirit
where you will discover
more of your hidden life,
and the urgencies
that deserve to claim you.
May you travel
in an awakened way,
gathered wisely
into your inner ground;
that you may not waste
the invitations which
wait along the way
to transform you.
May you travel safely,
arrive refreshed,
and live your time away
to its fullest;
return home more enriched,
and free to balance
the gift of days
which call you.

O'Donohue, J. (1956-2008), in To Bless the Space Between Us

- 64. It's an 8 by 8 grid.

- Well... but don't you see how limited that is?

- No, it's actually very complex once you start to think about it as a programming problem. Just the number of possible games explodes exponentially with each move, it's close to 10 to the 120th power. And to try and compute all those games might take even longer than humanity would be around to do so.

in Computer Chess, 2013

2 anos, 1 dia, 8 horas, 35 minutos e uma arroba de segundos.
2 mil quilómetros, 600 metros, 320 centímetros e um almude de centímetros.

o tempo e a distância são quantificáveis, mensuráveis e previsíveis.
o problema é complexo, irresolúvel e...