All people have a geography and,
If you’re a interesting person,
your space is of interest to others.
They care about “your town”
Those of interest
Players of History
Known by children
And read by the multitudes
Are object of geographical study
Each step a direction
All gestures pregnant with volition
Going, always, with intent,
And in all moving, wanting…
Making of their lives an open easy book, understood by all.
This is the idea behind the idea of history, literature, religion and all that binds us.
All must be read by all.
All men have a geography.
Although there might be nothing else to distinguish them.
Although they’re the nothing but the silence of history,
Their routes exist,
in ways known only to themselves,
And what do we know
To say these voyages are worst than any other?
What do we know when,
Grabbing their lives
flattenning their shades
Smoothing their contradictions,
Explain their silences
and smother their explosions?
We make of their lives, narratives.
Today I make this pronouncement
Who but me?
What time but now?
Where but here?
That all paths of men are to be seen.
There are no geographies more important than others,
There’s no knowledge where there’s no hierarchy,
There will always be stories that are more interesting than others.
And I suggest here,
For the very first time
The hypothetical existence
Never seen because never studied
Of a man’s route that,
If absent of history
Exulted in geography.
Routines made of subways, trains and trams,
The things that move
Cross lines in the skin of the city,
Mandalas made of walks to the gym and work.
Sigils born from bathroom breaks in the bar
And cosmogonies explained by your holidays in Caparica.
Yesterday I dreamt of a girl I loved at eleven.
And in the dream I saw her, now.
Older, thinner … a little gaunt,
But still beautiful.
She seemed nervous…
Immense, tense brown eyes
As the hands clasped and unclasped.
I loved her with the violence that you love what is dead and done
knowing I’ll won’t it love anymore.
I found her in a small town
In the dream
After she disappeared saying very little,
I knew that that was where I would live forever.
Then I dreamt about her friends,
and how to stay there.
But that is not what I remember.
None of that was enough to tell you what I dreamnt,
Is there anything more boring than talking about dreams?
What made it special;
In the dream they asked me if I,
wanted to stay in the town.
As I answered,
I felt a swelling like a tide,
She’s the love of my life.”
There’s a concept called “path dependence”, that says that your current decisions are determined by latter ones.
That all that happens results from what you did, no matter how remote.
And that the past is the best way to explain the present.
In this world there are no master plans,
No strategic visions,
In this way of seeing, all that there is, is, because of all the little steps before.
No other truth but the path,
And nothing else.
In this vision the route is all.
It’s the cause and the explanation,
The need and the answer.
And maybe it’s for this that all geographies are important.
Because there’s no higher value,
A total explanation,
An holistic reason
For the path that is each and everyone of us.
And here we stand,
With no reason or explanation,
In our own timelines
Frail and complete,
Only in it teleology
Only in it aesthetics,
Only in it the possibility of redemption.
And for all this,
And because of this,
Is why that a man,
Can dream about the beginning of his life
with people that don’t exist anymore,
And wake up
With his heart full of songs.