Sunday, January 31, 2016


Life turned me into
The rock I was not.
Love turned me into
The human I forgot.
(Gerry Aldridge)

Sunday, January 24, 2016

The Bar At The End Of The Earth-

This was inspired by Fernando Pessoa- O Marinheiro-
A work in progress...
The Bar At The End Of The Earth- 
Still the faceless, formless shape of something behind the bar serves nothing to the man.
“You need not always chase a dream so far, sometimes you need to let it come to you. It is not death I will pour you today. You still love your dream. Cherish it. Carry it around everywhere- it is proof you are alive.”
The stranger huffs indignantly.
“My dream has gone. I’ve already told you. My heart is broken, it just won’t stop beating. I shouldn’t be alive. Give me a double of death, make sure the job gets done. I implore you.”
The stranger holds up his glass defiantly.
“My dear Sir, hearts won’t stop if they still have more to do. And dreams do not get lost, they are always there just waiting to be found.”
“I am sure mine doesn’t exist anymore, if it ever did at all.'

It laughs from the shadows behind the bar at the end of the Earth.
“Your pain is attestation you are still alive. Without pain there is nothing you fear to lose and nothing you will ever really love."
“Is that so?” The man cries into the empty glass hoping only poison will drip from his putrid corpse, so that he may indeed drink himself - to death at last. He raises his glass again.
It sighs.
“Alas, you have truly lost your way. Death does not await you here.”
Weak from his will to die,
The man raises a hand to cover an eye.
Here sunlight still finds me. Go away!
Am I doomed to live
Another mephitic day?

From behind the barren, bleak bar came a voice.
"You´ve found her, haven't you?"
Slurring, and dizzy from thinking about not thinking about not sleeping. Hating the thief, who is no longer a robber, but a kidnapper- Damning him,
"Found who?" He feigned an innocence lost some time before.
(Gerry Aldridge-The Bar At The End Of The Earth-)

The Vulnerability of Memoir Writing

Beautifully written article on honesty :)

Incredible insight into a personal life

Another positive review for I Don't Believe God Wrote The Bible :)

Saturday, January 23, 2016

Eu que me Aguente Comigo

Eu que me Aguente Comigo

Contudo, contudo, 
Também houve gládios e flâmulas de cores 
Na Primavera do que sonhei de mim. 
Também a esperança 
Orvalhou os campos da minha visão involuntária, 
Também tive quem também me sorrisse. 
Hoje estou como se esse tivesse sido outro. 
Quem fui não me lembra senão como uma história apensa. 
Quem serei não me interessa, como o futuro do mundo. 

Caí pela escada abaixo subitamente, 
E até o som de cair era a gargalhada da queda. 
Cada degrau era a testemunha importuna e dura 
Do ridículo que fiz de mim. 

Pobre do que perdeu o lugar oferecido por não ter casaco limpo com que aparecesse, 
Mas pobre também do que, sendo rico e nobre, 
Perdeu o lugar do amor por não ter casaco bom dentro do desejo. 
Sou imparcial como a neve. 
Nunca preferi o pobre ao rico, 
Como, em mim, nunca preferi nada a nada. 

Vi sempre o mundo independentemente de mim. 
Por trás disso estavam as minhas sensações vivíssimas, 
Mas isso era outro mundo. 
Contudo a minha mágoa nunca me fez ver negro o que era cor de laranja. 
Acima de tudo o mundo externo! 
Eu que me aguente comigo e com os comigos de mim. 

Álvaro de Campos, in "Poemas" 
Heterónimo de Fernando Pessoa 

I Don't Believe God Wrote The Bible- Latest Review

Thank you Ann for taking the time to review my story :)

Thursday, January 21, 2016

Where Do All The Words Go?

Where Do All The Words Go?
If you say something to someone and they do not listen-
Where do all the words go?
What happens to words that are never said?
Do they rot somewhere?
Or flourish in a distant meadow
Waiting to be spoken?
What happens when no words can be found at all?
Are they rotting somewhere, too?
Or flourishing,
Waiting for the right conversation?
Or are they just
Not there?
Oh, oh, oh.
What shall I give up?
Or listening?
(Gerry Aldridge)
Para onde vão todas as palavras?
Se falo a alguém que não escuta
Para onde é que as palavras vão?
O que acontece com as palavras que nunca disse ?
Será que elas desaparecem nalgum lugar?
Ou florescem num prado distante
À espera de serem ouvidas?
O que acontece quando não encontramos os palavras?
Também elas despareceram em algum lugar?
Ou floresceram,
Esperam que possam ser ouvidas?
Ou apenas
Não estão lá?
Oh oh oh.
Devo desistir?
Ou ouvir ?
(Gerry Aldridge)

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

"Annabel Lee" by Edgar Allan Poe, born on this day in 1809

"Annabel Lee" by Edgar Allan Poe, born on this day in 1809

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Friday, January 8, 2016


In the silent stillness I am alone, 
Yet filled with all the memories I have made. 
And they keep me warm.
In fact, there are so many,
I think I will light a
(Gerry Aldridge)

I have multiple versions of the same poem-

Sozinho. Na quietude silenciosa eu estou sozinho , Preenchido, no entanto, com todas as minhas memórias. E elas mantem-me aquecido. Na verdade, são tantas, que vou acender uma fogueira.

Na quietude silenciosa estou só, Absorvido, com todas as minhas memórias. E acalentam-me. Na verdade são tantas, Acho que vou acender uma fogueira.
another version
Na quietude silenciosa estou só, Absorto, com todas as minhas memórias. Elas confortam-me. Na verdade são tantas, Acho que vou acender uma fogueira.
(Gerry Aldridge)

Thursday, January 7, 2016

Latest review for my memoir :)

If you want to read a blast from the past about how travelling apparently USED to be- here is the latest review for my memoir :)

Friday, January 1, 2016

Happy 2016 fellow bloggers and social media buds X

Eternal, internal dissatisfaction is what breeds inspiration. Not dissatisfaction with the present, or the past, nem o futuro- e o descontentament de só ser. The dissatisfaction of just being, is normal for anyone who is cursed with a need for more than contentment-. I envy all those happy, contented people, probably as much as they envy emoticon
(Gerry Aldridge)