quinta-feira, 28 de novembro de 2013


Inspira: é certo que o Sol nascerá cedo e se porá tardio. Expira: o Inverno será sempre mais frio que o Verão. Respira: não existem ramificações neste rio.

Sem liberdade em respirar, apenas são livres as escolhas feitas entre cada respiração.

Tomás Roda

quarta-feira, 27 de novembro de 2013


I'm guided by the light of being. I am not myself when I write. Like a string-puppet I just let myself go. Words are written, things are left to be said. But what is worth writing and what is worth silenced? What is worth silenced is more than worth writing. But I don't control the pen. Neither do I control the pain. Or even the joy I try to tame.

Writing is not fake. It's not real either. I don't want to be myself when I am writing, while I'm guided by the light of being.

Tomás Roda

terça-feira, 26 de novembro de 2013


I wouldn't live without time off. A vacation of the mind. Vacating the mind. Listening to the wind blow, the water sailing across the horizon, as if time had stopped. A second turns into a water drop and water drops are countless. They are timeless while they set the pace. They are a living clock. I wouldn't live without time off. Everything is empty and the water timelessly falls.

Tomás Roda

sábado, 23 de novembro de 2013

A Message

A message to the meticulous minds of men that merge with the meaningless and most mundane myriad of misappropriated maneuvers of much machiavellic mankind. A message as a miracle mustn't make up for this mess.

Tomás Roda

quinta-feira, 21 de novembro de 2013


No deserto não nascem flores. Não nascem porque eu não quero. Nascendo uma flor se perde o deserto. A beleza se tem em não se ter. Beleza é perdição. Não há palavra mais bela que "Adeus".

No deserto nasceu uma flor. Nasceu uma flor porque não quero dizer "Adeus". Nascem flores no deserto porque eu quero.

Tomás Roda

Pai, desejo-te um feliz aniversário, sabendo que a distância que nos separa é meramente física. Devo-te a ti os valores de que me gabo. Isto não é agradecimento nenhum, só agradece quem se contenta com o que lhe é dado. E tu ainda tens muito para me dar.

Um grande abraço!

sábado, 16 de novembro de 2013


I miss being lost. The feeling of onement with just being somewhere, with simply being. I really miss being lost.

Not knowing where or who I am. Not knowing, often described so negatively, is the elixir of happiness. The most genuine smile is one that appears on your lips without you noticing it. It's the unification with a moment and the expression of an emotion. A smile is a word beyond meaning. Powerful because it requires no explanation. 

Dreaming is the closest we can get to being lost. We have no expectations when we dream. No path, no barriers. Just a complete void of ideas and an intense fulfillment of self.

I am lost.

Tomás Roda

terça-feira, 12 de novembro de 2013


It's not breathing, neither my heartbeat keeping me alive. Those are just ways to sustain a faulty physical self. Physicality, the physical materialisation/embodiment of an idea, is detrimental. We are walking ideas, walking wishes, walking souls and we are lost. Lost searching for perfection: a perfect life, a perfect love, a perfect story to tell. Nothing good ever comes from perfection. Not because it is unattainable, but for its relativity, unstability and more importantly the need of possession that it creates in us, imperfect physical materialisations of ideas.

But if we need perfection to live, then how are we still alive? Aren't we searching for it our whole lives? We forget that perfection is only immediate and short-lasting. It's a moment, and it's ours. It's a smile and it's mine. Life is not a search after all, it's an avoidance of acceptance that perfection is already within us. An easy answer... and no one likes easy answers.

Tomás Roda


Rise sun, it's dark and I can't see.
The only thing I ask of you is to rise for eternity.
You can't? Then just pretend,
Why live for something that soon will end?
Eyes shut, full of regret.
Please don't rise sun, I don't want you to set. 

Tomás Roda

quinta-feira, 7 de novembro de 2013


No purpose. Even the ramblings of the mind are both useless and counter-productive. They serve the egotistical purpose of feeding the pretentious mind of the individual. A way to attach words to a vain sense of awareness of the surroundings. Settle with a life without a purpose. In search of a meaning it's easy to get lost in meaninglessness. No, a second is not a moment of joy, it's a second. It's not a drop in the ocean of time, it's simply a second. Happiness is not a goal, neither it is a byproduct of actions, it's a way of the weak to wander around in the safe routines of life. Joy comes both in the form of tears and smiles and finding the right path just obliterates the existence of the remaining ones. It's like going to a buffet and only eating chocolate cake because it tastes good. There's more than chocolate cake. Sweet, bitter, salty foods, willing to stimulate all your senses if you give them a chance. And you settle with chocolate cake.

But this is just a useless and counter-productive rambling of the mind... lost in the search of words forgot the reason why I'm writing this. Maybe there is no reason. Or maybe I just don't feel like writing anymore.

Tomas Roda