And the Oscar goes to...

Hope.

The Footballer Who Shagged Me

Last night, Cristiano Ronaldo was reportedly hit by a "laser".

My God, man! Do they want tea?

I was going through the blogs of a few friends of mine as I made my usual stop at João Maurício's good'n old History Spot.

(in all honesty, it used to be "usual". now that blog seems to have gone into hibernation.)

In his last installment of tales of the heroes of the skies in both World Wars, Maurício tells us the story of Hasso von Wedel, a German aviator and officer.

(for those who cannot follow the grace with which the author masters the Portuguese language, I will translate to the best of my scarce abilities the riviting tale of Oberstleutnant von Wedel in England.)

In fact, as the famous battle for the control over the skies of Britain was reaching its peak, von Wedel was shot down and, as he tried and emergency landing, he incidentelly destroy a house, unawaringly killing a woman and her two children in the crash that followed.
Although he was himself unharmed, he felt so distressed by the demise of those innocent people that he readily turned himself over to the local police who, in grand British style, offered him tea.

His feet dipped in water, still, Adam looks on. Memories of a land, of a garden, fade in between two shades of blue.
He stands there, patience his first long lesson.

A rumour of a whisper, curly, calling, becomes unwavering. Adam, adam, adam...
As a tear falls in the wet sand, he lets himself, feeling his first short lesson.

It is not so much the rumour of a whisper as it is the shaddow of a dream. It not so much the beginning as it is the end.

Ich bin ein Tripeiro

My wet dream for tonight's game:

Schröder 04 - null
FC Porto - vier

Viva o Porto!
Fuck Gazprom.

Poison

There is something tragically human in poisoning oneself. There's something quite tragically human in tragedy too.