Written thoughts
dogs
Like a dog that stops biting its tail.
The tail returns to its intended form: made to express excitement or fear.
Made to communicate, not to be bitten. To be what it’s meant to be.
The dog biting its tail feels like a metaphor for an anxious, unproductive, endless loop.
Like our relationship with technology: essential, yet destructive.
Excited, electrified to the point we never close our eyes.
Electrified like when people are truly electrified
eyes wide open, teeth clenched in a face that isn’t a smile.
You can see all the teeth, almost.
A body that’s still, but a state, mirroring the opposite of stillness.
That’s where we are now:
texts, apps, likes, fires, and hearts. pure dopamine...
Masks. Untruthful tales. Lies and Endless Stories. Endless scrolling, as they say.
Every day.
And the finger stays plugged in—electrified, half dead, half alive. But connected
Now or Never
Nowadays we live life inside a rectangle the size of a phone. Curiosities, beauty, sunsets, loneliness... very super focused, looking down.
There’s this photographer who did an interesting project: he photographed people while they were looking at their phones, at different moments of their day. The interesting part? He photoshopped the phones out of their hands. What remained were these beings, staring at their hands...
Today a big thing is taking pictures from a phone. Probably many meaningless. We take them anyway. Most of them just sit there, taking all the space inside. The moment shrinks, as well as our memory numbs.
We’re too busy living each moment for another moment — the one of views and likes. So what memory? No beautiful memory at all.
When there’s no beauty, no sunsets, dish plates — we look back down. Scrollingness.
The thumb does all the work. We’re there, we are present, looking down, hypnotized by meaningless “photographs”.
If you think about it, right when we should be observing something special — reflecting, understanding, digesting — we choose instead to experience it in 4K.
It’s more important to show it to others than to live it ourselves. The other matters more than ourselves.
I think you can also get dopamine just by looking at a sunset, without a screen between you and the sun.
We are wasting unique moments behind screens.
Meanwhile, the sun is already gone...
Let’s all tape our phones directly glued to our foreheads, right in front of our eyes — that would at least fix the issue of looking down.
They, I don’t know who, are stealing the now, the only thing that matters. But we sell now for later, for that "later" that might get us The Attention. But at a very low price, however expensive. That attention is short-lived. Not real attention. Not real connection. Fake, quick, cheap attention. And the worst thing is, we’re buying that shit every day.
Bob Sinclar was really upset with his Gen Z crowd at his concert. No one was dancing anymore. No one was looking anymore. Everyone was just staring at a very bright rectangle.
Lately, I’ve noticed this weird trend of "pretty boys" filming themselves like, "look at me, I'm so beautiful." Where does this desperate need for help, for approval even, come from?
The roles are really reversing. It’s not a cliché anymore. They were right, when they said they were taking away our masculinity literally from our balls...
How many sunsets and dish pics do we want to collect? No one cares, also because everyone is doing the same shit, the same way, from the same rectangle.
It would be beautiful. Really beautiful. Like walking barefoot on wet grass after so many years just wearing shoes. There’s something visceral there, something you find — something maybe, strange, new but right.
20 aprile 2025, airplane.
Pearl & Flowers
I admire artists, innovators, thinkers—those who have developed their potential without losing touch with simplicity, with truth. Those who see romance in nature, in breaking away from the ordinary. Those who challenge the status quo, who defy clichés, the rules we live by, the ones we take for granted. Rules built inside imaginary cubes that, over time, infect the personal imagination, trapping us in an increasingly narrow vision.
Because our greatest teacher is nature.
When you ask anyone what they would love to do most, almost everyone says, travel. Or if you ask what they would do if they had all the money in the world, again, they say travel. But I think, unconsciously, they are searching for something deeper. Maybe what truly awakens us is the journey itself. Traveling takes us beyond these preconceptions, perhaps because, for a fleeting moment, we give ourselves permission to step outside them. Even more so when the journey is about the path, the experience, the act of moving forward while resisting the pull to get lost in the destination.
Like when, in 2018, I cycled across Europe, not knowing exactly what I would find along the way, with the awareness that the real journey was in simply being there, in that moment. fuck the goal. Or when, in Finland, I met a girl by chance, and together we decided—without a plan, without a set horizon—to hitchhike to the North Cape, children of that instant, of that land.
I’ve brought home some lessons; however, funny enough, I still have that gut feeling to explore—to be alone in some random place in the world, with all possible options open. And without that feeling, I don’t think I would know what I know today.
I've learned that the freedom we crave is ultimately within us, regardless of where we are. I’ve realized that the word freedom holds, for me, the values I am most drawn to and always aspire to embody: spontaneity—the act of doing something purely for the sake of doing, without overthinking. And fearlessness—the recognition that most of our fears are merely illusions.
It is in these moments that I truly perceive freedom in its purest form—the freedom to exist without structure, to feel part of the world in an immediate, unfiltered way. It is in those fleeting instants that the imaginary cube, the one that traps us within habits and dogma, dissolves, revealing just how unconsciously we had been confined. And it is there that I rediscover that childlike freedom—innocent, spontaneous, needing no definition.
10 March 2025, Cascais
Vintage grandmas
In an era defined by our relentless toxic love with technology, we find ourselves on a path with no turning back, heading towards a world that increasingly resembles Blade Runner’s cyberpunk metropolis.
We’re in a unique period of humanity, balancing between two worlds. We ‘re living between past and future. The past feels more vintage and analogue, while the future offers us glimpses—like little time machine windows—that show us what we are becoming.
The generations of our parents and grandparents are still present and trying to survive at all costs, intertwined with the ever-growing, prodigious humanoid we’re raising. Though kind of disturbing, I think this transition is quite romantic.
We still carry phone chargers everywhere, stop to refuel our cars, and complain about always being glued to our phones. If you think about it, these things are already quite antique in our speed-of-light technological society. Interestingly, we can still it fight it! Like choosing to put the phone aside a moment, and look up.
If you want to take a time machine into the past, just go visit your grandmother—or if you no longer have one, go for a walk in an old countryside town. You’ll witness what is on the verge of extinction.
This exact period we’re living in, right in the middle, blends two completely different realities that are drifting further apart.
Cars running on oil, wired batteries, screens, and vintage grandmothers are still here—but just for a moment. Take it all in and appreciate it, because it will all be soon gone. Everything will be automated, integrated, and perfectly unnatural.
We’re in a unique period of humanity, balancing between two worlds. We ‘re living between past and future. The past feels more vintage and analogue, while the future offers us glimpses—like little time machine windows—that show us what we are becoming.
The generations of our parents and grandparents are still present and trying to survive at all costs, intertwined with the ever-growing, prodigious humanoid we’re raising. Though kind of disturbing, I think this transition is quite romantic.
We still carry phone chargers everywhere, stop to refuel our cars, and complain about always being glued to our phones. If you think about it, these things are already quite antique in our speed-of-light technological society. Interestingly, we can still it fight it! Like choosing to put the phone aside a moment, and look up.
If you want to take a time machine into the past, just go visit your grandmother—or if you no longer have one, go for a walk in an old countryside town. You’ll witness what is on the verge of extinction.
This exact period we’re living in, right in the middle, blends two completely different realities that are drifting further apart.
Cars running on oil, wired batteries, screens, and vintage grandmothers are still here—but just for a moment. Take it all in and appreciate it, because it will all be soon gone. Everything will be automated, integrated, and perfectly unnatural.