Throw me a Bone

JOURNAL March 30, 2018

A song I play quite often goes like this

” Throw me a bone,

Don’t be scared of what you don’t already know “

And I wasn’t quite sure how to interpret it,

at first sight, it sounds like something trivial.

Over time and with all that’s come through in between,


this doozy started to make a real nice sense.

And the sense it started to make has a pinch of melancholy within,

especially to someone like me –

who weighs words and commas and all the smallest details.

I’ve dreamt about this faraway land.

pictured it in the tiniest of details,

from the disposition of plants in the house

to how long it’d take me to get to the beach.

Stupid little things, you may think,

My happy places, I dream.

But for some reason, I don’t seem to grasp, that I don’t seem to baptize.

Here I am, still picturing it in its details,

this far away land,

repeating myself to sleep that maybe there’s no need to fly to the other side of this world to find myself at home,

to find my way to the balance I crave.

That it’s not the view from my window or the shades of the sand under my bare feet that’ll make me happier.

That what I need is already within me.

Some fucking where, flooded under these piles of freedom thoughts

and idealizations.

And so I distract myself with simple things

like weekend getaways,

restaurant dinners on Fridays

and subtle vices

– to swab this thirst of mine I don’t find the guts to shush

nor to water.

But then I think to myself that damn yes,

the view from my window and the smell of the ocean and the way to the beach and the shades of the sky, they all make a hell of a difference,

especially to someone like me who doesn’t want to give up wondering,

not even when the alarm goes off,

not even now I see I’m making some hell good paintings of these faraway dreamlands.








CORNERS, TRAVEL November 12, 2017

I’m not sure if i laid my cards right,

If the flights i decided to take were good moves and if the masks I decided not to wear anymore will be the wind that’ll lead me where i want to be. But if there’s something I’m pretty sure of – and few are the things can call sure -, it is that at this precise time I’m at, I’m happy.


for god knows what weird combination of words and ideas, it feels like home.

Here, now.


And you can find me here,

at a corner cafe in a town I couldn’t paint by heart, faces I wouldn’t imagine any different,  the salty air blown by the ocean.

There’s this one thing I’ve learnt, in that space of time came out of a  kid’s dream, hanging mid-way between the passing of days and what is still to be done – like when you’re looking for something lost and find it in your pocket, and find it in the most unexpected place – you can find yourself at home. right there, where you’ve always been.


Because home isn’t a building dressed in white paint and drawers filled with cutlery and postcards.

It is tracing the curves of your skin at the end of the day, an afternoon walk to drink a coffee and letting the naivety of your eyes lead your way, thirsty for getting lost in cobblestone streets and unknown contours of hick towns, eyes to dive in at the end of a steep climb and words you finally found the courage to let slip out.