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Light Powder Roads



The city looked calm that day, too calm; and it felt the same. Then, the
night took over this nice pleasant calmness of warm blue. As she took a
glimpse at the window she heard the muted streets and the sleeping buildings
bathing in a bright and silently loud light of that blue. The sun was sleeping
elsewhere now, smiling down its rays upon the other side. The little alien was
alone back then. Now the alien feels just lonely.
Looking down, at the world, she was thinking if going back was a good
idea. And, as a curious mind that she was, this question emerged: "Whose
idea was it... first?
While allowing this question to look for a place in her mind to linger in, she
was slowly offering her thoughts the treat of spiralling in countless directions,
looking for the right feelings to join them in an accompaniment for a
tumultuous romance which was causing life to emerge. While taking time to
look at all this from a distance, she discovered the beauty in the lines forming
bizarre combinations of shapes and links created in movement, expressions
of infinite recreation formed by this spectacular dance of existential value.


“- You know, this girl I've been telling you stories about? She broke hell
into pieces one day and sent all the souls and demons out. She just blew
them up in the air and let them all fight up there while she was looking for a
way to redecorate the whole place.
- Wasn't she punished for that?
- Well, ... they actually asked for it. I always thought, they wanted her
there…Your guess was good though; she did get punished... with loneliness
and a lot of indifference too. Still, this seemed a little cool to her in a
refreshing way. This way she could allow herself some quiet time to learn, to
do, to find some balance... to empty a place and refill it with transformations
that give a nicer touch to all the events that may have caused tears to herself
and to others. You see, it is better to be yourself and complete but alone than
to be portioned and crippled then mocked and laughed at, even beaten then
trained like ... well... a dog, let's say; it sounds much nicer this way. Trained
for a life that would end in tears in best case scenario ... a life that isn't
dignifying at all. So, she preferred this hard way than other hard ways.
The long pause that followed got shortened by his sudden wake from the
mind journey he's taken after finishing the tale.
- Quite a story, don't you think? he said while turning his severe yet a bit

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absent look to her.
- I'm guessing, and probably very well, that it is the nicest in a series of


She's been placing notes on the ceiling for the few long hours of the night;
... then, when the morning started to count its steps towards the area of his
physical existence, she started having them played in his head.
So, they could find their so much needed balance between the strong
feelings picked-up on their ways to live and make a living, then back home,
and the lack of empathy and care for their surroundings. Another night so
special and so beautiful... only in a different way than expected by what's
considered to be normally human.
Times of words, illustrated by characters and symbols, moving on waves
described by rhythms and rhymes of the poetic stream of their conclusive,
mighty creativity, were lifting-up their spirits, producing emotions of sublime
That night the square turned into a diamond then split into some rhomboid
shapes and broke into pyramids sliced into pieces of furniture she had the
inspiration to conceive and make representations of in the other life she was
somehow living from afar.


Sunday sunshine above the hills. It is half past ten - ten thirty, if you wish -
and she's still out in the park looking for the warm clues bathing into that light
to give her new stories to comfort her soul with. As dark menacing clouds
gather for an early thunderous rock show thrown into the skies for the
grounds, she smiles and rhythms take over her body making her feel like the
treasure she was enjoying seeing and listening to. She found this old
compass, earlier, in the park. All covered in dirt and carrying scratches and
burns, bruises of rust and lichen on the margins of its screen...
"This must be Mary’s compass, she said smiling. I'd better give it back to
her when I meet her... if ever... What a strange little chain! she observed; or,
… I'll just keep it in my box of "treasures to show one day" (to a distinguished
public, of course) ... or make a show... no, a full spectacle of it ... she laughed
gently and secretly; a smile was concluded reaching-up, onto her face
making her be a contrasting figure in a sea of upset by the changing weather
ungrateful public."

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“There was this book on a shelf, in a library that she felt drawn to;
mysteriously, with calm and sweet gestures of a spirit which needed her to be
there. She opened the book and started reading: “It is hard to judge a human
with a clear mind and an easy heart without having a trace of doubt about
your own judgement.
I remember this kid who got sacrificed for the wellbeing of another
human… there are stories about kids getting sacrificed for their villages and
cultures all over the world and in all of those times expressing their manifest
of human existence.
Their dreams didn’t matter, mine did. Their kind spirits and thoughtful
hearts didn’t do anything but reassure the conviction of their murderers that
they were really “the ones”.
I’ve been wondering about him and his life for years: how did things turn
out, how did he change, if he did change! … could he find his peace, some
happiness, a bit of satisfaction that is sane and good for a kind heart like his?
Did he get that second chance to raise up from the dirt and create another
dream for himself only this time with the certitude of living it?
It is hard though to blame my own parents for how I feel now even if it was
them who sacrificed him. They were somehow “put on the wall”, asked to
betray that kid and his family or else… This betrayal destroyed their lives…
They were asked to choose between my life or theirs’.
How could I blame a mother or a father for choosing their own chi…”

- What are you reading?
- Oh, … hi! … I just found this book here and… (she smiles). He
takes the book from her hands and watches the cover saying:
- From all the books in this library… hmm…
- She smiles again gently and says: - I felt… (and here he starts
gesturing as if he was conducting an orchestra) … attracted by it…
- The last word in her sentence was spoken by him too, loudly!


"In the dark room with resonance of gothic remembrance her voice from
the deep sea of her slightly ragged soul was heard."
"You were right; humans hurt and they learned how to do that without
getting caught. Human feelings hurt as well but I can still appreciate their
value and the beauty of those who are kind and gentle, loving and caressing.
Love and care in the tender mode of a real human are something that no

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robot or application they may invent will equal. Nevertheless... science still
made such progress that I sometimes doubt my own decision to be
reasonable enough and fight the idea of a robot replacing me. As if it was not
enough that humans kill each other every day, either for the gold in their
hands or the one in the soul of another body. As if they didn't try to destroy
their species with their ugly feelings towards one another.
I'm standing here, in front of your shadow, admitting I was wrong going
back there, trying to be part of them... as if it mattered to you.
- If you expect me to say "I told you so" just for the sake of giving an
answer to all this, then I'm so sorry for over-estimating your intelligence."


The CD's of the veiled curtain on the window at the mezzanine top of the
world, shine their glorious rainbow-reflections through the soul of "The
Observer's Cloud". This is another book for her to write with a content that is
still a bit of a mystery even to herself now. Another morning in heaven.
Another day to take the same decision, different, as always, the same, as
usual... "wake up and enjoy!" ... "live". "There is a lot to do, a lot to feel and
embrace, a lot to discover and understand!" Another day for these
imperatives to shine through and offer some shameless hope to a soul too
ashamed and sad for what she deserved. Another one in a series of days
which are most certainly underestimated and confused ... also confusing; ...
to many they appear so.


"I need a book and a cup of tea to keep me company while I do this...
maybe some cookies or muffins, cup-cakes to tell me more about the sweet
history and stories that enchant the spirit and caress the soul while getting it
drunk with the power of elation."

"Irony was cutting and slicing, warming-up and comforting each soul for its
merits. “

He was feeling alone.


This Fortress was hiding ideas behind its walls covered in ivy and painted
by dames and damsels each year.

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Many ideas behind and of many shades of grained rainbows grounded by
immortality, all revealed once the gate of her soul got open. But her soul only
burned with some reason and used mud to shape some ideas for a world that
was about to turn into what it always was: their home.


“You cannot change the world, dearest friend and raven. You can only
leave a sign, give a mark, make a remark, print your name and gather
appreciations you will forget about once you say goodbye. You can make
other people feel good about themselves too and share your knowledge and
ideas, give them a push to go further and move forward so they get what you
didn’t get and find the fulfilment you don’t know just yet. I still wonder if you
will ever manage to feel like that: happy and fulfilled. Those like you never
feel complete. And when they do the world starts chasing and embracing
them, getting them for a break into pieces. “

Walk and talk and listen then get up and run for a gun all loaded with your
fun, ideas, feelings, meanings and answers for new beginnings.”


"There are times when I wonder about what could have been; why is this
happening ... and why is that we are staring at the outside ceiling, watching it
carefully, as if we were afraid to lose from our sight something that might
happen there; as if it were able to give response to whatever you'd ask or
look to understand; absorbed by its splendour and the mysteries beyond this
reflective canvas, our thoughts slip away, still fascinated by the grandeur of
our capacity to observe it while the sounds in our surroundings give us notice
about what we're running from... our roots."


“I’m watching them slaughter my soul and I pretend that it is okay; it’s fine,
… you’re fine and you will be okay; because I love you… and because you
did the same… for me, for us, for them…? watching them killing your soul,
your wishes and your dreams. … You made me stronger and for this I will be
grateful forever and beyond eternity! You are my soul, mom! I love you!”

My soul was taken elsewhere for the sleep it needed, my soul needs
peace and love, that understanding you never got to know, you only gave to
other people… who wouldn’t care.

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"- You know? There are times when I wonder about what could be in her
head; why is she doing this... staring at the ceiling, watching something so
carefully, absent and abstracted somehow but very able to give response to
whatever you'd say, question or show, absorbed by her thoughts, still
fascinated by the sounds in her surroundings.

"- Who is this woman for real? he asked only to test her presence. She
looks like a girl I used to believe in; I used to care for and thought I'd love one
day for sure and for good..."

"- She is probably your own need to be a human being.

When times like this happen, I stop and watch every single detail in the
room, everything that happens, no matter how boring or unimportant may
seem; I forgot about exploring her face and her look, trying to get into her
mind. What happens around begins to give me more answers than I thought
about her behaviour and her reasons ... or the lack of reasons to behave this
way. "


She's offered herself a nice treat talking to the angels, thinking about how
to become a better person, a nicer human dreaming big scale from the small
and hardly noticeable palace of space she was locked-into. A treat of spiritual
value, something that most of you will never know and most certainly will
never get to understand.


"I put all that I have learned to a use and if or when I didn't do it, someone
or something else did it for me. I did and I' m doing what I can, sometimes
with burning tears out of my cold eyes, sometimes with shame, other times
with a glorious feel, a prudential way of showing belief and faith in what's left
with me and within my inner self. I know that someday I will be bringing my
share to the legacy of the world... One day... I will be part of this without
feeling embarrassed or ashamed, sad or insecure, trapped in a world that
helps me not to evolve but just feel smaller than a microscopic bug.


Alone, in the entrance of the great room, he was watching closely a crack

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on the wall next to the door. She was noting something down on a piece of
paper next to her small cup of coffee and the tea-pot waiting to refill, with the
hot and magic liquid, the great cup waiting patiently for being stained with
residues of potion as ancient as the stars. The ants in his crack on the wall
were actively searching for clues of something he got very interested in. An
elegy, perhaps, is what they were looking for. Suddenly she moved to the
other corner of the wall adding some paint on a canvas craving for a
resolution. The details revealed made him think about a song he had in mind
but got out with the whisper of a shadow. Now he knows why. His shadow
was looking for her while he was looking for his song. Finding her was getting
his song back along with the comfort of his brain.
As he was noting down the music on his device, the image of the girl was
starting to dissipate and fade into a disguise that was no longer his concern.
Behind the steps he took towards another show of illustrative extraordinary
greatness the buildings were starting to collapse in majestic clouds of dust
from which the shadows of new blocks and pyramids of glass and metal got
the honour to be born.


The goal should be to feel good with who and what you are, my love...
while getting closer to what you aspire to be; that someone and something
you already are without wishing to remember because it would suit you
wrong, making you appear arrogant to those who have you around. Keep
"up-to-date" and up with the movement then, when put down, rise above all
that's troubling you and take a glance at the whole thing and you will be
amazed by the power of your own will!"


"- You probably know, by now, that things are in a perpetual change. Their
"Don't change! Be yourself!", Change is good!", "Don't let others rule you!",
"Be the one who makes the change not the one who's being changed!",
"Learn from your mistakes!" and so on and so forth, are all incomplete
statements of who they say they want you to be, perhaps of who they wanted
themselves to be; still, incomplete encouragements and advice that are part
of a greater truth, The Great Truth you know now enough about to
understand what is that I am saying here. Someday though, you will forget; ...
or maybe only pretend to have forgotten (also very possible for both to
happen in a lifetime), for the sake of a peaceful living with your 'human
friends'. Don't let yourself fooled, though! Use them for your own good as
they use them for theirs. It is up to you to choose from the pieces of the
puzzles thrown at you and complete the big picture of each and every one

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you decide to make... or break. It is also up to you to discover when is the
right time for you to start creating your own puzzles for them to have a go to
the exploration of the Self.
You are who you are and all that you are is the living proof of what you've
accomplished and managed to become all along. You are what you were
willing to accept and fight for, what you loved and lived for into the depths of
your eternity.
A long line of minutes settling in silence followed. The air was starting to
feel crowded with the seconds gathering for that moment of muted sounds
becoming heavier with each blink of an eye. She felt that air and a soft sigh
came out from her chest right when he decided to break that silence in the
sharp minute of eight saying playfully:
- The living proof of what you've become after becoming what you were
sent there to become!
She smiled gracefully but a touch of sadness offered a glimpse at some
deep thoughts hidden in resent.
- Never mind my malicious statements and remarks. I'm only an old fool
when I try to cheer myself up!"


- A girl had this sleeping memory of a great awakening which brought her
back to the coldness inside my soul. I've been thinking about telling you more
about this girl I named May... because of the flowers of May and their
perfume... and because of the suns and winds of May; because of its skies
and its sounds... because I wanted to give her those in exchange of her
smiles lifted up to make some poetry of light with them.
This girl is the one looking through the window right now; she startled,
seeing a scattered angelic face looking right back at her.
Don't worry! She doesn't really see you! she's actually seeing people
dancing next to the stage on which the band is playing while passengers of
mist find coats to take on and leave for a more, quiet place.
As he describes this scene she begins to see all the setting coming alive
on the window replacing the face of the girl named May.
Numerous cars aligned in the parking area, forming a colourful belt, are
waiting for their drivers to start a new race for the morning to come; that
morning will take them to their offices where they have important things to do;
things that will change the world they're living in and which they actually want
the same but they don't know this just yet. Some more years have to pass-by
and make them get up from bed and look around for the years of the past
they forgot to enjoy when only a present.


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"Please, don't send me back there! Please!!!"

If there's anyone to be blamed for this, that would be me! concluded he after
letting his book fall in his lap for a shown rest at the page he had paused from
reading and thinking about how to change. His voice was telling about his
soul tearing apart and a warm bright tear fell on his cheek for the first time in
quite a while.

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