“I’ve just seen a face I can’t forget the time or place where we just met…” (Lennon-McCartney)

What’s with the memory of places we’ve been and people we’ve met?

There must be a way to save that piece of thought, that byte of memory that lies misplaced in the hard drive of our brain into the right directory. Locked, and bound, and retrievable as it was originally set up to be.

I say that because I feel the value and perception of each and every bit of what we recall changes as fast as I try to finish this very sentence.

The sweetness of a look, the candid expression created by that dimple in her face, it all revolves about the scenario set for that imprint. Try this recipe of experiment: Ask someone to recollect his or her most precious moment in terms of related feeling, jot that down and leave it to rest. Return to the oven of that image a year later, and redo the whole process.

Try that one more time a year later and afterwards get the three pieces together to compare them. Do you know what you are going get? This: The value imposed to that thought and recollection will have changed. The creation and narrative core may still be the same, but actually, it is the teller who is not.

Acknowledging the weight of that feeling, anytime we approach it, we tend to reconnect to our core values and beliefs and, like a painter who does not allow himself to let the wall paint of his living room to grow old and full of stains, we apply another layer of feeling to that piece of mind fabrication.

And, come to think of it, it is all a momentary fabrication, a sweet but yet, fleet snapshot of a feeling. Funny thing is, I feel we are, as player on a Shakespearian stage of life, the sum of those snapshots. Not a regular linear sum, though. It is more like a web, a tapestry woven with a myriad of textiles we collect upon our walk on earth. The image produced by such tapestry work might inspire our fellow man and vice versa - Exchange and interaction.

And on I go, in search of the next click of my senses, or yours.

Note: Check the lyrics of the beautiful song by Carole King, “Tapestry” at http://www.caroleking.com/index.php?p=discography&subp=ck_songs&letter=T&order= ou na seção "Músicas que eu gosto".

What About the Two of Us? And the Clone?

The following article appeared for the first time in the May, 97 edition of the Newsletter “Brasil News”.

Lots of things are going on in the world these days. Every possible path is being trodden. People looking for things, trying to reach within the micro cosmos of their daily routine the so called soul of the planet.

Art is, for that concpt, always acting as a Queen bee jam, a melting pot of thoughts, actions and creative sparks to go with.

I have often wondered when and how such creative spark comes out of nowhere to light the void of our dissatisfaction.

Never really got a glimpse of it, though, except that, in terms, that’s what creation is all about, filling voids, in space and time, making sensitive bridges with data stored in our minds.

Each and every bit of information worked, processed, reconfigured and spit back from ourselves can be artistic in that way.

The world, like a movie theater silver screen reflects our inner thoughts for the time being. Surely, one can come up with the argument of mind controlling through the media and all the crap of how much that infoway will lead us to a homogenization of our culture that might flatten our culture, etc.

Fractal thoughts in a chaos amalgam.

Processing information is part of the state of art brain of ours. That’s what make us all unclonable.

That’s funny how every one’s talking about cloning people.

Looks are deceiving, that’s said and known. We can feasibly reproduce the sequence of DNA cells to come up with an identical carbon copy of someone, but how do you set up, and the word may fit the situation, the same sequence of information that has struck upon a being since the moment of that first slap on the bottom, the tiny tear rolling down the cheek, the casual meeting of our beloved one, a smile on the street, a different corner. That’s the dynamic of it all .

As we keep asking questions, actively working on our inner worlds let us not forget to rejoice on the thought of sharing the gift of existence, its oneness, built on a daily basis, but certainly everlasting.

CBP MAY, 1997