I got I.D.

My lips are shakin
My nails are bit off
Its been a month since Ive heard myself talk
Only advantage this lifes got on me
Picture a cup in the middle of the sea

And I fought back in my mind
Never lets me be right...
I got memories, I got shit
So much it dont show...

Oh, I walked the line...
When you held me in at night
Oh, I walked the line...
When you held my hand and i...

On empty shells seem so easy to crack
Got all these questions
Dont know who I could even ask
So Ill just lie down and wait for the dream
Where Im not ugly and youre lookin at me

And Ill stay in bed...
Oh, little Ive seen there
If just once I could be loved...
Oh, Id stare back at me

Oh, I walked the line...
When you held me in at night
Oh, I walked the line...
When you held my hand and i
Oh, I walked the line...
When you held me close at night
Oh, I paid the price...
Never held you in your eyes

Yes, we are still at Home

I know, I know, this should have been posted a little earlier, but as the popular saying say; rather late than never.

Home, what is home?

So, what is it? The dictionary gives us all kinds of definitions for the word home; a house, an apartment * or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, a place of residence or refuge, a place in which one’s domestic affections are centred, among other things. Do any of them make sense to you? Quite possibly.


Home is quite often associated with one’s house. This is quite a logical association since the main goal of having a house is to make a home out of it. So what makes it a home? I don’t think there is a universal answer to this one, so from here on, my personal opinion comes into play. Home is one’s refuge, a place where you can isolate yourself from the world and forget all the problems that haunt you. A place where you can be yourself, where you can be free.

Some say home is where the heart is. I tend to associate this phrase with people that have lived in various places around the world and managed to find home in every one of them. So home can also be a memory, a memory of a place or time that stays in your mind for ever. A place or time where you feel complete.
Even though home may represent a whole different thing from person to person, there is a common ground that binds them together. That one special feeling you get when you are at home, when you make yourself at home.

Home can be whatever you want it to be; your childhood house, a little cottage by the lake or even your present apartment. That special place or time that triggers a unique set of emotions in each and every one of us. Home.


Bruno

A Few Musical Tips for You to Enjoy

I can see someone was playing around with our layout... Congratulations, whoever you are, it looks a lot better like this!

Anyway, I am a very musical person, I am always listening to music and I love getting to know new artists and songs and albums... Too bad my memory is totally lousy in what comes to lyrics, but hey, I try.

First glorious musical introduction...

Meet Voltaire (no, it is not the French philosopher rising from the dead):



This is one of my favourite songs by Voltaire - When You're Evil. It will make you feel good about your bad, bad instincts when (mind the language, please) someone pisses you off. And, not only is the song splendid just for itself, the video shows images of The Nightmare Before Christmas! It cannot get any better...

Now for the second orgasmic musical introduction...

You better pay attention to this lady. She will be famous. She has to. I want to listen to her songs in my car, I want to buy her albums, I want to make love to her voice and her lyrics. Yes, that is how magnificent this artist is.

Bring Me Back

Her name is Liz Wood, but the musical project is called Bring Me Back. Go figure. She is Australian, but she is living in London, where she is taking little steps towards the extremely well deserved acknowledgement.

If you are one of those impatient people, please play the third song before you close the window.

Believe me, it will be like listening to a mix between Tim Buckley, Janis Joplin and a couple of other great names...

Hope your inner musician appreciates my suggestions!

Maria Pereira

HOME AGAIN, I like to be here while I can...

“Home” to me is my favorite place on earth. As long as I feel comfortable in it I can call it “Home” and this place can be anywhere.
“Home” is the place where I can recharge my batteries, where I can reorganize my thoughts. Is also the place where I can find a friendly word or share a point of view. When I arrive home tired from the day it’s the best place I can find to rest, relax and put things back together.
In my opinion, we all have an ideal home, but at the end of the day we might be unable to live in the home of our dreams. Home is not only the door we open, it’s the way to step inside happiness. In a way, sometimes it does not work that way. Perhaps this word is related with what and who we can find inside – the type of family we have, the social relations, economic status or education.
However, when we are born we can’t choose where to live. We can live in a great home in a posh neighbourhood and feel miserable and unhappy with the people and places around us. Obviously the opposite can happen as well. We can live in a poor home and have excellent surroundings.Living or finding a perfect home might take a few years or simply a lifetime. It’s up to us to go out there and find it, but the main understanding of the word “Home” is all to do with human behaviour.

We had to write a text about "HOME". Since we have to put our texts in our blogs, here it goes mine.

Bela Teles is a 38 year-old wife, mother, daughter and sister. At the age of 9 months she travelled with her family towards a new home…

Bela was born in her grandmother’s house, at Serra Pequena, a little neighborhood in Amadora, but soon she went to Murreaux, in France. She lived there for 9 years. There she used to play with her sisters, cousins and friends. When she returned to Portugal she found it very hard to fit in and make new friends. I asked her what she thinks “home” is.

“Home is not always with our family. I made a lot of friends in France and suddenly I had to move to another country (with my family) and be away from them. For a child of 9 that is very hard. That time I felt my home was in France. Until today I have lived in Portugal and now my home is here. I have my own family now, my husband and my children whose life has always been here.”

I am Bela’s oldest daughter and this text is about her because she knows exactly what missing home means, just like I do. I lived in Serra Pequena for 10 years, and there I was very happy because I had all my family around me, which for me is very important. My mother’s family was one of the first to get there and built their home. Mine does not exist anymore. My house was built by my family and we all grew up in that neighborhood. I miss it a lot! But now I live in another house that is my home. Here I live the joys, sadness and worries of life with my family. That is why I call this house my home. I also feel that I do not need a house to be at home, wherever I am, as long as it is with my family, I am at home.

The Patient
A groan of tedium escapes me, startling the fearful.Is this a test? It has to be. Otherwise I can't go on.Draining patience. drain vitality.this paranoid, paralyzed vampire act's a little old.But I'm still right here, giving blood and keeping faith. And I'm still right here.But I'm still right here, giving blood and keeping faith. And I'm still right here.I'm gonna wait it outIf there were no rewards to reap, no loving embrace to see me through this tedious path I've chosen here,I certainly would've walked away by now.I'm gonna wait it outIf there were no desire to heal The damaged and broken met along this tedious path I've chosen here,I certainly would've walked away by now.I still may. And I still may.Be patient.I must keep reminding myself of this...If there were no rewards to reap, no loving embrace to see me through this tedious path I've chosen here,I certainly would've walked away by now.And I still may.I'm gonna wait it out.

OCEANS

Hold on to the thread, The currents will shift Guide me towards, You know something's left And we're all allowed to dream of the next Time we touch You don't have to stray, The oceans away Waves roll in my thoughts, Hold tight the ring The sea will rise, please stand by the shore I will be there once more...

Once Upon a Home

Home. What is home? What does it mean? The very word itself evokes different emotions and responses from different people. To some it is synonymous with birthplace. To others, the place one returns to after a hard day’s work. It may remind some of their homeland, long abandoned in the search for a better life, or the pivotal nest where family awaits. It can be a physical location or where someone is waiting for you.

Curiously, it seems that, the farthest one is from their home, the more it expands. Talk with someone on your town, village or city and home will be close – it’s an apartment or a singular house. “Just around the corner and up the street”, you’ll say. However, travel a few miles and your home is suddenly an entire locale – the whole village, town or city. And the further one gets, the larger it grows – your region, your country - until you end up calling yourself an European – or an American, or Asian, and your home is all that.

Yet, home can change. It grows as you do. It changes and transforms. A person might be born somewhere, then grow up somewhere else entirely, and end up settling and establishing family in a third, foreign place. And yet he’ll always have a home – whichever it may be.

To me, home is where you return to, where you feel safe and can relax. It is where you can rest and be ready to face the world once more the next day. It is a sanctum, a place of refuge.

In the end, I believe that is what home truly means: where you feel you belong. Where you can say: “This is my home”. But there is no rule, no rigid formula through which home can be determined. No one can tell you where your home is.

You just feel it.

And it feels like home.

Luís A. R. Bernardino

Home

The general idea of home suggests a cosy place. When one thinks of home, one thinks of going back to the place where there are people waiting, where the best meals are cooked, where a warm bed gives the best nights of sleep.

But “home” can be a larger concept. When we are travelling abroad, “home” becomes our country. Suddenly, we do not think of the house with three rooms. We think about our city, the wonders of our nation, the common ground of the people who share the same language. If the journey is even farther away, to the other side of the world, home is not only a country, but a continent as well. I suppose if we ever get the chance to travel through the Universe, we will call ourselves Earthlings and our planet will be our home.

The word “home” can be associated with less pleasant realities. Even when a family is broken and there is violence and the thought of going back is aching, it is the only choice when there is nowhere else to turn to. A foster home, although socially seen with suspicion, can be the only home one has met.

Ultimately, the place we dream of having one day is probably our home. The place that is really ours, that we achieve with our work, that we pay for every month, that we decorate the way we want against our parents’ wishes.

Maybe in a more sentimental way, home is where we feel good, independently of the presence or lack of walls. A house gives the comfort, the sensation of safety. But can it really bring happiness?

Is there a better place than lying in your lover’s arms? Is there a bigger sense of satisfaction than when you are sharing a meal with your family? Can a baby ever feel as safe as he did while inside his mother’s body?

And maybe, in some twisted way, home is ourselves. No matter where we live, how we live, with whom we share our life... In the end it is just us, alone, remembering the home we built and fearing the home we will go to.

Maria Pereira

Spring Haikus by Luís Bernardino

Rain falls from gray clouds
My umbrella drips gentle waters
As I look at clear skies

A gentle, cold wind blows
I clench my coat tighter still
Frost is no gentle lover

Shy sun shines its radiance
Fearful of dark, angry clouds below
We suffer amid shadows