I was walking in Marvila, I looked up and atop this warehouse I saw a makeshift structure, wow, what a sight, so rich in potential, I wonder what’s in there, oh, I remember, its just a restaurant/bar, I can be nothing but just a consumer for this space, what a disappointment.

Just another reminder why I, among others, am holding this vision to exist in a space where living, creating ad sharing are all one and the same, so that you and I are not merely consumers, you and I can walk into such a space get insights, get inspired, collaborate, join forces, exchange ideas on how we can position ourselves intentionally within the urban context, minimize our dependencies on the global trade, supermarkets, corporate service providers and more and implement them.

1st of April fools’ day, can’t think of a better day to start playing.

As we carry on doing the work at Quinta do Mocho with @amelia.soup with the support of logos.co (decentralized technology stack) in the guidance of the community leaders Vania Vanessa Vaz and Bangura , to break the design of the public housing neighborhood, which is more of a trap than a home to people, now I am embarking on the next phase of our intention.

We have been able to access Quinta do Mocho, Apelaçao and bairro do Talude with @m41.m thanks to @maisunomaisum.

we’ve killed
16 people.
you’re welcome.

yours truly,
Lisboa

we not need demand anything of it!
for everyone of us who is treated less than they are,
i wish we would look’em in the eye,
hold our ground,
and march forward.

PLAY(THE)GROUND: Friendship and Collaboration
SUMMER RESIDENCIES IN TALUDE, QUINTA DA FONTE, QUINTA DO MOCHO, BAIRRO DO ZAMBUJAL.

Last time I opened the door.
This time I entered.
And this is how I arrived.

What do I know?
You-maybe now, maybe later, maybe never.
Oh, what do I know?
I say to you: you-not mere repetition.
Grace, I say. Grace, I call.
You-not in ever, but just a never.
I sin. I repent.
I call for you in every-
This I know…
and thats all I know.
There is a you, alright.
You, who cannot be forgotten.
In ever.
But what do I know?

I ask myself:
How do I perceive the space that is called public, now that I am playing with the idea of making that which I’ve long assumed to be private, porous?

What kind of effect does the commodification of public space—treated as a subject of consumption within the parameters of tourism culture—have on the perception of that space by those who are an immediate extension of it?

Can a kind of mind hack facilitate the reclamation of that space? Could it slowly, but steadily, influence how we move within the city, how we relate to one another—and perhaps, shift the behaviours embedded in tourism culture itself?

A note to myself:
Lisbon is a zoo.*
For those who carry daily worries—
within.
Can you show me the way
out,
either way?

*Don’t be alarmed—so are many cities. Especially the brand cities.**

**Not a compliment. These are cities curated for consumption—flattened into aesthetics, designed for passive spectatorship. The tide doesn’t just wash over—it swallows.

***This is a monologue—spoken inward.

Light is soft-

forgiving.

Point of contact

still,

and the ripple moves afar.

Sleeping Protocols – Day 0

I think this is the kind of treaty that starts

in the way you leave your socks on the floor differently,

knowing someone else might see.

–

Not made by law.

But by witnessing.

–

Not public.

But not private anymore either.

–

The bed is still mine.

The mug is still mine.

But something’s loosening in the idea of “mine.”

Not through ideology. Through anticipation.

–

Filipe is coming.

Not “the participant.”

Not “the collaborator.”

Just a boy with a name, a timing, and a wound.

Just someone I know without knowing.

–

Maybe nothing will happen.

But even that “nothing”

will now be shared.

And that’s not nothing.

–

No one has arrived yet but something has

—like breath before speech.

–

I am here,

but the “I” feels a little expanded,

slightly pressed from the inside.

The night before he came,

Every corner knows I am here.

Sleeping Protocols – The Day

An agreement is being lived,

In a room,

In this building.

First dinner, no words were spoken.

I didn’t know about the moon.

And a song shared our silence.

And this is how I feel

Note

I Had Nothing to Show Off

You Had Nothing To Hide

–

An Agreement is being lived

Everywhere we go,

And I don’t aspire to be

homeless.

A pigeon discarded

Feeds on rice

Everytime it comes

Close home.

–

The Morning

I had given up on my side of the bed,

But pulled back to position by default.

Centre Piece

I had once seen this tree,

in Berlin, 2015.

A tree, still, in a city that moved.

A glitch looping around it-

a repeating fragment

that intensifies,

asking for recognition.

–

Last night,

I stood outside a circle

I once blurred into.

Not alone—

but with a boy.

–

Outside what once held me,

I saw it clearly—

I called it Centre Piece, not realising

I was naming my condition.

I thought highly of myself—

Central.

–

Last night,

the known grew limbs—

primal ones.

Crude.

Pombo

She is a friend.

She comes-before

my face is ready to face the other.

Every day,

curios,

ready to receive,

giving

without knowing.

No reason,

there.

Home is more now,

for-

no reason.

We came to the end

right where we started-

with socks.

Could I lend him socks I didn’t use?

There were never enough clean ones.

I could spare a sock, not a pair.

So he took

a sock.