But there is one person that I looked up to and that I could call my hero, Steve Jobs.

He was a show man, a master of technology, a design expert, a wise perfectionist, in sum a genius.

It will be hard to find that combination on a single person again.

The news of his death leave me sad and worried that technology will be lacking from here on. Who will be the one to set new expectations? Who will define new paths? Who will be the voice leading Apple? Who will tech industry look up to, now?

None of the alternatives out there look that promising when compared to Steve.

No matter what, just this quick note to express my gratitude to have been so privileged to share this world with you and be inspired by what you have done.

Meet you soon

Fez plof e sumiu-se. Há onomatopeias providenciais. Imagine-se que tinhamos de descrever o processo de sumição do sujeito com todos os pormenores. Seriam precisas, pelo menos, dez páginas. Plof.

José Saramago, “A viagem do Elefante”

Não fujas de mim
Que eu cá não faço mal

Tenho este olhar assim
Que me diz que um beijo pode ser fatal

Eu não sei se o nosso eu
Prefiro achar que não

Não me interessa a solução
De estar longe… Tu e eu

O pai disse-me um dia em pleno bate papo
Que o dom desta família é virar príncipes em sapos
Tu queres ser um também

Dizia a minha mãe que o melhor da melodia
É virar o disco e vem logo uma nova companhia
Mas eu não quero assim.

Vem para mim…

Time stands too still
Left you there for the kill
But this hope that sorrow bleeds
Leaves a man with nothing

There’s just no mercy in your eyes
There ain’t no time to set things right
And I’m afraid I’ve lost the fight
I’m just a painful reminder
Another day you leave behind

Love grows a fear
Suites your taste of bitter ends
But this stake that holds you in
Leaves no place to begin

There’s just no mercy in your eyes
There ain’t no time for selling lies
And I’m afraid I’ve lost the fight
I’m just a painful reminder
Another day you leave behind

Words seem so blind
I’ve been pushed far aside
To my choice seems too small
Any move and I could fall

There’s just no mercy in your eyes, child
There ain’t no time to set things right
And I’m not preaching to the choir
I’m just a painful reminder
And you’re a fool to satisfy

yeah and so
why can’t you see child
why won’t you feel love
I’m on my knees

yeah and on
why won’t you speak child
why can’t you dream on
I’m on my knees

yeah and so on
why won’t you see child
why can’t you feel love
I’m on my knees
I’m right here for you

How many times has he waited here
Beneath the boughs of angel hair
Woolen coat pulled tight against the wind
That whipped and chaffed his face
And left him that much more apart
From his old dreams that new lovers
Cannot own or hope to ever know
What’s behind an old man’s lonely eyes

When he’s alone and the sun is high
Children laugh and he’d like to hide
Days like these seem to hang on
For so long
They seem to drag him down
And leave him that much more apart
And he wishes someone would invite him home
To pass the time
Or maybe find some time
Or maybe

Did you see him cry

Did you ever watch him pace
And all the ways he tries to hide his face
Misplaced in a world not like his own
And did you ever stop to speak
Or hear him try to tell about
How she and he were lovers
Just like you
And they were just like you

These things you keep
you better throw them away
you want to turn your back
on your souless days
once you were tethered
now you are free
once you were tethered
now you are free
that was the river
this is the sea

now if you are feeling weary
if you’ve been alone too long
or maybe you been suffering from
a few too many plans that have gone wrong
and you’re tryin’ to remember
how fine your life used to be
running around banging your drum
like it’s ninteeen seventy three
well that was the river
this is the sea

now you say you got trouble
you say you got pain
you say you got nothin’ left to believe in
nothin’ to hold on to
nothin’ to trust
nothin’ but chains
you’ve been scouring your conscience
raking through your memory
scouring your conscience
raking through your memory
that was the river
this is the sea

now i can see you’re waverin’
as you try to decide
you’ve got a war in your head
and it’s tearing you up inside
you’re tryin’ to make sense
of something that you just don’t see
tryin’ to make sense now
and you know that you once held the key
but that was the river
and this is the sea

now here is a train
it’s comin’ on down the line
you realise if you hurry
you got still enough time
and you don’t need no tiket
and you dont pay no fee
and you don’t need no ticket
and you dont pay no fee
because that was the river
and this is the sea
that was the river
this is the sea
that was the river
this is the sea
the river, the river, the river, the river
the river, the river, the river
and this is the sea

sea mmmmmm sea
Behold The Sea

I implore your attention. It is all over with me. I can support this state no longer. To-day I was sitting by Charlotte. She was playing upon her piano a succession of delightful melodies, with such intense expression! Her little sister was dressing her doll upon my lap. The tears came into my eyes. I leaned down, and looked intently at her wedding-ring: my tears fell — immediately she began to play that favourite, that divine, air which has so often enchanted me. I felt comfort from a recollection of the past, of those bygone days when that air was familiar to me; and then I recalled all the sorrows and the disappointments which I had since endured. I paced with hasty strides through the room, my heart became convulsed with painful emotions. At length I went up to her, and exclaimed With eagerness, “For Heaven’s sake, play that air no longer!” She stopped, and looked steadfastly at me. She then said, with a smile which sunk deep into my heart, “Werther, you are ill: your dearest food is distasteful to you. But go, I entreat you, and endeavour to compose yourself.” I tore myself away. God, thou seest my torments, and wilt end them!

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (translated by R.D. Boylan)

And somehow along the way came something mysterious… we called it music

Meu caro Vinicius de Moraes,

escrevo-lhe aqui de Ipanema para lhe dar uma notícia grave:
a primavera chegou.

Você partiu antes. É a primeira primavera, de 1913 para cá, sem a sua participação.

Seu nome virou placa de rua e nessa rua que tem seu nome na placa vi ontem 3 garotas de Ipanema que usavam mini-saias. Parece que a moda voltou nessa primavera. Acho que você aprovaria.

O mar anda virado. Houve uma lestada muito forte, depois veio um sudoeste com chuva e frio. E daqui de minha casa vejo uma vaga de espuma galgar o costão sul da Ilha das Palmas. São violencias primaveris.

O tempo vai passando poeta, chega a primavera nesta Ipanema, toda cheia de sua música e de seus versos. Eu ainda vou ficando um pouco por aqui — a vigiar, em seu nome, as ondas, os tico-ticos e as moças em flor.