Paulo Seabra

In such a great story, to pick the greatest moment so swiftly is bound to be wrong. Then again, in such a great story, to pick any given moment as its greatest is always a safe bet. I'll pick this moment now but tomorrow I might give you five different ones. That is because this story in particular, what with all its monsters and the sheer violence they go around inflicting, it seems to me actually has its greatest moments in the details, in the quiet times, quiet but not necessarily peaceful, because there's still a whole lot of torment going on within the characters' spirits. For example, you have young Guts looking over the bonfire of dreams, you have Captain of the Raiders Guts defeating Griffith and walking away to forge his own path, you have Black Swordsman Gus inspiring Farnese to pick up a sword with which to fight off monsters in the night, and so on. Most of those great moments would include Guts of course, but it is a testament to Kentarō Miura's genius that...

My favorite portuguese poet of all time is a pretty easy guess, and a man about whom I've written quite a bit already. But maybe my favorite poet of all time is Robert Frost, a man about whom I've written a little bit less but whose work I greatly admire all the same. I read his poems at the tail-end of a pretty horrible summer, which is funny because most of his poems, or at least the most beautiful ones to me, always capture the stark beauty of winter and autumn. My November Guest does so, with the beauty of an autumn day possessing the poet's state of mind, and The Road Not Taken, arguably one of the most recognizable poems of all time, leaving us with that lingering what-could-have-been sensation when we're at a crossroads, but not during a summer as it is so often the case, and as it is so often the case with me, but of an autumn and winter, amidst the yellowing leaves of a nearby woods wherein the poet wrote, or at least came up with, his masterpiece. And now t...

Fim, ou pelo menos é assim que me parece agora, porque na verdade o fim é só um. No entanto sempre pensei por ciclos, e neste sentido acabar agora esta série de cinco artigos sobre o Fernando Pessoa, que na verdade é a terceira série de cinco neste blogue, leva-me agora a concluir que terminei uma fase da minha vida, a partir da qual há de começar uma nova. Mas não sei como é que isso faz sentido exceto que não consigo deixar de pensar assim. Por exemplo, quando eu estava no sexto ano de escola, no último dia de aulas decidi gastar todo o dinheiro que tinha no cartão eletrónico, precisamente por ser o último dia pensei, que diferença faz? Mas depois de três breves meses de verão voltei à escola e encontrei os mesmos dois ou três cêntimos ali guardados, e encontrei uma nova necessidade de carregar o cartão, uma necessidade que eu não teria caso não tivesse gastado tudo só por gastar... Enfim, porque é que digo isto? Em parte porque tal como disse antes estou cansado de introduções para...