May 6 2022. João Seixas passed away. We played together in the first half of the seventies. He was the drummer in Petrus Castrus' first recordings. Those were the happy days of vinyl. This one is for you, old friend.

Eu já não espero ser rei de novo
no reino tão breve onde os sonhos se cruzam,
reais uma vez no tempo, num só lugar.
Crepúsculo cruzado de sonhos,
janela entre o berço e a mortalha.
Velas brancas na praia ainda vão ao mar,
pelo mar fora voam, asas brancas a subir,
a fé intacta sobre a glória de hora antiga.
Os velhos até se lembram do cheiro do mar perdido,
a nave invicta.
Onde é que dorme o grito dos que nunca mais voltaram?
O grito onde os sonhos ficaram,
reais uma vez no tempo, num só lugar.
Crepúsculo cruzado de sonhos,
janela entre o berço e a mortalha.
Velas brancas na praia ainda vão ao mar,
pelo mar fora voam, asas brancas a subir,
asas brancas a subir...

Eu Já Não Espero

Adios. Au revoir.
En fermant les yeux, ce sera la lumière,
ou peut-être le noir.
C'était pas de ma faute que je fusse né.
Mon temps terminé,
j'embrasse aujourdhui une certaine angoisse,
mais aussi - et sutout - la curiosité.

Adios JFC(Based on Gerald Olivieri Instrumental)

I wish I could find the words to sing my father's name.
But words seem short of meaning
and meaning so short of time
to explain eternity.

From the very first beginning,
the oldest common ancestor,
life has clinged to this rock,
the third nearest to our Sun.

And, as life came out of silence
and slowly came to existence,
the blind future was replaced
by dreams that wanted to be.

And so we're born out of miracles,
out of countless near misses,
a mix of nature and nurture,
of lucky chances and choices.

Now I wish this Autumn leaves 
could bring forth my father's voice
to bring me some words of wisdom
in this world bound to extinction.

For, when he took the decision
to bring up a family,
he added a few more notes
to a timeless symphony.

And, in each of the precious moments
that my father played with me,
I knew that we were repeating
the chords of eternity.

I Wish (JFC singing Over Debra's Piano Piece)

A poem from my late father. An old tape I recovered.

** Sinfonia dos Mundos **

Que faço aqui, eu que vou
tentando o verso e a prosa
num Cosmos que começou
por uma explosão monstruosa?

Que tenho a ver com o percurso
do hélio e do hidrogénio,
com o teórico discurso
desses físicos de génio,
que tentam aprisionar
o real em equações,
e compatibilizar
galáxias e electrões?

Nada tenho. E, no entanto,
leio seus livros profundos,
buscando a chave do canto
da sinfonia dos mundos.

Sinfonia Dos Mundos

A peculiar peace invades the heart when we do the right thing.

Uma estranha paz invade o coração
quando se faz o bem.
Sou bem capaz de amar o bem
só pela paz que ao mundo vem
quando Deus entorna o céu.

E, se eu chegar ao céu, serei um rio de Deus
para dar de beber aos filhos meus.
E, se eu chegar ao céu, em rio me irei tornar
para ver os meus filhos navegar.

O amor é luz, não se apaga.
Brilha para sempre no tempo.
Enche de paz a minha alma.
Onde há amor não há medo.

Uma Estranha Paz

I started writing this in the seventies and first recorded it in the eighties. Finally decided to give it a new try. Just piano and vocals, with a touch of acoustic guitar, accordeon, and a few more details to bring joy and variety to the face of the land.

Assenta os dois pés na beira do abismo.
Enfrenta o mar. Resiste ao vento.
Não caias. Não temas.
Para quê nervosismo?
Despreza a vertigem. Respira o momento.
Não olhes para terra.
Verás a origem de tanta aventura,
de tanto lamento,
do patriotismo.
Verás desse monte os mastros desertos
que crescem e murcham no longe horizonte
com os braços abertos.
Cada barco carrega uma cruz
constrói um caminho no mar-labirinto de ventos incertos
e estradas de luz.

Os mastros por vezes dão frutos
e trazem notícias, saudades,
carícias de vagas fatais
que inventaram delícias
para os cascos cansados que dormem no cais.

E quando uma voz chamar na distância
verás a sereia, o ouro, a ganância.
Cairás com um grito.
Verás nessa altura que a pátria é um mito.
Só existe a vontade, a aventura, a ilusão.
Só existe a saudade que levas contigo
como um porto de abrigo no teu coração.

A saudade vai
no teu coração
como um porto de abrigo.

The Google translator produced a nice English translation:

Place both feet on the edge of the abyss.
Face the sea. Resist the wind.
Don't fall. Don't be afraid.
Why be nervous?
Ignore vertigo. Breathe in the moment.
Don't look at land.
You will see the origin of so much adventure,
of so much lamentation,
of patriotism.

From that mountain you will see the deserted masts
that grow and wither on the distant horizon
with open arms.
Each boat carries a cross
and builds a path in the labyrinthine sea of ​​uncertain winds
and roads of light.

The masts sometimes bear fruit
and bring news, memories,
caresses of fatal waves
that invented delights
for the tired hulls that sleep on the dock.

And when a voice calls in the distance
you will see the mermaid, the gold, the greed.
You will fall with a scream.
At that moment you will see that the homeland is a myth.
There is only the desire, the adventure, the illusion.
There is only the longing that you carry with you
like a safe haven in your heart.

Longing goes
in your heart
like a safe haven.

Porto De Abrigo

There was blood...
There was blood on the doorframes 
of the homes that were spared
as the weeping of Egyptian mothers 
was heard through the night. 
Innocents died. 
Mysterious are the ways of the righteous fights.

So strange...
So strange that innocent blood is the price of freedom.
We were told to eat and drink to remember.
And, as I seat at the sacred table, 
I refrain from looking around, searching for the traitor.
It could be me…
It could be me...

Mysterious Are The Ways (based ond Debra Bueskings' "The Sound of Memory" solo piano version)

Abidemi is a feminine name, meaning born in the absence of her father.

This is one of the tracks included in the Mediterrâneo piece (https://soundcloud.com/jfcpetruscastrus/mediterraneo-full-v38-x05). 

Here I took out the track and made some small additions.

Market sound from Freesound 406313

Abidemi nasceu na ausência do seu pai, que partira para um porto de mar. Marujo num navio rumo ao Sul, rumo ao Sol, no horizonte. Abidemi cresceu à espera do seu pai que partira para nunca mais voltar. Ele nunca lhe escreveu, nem a viu a olhar o poente. A olhar...

Abidemi

E Tumaini, orgulhoso de ser pai, tomou a filha nos braços, e deu-lhe um nome, e a abençoou:

Vê, os homens passam, falham as vontades.
Vê as mãos cansadas, porque nunca alcançam.
Mas tenho esperança que um deus bondoso te encha de alegria,
te dê o seu consolo, luz e fantasia.
E neste chão, onde o maligno vem espalhar maldade,
vais ver crescer o joio, vais sentir saudade.
Mas tenho esperança que um deus bondoso te abra um caminho,
te traga o seu amor, para nunca estares sozinha,
para seres feliz...

And Tumaini, proud to be a father, took his daughter in his arms, gave her a name, and blessed her:

See, men pass by, the wills fail.
See the tired hands, because they never achieve.
But I hope that a kind God will fill you with joy,
give you his consolation, light and fantasy.
And on this ground, where the evil one comes to spread evil,
you will see the weeds grow, you will feel the longing.
But I hope that a kind God will clear a path for you,
bring you his love, so that you'll never be alone,
so that you'll be happy...

Tenho Esperança

An old track, recorded in the beginning of the nineties, singing one of my father's many poems.

Este estranho poder, de que disponho,
de em imaginação vencer o espaço
e mergulhar no tempo, é como um braço
que me pusesse apenas onde me sonho.
Ele me leva atrás, depõe adiante,
em pretéritos tempos e futuros,
cruzando mares, rompendo muros,
como se nada houvesse de distante.
Na penumbra da sala, onde sentado 
numa cadeira quedo, só eu sei
as vezes que parti, e quanto andei
perdido no futuro e no passado.

Estranho Poder

Christmas is coming! Merry Christmas to everyone...

This one is quite short, so I believe it's best enjoyed inside the Natal palylist (https://soundcloud.com/jfcpetruscastrus/sets/natal)

Dorme, Jesus menino.
Hoje não tens das multidões o louvor.
Só tens uma estrelinha, 
os teus bons pais
e muito amor.
Dorme, Jesus menino...

Dorme Jesus Menino

Just the plain text of Isaiah chapter 9 verse 6, announcing the birth of the promised Messiah. It's also part of my Isaiah full project.

Porque um menino nos nasceu, um filho se nos deu, e o principado está sobre os seus ombros. E o seu nome será Maravilhoso, Conselheiro, Deus Forte, Pai da Eternidade, Príncipe da Paz.

Isaías 9:6

What is now?
What is now?
What you see from me is already in the past.
For sure it's a short time lapse, a small fraction of a second.
Light is fast, and there's just a few steps separating our pains.
Will you please now forgive me?
Will you please now forgive me?
Behind what you now see, there is already a different man.

Time Lapse (Based on Anastasyia and David de Michele instrumental)

REVERENCE

I gently pushed the heavy door.
It opened as an invitation.
My steps searched for the proper pace.
Not too fast, not too slow,
driven by carefully crafted thoughts,
not too harsh, not too kind,
as the stones all around me 
seemed able to read my mind.
I listened carefully to the stillness of light,
in deep respect for the truth to come,
the final verdict for my troubled life.
Deep inside I knew I would just kneel and accept,
for I too would see the fullness of my heart.

Reverence JFC (Based on Debra Buesking's piano piece)

Singing a fascinating poem from my late father...

Na anímica existência, nosso corpo suporte,
atómica aparência, está condenado à morte.
E, em geral, morre ao fim de umas dígitas décadas,
sem que deixe pegadas, nem toques de clarim.
E um protista ridículo o decompõe no sono,
o faz descer no ciclo do azoto e do carbono.
Mas a alma, essa etérea instância que em nós sonha,
terá também bactéria que a ataque e decomponha?
Esta a magna questão, prenha de consequência,
que me assombra a ilusão de uma sobrevivência.

E, se os homens se vacinam nesta vida, que é de penas,
isso significa apenas que os micróbios nos dominam.
São os nossos seguidores, inimigos incansáveis,
pais de pústulas e dores, de doenças incuráveis,
que nos amargam os dias, nos fazem descrer da sorte,
nos deixam de mão vazias perante a força da morte.
É por isso que esses frios postos de vacinação
são nossos templos sombrios para uma técnica oração.

English translation:

In the animical existence our supporting body,
atomic appearance, is condemned to death.
And, in general, it dies after a few finger decades,
without leaving footprints or bugle calls.
And a ridiculous protist decomposes it in its sleep,
makes it go down in the nitrogen and carbon cycles.
But the soul, that ethereal instance that dreams within us,
is there also a bacteria that attacks and decomposes it?
This is the great question, full of consequences,
that haunts me the illusion of survival.

And if men vaccinate themselves in this life, which is full of suffering,
it just means that microbes dominate us.
They are our followers, tireless enemies,
parents of pustules and pains, of incurable diseases,
that make our days bitter, make us disbelieve in luck,
leave us empty-handed before the force of death.
That's why these cold vaccination stations
are our dark temples for a technical prayer.

Templos Sombrios

Dedicated to the early Christians possibly worshiping in the catacombs. Actually, the idea that the catacombs were used as hiding places is disputed. But I've used it anyway. And "damnatio ad bestias" did certainly happen.

*** Leaving Rome ***

The sand of the arena is warm and soft
and it will soon be soaked with the sufferings of life.
Simply to believe has become complicated,
but no man can hide forever in dark places.
Today I stand and open my arms to the upright Sun.
As brothers start falling, the crowd yells and asks for more.
I now contemplate my last and few unpleasant options:
The jaws of lions, the claws of bears, the cruelty of swords.
Strangely enough, there is peace in my soul.
No fears. No regrets.
One way or another, I'm leaving Rome.
I'm leaving Rome…

Leaving Rome JFC (based on Debra Buesking / Stefan Kraft instrumental)

I watched some years ago a TED presentation, and I was impressed by an interesting idea about sheep and sheperds. I do not recall the topic of the presentation nor the identity of the presenter. Here I wrote down the basic idea in my words and made some extrapolation regarding our human condition.

Javier Valero track I used with permission is found in https://soundcloud.com/jvaleroalb/rpr07_64/comment-2292988850

*** MORNING PRAYER *** 

How clever of sheep to acquire shepherds!
Doing so, they outsource their protection from predators
their food finding, their health maintenance.
All that for just a small loss of freedom.
They can even afford to be more stupid
than their relatives trying to survive in the wild.
And that is why, at each new dawn, 
I prostrate myself and praise the Lord, 
the Gracious, the Merciful, saving us from extinction.    
Thanks to Him, I can afford to be a mindless idiot.

Sheeheep.wav by HerbertBoland -- https://freesound.org/s/75190/ -- License: Attribution 4.0

Sheep in a field on the top of a mountain in Bask Country by felix.blume -- https://freesound.org/s/138424/ -- License: Creative Commons 0

Morning Prayer (Based on Javier Valero Piano Piece)

In specific domains of human reasoning, like the games of Chess and Go, AI is now outmatching the best human capabilities. Music creation is now being explored, with already quite pleasant results. This is dedicated to the AI that may someday replace us. It's a sci-fi short story, describing a musician's last desperate attempt to stay afloat... 

*** Last Human Musician ***

Rats! Another pointless meeting with an automated record label!…
They showed a total lack of vision regarding my new music genre proposal.
I did explain it was not a matter of taste. At most, a matter of smell.
How comes they don't see the assured success of Explicit WC Pop?
A most promising new genre, full of realistic AI generated laments,
and lots of melancholic moaning and groaning behind locked doors.
This allows for complex textures and exquisite microtonal harmonies,
the perfect bed for my haunted lyrics, focused on the waste of our lives.
But alas, my two best demos
"Throwing Up at Martha's Cocktail" and the amazing
"I Shouldn't Have Eaten That Salad"
were utterly rejected. 
As I left the label building, angry and broke,
it suddenly dawned on me that I no longer have a place to stay.
I couldn't pay my rent… 
I would now gladly eat some cheap ultra processed food, 
if only I could pay for it.
Well… Who cares, anyway? 
I'll just try to sleep, perchance to dream, laying in the freezing cold.
This is going to be a long, long  night coming. 
I suspect not too long before I'm gone…

Last Human Musician

Initially I thought of "love is the perfect excuse for hatred", but that implies the agent's malice. I believe it's not always the case. We can simply let ourselves be driven by some cognitive biases and ancient basic instincts - hence the title. I finally opted for "love is the perfect ground for hatred". Indeed, we can often justify our hatred to others by declaring them a threat to something we love - from our way of living to cats and dogs...

** Reptilian Brain **

They cared for their children. 
They loved their female companions.
For that love,
they would risk their lives chasing the huge mammoths.
When mammoths became scarce, they soon faced starvation.
Competition from other caverns put at risk their survival.
To save their loved ones, they were bound to kill the others.
But killing others of their own species required more than hunger.
It required enmity.
And so they went to war, 
singing primitive versions of La Marseillaise:
"They're not like us!
Let's save our beloved cavern,
and let their impure blood water our fields!"
Damn!…
It's hard to think celestial while carrying a reptilian brain...
For some dark cognitive reason,
love is the perfect ground for hatred.

Reptilian Brain

Stefan Kraft added some beautiful orchestral sounds to Debra's piano piece. Here I used the exactly same vocals as in the previous version with just the piano.

Reverence JFC (based on Debra Buesking / Stefan Kraft instrumental)

A really wonderful short piece from Gérald Olivieri. I just wrote down and sang a few simple words, and the result warms my heart. I guess I'm getting old and sentimental...

*** DOUCEMENT ***

S'il te plaît, 
reste encore un moment pour garder la tendresse.
Doucement, doucement…
Faut surtout pas bouger, faut rester embrassés.
Viens arrêter le temps.
Raconte-moi tes vingt ans, et nos rêves éveillés,
la maison, nos enfants, nos victoires éblouissantes, 
nos défaites partagées...
Vieillissons doucement.
Vieillissons doucement.
Ne pars pas. Ne pars pas…
Reste encore un moment…

Doucement (Based on Gérald Olivieri's "A Simple Melody")

*** A Foundational Song ***

We can make our dreams reality 
inasmuch as we make reality our dream. 
Let's first find truth, then build on it. 
Whatever we build on the  rock of truth will  stay. 
Whatever  we build  on the sand of  lies will crumble.
That's simple enough. 
And yet there is more to it.

I remember grandma, she used to  tell me:
"Don't you lean your  head out of the window
so you won't fall down to the street and die, 
as many other children died. 
Remember: Your head is heavier,
so much heavier than your body!"

I could tell this was a clear exaggeration.
But I'm glad I never challenged the wisdom
of those loving lies, intended to keep me alive.
There's no need to rush our happy way to heaven
proudly waving the standard of truth
while falling down to the merciless ground.
Words will always be approximations.

But love and kindness will cast out sorrows, 
will bring forth dreams, astounding  science, 
speeches and poems quoted by angels
throughout eternity. 
Remember:  Love and kindness is the only road to eternity.

Foundational Song

COMPLICADAMENTE

Maria, para quê fazer simples,
se o posso fazer complicadamente?
Tu já me conheces, tu sabes o quanto eu aprecio
nunca seres simplesmente.

Tudo o que faço e digo, o faço e digo complicadamente.
Sou inimigo, sempre fui inimigo do simplesmente.
Que o simplesmente complica-me com os nervos,
baralha-me as ideias.
Sabe-me ao primarismo desses servos
que broncamente arrastam as cadeias.
São estas as principais razões porque ajo e penso complicadamente,
e que, por paradoxo, são a chave
de um outro e bem mais simples simplesmente:
Maria. Simplesmente Maria...

Not easy to capture the ambiguities of the portuguese lyrics, but here goes a try:
COMPLICATED WAY
Mary, why should I do things in a simple way, if I can do them in a complicated way?
You know me, you know how much I appreciate that you don't simply exist.

Everything I do and say, I do and say it in a complicated manner.
I'm wary, I've always been wary of the "simply",
because the "simply" gets on my nerves, confuses my ideas.
It tastes to me like the rudimentary nature of those servants that drag their chains in a clumsy way.
These are the main reasons I think and act in a complicated manner.
And this, paradoxically, is the key for another and much simpler "simply":
Mary. Simply Mary.

Complicadamente

The man in the center of the photograph is the grandfather of my father's mother. Celebrating  some milestone of his military career in the Austro-Hungarian army.

Desde quando é que os homens não choram?
Desde quando é que o sonhos não matam de amor?
Desde sempre que os dias namoram
as ruas do inferno calcadas de dor.
É difícil falar do que sinto.
Nunca fui mui bonito, nunca fui muito esperto.
Eu preciso de fé para saber,
e de ainda mais fé para escolher o que é certo.
Perguntem a Pôncio Pilatos
de que serve encontrar a verdade infinita,
se a própria verdade de cala
e nos deixa perdidos nos escolhos da vida,
com silêncios pesados na sala,
com remorsos silentes de lutas perdidas,
com ciúmes das horas felizes
que nos abandonaram no palco dos dias.
Não me digam que os homens não choram,
não me digam que os homens não quebram de dor.
Perguntem a César caído.
Perguntem a Brutus se é bom ser traidor.
Preciso entender o que sinto.
Nunca fui mui bonito, nunca fui muito esperto,
mas preciso fazer o que é certo.
Quanto ao resto, não sei.
Só sei mesmo que dói.

Os Homens Nao Choram

This is an old home recording from the late nineties. 

*** CORRER NA PRAIA ***

Neste azul poente, ao sol, ao vento brincam ondas, 
luzimentos que não faz qualquer sentido alguém biografar.
Mesmo o túnel mais perfeito nunca teve um nome,
nem retrato de família que as ondinhas queiram recordar.

Tanto mar!...
Eu também sou movimento que se vai quebrar
nas margens do esquecimento deste imenso mar.
Beija-me perdidamente, antes de eu voltar
a surfar o firmamento lindo...

Vem ler poemas dos helénios
escuta o canto dos milénios
das trirremes que passaram de regresso ao lar.
Vê, quando abraço a areia quente
eu abraço tanta gente 
que deixou suas pegadas à beira do mar...

Tanto mar!... (etc.)

E, se escutares a minha prece,
explico-te a extinção da espécie
que um dia se esqueceu de se multiplicar.
Quimicamente és tão perfeita
que a mente não aceita
seres mais um castelo de areia à beira do mar.

Tanto mar!... (etc.)

Correr Na Praia

*** CAIXA AUTOMÁTICA ***

Observa, meu filho, a fiel caixa automática que, depois de lambuzar gentimente o meu cartão, me entrega com um sorriso automático o talão e o dinheiro. E se por acaso não tenho saldo na conta, ela exibe uma cara triste e compassiva, desfaz-se em desculpas e salamaleques.

Mas isso é hoje, meu filho. Porque amanhã, quando um olho neuromagnético, fixo e mau, perscrutar os subúrbios da tua alma vendida para ali encontrar o indispensável número da besta, então, e só então, terás o teu dinheiro.

Oh! Lembra-te, meu filho, e aprende sabedoria em tua mocidade! Lembra-te, meu filho, para que não pereças!

Introduza o seu cartão... 
Marque o código pessoal...
Retire o talão e o dinheiro...

Caixa Automática

I created this song a long time ago. My son Filipe made a mix that was placed in Spotify. Here goes my mix.

Já não há mais caravelas,
porque os heróis do passado
voltaram do fim do mundo,
enterraram o horizonte.
Já não há mais caravelas,
mas o sonho é que não para.
Vai vencendo as tempestades
na distância imaginária.
Sentados à secretária
para aqui vamos navegando,
cá nos vamos afogando,
mas a sede não nos larga.

Será que ainda há fim do mundo?
Será que ainda há horizonte?
Já não há mais caravelas,
mas a vida é que não para.
Vai vencendo as tempestades
da espiral inflacionária.
Nesta confusão diária
para aqui vamos navegando,
cá nos vamos afogando,
mas a sede não nos larga.

Nossos pais naufragaram
para verem o mundo até à última gota de mar.
E eu também quero ir...

Google translate gets a little lost, so here it goes:

There are no more caravels,
because the heroes of the past
returned from the end of the world,
buried the horizon.
There are no more caravels,
but our dreaming never stops.
It overcomes the storms
in the imaginary distance.
Sitting at the desk
here we keep sailing,
here we keep drowning,
but the thirst won't leave us.

Is there still an end to the known world?
Is there still an horizon?
There are no more caravels,
but life keeps going on.
It  keeps overcoming the storms
of the inflationary spiral.
In this daily mess
here we keep sailing,
here we keep drowning,
but this thirst won't leave us.

Our fathers shipwrecked
to see the world down to the last drop of sea.
And I also want to go...

Ja Nao Há  Mais Caravelas (Mix JFC)

** A QUESTÃO DO FUTURO **

Por muito negro que seja o livro do passado,
o futuro é sempre uma página em branco...

Se queres saber o que é o futuro,
dou-te uma resposta inocente:
É como um filho prematuro
da gravidez que é o presente.

Porque o presente sempre está
com a barriga dilatada,
sempre a parir um venho já,
um porvir que ainda agora é nada.

Convém agora meditar:
Esse porvir, esse talvez,
é tempo para nos libertar
da nossa humana insensatez.

Dá-me tua mão. Vamos dançar,
que esse porvir, esse talvez,
talvez nos traga um madrugar
que leve as dores da gravidez.

Penso que o mais que podemos
fazer nesta curta vida
é tocar com a mão que temos
outra que esteja estendida.

E, desse contacto breve,
tentar extrair a verdade,
um feixe de luz que leve
ao fundo da eternidade.

Here is an English translation:

** The Question of the Future **

No matter how dark the book of the past is,
the future is always a blank page...

If you want to know what the future is,
I'll give you an innocent answer:
It's like a premature baby
of the pregnancy that is the present.

Because the present is always
with a dilated belly,
always giving birth to an I'm coming,
an upcoming that is yet still nothing.

It is now worth meditating:
This future, this perhaps,
is a given time so we can get free
of our human foolishness.

Give me your hand. Let's Dance,
because this future, this maybe,
may perhaps bring us a dawn
that will take away the pains of pregnancy.

I think the most we can
do in this short life
is to touch with our hand
another that is begging.

And, from that brief contact,
try to extract the truth,
a beam of light that will takes us
to the end of eternity.

A Questão Do Futuro

Violin played by Steven Lehnhof.

PARAÍSO PERDIDO
Não me vai servir de muito ter nascido em Portugal:
somos todos as cobaias de uma experiência global.
Louvamos o crescimento, as empresas de sucesso,
os triunfos do momento a que chamamos progresso.
Transparece nessas histórias o optimismo dos catraios,
o canto de aves simplórias poisadas nos pára-raios.
Quando batermos no muro, iremos ver com horror
que buscámos o futuro num espelho retrovisor.
E, no dia do desaire, o optimista ainda dirá:
"Não se assustem, que esta noite decerto o Sol brilhará!"
Não me vai servir de muito haver camas no hospital:
Somos todos as cobaias de uma experiência mortal.
Exaustos, no movimento a que chamamos progresso,
sentimos no desalento a saudade de um regresso.
Mas não há nada no regresso.
Não há nada nesse tempo sem angústia ou sofrimento,
na monótona existência sem fracasso e sem sucesso
duma estéril inocência.

PARADISE LOST
It won't help me much to be born in Portugal: We are all guinea pigs in a global experiment. 
We praise economic growth and successful business, the triumphs of the moment that we call progress. 
The optimism of little children transpires in all these praises, like the singing of naive birds perched on lightning rods. 
The day we shall hit the wall, we will discover with horror that we have driven towards the future while looking at a rear view mirror. 
Still, in the middle of disaster, the optimist will keep saying: Don't be scared, tonight the sun will surely shine. 
It won't help me much to have beds available in the hospitals: We are all guinea pigs in a deadly experiment.
Lost in this frenziness we call progress, we feel in our dismay the longing for a return.
But there's nothing in that return. 
There is nothing in that time without anguish or suffering, 
in that monotonous existence, with no failure or success, 
of a sterile innocence.

Paraíso Perdido

*** UPDATE May 2025. Good news. The SC contractual terms have now been corrected, and our music will no longer be used for AI training. NOTE April 2025: It just came to my attention that, unless we do a separate contract, all our uploaded music in SC can be freely used for AI training. This is written down in the legal section, under the licensing paragraphs. What can (should) we do to change that? *** 

*** Note Dec 2024: Alas, AI generated content that is not disclosed as such is now being posted at an alarming rate, sometimes multiple tracks in a single day from fake artists that even write down fake introductions, saying how much they love music that comes from the heart. Please avoid reposting these deceptions, it only adds to the confusion.  And it encourages the algorithms to give them preference. ***

*** NOTE June 2024: Generative AI is becoming amazingly powerful. Nothing against it. Just to avoid the confusion and embarrassment of finding ourselves praising and encouraging mindless algorithms, I believe it would be nice for us to always disclose its usage in our tracks. What do you think?  ***

Hello, welcome to my page.

I've been making music since 1972. At the time, with Pedro Castro, we created the alternative rock band Petrus Castrus. 

The music I'm placing here is mostly from the home recordings of my ongoing projects and ideas. I created a few playlists (Inéditos) according to language (PO - Portuguese; EN - English; SP - Spanish; FR - French; IT - Italian), and also for concept albums (Três Jardins). There are two long tracks (Mediterrâneo and Isaías) for full concept albums. A playlist called Synergies gathers the collaboration projects with other musicians in the fantastic SoundCloud community.

Petrus Castrus edited records can be found on Spotify and Soundcloud. See the Facebook Petrus Castrus page for more details, including comments about the recordings uploaded here. 

We are both amateur musicians, i.e. music lovers. As for me, I'm just an electrical engineer with a master in AI that really loves creating music and use it to share ideas. That is why all tracks include lyrics or texts.

By the way I'm not interested in third-party offers to boost the number of plays. I like it as it is, and I've always declined such offers. Thanks anyway. 

I don't repost much, just some tracks that I find outstanding and with very few plays, so I can help them to get better known. I believe that repost parsimony also makes life easier for those who follow me.

Enjoy!

José F Castro - JFC (Petrus Castrus)

Pinned to spotlight

Popular tracks