The Year of 1993
I started writing it before the 25th of April. It was out of desperation that I started it. Then came the Revolution, and the book seemed to have lost its meaning. If, as the saying goes, fascism was dead, why talk more about the rulers and the ruled? We know today that fascism is alive, and I did my duty by publishing the book
2018 (1st edition at Porto Editora; 4th edition)
The calligraphy on the cover is by the writer José Manuel Mendes.
They are small stories that form one. One and intact. Poetry already building bridges to fiction. No rhyme, phrasing, talking about the future of the author's own writing. Poems of warning, but also of hope, despite the despair that resides in their still lyrical and initiatory background. «The interrogation of the man who left the house after curfew started a fortnight ago and is still not over / The interrogators ask one question every sixty minutes twenty-four a day and demand fifty-nine different answers for each one / It's one new method / They believe that it is impossible not to be the true answer among the fifty-nine that were given / And they rely on the perspicacity of the computer to find out which one it is and its connection with the others / (…) / The man who left home after curfew will not say why he left / And the inquirers do not know that the truth is in the sixtieth answer / However the torture continues until the doctor declares / It is not worth it."