I´m not sure why I write, but there are worse things. In the darkness of my room, I think, I unravel the past and realise, in an inverted chronological order, of the verb I once was: I ran, climbed trees, played in various gardens, planted, stumbled in places, fought monsters and ghosts , I admired several heavens, I stole what could be stolen. In my books, however, I do not speak of myself, I try to speak of the beautiful world and the dog world that surrounds us: realities and fantasies, adventures and misadventures, compulsive loves, imperfect lives, disguises and hypocrisies ... Without prejudices, like a pirate who prepares to attack a hidden treasure. Maybe in there I´ll find all my dreams.

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Carlos Porfírio

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