It’s Friday Night and if you’ve noticed, this post is entirely different from the other ones, beginning by the post icon, which does not follows the yellow/gray pattern that I’ve choose to personalize the categories of my website. This is all due to the fact that at Friday Night, I am much more likely to have a break and speak out my mind, than write about things that resembles technology or programming. Friday Nights are meant to be slow and lazy.
It’s not a secret to anyone that I’m trying to improve my English, aiming to include more and more words into my vocabulary. I do not have friends to speak with, in English (much because it’s very annoying to talk in another language that is not your mother thong, just for the heck of practicing it), so I’ve found that writing is indeed the best way to practice my English. I’m a natural speaker and I do need to express myself, speaking out my mind consequently putting some weight away by sharing, idealizing and informing, even if the conversation is not that important to anyone. So why not talk about general things like movies, literature or music on Friday Nights?
Grab a glass of Wine and come taste this Friday Night!
Sometimes I’m alone in my room silent, but in my mind I’m not there. I’m trying to reach the edge, spending my time in the fields of Imagination, a place where I gladly like to stay. You might think that this feeling of imagination is just a foolish or childish thing, but in fact, is a faculty of our brains and a gift to some.
Through my teenage days I’ve exercised this ability by playing roles of heroes, facing the forces of darkness all alone in situations that only my imagination can place myself in. I remember when I first read one of the fascinating stories from Steve Jackson and Ian Livingstone, it was in a Friday Night just like one of these…
The rain was soothing falling, pairing in the air, increasing the humidity of the night. I was in my cousin’s house in Corujas, a place away from the noise of the city, where the nature is still intact in a sort of way. It was close to the Christmas time in Brazil and the weather were beginning to warm up with the approach of the summer time, that officially starts at the end of December. This change of the weather produces tropical rains that washes the land for a brand new season. It was one of those raining nights were we have nothing more to do but to grab a book. Looking through a large variety of books in the shelves, a title have caught my attention. That night I’ve decided to read my first Fighting Fantasy book: Vault of the Vampire.
…Outside in the mist you can make out a black coach with four jet-black steeds prancing and whinnying, and in the doorway stands a spectral figure. Bony fingers extend from black sleeves, and he beckons – you! But he says nothing – how could he? He has no head…