Albuquerque Quotes

Okay, I’ll put someone on it. But you know, the Albuquerque Police Department wasn’t really created to find things out for you.” “Really? That’s weird.

I never went to Albuquerque expecting to find love. I thought it had found me there, followed me home. I never came home expecting to lose love in the space of one brief telephone call. Is it always so short-lived?

O amor que ainda não se definiu é como uma melodia do desenho incerto. Deixa o coração a um tempo alegre e perturbado e tem o encanto fugidio e misterioso de uma música ao longe…

Se viveres, um dia serás livre; a pedra do sepulcro é que nunca se levanta.

They cannot see that growth for the sake of growth is a cancerous madness, that Phoenix and Albuquerque will not be better cities to live in when their populations are doubled again and again. They would never understand that an economic system which can only expand or expire must be false to all that is human.

I wonder if I don't give too much of myself to writing: I am always half where I am; the other half is feeding the furnace, kick-starting the heat of creativity. I am making love with someone but at the same time I'm noticing how this graceful hand across my belly might just fit in with the memory of lilacs in Albuquerque in 1974.

You can be on the right track and still get run over by the 2:40 from Albuquerque.

Ramfis fled the country after Trujillo's death, lived dissolutely off his father's swag, and ended up dying in a car crash of his own devising in 1969; the other car he hit contained the Duchess of Albuquerque, Teresa Beltrán de Lis, who died instantly; Lil'Fuckface went on murdering right to the end.

Her name was Melanie Stryder. She was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico. She was in Los Angeles when the occupation became known to her, and she hid in the wilderness for a few years before finding... Hmmm. Sorry, I'll try that one again later. The body has seen twenty years. She drove to Chicago from..." I shook my head. "There were several stages, not all of them alone. The vehicle was stolen. She was searching for a cousin named Sharon, whom she had reason to hope was still human. She neither found nor contacted anyone before she was spotted. But..." I struggled, fighting against another blank wall. "I think... I can't be sure... I think she left a note... somewhere.

We get frantic in our loving. The distance between Santa Fe and Albuquerque shifts and changes. It is moments; it is years. I am next to you in skin and blood and then I am not. I tremble and grasp at the edges of myself; I let go into you.

Albuquerque practiced the intimidatory tactics that had made the Franks so feared along the coast of India. Passing vessels were captured and ransacked for provisions. The unfortunate crews had their hands, noses, and ears cut off and were put ashore to announce the terror and majesty of Portugal. The ships were then burned.

Fe is, I could bang on about the desert and the altitude and the light and the silver and turquoise jewelry, but the best thing is just to mention a traffic sign on the freeway from Albuquerque. It says, in large letters, GUSTY WINDS, and in smaller letters MAY EXIST.

Wyn saw the freshly laid railroad tracks, and spotted the spires of San Felipe with its white crosses pointing toward God’s home, and knew he’d finally reached Albuquerque. He glanced behind him at the dead men tied to the horses and sighed. When he turned back around in the saddle, the sight of the church shamed him. Wyn had only brought death here, and doubted these men were bound for where the crosses pointed...

Moonlight I know when the sun is in China because the night shining other-light crawls into my bed. She is moon. Her eyes slit and yellow she is the last one out of a dingy bar in Albuquerque— Fourth Street, or from similar avenues in Hong Kong. Where someone else has also awakened, the night thrown back and asked, 'where is the moon, my lover'? And from here I always answer in my dreaming, 'the last time I saw her was in the arms of another sky'.

You could fill a catalog with all you long for - for him to come back, for a do-over, for a different ending in which not only were you strong and said good-bye but he lived and made a success of his life and decades later you could look back together on your twenties and laugh at all your follies, for his voice on the other end of the phone call, for one more of those Albuquerque nights when it was easy to fall asleep knowing he was just in the next room.

Just says prepaid ticket for Mr. Dirk Gently to Albuquerque, New Mexico, to be collected. Were you not expecting to go to Albuquerque today, sir?” “I was expecting to end up somewhere I didn’t expect, I just wasn’t expecting it to be Albuquerque, that’s all.” “Sounds like it’s an excellent destination for you, Mr. Gently. Enjoy your flight.

In the A box, type Albuquerque NM. In the B box, type Lupton AZ. Click Get Directions.

From John Vorhaus's character Vic Mirplo in The Albuquerque Turkey: Procrastinate later.

Albuquerque, New Mexico. The Florida Keys. New York City. The North Shore of Lake Superior. A small island close to Seattle. Those

Each candidate was to deliver two stool specimens to the Lovelace laboratory in Dixie cups, and days were going by and Conrad had been unable to egest even one, and the staff kept getting after him about it. Finally he managed to produce a single bolus, a mean hard little ball no more than an inch in diameter and shot through with some kind of seeds, whole seeds, undigested. Then he remembered. The first night in Albuquerque he had gone to a Mexican restaurant and eaten a lot of jalapeño peppers. They were jalapeño seeds. Even in the turd world this was a pretty miserable-looking objet. So Conrad tied a red ribbon around the goddamned thing, with a bow and all, and put it in the Dixie cup and delivered it to the lab.

In the process, Albuquerque was consolidating a revolutionary concept of empire. The Portuguese were always aware of how few they were; many of their early contests were against vastly unequal numbers. They quickly abandoned the notion of occupying large areas of territory. Instead, they evolved as a mantra the concept of flexible sea power tied to the occupation of defendable coastal forts and a network of bases. Supremacy at sea; their technological expertise in fortress building, navigation, cartography, and gunnery; their naval mobility and ability to coordinate operations over vast maritime spaces; the tenacity and continuity of their efforts—an investment over decades in shipbuilding, knowledge acquisition, and human resources—these facilitated a new form of long-range seaborne empire, able to control trade and resources across enormous distances. It gave the Portuguese ambitions with a global dimension.

So when I went to see my wife in Albuquerque that day, she said, “Well, where’s all the stuff?” I said, “What stuff?” She said, “Litharge, glycerine, hot dogs, laundry.” I said, “Wait a minute—that was a list?” She said, “Yes.” “That was a code,” I said. “They thought it was a code—litharge, glycerine, etc.” (She wanted litharge and glycerine to make a cement to fix an onyx box.)

Richard Feynman, an incorrigible practical joker, had his own way of dealing with security regulations. When the censors complained that his wife, Arline, now a patient at a tuberculosis sanatorium in Albuquerque, was sending him letters in code and asked for the code, Feynman explained that he didn’t have the key to it—it was a game he played with his wife to practice his code-breaking.

The morning of the funeral an honor guard from Albuquerque fired the salute; two big flags covered the coffins completely, and it looked as if the people from the village had gathered only to bury the flags.

we see that it’s only the old numbers game again, the monomania of small and very simple minds in the grip of an obsession. They cannot see that growth for the sake of growth is a cancerous madness, that Phoenix and Albuquerque will not be better cities to live in when their populations are doubled again and again. They would never understand that an economic system which can only expand or expire must be false to all that is human.

For Albuquerque, everything was at stake. All the principal figures of the Indian administration were besieged in the Mandovi in the rain, with the shots of the enemy crashing in; the men and their captains cursed him for the lack of food, for his obstinacy, his obsessiveness, his vanity. All he had was his belief in a certain strategic vision, encouraging words, and the severities of discipline. It was perhaps his supreme moment of crisis.

Back when I was in college, I wrote a short story called “The Albuquerque Door” for a junior year creative writing class. It dealt with several of the same ideas in this book, but with a much smaller cast of characters and on a much less talented level. Needless to say, it didn’t go over well with the instructor’s “literary” tastes, and while I didn’t agree with him on a lot of his points, it left me feeling bad enough about the story that I just filed it away.

They walked to the doors, and she unlocked them. Before she could say anything, I began the show. "Garrett! Oh, my God!" I rushed forward and threw my arms around him. "What happened? Who did this?" "I was mugged." "Do we say mugged in Albuquerque?" He glared at me. "I'm so sorry. I'll take you to the hospital." Disappointment lined the guard's face. But it quickly transformed into confusion. "Wait, I thought you said your name was Reyes. Reyes Farrow." After I gaped at him for an eternity, an eternity in which he struggled to conceal [a] mischievous grin, I turned back to her. "It is. It's Reyes Garrett Farrow. Not Reyes Alexander Farrow." I snorted and waved a dismissive hand. "That's another guy altogether." She wrinkled her forehead in suspicion. "Gotta go," I said, hurrying him along. "Have to get this man to a hospital for multiple stab wounds." "He was stabbed?" she asked with a concerned gasp. "Not yet, but the night is young.

They were turning now, panning past the Sandias, the black-green crags and rocky faces, the ribbon of road leading to the white crest. Amina looked down on Albuquerque, the light bouncing off the sprawling tile of houses and pools, the cars running along the highways like busy insects. She imagined all of it gone, undone, erased back to 1968, when the city was nothing but eighty miles of hope huddling in a desert storm. She imagined Kamala on the tarmac, walking toward a life in the desert, her body pulled forward by faith and dirty wind.

But taking my meal outside by the burning juniper in the fireplace with more desert and mountain than I could explore in a lifetime open to view, I was invited to contemplate a far larger world, one which extends into a past and into a future without any limits known to human kind. By taking off my shoes and digging my toes into the sand I made contact with that larger world - an exhilarating feeling which leads to equanimity. Certainly I was still by myself, so to speak - there were no other people around and there still are none - but in the midst of such a grand tableau it was impossible to give full and serious consideration to Albuquerque. All that is human melted with the sky and faded out beyond the mountains and I felt, as I feel - is it a paradox? - that a man can never find or need better companionship than that of himself.

I am nine. We are bored and Karen is dying. We drove to Austin that summer so Sarah's dad- who described Karen as /the great and impossible love/ of his life, who taught us the word /lymphoma/ and then, the concept of the prefix, how it explains where the tumor lives- could say goodbye. The house is a rind spooned out by the onset of death, what's left in the medicine cabinet full of razors & we are hungry & alone & sitting on the living room floor where the light from a naked window slices the hardwood like a melon, brandishes each, individualfuzz on my scabbed calf a field of erect, yellow poppies & we have been alive as girls long enough to know to scowl at this reveal & what better time than now to practice removal. Once, I watched my mother skin a potato in six perfect strokes I remember this as Sarah teaches me to prop up my leg on the side of the tub and runs the blade along my thing, /See?/ she says, /Isn't that so much better?/ Before we left Albuquerque her father warned us, /She will have no hair/ a trait we have just begun to admire except, of course for the hair he is talking about we hold against our necks, that which will get us compliments or scouted in a mall, eventually cut off by our envious sisters while we sleep.

To give you an idea of the sort of place that Santa Fe is, I could bang on about the desert and the altitude and the light and the silver and turquoise jewelry, but the best thing is just to mention a traffic sign on the freeway from Albuquerque. It says, in large letters, GUSTY WINDS, and in smaller letters MAY EXIST.

In high school, in Albuquerque, New Mexico, a bunch of us spent a whole year reading Cicero—De Senectute, on old age; De Amicitia, on friendship. De Senectute, with all its resigned wisdom, I will probably never be capable of living up to or imitating. But De Amicitia I could make a stab at, and could have any time in the last thirty-four years.

The Perea family is of Arabic origin. The surname Perea originates from the Arabic word “Bariya” and denotes a homeland now located in modern-day Jordan. This surname was phonetically changed in Spanish to “Perea,” which commonly happened with Arabic words absorbed into Spanish—including the word “Albuquerque,” the capital city of New Mexico, which derives from Arabic.

Along the western coast of the Sahara desert, about half way between the Canary Islands and the Cape Verde Islands, lays a sand spit called Cape Barba’s. In 1441, ships attached to Estêvão da Gama’s fleet were sent by Prince Henry to explore the coastline south of Cape Barba’s, which, five years earlier, was the farthest point reached by any of Prince Henry’s captains. Although there are some conflicting stories regarding the discoveries of the mid-Atlantic islands, it is safe to assume that in 1501 João da Nova discovered Ascension Island. The desolate island remained deserted until it was rediscovered two years later on Ascension Day by Alfonso de Albuquerque. He was also the first European to discover the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf.

What I Should Have Said There's nothing that says you can't call. I spend the weekdays teaching and moving my children from breakfast to bedtime. What else, I feel like a traitor telling someone else things I can't tell to you. What is it that keeps us together? Fingertip to fingertip, from Santa Fe to Albuquerque? I feel bloated with what I should say and what I don't. We drift and drift, with few storms of heat inbetween the motions. I love you. The words confuse me. Maybe they have become a cushion keeping us in azure sky and in flight not there, not here. We are horses knocked out with tranquilizers sucked into a deep deep sleeping for the comfort and anesthesia death. We are caught between clouds and wet earth and there is no motion either way no life to speak of.

We were told to be very careful—not to buy our train ticket in Princeton, for example, because Princeton was a very small station, and if everybody bought train tickets to Albuquerque, New Mexico, in Princeton, there would be some suspicions that something was up. And so everybody bought their tickets somewhere else, except me, because I figured if everybody bought their tickets somewhere else…

And outside Watts, a dozen more shootings produce a dozen more weeping families that have to struggle stoically through their black grief or that can stand behind microphones and declare their black anger, and the bodies pile higher and higher and higher, and so does the frustration with the impunity 'because,' says the district attorney in St. Louis in Kansas City in Staten Island in Dayton in Gary in Albuquerque in Oakland, 'you can’t indict an algorithm.

Downtown Village was one of the oldest apartment buildings in Albuquerque, rising five stories above the street below. The first four floors housed six small apartments, each just like the one next to it. On the lower levels, the paint was still the hollow green of a hospital emergency room. It remained that way in part because all the elderly people who had settled there since the 1960s detested change--each existing in their small apartments, watching the walls of their rooms outlive their husbands and wives.

Morrison gave a formal briefing in Los Alamos on what he had seen, but he also summarized his report for a local Albuquerque radio station: “We circled finally low over Hiroshima and stared in disbelief. There below was the flat level ground of what had been a city, scorched red. . . . But no hundreds of planes had visited this town during a long night. One bomber and one bomb, had, in the time it takes a rifle bullet to cross the city, turned a city of three hundred thousand into a burning pyre. That was the new thing.

From my experience, CIA cocaine ops were what Charlie Pride4’s tournaments were really all about. Part of the cash generated was laundered through his bank in Dallas, Texas. Pride was tied into the same Savings and Loan scandals that Neil Bush5 had been caught in. Even Bush Jr.’s baseball “bud” Nolan Ryan6 owned a bank associated with CIA black ops. Additionally, the drug running I was involved with was channeled through Albuquerque’s LA Dodger baseball training camp and profits laundered through local Catholic charities. Charlie Pride’s annual Pro-Am Golf Tournaments covered it all.

A shock of light. Unbelievable light. Blood orange swallowing the Albuquerque evening. A pulling in, taking back, reclaiming something stolen. Halfway home from her Saturday-morning lecture, Calliope Santiago drove across the river toward West Mesa and the Sleeping Sisters, ancient cinder-cone volcanoes in the distance marking the stretch of desert where she lived. Only now she could see no farther than two feet ahead of her from the blinding light, the splotches in her eyes bursting like bulbs in an antique camera. She blinked, not sure what she was seeing. She meant to cover her eyes. Meant to shield her sight.

All this fantastic effort—giant machines, road networks, strip mines, conveyor belt, pipelines, slurry lines, loading towers, railway and electric train, hundred-million-dollar coal-burning power plant; ten thousand miles of high-tension towers and high-voltage power lines; the devastation of the landscape, the destruction of Indian homes and Indian grazing lands, Indian shrines and Indian burial grounds; the poisoning of the last big clean-air reservoir in the forty-eight contiguous United States, the exhaustion of precious water supplies—all that ball-breaking labor and all that backbreaking expense and all that heartbreaking insult to land and sky and human heart, for what? All that for what? Why, to light the lamps of Phoenix suburbs not yet built, to run the air conditioners of San Diego and Los Angeles, to illuminate shopping-center parking lots at two in the morning, to power aluminum plants, magnesium plants, vinyl-chloride factories and copper smelters, to charge the neon tubing that makes the meaning (all the meaning there is) of Las Vegas, Albuquerque, Tucson, Salt Lake City, the amalgamated metropoli of southern California, to keep alive that phosphorescent putrefying glory (all the glory there is left) called Down Town, Night Time, Wonderville, U.S.A. They

All that day we went about stunned – we, the small town of real people behind the corporate logo of a ringed blue planet spinning through starry space. In the studio's Corner Store, in small groups that met on the company streets and in a hundred offices, we pieced our own experiences together with what was coming to light in the media. The suspect: a deranged, 43-year-old drifter who two days earlier had allegedly killed three people in Albuquerque, NM. He had fled to California where for reasons unknown he had been trying to contact actor-producer Michael Landon on the day of the shootings. The employees he had approached had repeatedly turned him away, since Landon had no particular connection with our studio. But just after dark the man had come back to the main gate again. He had walked up to a young actress waiting for her ride after an audition, said "hello" to her and then stepped over to the guardhouse. "I heard a shot and looked up," a secretary who had been passing nearby told me. "I saw Jeren fall and heard him groan. And there was this guy in a gray jacket just standing over him, pointing down at him with a gun. Then he raised the gun and pointed it at the other guard and shot again, and I saw Armando fall out the other side of the guardhouse. For a split second – just because we're at a movie studio – I thought it must be a movie they were filming. But there weren't any lights or cameras, and I realized it was real, and I thought, ‘He's gonna come after us because we saw it!' So I ran. I felt I was running for my life.

that the secret to my implausible, financially self-sufficient adulthood was the same secret that had brought me here: I was invited to do something, and I said yes. It is better to say yes than no. Unless saying yes will hurt you or someone else, say yes. Don’t say no if the invitation is scary. That’s when you should definitely say yes. If a computer company invites you to be in an ad and you’re scared to say yes because (a) it will mess up your pickup schedule at your child’s school and (b) it will push you well past your comfortable limits of fraudulency and change your life forever, take it from me, don’t say no, like I did, and then get lucky only because they asked again. They won’t always ask again. And don’t say no, like I did, to appearing on Breaking Bad because you were afraid to live in Albuquerque for a while, away from your family. Do your work. Do the things you love. Don’t ask permission. The more work you make in the world, the more likely someone will ask you to do some new thing, some bigger thing, or at least some interesting thing. And when they ask, say yes.

SILVER CITY IS NO PLACE FOR AMATEURS I left Colorado Springs the next morning and got back in the fucking car for another day of driving for the Tour of the Gila. I’d never driven in snow before, but I made it to Santa Fe and then Albuquerque in the afternoon, careful to dodge all the tumbleweeds on the highway in New Mexico. I hadn’t known that those existed outside of cartoons. Already exhausted when I got off the interstate, I was surprised when my GPS said “48 miles remaining, 1.5 hours’ drive time”—I was sure that couldn’t be right. Then I saw the steep climbs, bumpy cattle guards, and dangerous descents on the road into Silver City. I drove as fast as I could, sliding my poor car around hairpins in the dark. I made it to the host house, fell asleep, and found two flat tires when I went outside to unpack the car in the morning. They probably weren’t meant for drifting. My luck didn’t improve when the race started. I got a flat tire when I went off the road to dodge a crash, and I chased for over an hour to get back to the field. Between the dry air and altitude, I got a major nosebleed. My car was parked at the base of the finishing climb, and I got there several minutes behind the field, my new white Cannondale and all my clothes covered in blood. The course turned right to go up the climb, and I turned left, climbed into my car, and got the hell out of there. I might have made the time cut, but for the second time in two weeks, I opted to climb in the car instead. I got out of that town like I was about to turn into a pumpkin, and made it back to San Diego nine hours later. If there wasn’t a Pacific Ocean to stop me, I’d have driven another day, just to get farther from Gila.

Air Conditioning Repair Albuquerque | HVAC | Heating and Cooling “It may not take too long for split air conditioners to cool the room, but a dirty air filter or a blocked condensate drain may be the reason, even if it is left on for hours if there is no proper cooling. The AC is shielded by air filters from dust in the air. It may be simple to clean an air filter in a window AC, but you will need assistance from a split AC professional. Air filters accumulate dust and debris drawn into the ducts, and they remain clogged and impact the cooling process if they are not cleaned regularly. We recommend having the air conditioner serviced twice a year for increased performance and to avoid any problems during summers.Ice formation around the coils or a dirty outdoor compressor for which a professional would need assistance may be another possible reason for the lack of cooling. If the air conditioner does not cool properly, the coolant will be low as well. This either means that it has been undercharged, or that there is a gas leak in the split air conditioner. This is a more common problem for people living around coastal regions or anywhere close to waste water, where air pollution is high.Another potential explanation for the lack of cooling could be ice formation around the coils or a dirty outdoor compressor for which a specialist may need assistance. The coolant will also be poor if the air conditioner does not cool correctly. This either suggests that it has been undercharged, or that the split air conditioner has a gas leak. For people living around coastal regions or anywhere close to waste water, where air pollution is high, this is a more common concern.You can, however, avoid costly AC repairs with regular maintenance and keep your AC running at optimum performance. It is a warning of a burned cable, a faulty starting capacitor or a defective compressor itself when the compressor stops working. In this case, you will need to clean the condenser coil, inspect the capacitor and repair the compressor if it is found to be faulty. When the air conditioner starts to turn on and off, before you get it serviced, it is better to turn it off. Most possibly, the evaporator is dirty and the condenser is dirty or blocked.A dirty filter restricts airflow and reduced airflow creates further problems, like a frozen evaporator coil. Before and after summer, in particular, it is important to adjust the air filter for better cooling and overall performance. To see if the timer function has been turned on and altered accordingly, double check your thermostat settings. ac companies near me heating and cooling near me” #acpowerAlbuquerque#AcpowerAlbuquerque#airconditioning#hvac #hvaclife #ac #airconditioner #heating #hvacservice #cooling #hvactechnician #hvactech #heatingandcooling #hvacrepair #refrigeration #plumbing #hvacr #hvacinstall #maintenance #furnace #hvaccontractor #aircon #service #acrepair #hvacquality #hvactools #airconditioningrepair #hvaclove#ACRepairNearBy #ACTechnician #HVAC #Heating&Cooling #FurnanceRepair

If Albuquerque was the ugly, dusty ass end of nowhere, then Farmington was the inflamed boil on that ass. If

sales letters also try to touch people on an emotional level.

The secret to converting copy is to define the one belief, then answer these ten questions.

One belief. Ten questions.

We're on our way to the Grand Canyon!" the woman said. She used big gestures and smiled too wide in her "I Heart Albuquerque" tank top. She was clearly a morning person. "Oh, that's cool!" Miranda said, equally as cheery. "We're from Arizona. You're going to love it; it's beautiful there." "That's what we've heard!" She leaned down, pressing both of her hands into the table. "And we paid for the tour into the Canyon. We're going to go down into it and see real, live Indians!" Miranda immediately began to laugh. She bent over her plate of muffins, body shaking and eyes squeezed shut. The woman's face was blank, then slowly morphed into offended confusion. Her hands were still pressed into the table, and she turned her full attention toward me; now her posture looked more like a cop conducting an interrogation. She said nothing but her face shouted, 'What's so funny?' "She's laughing because I'm actually Native American," I said. I resisted the urge to do jazz hands at this woman, and instead offered up whatever a fake smile looks like at too-damn-early in the morning.

An hour later, the two of them stood on a hill overlooking the ruins of Ancient Sparta. They’d already scouted the modern city, which, strangely, reminded Piper of Albuquerque—a bunch of low, boxy, whitewashed buildings sprawled across a plain at the foot of some purplish mountains. Annabeth had insisted on checking the archaeology museum, then the giant metal statue of the Spartan warrior in the public square, then the National Museum of Olives and Olive Oil (yes, that was a real thing). Piper had learned more about olive oil than she ever wanted to know, but no giants attacked them. They found no statues of chained gods.

a vida é uma só. e talvez você só precise viver. viver sem pensar tanto nas possibilidades de dar errado, porque elas existem da mesma maneira que existem as possibilidades de dar muito certo.

se ame sem culpa. você merece aprender com seus erros sem carregar o peso das suas tentativas que não deram muito certo.

às vezes a gente encerra uns ciclos pra esses ciclos não encerrarem a gente.

porque o erro faz a gente acreditar em mentiras e se acostumar com tão pouco. o certo tira isso da gente, esfrega na cara da gente o que a gente não precisa aceitar, arranca da gente o costume, e por isso dói tanto. porque não é fácil desacostumar. e eu quero jamais me acostumar com o que dói. quero sobreviver às partidas e encontrar a beleza em minha permanência.

tô chegando à conclusão de que quanto mais você se tem, mais difícil é você ficar com alguém. quanto mais você abraça a sua solitude, menos você aceita permanecer em relações que te tiram da paz de estar só.

intensidade é sobre isso. é sobre equilíbrio. sobre valorizar as suas emoções. sobre respeitar o que você sente. não é a sua intensidade que te autodestrói, é a tua falta de noção, é a forma como você permite que os outros acessem suas emoções. e se responder, sem se culpar, que mesmo quando você acha que a intensidade vai te matar, o que você seria sem ela?

enquanto te faltar algo, sobrarão expectativas que você vai continuar projetando nos outros pra que os outros sejam aquilo que você acha que merece. então o que eu quero dizer é que: às vezes a gente insiste tanto em relações e pessoas porque a gente quer que elas fiquem do jeitinho que a gente acharia mais confortável. e eu entendo que às vezes a gente faz isso por querer, por desejar, por amar. mas deixa eu te dizer uma coisa: o outro não vai agir e sentir da mesma maneira que você, então aceite as experiências do jeito que elas vierem, e, se não te fizer bem, você sabe o que fazer.

em respeito a quem você se tornou quando superou, não retorne ao lugar que te feriu.

quem você é é o suficiente. independentemente de quem não ficou. independentemente das relações que não deram certo. mesmo com todas as tentativas frustradas, mesmo com os erros e as expectativas exageradas. quem você é é o suficiente.

Police-involved fatal shootings reflected all that. For years, fatal police shootings numbered about two or three annually in Albuquerque. That figure doubled as the P2P meth took over. Between 2011 and 2020, 60 percent of the people shot to death by Albuquerque police officers—thirty-six of sixty people—had meth in their bloodstream, up from zero in 2009, according to coroner reports.

sabe todas aquelas vezes que você esperou que os outros fizessem por você ou que te dessem no mínimo o que você oferecia e você acabou recebendo alguns machucados? então, eu te agradeço por entender que não era sobre você e que os outros só oferecem aquilo que têm. no final das contas era sobre o outro. sobre como ele compreendia o amor e sobre como te entregava isso.

se você não tem coragem de terminar relacionamentos ruins, imagina quando descobrir que relacionamentos bons também terminam.

um dia você entende que você é o que você vai precisar pra se curar.

é sobre você escolher você. e inevitavelmente, nessa escolha, alguém pode sair machucado. infelizmente.

no meio do caminho você vai aprender a se desfazer de partes de você que já não encaixam mais,

a tua cura começa quando você decide cuidar de você. quando você respeita os seus limites e se permite deixar fora do peito o que machuca. e você merece se curar.

Still, I wonder sometimes what we are asking when we ask if findings apply elsewhere. Is it that we really believe that something could happen in Pittsburgh but never in Albuquerque, in Memphis but never in Dubuque? The weight of the evidence is in the other direction, especially when it comes to problems as big and as widespread as urban poverty and unaffordable housing. This study took place in the heart of a major American city, not in an isolated Polish village or a brambly Montana town or on the moon.15 The number of evictions in Milwaukee is equivalent to the number in other cities, and the people summoned to housing court in Milwaukee look a lot like those summoned in Charleston and Brooklyn. Maybe what we are really asking when we ask if a study is “generalizable” is: Can it really be this bad everywhere? Or maybe we’re asking: Do I really have to pay attention to this problem? —

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It is not that Pueblo Indians hate modern America, especially since they find our modest cultural wants much easier to live with than colonial Spanish ones. Indeed, they don’t hate us at all—many have volunteered and served with distinction in our armed forces, and a number of Pueblo homes fly the American flag daily. Others, such as the famed Jemez Eagle smoke jumpers, serve as first responders throughout the American West. As forest fire teams go, the Jemez men are among the world’s best, and they will hold a dangerous but critical fire line with stunning resolve. No, it’s not about hatred, it is just that our unchecked growth, lack of social cohesion, and flamboyant use of resources—especially water—worries them as being unsustainable. They expect to outlast us. A few years ago, a local tribal elder appeared in an educational film about the Anasazi and commented that his people had to hold on to traditional Pueblo land, culture, and values because some day his descendants would look out across the Rio Grande Valley and modern Albuquerque would be gone.50 He is in the mainstream of opinion among traditional Pueblo leaders. Given our wasteful ways, weak communities, reemerging regional cultural conflicts, and rapidly diverging economics-based class system, we may in fact not be a sure bet for long-term survival.

Tiago Albuquerque Bragantino II era um homem incrível em todos os sentidos. Fisicamente era comparado a um deus grego, em suas formas e belezura. Loiro, olhos azuis cintilantes, pele clara, um pouco bronzeada de sol que às vezes permitia correr no calçadão da praia nos fins de semana... um metro e oitenta e cinco, músculos muito bem distribuídos... cabelos perfeitamente penteados para trás... e sentimental que nem parecia que debaixo daqueles gomos firmes existia um ser humano que chorava.

uma das coisas mais difíceis que aprendi foi a importância de assumir a responsabilidade das minhas escolhas, das minhas atitudes e dos meus erros. quando você aceita que a culpa foi sua, você consegue segurar a sua própria mão e ir em busca de uma versão melhor.

USE O DIÁLOGO. você já tem idade o suficiente pra dizer o que sente em vez de ficar em silêncio achando que o outro tem a obrigação de entender.

para de pensar que o teu corpo fez alguém partir. que o teu jeito fez alguém perder o interesse. que a tua intensidade assustou. você não precisa se culpar todas as vezes que os outros escolhem ir embora. as pessoas vão partir, se assim quiserem. e é melhor que você entenda isso.

A powerful characteristic of andragogy, the teaching of adults, is the transparency of processes. Adults thrive in educational environments that are overt regarding why and how things are being done.

Aristotle says that virtues are found in the midpoint between two vices. Apparently, our two vices here would be following the syllabus blindly on one side, and, on the other side, following all and every student’s whims to design the course and lessons. After all, students are not the specialists and hired our, I mean, your services trusting you’d make the best decisions for them. – I understand. So, in this sense, a good lesson is one where the learning is relevant to students while also abiding by the course’s goals and objectives. Easier said than done, isn’t it?

A romantic dinner with knowledge and learning! What a gathering! If education is seen not as a means to an end, but as an end in itself, as a wholesome process, the endeavor of guessing the future becomes futile. – How so? – Because education will not glance exclusively at the future, but also at the present. Education would then be aimed entirely at making life, the present everyday life, a delight. It would, then, make no sense to talk about efficiency in education in the same way there’s no efficiency in a romantic dinner or a rollercoaster ride.

Education, as I see it, is the delightful process of developing skills and knowledge in which time becomes secondary and efficiency would only instrumentalize this wholesome endeavor. Education is life itself and an ongoing process that should never end. It bears its fruit both in the present and in the future.

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They cannot see that growth for the sake of growth is a cancerous madness, that Phoenix and Albuquerque will not be better cities to live in when their populations are doubled again and again. They would never understand that an economic system which can only expand or expire must be false to all that is human. So much by way of futile digression: the pattern is fixed and protest alone will not halt the iron glacier moving upon us.

não é o dinheiro, o sucesso, ou a fama o que mais faz bem às pessoas, mas o tempo que elas passam com os amigos e a família

Afonso de Albuquerque,

talvez o caminho que você precisa passar agora não seja sobre o amor dos outros, talvez seja sobre o amor por você mesmo, talvez seja sobre você, sobre você se pegar no colo e te levar a lugares que te fazem ter a sensação de que você está completo e que não precisa do amor de alguém específico pra se sentir querido e amado.

talvez a sua jornada seja sobre você se dar as mãos e se levar pra viver novas experiências, pra sorrir de novas maneiras, pra aprender novas coisas, sentir novos ares, pra desbravar o mundo lá fora e redescobrir o que você tem por dentro. e aprender a amar o interior também.

porque todo mundo fala “vai ficar tudo bem”, mas o que ninguém fala é o quanto você vai se sentir insuficiente até ficar tudo bem. e o quanto você vai olhar pra si mesmo e não vai se enxergar, e o quanto tudo isso dói.

a gente fica doente por criar expectativas e esperar que os outros tenham, por exemplo, consideração pela gente. a gente espera que o outro tenha empatia, que nos trate com respeito, que seja sincero ao dizer o que sente, que seja transparente, e quando a gente percebe que o outro não é nada do que a gente espera, a gente se frustra, e se culpa, e sofre, e inicia uma crise de ansiedade e às vezes até de autoestima, tudo porque a gente esperou que o outro fizesse, falasse ou agisse como a gente gostaria, ou como a gente acha que merece. mas as coisas não funcionam assim.

cada pessoa tem a sua forma de se expressar. cada pessoa tem o seu tempo de mandar ou responder a mensagem. e pasme: o mundo não gira em torno das suas expectativas. aceite isso.

no final das contas, preste atenção, não é sobre você se sentir péssimo por esperar que aquela pessoa faça algo por você, é sobre você reconhecer que as pessoas que realmente estão preocupadas com você vão te procurar. quem tem interesse em você vai demonstrar, e são essas pessoas que estão com você de fato.

pra que eu aprenda a lidar com o silêncio do outro, porque nem sempre vai vir uma resposta, nem sempre vai vir um diálogo.

às vezes a gente só precisa entender que o silêncio também é uma resposta e que ficar em busca de que o outro fale algo, ou simplesmente buscar uma explicação que justifique o fim, é total perda de tempo.

não tente entender o que o outro fez com você, porque isso é a maior perda de tempo que você pode fazer com você mesmo. pra quê ficar remoendo as coisas, tentando procurar respostas e corrigir erros que não são seus? até quando você vai ficar dependendo do outro pra se sentir melhor?

o certo era reformular as minhas prioridades, estabelecer os meus limites e entender que eu não precisava me consumir por um sentimento que você não sentia de volta.

mas a única certeza é de que no final, sim, fica tudo bem.

CONSIDERE OS SINAIS DUVIDOSOS COMO UM “NÃO”, PORQUE SE FOSSE UM “SIM” VOCÊ SABERIA

Although the relocation of Microsoft from Albuquerque to Seattle seemed insignificant at the time, it helped turn Seattle into one of America’s most successful innovation hubs.

Segurança do Paciente é um arcabouço de atividades organizadas que cria culturas, processos, procedimentos, comportamentos, tecnologias e ambientes no cuidado de saúde, e que de forma coerente e sustentável, reduzem riscos, reduzem a ocorrência de dano evitável, tornam o erro menos provável e reduzem seu impacto quando ele ocorre”.