Rebonelli

The Ancient Brewery

2024-03-04T10:47:00.000-03:00

In the dimly lit corner of the dilapidated brewery, the old brewmaster toiled away amidst the hissing steam and clinking metal. A solitary figure, he stood like a sentinel of forgotten tales, with weathered hands that knew the alchemy of turning grains and hops into liquid gold. The air was thick with the pungent aroma of fermenting dreams, and the rhythmic sound of the brewing machinery served as a haunting lullaby to his weary soul.

In the gloom of the brewery, the brewmaster's eyes were as murky as the amber nectar he carefully crafted. His grizzled beard, stained by years of devotion to the art of brewing, bore witness to the countless batches of elixir that had flowed through the vats under his watchful gaze. The world outside may have moved on, but within the walls of this sacred space, time seemed to stand still, and the brewmaster was the eternal maestro orchestrating the symphony of hops and malt.

As the evening shadows crept over the brewery, the brewmaster found solace in the rhythmic dance of bubbles rising to the surface of the fermenting concoction. Each bubble held a story, a secret whispered by the yeast as it transformed sugars into alcohol. The brewmaster, with a weathered smile, savored the whispers of the ages echoing through the stainless-steel tanks, embracing the silent communion between man and malt.

In the flickering light, the brewmaster's gaze lingered on the worn labels of vintage bottles adorning the shelves. Each label bore witness to a bygone era, a testament to the relentless passage of time. The brewmaster, like the aging brews, carried the weight of memories – a chronicle etched in the lines of his face, a roadmap of a life spent navigating the turbulent seas of passion and obsession.

As the night descended, the brewmaster's silhouette merged with the shadows, becoming one with the brewery he called home. In the quiet solitude of the aging barrels and the hum of machinery, he found sanctuary. The world outside may never fully understand the alchemy and poetry that unfolded within these walls, but for the brewmaster, it was a lifelong journey – a testament to the enduring spirit of a man who had given his soul to the sacred craft of brewing.

The Guild of Treasure Hunters

2023-11-15T20:43:00.001-03:00

In the deepest shadows lies a forgotten realm where whispers of the past beckon to those brave, or foolish, enough to venture into the pursuit of antique treasure hunts and lost treasures. It's not a journey for the faint of heart, for in this dark corner of the world, the line between reality and myth blurs like dancing shadows.

In the most concealed part of the city, where sunlight barely dares to explore, stands the Guild of Treasure Hunters. This mysterious enclave, shrouded in secrecy, serves as the meeting point for those who look beyond tangible reality. Armed with ancient maps and worn compasses, these treasure seekers delve into the unknown, guided by the promise of buried riches and forgotten secrets.

In a dimly lit tavern where light flickers like dancing flames, an elderly figure with wrinkles etched by life hands a map to a daring seeker. But this is no ordinary map; it's filled with encrypted symbols and lines that weave like dormant serpents. The key to deciphering it lies in long-forgotten legends that only the wisest can recall.

Journey into the Unknown

In the heart of a tangled forest where the underbrush whispers secrets to those who listen closely, a group of seekers ventures toward the lair of an ancient deity guarding the hidden treasure. Each step is fraught with supernatural dangers and challenges that defy the logic of the everyday world. Time distorts, and shadows come to life.

As they progress, they discover invisible guardians zealously protecting the corridors of forgotten history. These ethereal beings, part human and part shadows, allow passage only to those whose intentions are pure and whose hearts beat with a thirst for knowledge rather than the greed for wealth. Twilight becomes both ally and adversary.

The art of defying darkness becomes the most prized skill. Amid ever-shifting shadows, seekers must rely on instinct and cunning to navigate clever traps and deceptions. The glow of flickering torches reveals glimpses of ancient relics and forgotten murals that tell stories challenging known reality.

The Treasure of Lost Souls

Finally, they reach the heart of the concealed sanctuary where the treasure awaits like an echo from the past. Yet, it's not gold or jewels they find, but the lost knowledge of vanished civilizations. In the radiance of recovered wisdom, they understand that the true treasure lies not in material wealth but in the lost souls who once inhabited these lands.

With the treasure of lost souls in their possession, the seekers emerge from the shadows, marked by the experience and burdened with the weight of truth revealed. The city, now illuminated by the moon, welcomes them back with its narrow alleys and secrets whispered by the nocturnal wind. Yet, their hearts will forever yearn for the shadows, where reality and fantasy intertwine in an eternal dance.

Thus concludes the chronicle of the treasure seekers who defy the darkness in search of lost knowledge. Would you dare to join their guild and explore the depths of the unknown? The choice is yours, but be aware that once you step into the darkness, you never return the same. What secrets and treasures await your discovery in the shadows? Only time will tell.

Lonely old bar

2022-09-07T21:23:00.004-03:00

People in the noise and smoke of all the bars
people who in their hearts multiply the loaves,
people with bouquets of flowers, people drunk of love,
people who dig their grave and can't anymore...

Rusty classic car

2022-07-26T20:58:00.003-03:00

Rusty classic car, a beauty in decay

Once shining and new, now covered in rust

A reminder of times gone by, memories to trust

The engine rumbles, the gears grind and sway

The paint is chipped, the chrome dull and gray

But still it runs, with a determination true

A testament to the strength of the past, a symbol of youth

The leather seats, worn with age and use

A comfortable embrace, a soothing muse

The steering wheel, smooth under the touch

A connection to the road, a bond we can't clutch

The windshield, cracked and foggy with time

A reflection of life, a journey sublime

The headlights, dim but still shining bright

A guide through the dark, a beacon of light

Rusty classic car, a beauty in decay

Once shining and new, now covered in rust

But still it runs, with a determination true

A reminder of times gone by, memories to trust

It may not be perfect, it may not be new

But it holds a story, a journey, a view

A piece of history, a treasure to behold

Rusty classic car, a story to be told

So let the engine rumble, the gears grind and sway

Let the paint chip and chrome dull and gray

For it's not the outside, but the inside that counts

Rusty classic car, a beauty in decay.

Rusty surfboards

2018-10-05T15:38:00.001-03:00

Rusty surfboards, a sight to behold. They lay on the beach, abandoned and alone, their once vibrant colors faded by the sun and saltwater. They are a reminder of summers past, of lazy days spent riding the waves and feeling the wind in our hair. But now, they lay forgotten and neglected, a symbol of a life left behind.

The boards are made of wood, their surface rough and worn. The logos and designs that once adorned them are now barely visible, the paint chipped and faded. The fins, once sharp and shiny, are now dull and broken. But despite their neglect and disrepair, these surfboards still hold a certain beauty. They are a reminder of a simpler time, a time when life was carefree and the ocean was our playground.

As I stand here looking at these forgotten boards, I can't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. I remember the days when I would spend hours in the water, riding the waves and feeling the rush of the ocean. I remember the feeling of the sun on my face and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. But those days are gone, and now all that's left are these rusty surfboards, a ghost of memories past.

But even though these surfboards may be rusty and worn, they are still a part of our history. They remind us of a time when life was simpler and the world was a more innocent place. They remind us of the joys of summer and the freedom of youth. They remind us of the beauty of the ocean and the power of nature. They remind us to take a moment and appreciate the things that once brought us happiness, even if they are now rusty and forgotten.

So let us not forget these rusty surfboards, let us not neglect their beauty and their history. Let us remember the days when we rode the waves and felt the wind in our hair. Let us remember the ocean and the power it holds. And let us remember to appreciate the things that once brought us joy, even if they are now rusty and worn. For in the end, it is not the outside that counts, but the memories and experiences that they hold.

Man overboard!

2018-09-20T17:29:00.002-03:00

The lights of the coast
They are beacons of the past
Everything will be as it was

A dancer

2018-09-07T13:23:00.000-03:00

Scratch the shell, dance in masks...

Over light

2018-08-15T01:08:00.000-03:00

There is no light when in the skin you never feel the day.
Tell me if you see me.

To the light

2018-08-09T00:55:00.000-03:00

The human being have an appointment with evolution in his supernatural condition connect his interior to the language of vibration.

It will take you to the light.

Windows and walls

2018-07-24T15:48:00.003-03:00

The windows of my house today they opened suddenly and I know I've survived to the drowning of the absent.

The walls of my house they endured the tremor and I discover with amazement that maybe that's better.

The ruin

2018-07-16T07:56:00.001-03:00

The sky is covered, the storm comes closer, the birds do not sing but they are awake.
It seems that the ruin is approaching.

From the City

2018-07-08T15:26:00.001-03:00

I'm from the city with everything you see; with its noise, with its people, consume old age.
I can not avoid the smoke that enters today, but I still grow, I am another coal.
I will not imagine the pain in others, buy air and if it is pure payment much more.
I will not tolerate that you no longer have faith, that you lower your arms, that there is no lucidity.
I'm flying around and I'm convinced to go. I go whistling and without rancor and I'm out of pain.

Real estate

2018-06-29T09:30:00.000-03:00

The blue house turned gray and I did not know how to take care of your ties of love in the garden.

I look at the silence on the wall, which today seems to scream that nothing is forever.

The blue house lost its color, and I find it hard to understand that if it is a memory it has already passed.

Today the window was fogged up, and nobody drew saetas in my heart.

The blue house turned gray, and I did not know how to release ties of love in the garden.

Wanderer

2018-06-19T15:41:00.000-03:00

Traveling on a trip,
flight in flight,
landing on landing,
from the flight to the landing,
from the landing to the flight.
From hotel to hotel,
from bed to bed.

Enlightment

2018-06-19T15:26:00.002-03:00

Everything burns if you apply the right spark

Rebonelli

2012-03-30T07:51:00.001-03:00

first post

Roupa suja se lava em casa

2010-01-01T07:28:00.013-03:00

Old washing machine.

Dirty clothes are washed at home.