I know Fernando Pessoa’s writings for several years, but now that I started to go deeper into his work I’m getting aware of his genius, and, as a presumptuous bitch, I shall share that with the world.
For those of you who don’t know, he is one of the most important poets of the 20th century, best known for the “hysteria” (in his words) that led him to “multiply in several selves” – check the link on wikipedia for more info.

So I was reading The Book of Disquiet and something hit me really hard. I never felt so overwhelmed by such sense of perception and humanity in one person.
The book was written between 1913 (more or less) and 1935 (time of death), and was still left unfinished.
In the words of George Steiner, «Neither 'commonplace book', nor 'sketchbook', nor 'florilegium' will do. Imagine a fusion of Coleridge's notebooks and marginalia, of Valery's philosophic diary and of Robert Musil's voluminous journal. Yet even such a hybrid does not correspond to the singularity of Pessoa's chronicle. Nor do we know what parts thereof, if any, he ever intended for publication in some revised format. What we have is a haunting mosaic of dreams, psychological notations, autobiographical vignettes, shards of literary theory and criticism and maxims. 'A Letter not to Post', an 'Aesthetics of Indifference', 'A Factless Autobiography' (…)»

Both mine and Steiner’s words are useless in any attempt of describing Pessoa’s universe. the important thing is:
If you care/dare (I believe you don’t, but I always try), take a closer look into this man’s work and life.

-------
SPACE FOR RENT -- PM me