Ubanan

White hair. A sign of aging. Or malnutrition. Is it also a sign of wisdom in young people? In high school, Yun had white hairs and we hailed her as our mother.

overkill

paragominas got its place in world news media. there was a small riot there last weekend. the government shut down some illegal lumber industries which were cutting down large amounts of the amazon forest. large logs floating in rivers. but here the logs are carried by trucks. paragominas is a hole inside the amazon forest. there is no forest remaining in the horizon. opening roads here means destroying the forest because the lumber industries eat the forest in the road radius. paragominas is a very hot city because there are almost no trees along the sidewalks. and, curiously, the place where the riot happened was the city park, the last remains of the native forest inside the city. the riots burnt some cars and made a mess of the government enviroment office. i saw some of the damaged cars outside the park. anyway, that place is still very quiet. no riots on that friday. another neighbouring town had its lumber factories disabled too and it was terrible for its economy. its economy was solely made of lumber. i think it will turn into a desert town, as those which were built during the gold rush here. but paragominas has some ore, and mining is turning out to be the top moneymaker to this city, so no worries.

the mining industry is bringing lots of resources to the city. the mayor is investing in city beautification with lots of parks, squares, city buildings and other small essential details that the developed world doesn't live without. there are no sewers in the city. and there were few paved streets. the mayor is paving roads without making a sewer system below it first. no elector sees water pipes. but i can see theater. the first one had its debut this month. i went there last weekend. a short dance show with few people of the public. yet i was in the company of my friends, alberto and my brother. it was some modern dance with cult chico buarque's songs in the background. it was about the dictatorship in 70s. if i had friends here in belem i would have plenty of choices of quality shows, but i have none and i dislike going out alone. i've talked a lot with alberto. he plans to travel this vacation. he never left this state of pará. he is amazed by the architecture of the other cities here in brazil. i know a lot of cities of this country. somehow, i think its the way you feel about me, while talking to someone who has traveled much less than you.

we celebrated my little cousin's birthday in saturday. she got a baby doll almost her size. she is just a tiny girl. 2 or 3 yo? i don't remember. i think i didn't notice the candles numbering her age at all. i've never seen any birthday party cake with candles in the number of the age of a person.

on sunday me and my mother and brothers and a little girl, a friend of my mother, traveled back to belem. there was to be a christian party there and nayane was invited too. my mother mistook her name several times. sometimes she called her dayane, other times nayara. then, we arrived at the christian party. a very simple one. there weren't many people, because exams to start tertiary studies were taking place the same day, and the party was targeted at young people. so, most of the people there were children and some teenagers. the party happened inside a school, in the gym. the sound system was so bad that we couldn't understand what they sang or spoke into the microphone. there were 3 guitars, one bass and drums. i couldn't hear any of the guitars. the gym was almost empty and had a lot of reverb. and, of course, it was damn boring. at least i had my older brother's boredom to share. we began first hitting the plastic cups for percussive sounds. after we played *****. we got bored of that and tried other childish games until we got the attention of some loose grown ups and afterwards some children, not used to old children games which didn't require video. the weirdness about it was because we were two tall guys with long hair and tick beard playing games usually played by girls. and, of course, those children joked about us, calling us jesus twins. everything there was crappy. i played my crap recorder after we got bored of the games. and, in the end, there was a short play with the children acting as mother mary and a saint and poor hungry people being helped by them.

after that we went home to have a shower and we went to the mall, where we were to watch some movies. nayane was below the minimum age to watch 007 quantum of solace so she couldn't enter. and of course, my mother had to take care of her, so, she skipped the session too. unfortunately it was late at night, and all the other stores and fast foods were closed, then they had to wait for us until the end of the movie. i refused to eat inside the mall before the movie session, so i went outside to buy something on the street. unfortunately, even the hot dogs outside were more expensive than in other parts of the city. and yet disgusting. at least, it was a small fraction of the price inside the mall. but yet disgusting, not hygienic. a lot of trash on the sidewalk. but the movie was good. many people wrote bad reviews about this movie. and i think 007 franchise is getting better, deeper, and yet more unrealistic. older versions of james bond could jump into the sea and get out with a dry suit. now bond beat a lot of guys with only his fists.

and now it's monday. i went to uni but my law teacher didn't. so i had to come back. my mother went out with my brother and the girl to visit his psychiatrist. my younger brother stayed home. my mother wants me to cook lunch. i'm asleep, dying of laziness. and i must stop typing and get my butt out of this chair.

ISO-lation

Isolation is a funny thing, looking through the camera lens. Hiding behind the black plastic body, finger on the trigger a reluctant weapon. Wish I took a better picture, of that beautiful man. He was arrogant in his childishness, but his hair was perfect. It reminded me of a girl named Eleanor, who was in my class in 4th grade. His face had some evidence of a 15 year old in his dimpled smile. I had no interest in him whatsoever, until he was gone. Wishing I took his photo up close and not just at a distance in the dark. Now I'll be straining my memory for a long while, for that frozen portrait of serenity. I couldn't afford a lens with a more powerful zoom.

isolation

i have a neighbor. many of them. i say hello. but i never say good bye

but one of those neighbors has japanese ancestors. he has a child. they watch japanese tv, and listen to japanese music all day long. then i wonder if that child even knows how to speak portuguese. dekaseguis are the sons of japanese immigrants in foreign lands that go back to their homeland. this year is the celebration of 100 years of japanese immigration in brazil. i think that when they came here there weren't any famous animes in the western world, nor technologies above ours. and of course, brazil had a lot of land. this made me think about two things

the first thing was about an tribe in amazon forest. all the children are jailed inside a cottage until they reach the age of 12. they can't even see what happens outside. only their mothers came inside to take care of them. then, when they go outside for the first time, the grown ups put large ants on their skin, in this way they learn how pain is. very strange habit, isn't it?

it makes me think about isolation. isolation inside a home. isolation on an isle.

there are no tribes inside the cities. not even urban tribes. global world, where we choose our style buying t-shirts. but, what makes me amused has happened a lot of times long past. with the great navigators. ambitious europeans with gold fever, powder guns and wooden ships. and Easter Island. they had a culture that made them insanely create head statues of the same shape in different sizes. they had a culture, a slow culture. few resources. and ages to develop. the same thing. then comes another civilization and eats it. the same civilization experienced in threatening others. see chinese and indian and inca and etc. what could a little island of a cult of obcessive for stone heads possibly do?

every person is an island. bridges over troubled waters.

and i had many thoughts to forget. some to share with you before i forget. but the one that i was prideful was another. i thought about god. i thought about food. and loneliness. but this is as boring as any other thought before world trips

do old people have to die to leave more place to new generations?
eternity

we, when young, look for a place under the sun.
the old, they look for the a place in the sunset.

Painted Tape

Or taped paint? She doesn't like to go out, and so I've adapted. My hermit tendencies once again seeping through. I'm hesitant to get out of this room. I've used the toilet, and now I've closed the door again. I like it better when they think I'm sleeping, even though I'm not. Collecting data, I am constantly... I've written a lot of bits and pieces for fiction and non-fictional writing, but I haven't an adequate notebook to put it in. I wish I'd brought my laptop, after all.
I cannot feel the art, I feel like I am in her hole. A dark hole, of fear and self consciousness. And I thought that I would never experience something like it again the last time, wrong. But they like it. They like their crevice. It's familiar.

kill me

i've read about hunger in central america. what would happen if all them die? they are no use for any rich men. they don't have money to buy their own food, what about ipods? then, let's get rid of all those poor people and we will save the world. japanese people will get out of their tiny homes and get some large farms in a africa without aids, because there is no one left to be contamined. new resources. plenty of them.

i thought about that because i think there is too much humans in this world. and the only way to save humankind would be almost exterminate it. but who deserves to die? and who would sacrifice itself for the health of the others?

well, the rich countries have a small fraction of the population and almost the whole the economy of the globe. and they alone are enough too leech the world and take it to a apocalyptic nuclear winter. so, lets the poor survive. but cavemen were poor, and they founded religions, discovered nature laws, and distributed advertising. in short words: they exploited themselves like flames and fuel. ok, then, let's make the most intelligent and counscious people survive, because they know all they mistakes of our repeated and cycled history. let the mad scientist do the job. let hitler do the job. no, i don't think someone is sane enough to repopulate this world

then, let's kill all the humans and let cute nature with all those animals do the same cruelties humans did without going to hell after death. in the end, they don't have souls, do they?

Shoes and eavesdropping

It looks like it's raining outside, or perhaps I'm just delaying my curious instinct. I want to go exploring and I need new shoes, but I don't want to. Nowadays I'm skeptical about modern manufacturing. The shoes I'm wearing now, I've done many things in. They're ugly faded-red Diesels. I went to my first rave in them, I went hitch hiking in them several times, I bought my one-way ticket to Germany with them and so many other countless things. Are they worth the memory? Now the soles have worn away, the colour faded out (although I've painted them). It's been six years and I'm still stuck in the past. Is it time to move on with a new set of footwear? I've so far never found a pair quite as comfortable or cheap as them - when I bought them at the shop, the guy mistook where I'd gotten them from, and instead of paying $80, he charged me only $10, because there was no label and I'd previously been browsing through the shoes on the $10 table. I like it when people make monetary mistakes. It happens often, and sometimes I feel sorry for people, and tell them that I haven't yet paid or whatever. Can't do that all the time, though.
I'm eavesdropping right now, into the conversation held by the guy on the computer next to me. He is talking to his girlfriend, promising her that in a few months he can support her so that she will be free to take part in whatever projects she has planned, without financial worry. I can hear the emotion in his voice through his thick hispanic accent, he is happy. It sounds so nice. A contrast to what I heard last night.
I'm staying in a hostel room with two Italians and one 3/4 Italian. One guy sleeps around, and says that he is fickle. He can't promise a woman anything, because he doesn't believe in relationships, and that he is the worst nice guy, or a pathetic attempt at an asshole. His brother, sleeps around with women and then becomes spiteful, regarding them then as whores. He orders his older brother around, and doesn't speak much, except when he's drunk. The 3/4 Italian-American woman slept with the younger brother, and regards men as untrustworthy assholes, and yet says she sleeps around on her boyfriend herself. I take part in their conversations as if I can empathize with them. As if I care. It's all interesting observation, in any case.

missing feeling or american idiot

something is missing. and i don't know exactly which thing.

it reminds me of when i lost my first cell phone. it simply disappeared, as myths in skeptical society. i tried to call my own number, but the battery was empty. many months later, after i'd bought a new one, i found my old cell phone, a small brick, inside my shoes. it was a large stone inside my shoes. i'm not used to wearing shoes. only at weddings. and i think that keeping cell phones inside shoes is something insane that i would never do. and i did. and when i found that cell phone inside my shoes i remembered that i was getting outside the car and my shorts didn't have pockets and i was bringing the shoes inside, so, no room in my hands. to carry something more, to save trips car-home, i put the cell phone there and there i forgot my cell phone.

something else is missing. and it's precisely my wallet. i'd lost it inside the bus. or someone stole it from me and i didn't notice at all. i've lost my wallet several times, and most of time i find it later. and inside it my id and my credit card. essential for my life living alone in big cities. but i'm still alive. i don't know why an airhead like me is still alive. crossing streets is a conscious event in my life. solving calculus is almost like handwriting.

i've lost my mind. and i've gotten used to that. last time i lost something else, or it was stolen, i thought i was too dumb to deserve to live. someone that doesn't know how to save an archive in windows is still more adapted to this environment than me. and so darwin laws should erase me for humankind sake. but then, i was amazed when i realized i was still alive. and now i see people being hit by a bus while i'm inside, watching the windscreen as a big tv screen. and i speak to myself: it could be me, but it isn't. or, my rusted brain just can't think at all

god bless america

Ten years

Finally meeting. I still don't know what I think about that. It was like a fuzzy dream laced with stout. What do you do when you know someone but you don't actually? I guess the same thing will happen when I meet you someday, too. Then would it be just as awkward? So far these meetings have been entirely positive. But they bring trouble, or at least tension, when the person is of the opposite sex. Is that because all we humans are programmed to do is think about fucking and react appropriately with adrenaline bursts for our fight or flight reflex. I think it's interesting... though Fitz thinks I'm a little too eager, and not descriminating against whom I meet, that I'm looking for trouble.

shreeya bajracharya and angelina jolie

we're all mortal. but they are deities. angelina jolie and shreeya bajracharya are mortals too. two religions. hollywood and bollywood. no. religion in nepal isn't like in usa. but something makes me wonder about idolizing. more precisely, idolizing women's beauty. even anonymous pretty women have some advantages, and some alienation. feet floating over the floor. the nepalese mortal deity has the fate of bringing bad luck to its husband. fatal consequences. and there are fallen stars, and all the privileges of fame disappear with the shine of the screen and cameras. another focus. we are all mortals here. but jolie wants to be angelina adopting some children to tell her if she is a mother or an actress playing mother. and she studies geography and history to not be accused of being alienated. a famous brazillian actress started a course of philosophy to not seem dumb to the public. smart decisions, don't you think?

i was watching tv. a semi educational channel. there was a program about suburbs and hip hop. the presenter was a black guy with a very ugly skin disease. i don't know if it was burnt skin or vertiligo, but he had huge light pink spots in his eyelids, cheeks, hands. very bizarre. but that guy had charisma. he danced with the bands that played in the program and talked smoothly. once i had a friend with a huge wart on her nose, as old witches are pictured. she could cut it out, she had enough money. but she liked it, as some kind of trait that defined her and didn't bring any other disvantage but her hypothetical ugliness. me, i worshipped her. but i don't know if i am able to smile without all my teeth inside my mouth

i was listening to some music. i'm fan of luiz gonzaga. he wrote a song about being a poor cowboy. he had few cows, but they were the prettiest of that location. and, within the same song, with the same tune, he sang another verse saying that his wife was small, but she was the prettiest of the location. woman beauty. critério de desempate. but i don't know if the first impression is one that remains or that appearance is the last matter to discuss.

perhaps i must punch my own face and see the results of my experiments outside the mirror.
because very ugly people can turn into deities too. scary deities. like michael jackson

The crying man

I saw a man crying today, in the subway. He was a tall man, with a determined look about him, but at this moment he was broken. He slid to the floor, with his back against the closed glass doors, his face dropping as his mood fell. He flipped his cellphone open and closed, trying to call in desperation... and then finally defeat, as he took out a tissue and blew his nose.

Unreal

It's unreal, the way it's all going. It's almost like yesterday I was building tree forts with my friends, and now very soon, I'll be fucking them. I never thought I'd have to look at things from my stepmother's perspective, but it seems as though in life it's inevitable.
I'm seeing the same people, the same situations, played all over again, and... am I still the same person? Everything looks completely different from this angle.

A: He's in love with someone toying with his heart, and he's trying to set up a bridge before stepping off the boat. No one can blame him, it's human nature, after all. His weakness lies in his kindness and leniency, it's why he's trapped in adolescence for eternity. Never ageing, or so it seems. A sharp mind, nevertheless, yet keeping that innocence. It's always painful for his kind to survive.

B: He feels trapped in a decision made in haste, with a child and its mother to tend to, he stays out late. With a lack of friends in whom he can confide, he flails wildly. He's aged about two decades too fast, and still can't seem to find his feet. He doesn't want to be an asshole and leave his son, to go off on a new life of his own. Some other kind of weakness, and yet he strives not to show any at all.

Do I play the second chance?
Or have some fun with it?
Are my interests considered here at all?



It goes against my ethics, but I feel tempted.
Perhaps I should just write a book.

madre teresa de calcutá

it's real. too real. the beggar inside the bus. the daily bus i took in my actual life. it has deformed legs and it crawls on the floor. but it doesn't speak either. i don't know why. maybe shame. many beggars inside buses don't say anything at all. some of them carry a letter and copies of it explaining their situation. sometimes, when they receive a donation they thank for the lord mercy and go away. some of them beg like preachers, or salesmen, or both. but this beggar didn't speak at all. it is not the first time i saw it crawling on the bus nor in the bus terminal. it is mute. the lord has mercy. and if i were merciful i could spare its life. and kill it. but i'm not a murderer, nor a god, nor a hero. and live beings live for living purposes. euthanasia is a gift for someone that can't kill itself. but that beggar could kill itself if it wanted. then i suppose it wants to live. it is an adult. it had a childhood. maybe it had a family in its childhood. at least someone took care of it. it's a shame to not be able to take care of the weak. not strong enough to be able to solve this problem. it's easier to forget. to not see at all. agape is a longing to take care of the of the crippled and retarded. society must do something. to bring happiness to someone who has love left unused. better than pets. dogs and cats can live alone. but humans can't. no human can. but some know how to parasite big mom. begging is a way. sometimes it's not the last way available. but what i want to tell is about the merit of living. and if death is really a gift. it reminds me of pulp fiction. they hijacked a guy that lived inside a chest. did it wanted to live? or the woman and the baby slaves in amistad. enslaved. the baby came to this world and its mother died during the trip. the young woman took the baby, but, depressed, she jumped to drown in the sea. did that baby and woman deserve to live at all? was it a waste? i watched the emperor's new groove. the captain yells to the other soldiers: do you think you will live forever?! and death of soldiers in a war is something largely anonymous, registered numbers. there are many things to die for. many ways to choose what kind of death to die, what kind of life to live. and i don't think i've mastered that to find reasons to kill someone for its own good. easier to kill someone to steal.

and, in the end, i watch many movies and kill no beggar.

oktoberfest

october is going on. and there is not much to say about it. because it's only a numb transition. but i'm addicted to news, paper or screen. and all the news become slow when i read them too often. it makes a feeling that everything is the same. all i can see is something slightly different of what i saw yesterday. american elections. bank crisis. oktoberfest. and the guy who hijacked his ex-girlfriend

of course that last sentence has something to do with me. it makes me understand a bit more about my october. once i was more insane than today and an extremist when the matter was passion. i met one of my ex-girlfriends october 19 of 2004. in march of 2005 it was over but i wouldn't let myself realize it was over. then i wanted to suicide, and see her before dying. or ask for attention like a child would desire. so i ran away from home and i went there to see her. this made me give up a free trip with my foreigner friend tatak and her mother - to be walked over by ex-girlfriend and her family. they thought i was a criminal and i went there to kill her. but now i think they were truly right. i wasn't concerned about by my own life, it made me look dangerous. fear of death is a safety thought while dealing with others. who doesn't fear losing it's own life wouldn't matter with other minor losses, isn't it right? i regret being so naive. the news now show the case of a 22yo guy with a gun that hijacks his ex-girlfriend. 3 whole days negotiating with the police outside the apartment and it's not finished yet. somehow it reminds me of almodovar's movie, atame. but the guy in the movie hijacks the woman trying to conquer her, not fix a broken relationship. in the end, i regret that relationship. everything i learned from that was what NOT to do.

and now i have another girlfriend, ana. she wanted to do all the crazy things i did for my ex. i didn't. now she is the one coming here. but she is sane enough to not leave everything behind. she will be here the whole november. only one month. her excuse to not stay here is that she promised to a american guy she would be his guide in his trip to brazil. she said it's only friendship, and if i traveled with tatak she wouldn't be jealous at all. unfortunately, the first time we fought and broke apart was after she became jealous of tatak when i used the nickname temur. after that i began to use the nickname erva d'aninha.

last week i was busy trying to finish some schoolwork. or uni work, i don't know. i had to make a circuit and build that. when i finished building it and after it was examined by my teacher, a loose wire touched my circuit and it shortcircuited. the wires melted and it shined as a camera flash. someday i will be an electrical engineer. i hope my customers won't know my past. (and i'm registering that now)

last weekend i went to my parents' home. all i did was work for my mother and sleep. there was a huge catholic party in belém and it was a mess. but we can't blame people faith for the traffic jams made by their procession. they are the majority of the inhabitants. the unsatisfied that leave the city. and it was what i did. but i can't forget that it was late night and i was invited to play soccer. it had been more than 4 years that i hadn't played soccer. i almost scored a goal. my own goal. but i failed, fortunately. and my legs hurt a bit now. i didn't think that after all those weight training sessions a short soccer game could fatigue me until it hurt. but it did.

and, enough of myself. i have classes now and i must finish my studies before traveling overseas.

Putu

Putu is like premature ejaculation.
It's a 45 year old in the body of a 16 year old.
It's not like you can predict how often,
Whether you'll like it,
Or how much it's going to be,
When you get it.

She woke up this morning with her head in her hands,
As always, abiding by the rules.
She drank stale artificial coffee as she perused the daily digest.
It was early morn, and just another one of many,
A typical day in October, this arbitrary month.

Maybe so

What's the point of writing anything at all then?
We all forget at some point.
And I wish that I could forget some things more than others,
But memory doesn't work like that.
You've got to feel unworthy.

astro cigarettes

everything was deleted while i tried to copy the text to the clipboard
and i don't have anything to paste it

is it worth retyping about my mother's psalms in the afternoon? about astor piazzolla's four seasons of buenos aires? it could be about my unfinished business with ana? i think not. i'm not in the mood

i have some hours until i think about something new to forget
a have some hours to forget

Getting into rhythm

It's always going for one more beer, which turns into 6 or so. Then the staying out on school nights until 3 - or in the case of last night, 5AM. Doesn't do too much for my currently deteriorating health.
I think I've found some good drinking buddies, though. Fellow 'teachers', doing it for the money. Wanting a change in life. Another artist who hates art, and a philosophical type rebelling against his posh upbringing. A very quiet reformed junkie, and a brash hat stand.
And I've already made an enemy. And a follower. It seems almost like things are becoming normal. Update me with something personal. Temur.

Judaism

We were talking about Jews today, on the walk on our way home back to the station.
Eric was a bad Jew, he was an atheist.
Lea was a good Jew, and she reminded him about Yom Kippur.
Nino was just watching.
They were arguing about the impossibility of being a good Jew and following all 613 commandments.
Eric said it wasn't possible.
Lea said that if one were to follow all the commandments, that they wouldn't be able to breathe.
So I asked her, "Then the only good Jew is a dead Jew?"
They didn't find it funny at all.
Lea then made a comment about Christians.
I told her I wasn't a Christian.
Then Eric made a comment about the Spanish occupation of the Philippines...???


...I suppose that was bad. Making a dead Jew joke in Berlin, with Jews around.

All over again

I'm seeing the same people,
In different bodies,
All over again.
Are they in disguise?
Or is it just a uniform?
I know them as they speak,
And it's the same involvement,
All over again.
They seem unaware,
That they can't fool me,
Even with their foreign face and name,
It's déjà vu,
All over again.
What to do?
What to do,
If some day I see a clone of you?
I've seen myself replicated...
No, perhaps it was a ghost,
I can never know because of the delusion,
Waxing and waning,
My head all over...
Not again?!

bird born in a cage

the campus is a land paradise here on earth. and it has huge walls. outside of it is one of the ugliest parts of this tropical city. but it won't last a long. belém has no room left. it's peninsular. huge towers are rising from the land. and the streets and avenues are getting eaten, or they eat the small buildings. and then there are the slums that wanted to eat the campus. but now the city is eaten by the slums. no more misery. because those slums are good enough to shelter from the wind and rain and sun. but they aren't good enough to keep the shoes clean. everything is dirty, and the people there are kinds of dreamers or unsatisfied or both. margin of society. but society eats. society banishes. bulldozes. and so humankind go on

then i wonder: who is dirtier? the one who has a parasite inside its belly or the one who spent money on ecstasy?

something inside me misses the time when a tree shadow could shelter me, and the fruits feed me, and the logs burn for me. but i've never lived this life. i was born in a cage. let's sing

p.s.: there's still bird songs every morning when i wake up. some of them are roosters in the middle of the bright night

Drunken

It's my normal state, right? Allowing someone to crash on the couch. That itching feeling between the thighs, Temur, I'm human too. Is it ever evident? But I won't let them hurt. Not until I've won the war, the war of emotions. Against myself, in static animation... but you're just observing, aren't you?

Teach me

Today I discovered, that my tutors hate me. I'm too radical, they said. I'm too free with my teaching. The students aren't being treated like learning machines - I'm wasting time.
I learnt a valuable lesson, I don't want to become an ESL teacher for the rest of my life. But the CELTA hasn't been a waste of time, it's given me motivation and the realization to want to do something else.

bus children description for next generation after my extinction

then we came from the beach. it was a river, but so large, and there was a soft rain and we couldn't see the bank in the other side.

i stepped out of the car. almost new car. and i hugged my older brother and my mother. no more comfort awaiting for me. and i waited for another bus. it was still raining. there were many closed bars. that day was election for mayor in the whole country and no alcohol sale was allowed. the bus stopped there in the road. i stepped inside it.

it was very loud inside. i paid for my ticket to a women carrying her small girl on her lap. then i seated myself. there were two seats, the only two that were face to face. and there were two children playing together. i guess they were brother and sister. i didn't know if they were just fighting, because they were laughing, and i couldn't understand any phrase they yelled. it would be fun just to chase each other. or bite each other, if they were baby lions. and she was wearing small dirty white boots. i only remember that because i was sitting there. they stopped playing and behaved themselves. not enough to keep her from kicking my leg while trying to keep herself quiet. it must be hard for children to not move their muscles, or not be surprised with something as unusual as a bearded young man. ok. ok. it was two seats. good enough for 4 people. and there were 3. the 4th one was a middle age man with a cardboard box. i don't remember what it held before, if it was soap or vegetable oil or food or other industrialized goods. but at that ride, there was a small dog. it seemed to be a stray dog. only because it's hard to find a pedigree inside a cardboard box. the children seemed amazed. then time came and they seemed tired and bored. and first the girl stood up and went to her father's lap.

it was so loud inside that i wasn't ashamed of playing harmonica with one hand and my normal breath. and to be tired of that and them, feel the place. outside it was raining hard and i could see nothing. i could not recognize the city. i couldn't see the high towers in the horizon. so i kept my attention inside. it was warm, but not as warm as any day in a tropical metropolis. it is normally as hot as hell, and it was just cool and damp end of afternoon. and the bus was older than the ones downtown. it was working along a route from the suburbs. actually, the beach is more than 50 km from the city. but many people along the road work in the city and the beach is a natural place for weekend. it wasn't only crowded because it was elections day and no beer was allowed. people were filling and leaving the bus, and cursing the rain. no one wants rain without an umbrella here. but some of them were just tired of another day. or resting with their eyes open. people are urban giant ants. at the bottom of the bus was a tired couple, kissing each other whilst asleep. there was christian middle age women with a lack of vanity. and then, there were none. only me, the last one to land. i asked the woman who sold me the ticket when we were near the place if i should get out. i asked it many times in that last five minutes. the last thing i said to her was "thank you" in my mother language*.

it was the end of a piece of memory. it was shortened. i didn't talk about the beach and my family, or the two girls. about my brother regretting his early madness. or my young 43 yo lawyer mother swimming with her once dry clothes after the whole of saturday with a broken cell phone, broken laptop, broken printer, broken door, a frustrating night watching "disaster movie" in a shopping center, etc. i didn't tell about the time i bought accessories for my keyboard and guitar, nor the idols for sale we saw in the stores. nor the guy who thought i wanted my mother to not pay for the car to be repaired with her credit card because i wanted a new laptop. there are many things to forget and i did forget too much from yesterday that i can't tell you any more. and what still on my mind is those two children. only them. and those memories will die before me

*it could be your language. it could be your tongue. you could shut up too as we all do, whatever language we speak