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