Há já alguns dias que venho estranhando a minha pele. Olhando no espelho enquanto ela se espreme e estica em expressões bem marcadas. Alguém já me disse que adorava minhas linhas de expressão. Minha pele está adquirindo um aspecto de pele de adulto. Ou pele de velho. Talvez seja apenas dessas coisas que garotas entendem e rapazes desconhecem: pele ressecada, falta de vitaminas, essas coisas. E eu aqui criando todo um romance em torno disso.
É a maneira como, além de perder a suavidade da criancice, cada milímetro da pele apresenta um evento. Cicatrizes, pintas, manchas, veias saltadas, rugas. Da pra parar e observar cada evento desses como se fosse uma localização em um deserto vasto. E rumar para a próxima durante horas de viagem.
Quando encosto em algum lugar e a pele dobra, sinto a grossura desse tecido todo. Couro grosso, tratado e forte. Onde antes havia uma membrana fininha, que se rompia com qualquer atrito.

Probably shouldn't be posting about this...

It's insane, I know, but it feels new to be in a relationship where it isn't always me the one to screw up. I admit I do a fair amount things the wrong way. Communicational mishaps, awry calculations of time and distance, complete lack of common sense. I'm not an easy guy to live with. But it gets extremely frustrating in the long run when you notice that you're the one who always says "I'm sorry" and you don't hear that enough. Even more frustrating when you figure out you're supposed to say it more often that the other person. I've dealt with one too many people who can magically do everything right while I'm the one making things difficult.
And I forgive and forget pretty easily. I know how guilty we feel when we're responsible for making the entire schedule for the day go down the drain. But when you deal with the people who always do things right, it takes a long while for them to get over it... Sometimes they never do.

Just a note:

I HATE WEEKEND DRIVERS!!!!!

Algo que estou devendo a alguém:

Recebi isto por e-mail. Você conhece alguém assim?

Acabaram de descobrir o diagnóstico para a minha moléstia.
Recentemente fui diagnosticada com D.A.D.I.A.: Desordem da Atenção Deficitária na Idade Avançada.
Explico melhor: Decidi lavar o carro; rumei em direção à garagem e notei minha correspondência largada em cima da mesa.
OK, vou lavar o carro, mas antes vou dar uma olhadinha na correspondência, pois pode ter alguma coisa urgente.
Ponho as chaves do carro na escrivaninha, e quando vou jogar fora as propagandas inúteis, noto que a lixeira está repleta.
OK, vou colocar as contas a pagar na escrivaninha e jogar o lixo fora, mas já que vou perto da caixa do correio, decido pagar primeiro estas contas.
Agora, onde está meu talão de cheques?
Oops, tenho apenas uma folha de cheque no meu talão. eus novos talões estão na escrivaninha.
Oh, lá está a coca que eu estava bebendo.
Vou buscar aqueles talões, mas antes eu preciso levar minha coca para longe do computador, talvez seja melhor colocá-la na geladeira para gelar um pouco.
Vou em direção à cozinha e presto atenção às flores, que precisam urgentemente de água.
Coloco a coca no balcão da cozinha e Oh! achei meus óculos! Procurei por eles a manhã toda! Melhor eu guardá-los logo.
Encho um regador com água e vou em direção às flores... aaah! Alguém deixou o controle remoto da TV na cozinha.
À noite, quando formos assistir à televisão, nunca iremos pensar em procurá-lo na cozinha, então é melhor levá-lo para a
sala, onde é o seu devido lugar.
Rego as plantas e, sem querer, derramo um pouco de água no chão. Jogo o controle remoto no sofá, e vou andando
pelo corredor e tento me lembrar o que é que eu estava indo fazer.
Final do dia: o carro não está lavado, as contas não estão pagas, a coca ainda está largada no balcão da cozinha, as flores
foram regadas apenas pela metade, o talão de cheques está apenas com uma folha, e parece que não encontro as chaves do carro!
Quando tento entender porque nada foi feito hoje, fico atônita, pois SEI QUE ESTIVE OCUPADA O DIA TODO!!!
Percebo que isto é uma coisa seriíssima e que irei em busca de auxílio, MAS ANTES, acho que vou checar meu e-mail...
D.A.D.I.A....
Favor enviar isto para todo mundo que você conhece, pois eu NÃO ME LEMBRO PARA QUEM EU JÁ ENVIEI!
Mas não mande de volta para mim, ou posso enviar para você de novo!

How bizarre is this:
So, apparently, if I turn on my computer, use KaZaA and then try to access blogger's main page, one of those error pages shows up. In addition, if I access most blogs I know without typing "www" before the adress, it either gives me an error page or sends me to posts from two weeks ago. If I type "www" before the adress, all I get is an error page. So, I figured I'd restart the computer. The first thing I did was try to access blogger's main page. Voila! It's there! Then I tried to access some blogs. If I typed without the "www", I still got posts from two weeks ago. But now when I use "www", it takes me to today's posts... Anybody's diagnostics?

Computers are such temperamental little things...

From The things people say:
"I think Chris Rock said it best, 'You know the world is going crazy when the best rapper is a white , the best golfer is a black, the Swiss hold the America's Cup, France is accusing the US of arrogance and Germany doesn't want to go to war.' "

SOME FACTS (AND OPINIONS...) ABOUT THE WAR

In 1990, Iraq invaded Kuwait. Many people speculate on the reasons for the invasion, some stating that it had to do with oil, Kuwait flooding the market and affecting prices, others say it has to do with Kuwait flaunting their wealth in the face of poorer neighbors. Mind you that most of the weaponry for this offensive had been supplied by the US or other first world countries with economical interests during the Iran-Iraq war (read about it here.)
US, then under the government of Papa Bush, gathered along with other countries to protest. The US, however, was the only one to do more than just protesting. In little or no time, The US had presented Saudi Arabia with proof that Iraq was also ready to march into their country, gaining a valuable ally. In addition, the US presented the case to the Soviet Union, who usually vetoed UN economic sanctions on Iraq, and was able to gain the Soviets' alliance. And so, the Persian Gulf war began, in both the military and economic fronts.
I'd have to say that US's interference in the affairs in the Gulf has positive and negative sides. Many third-world countries would argue that the US think they own the world. I do agree that they were meddling with tender businesses that are not their own. But for one thing, imagine what would have happened if Iraqi general Saddam Hussein had conquered the surrounding lands. Imagine all that warpower amassed in the hands of one man (and not any common man, mind you...). We know where that leads, don't we? The war ended in 1991, with several UN treaties and terms to be respected by Saddam. According to some foreign friends of mine, word has it that Saddam did not respect terms regarding disarmament. But, that I know of, none of the UN comissions that recently went to Iraq found any heavy weaponry besides what is needed for a country to defend itself. So there are no evidences in either way.
Well, some years later, Bush Junior runs for president. The whole election is highly questionable. The votes are counted again and again. Amazing how a country such as the US still makes ellections the old way when our third world country does them with the speed and safety of electronics. Anyway, The Supreme Court intervenes in the elections and eventually rules in favour of candidate Bush Junior, historically the US president with the lowest IQ score. But nowadays IQ tests are proven to be insufficient to test a person's intelligence.
Personally, I don't have enough information to create an opinion about wether it was a fictional victory or if Bush Junior did have the majority or votes. So the victory remains questionable.
September 11th happens in 2001. We all know how that went. Arab countries tremble in fear at the thought that the US might suspect one of them did it. I remember Arafat shaking nervously while he spoke on television... The newly elected Bush Junior sees a great opportunity to boost up his popularity, since the whole election thing left him in a delicate situation. So he vows to hunt down Osama Bin Laden, an already known terrorist who apaprently was responsible for 9-11. I don't remember seeing any hard evidence that would tie Bin Laden to 9-11, but I don't remember seeing him try to deny it either, so I guess that part is correct.
Bush Junior storms the Middle East in search of Bin Laden and even gets to announce a few times that he thinks Bin Laden was killed in the latest air raid. But the bearded man always emerges unharmed.
Time goes by and the whole "search for the 9-11 terrorist" thing becomes routine and people loose interest. I know I did. But then Bush Junior remembers Papa Bush's former opponent. And he remembers the use of chemical weapons, banned by the Geneva Protocol in 1925, against the Kurds in 1984 (before the Gulf war...). So he gathers the UN (which the world knows is in the US's hands...) and sends comissions to search for chemical and biological weapons. He beckons Saddam to disarm, to cooperate. And Saddam replies that he cannot disarm if he has no weapons. Of course he does have tanks, guns and SCUD missiles. But would the US strip them even of the simplest defenses? Weren't they looking only for chemical and biological weapons? Anyway, this pointless dialogue goes on for a while and Bush Junior eventualy decides to take the UN, hence most of the world, and go to war on Iraq. To me, it sounded like Bush Junior was after a substitute terrorist since he couldn't get Bin Laden and the people-- er... gods still demanded human sacrifice.
But the thing is, the UN refuses to go to war unless they actually find chemical or biological weapons. Heading the pacifist party are France and Germany. One of my foreign friends told me it is understandable that Germany would refrain from war. They've seen two of those and didn't like it. But France had a questionable motive, he said. It seems France believes the world needs a power to balance the US. And that they have been doing that by vetoing mostly everything the US supports in the UN. I've got mixed opinions about that. I agree that no power should be wielded by a single person/party. That's the principle of the democratic system we know: three powers to rule and keep an eye on each other. But to veto everything would be mean.
Anyway, against the UN (and even before they could come to any formal decision), Bush Junior gives Saddam a few days to disarms whatever weapons he supposedly has. But since there ain't much left to disarm, the days pass and the Iraqi general is unnable to cooperate.

War ensues...

The world, including some in the US, protests against the start of hostilities. Bush Junior issues a list of 30 countries that support the US. Most are like Colombia, who can't say no because the US is funding the war on the druglords in the country. And most only pronounce themselves favourable, but send no actual help to fight Iraq.
Theories arise about Bush Junior's reason to invade Iraq. And most state that he wants the oil fields. I believe the damage he has done is far greater than those oil fields are worth. Others state that he is resuming Papa Bush's rather legitimate fight in an illegitimate way to boost his popularity. I still can't deny or concur with that opinion.
If I may say, I'll be glad if he does get Saddam. But that's a personal thing: the chubby with the mustache scared me out of my wits back in the 80's when I was a little kid. I feared he could bring the war to my country. Still, I think there could be other more... stealthful ways of accomplishing that (hi there, supposedly secret government organizations!). And that's why I think there's more to it than just ridding the world of a menace. And besides, whatever happened to hunting down Bin Laden?

Phew! Glad to get that out of my chest. I know some of you will rain fire and brimstone on me for these opinions. Go ahead. That's what the comment link is for.

Cute....

The Fly Guy

...and a great stress relief too. My advice: keep going up.

Just something that has kept playing in my mind for the past few days.

Call me call me
From the saddest Cowboy Bebop episode ever...

I close my eyes and I keep seeing things
Rainbow waterfalls
sunny liquid dream

Confusion creeps inside me raining doubt
Gotta get to you
But I don't know how

Call me, Call me
Let me know it's alright
Call me, Call me
Don't you think it's 'bout time
Please won't you call and

*Ease my mind
Reasons for me to find you
Peace of mind
What can I do
to get me to you

I had your number quite some time ago
Back when we were one
But I had to grow

Ten thousand years I've searched it seems and now
Gotto get to you
Won't you tell me how
Call me, Call me
Let me know your are there
Call me, Call me
I wanna know you still care
Come on now won't you

*Repeat

Ease my mind
Because for me to find you
Peace of mind
Because for living my life
Ease my mind
Because for me to know you
Peace of mind
what can I do
to get me to you

Random literature
I huddled closer to her to see myself in the mirror. There was no actual need to see myself in the mirror while brushing my teeth. But the way she would lean over the sink as if she needed to pay attention to some crucial detail in her mouth seemed amusing enough to copy. And when I invaded her field of view in that mirror, she`d lock her gaze on mine and we`d try hard not to laugh as the foam from the toothpaste oozed out of our mouths and into the sink. And then in a matter of minutes we were both making faces and trying to gross each other out with mouthfuls of toothpaste.

Gross, isn`t it?

As promised, Tinkerbell`s portrait:

And the reference picture:


Contextualizing:
Among the many objectives of the cubist painters, there was the attempt to avoid the ilusion of volume (three dimensions). See, painting uses two dimensions. So volume is an illusion which they considered to be a lie. In their paintings, they tried to stick to two dimensions. When the movement evolved to sinthetic cubism (after the first phase of analitical cubism), they began to glue things to their paintings (usually pieces of newspaper and other raw materials) in an attept to sensibilize viewers to the fact that they were beholding a two-dimensional thing. See, with these cubist works, it wasn`t about what was depicted in the canvas, but about the canvas itself.
Of course, that wasn`t the only objective. Cubists had a bone to pick with colour, signature and many other things. In sinthetic cubism, they avoided colour because that too was an illusion. They wanted to deal with matter only. Regardless of it`s colour. But I`m wandering off my point...
When I painted this one, we were learning about cubism and that thing about avoiding the illusion appealed to me. So I glued that piece of canvas accros her eyes and painted over it in an attempt to, like the cubist painters, sensibilize my viewers to the two dimensions involved. I figure now that it creates two moments of appreciation of the work. On the first moment you savour the ilusion, the illustration of her face, the volume. Then on the second moment you ignore what is depcted to pay attention to the collage. You understand the two dimensions. Most people venture into a third moment where some meaning is attained joining the two moments. People have wondered what would they find beneath the glued canvas. Others have spoken about blindfolds and such. It`s kind of a ludic thing...

Comments?

By the way, that I am aware of, here are the teams in this entire ordeal:

The belicous team:
US
England
Spain
Australia
Deutchland
Italy
Portugal

I know Bush issued a list of 30 countries supporting the war, but so far, that`s all I know.

The pacifist team
France
Iraq
Belgium
Germany
Brazil

And I gotta get more info on this...

So, war has begun. I really don`t have much to say. Anything I could write here would only be a repetition of everything you`ve already read or listened elsewhere. Despite my former post condemning the US for the attack, comparing them to nazi Germany, I`m not on Saddam`s side either. I just think all of this is a thoughtless meddling with wounds of the past. A son trying to accomplish his father`s incompetent wish.

What I can say to my fellow countrymen is that hard times will ensue. Ever since our dear supposedly socialist president was elected, prices for everything have been blown out of proportions. I could understand this as an attempt to straighten up our economy, but I never did understand much about economy. The thing is, with the war and all, we can expect prices to raise even more. Living standards will become unbearably expensive...

Geez, I gotta get a job soon.

Well, Apparently there`s something wrong with my computer. It won`t load my recent posts on my blog page. Also, I can`t seem to be able to access the blogger login page. I can read them elsewhere. But not at home. Nor can I write at home. I`m writting from my computer class in the art course. So you guys can expect fewer posts while I figure this out...

Às vezes dá vontade de ter mais de uma existência. Como naquele filme cujo título não lembro sobre um ex-soldado americano da guerra no Vietnã que tinha uma vida e quando ia dormir acordava em outra vida. Mais ou menos como também fizeram no Matrix. Queria viver em uma vida com esta garota, sendo publicitário, ganhando minha grana e tendo família. E então, apenas algumas horas de sono e eu acordaria em um lugar qualquer, artista plástico sem família ou amor. Centrado em mim mesmo. Queria ter uma vida para ser um drone mesmo. Vida de empresa e nine to five, de hierarquia. Gosto dessa organização. Por favor, sem críticas adolescentes ao mundo capitalista... Eu gosto mesmo, e daí? A outra vida ia ser algo tirado da vaga sensação que temos ao assistir Mad Max: beyond Thunderdome. De ir levando como um sobrevivente qualquer, animalizado. E ter aquela ilusão de que, criticando as pessoas "de dentro do sistema", estamos vendo uma suposta verdade e sendo melhores do que eles.

Really nice writting: Anne... Straight from the hip
And a few nice sketches to boot!

By the way, if any of you know how to do that text wrap thing she does with her images, do tell me!

De repente, um medo insensato de fracassar.
Medo de não ser um publicitário decente e por causa disso não conseguir ser um artista decente. Eu já não sou um artista decente. Em alguns dos muitos sentidos da palavra.
*suspiro*
Para ser um profissional decente é preciso ter visão ampla das coisas. É preciso prestar atenção em tudo ao redor. Prestar atenção no mundo. E eu não vivo no mundo. Eu vivo no meu mundinho.
I am a drone. Tell me what to do and I'll do it the best way I can. But I'm still a drone.
Medo de não ter visão, de não ter confiança (círculo vicioso: falta de confiança gera medo que gera falta de confiança...), de não ter capacidade administrativa. Medo das minhas falhas de caráter. Medo de não ter a capacidade social necessária para progredir. Medo. Só isso.

Sou só uma criança querendo colo. Já calei.

A thought struck me on my way home.
Last friday was my first encounter with Dora and the beggining of my orientation towards the final work for the art course. She had asked me to bring my portraits so that the others who are under her guidance could have a look and get to know my work. We discussed for hours about very relevant things, which I'm sure you people would find completely boring, so I won't bother to write down. And we spent a great deal of time talking about Taís, my Tinkerbell's portrait (yes, I know i still have to post that one...). Dora was the first teacher to actualy understand why I glued a strip of canvas across Tinkerbell's eyes on the portrait.
If you remember, when I first spoke to Dora, she showed me some of Matthew Barney's stuff.
It struck me today, that perhaps one of the many reasons Dora enjoyed Taís so much, is because the figure dismally recalls Barney's fairies in Cremaster 4. All that red hair arranged in that fashion and the way the green contaminates the other colours creating a nightmarish undertone. It's a dreadful coincidence. Because those... "things" in Cremaster are also called fairies. For a moment I thought perhaps those images had been in my subconscious before I painted the portrait. But that's impossibe: I had no idea of the existence of the Cremaster series (or cycle, as it is known) until way after Taís was done

Of all the arts, I could forsake some that I actualy have a talent for if it would render me the talent for music. See, there's something in music that cannot be attained in painting, writing, or photography. Something that can only be hinted at in acting. It's the way music uses time as a tool. Music strikes rage or joy in the hearts of people. Always with this intrinsecate feeling that this rage or joy has a precise moment to burst. Paintings and photography, perhaps even writting can strike similar feelings. But never in the same intensity, because you can stare at a painting endlessly, to the point of banalization. You'll never miss the moment. Because there is no moment. Music is about that precise instant, that precise accord or beat that sends you into some orgasmic outburst. Acting can trigger feelings in that precise moment, but it requires a plot to do it. Music conveys a feeling without the complementing illusion of a plot. It's just the pure feeling. It's much more simple than acting. Yet it can be much more sublime...

I've promised myself that, once I get a job, the first thing I'm going to do with my money is start taking sax lessons. After Cowboy Bebop, I'm definitely a jazz fan.

Entrei na sala 1114 da fundação ontem um pouco temeroso. Levava debaixo do braço quase todos os retratos que pintei, com excessão do retrato da Lioness, que atualmente encontra-se no quarto dela, e o meu auto-retrato, que ainda está secando. Destes eu trazia só fotos. Na sala, o desafio: Dora. Ela percebeu minha presença, mas só foi levantar o olhar algum tempo depois, quando eu já estava mais perto. Tem algo nela que é como uma garotinha envergonhada debaixo de toda a pose de edgewalker. "Eu vim te importunar de novo" eu brinquei, "mas desta vez com outras coisas". E sem titubear abri na frente dela Mariana e Lilly. Agora que penso nisso, eu devia estar com muito medo naquela hora. Mas tem algo nela que me deixa estranhamente à vontade com ela. Talvez essa história da garotinha... Eu já tinha me preparado para tudo. Para receber um olhar de total desprezo e críticas pesadas que destruiríam minha última esperança. E para receber alguma exclamação de simpatia com outro pintor.

E sabe de uma coisa? Aconteceu a segunda opção!

"Olha, você sabe pintar!". E a partir daí ela deu uma olhada melhor em tudo. Gostou mais da Lilly, seguido de perto por Taís, o da Anual, que eu ainda não postei aqui (mas em breve...). É claro que ela comentou que estavam muito pequenos. Mas isso eu já esperava. Já me avisaram que ela gosta de pinturas grandes. E mais, hoje em dia, nada causa muito impacto nas artes se não for muito grande ou minúsculo. No final da conversa toda, depois de um pouquinho de pressão, ela aceitou ser minha orientadora para o trabalho de graduação!
Agora só resta resolver algumas pendências burocráticas...

On related news:
No corredor, mostrei a foto do auto-retrato para Caetano de Almeida, um antigo professor que criticava muitas das coisas que eu fazia. E curiosamente, foi o único que entendeu o que é para mim pintar um retrato de alguém: o apaixonar-se pela figura de outra pessoa, obcecar-se. E perguntou-me como eu tinha me sentido pintando a mim mesmo. Pareceu muito interessado naquilo tudo e até me pediu para mostrar mais coisas. Fiquei felicíssimo! Tentei por três anos ganhar o respeito daquele professor... No final, ele disse que só não me pega como orientando porque já está lotado de gente. Marquei bobeira... Acho que seria um orientador interessante. Mas ainda acho que a Dora pode ser melhor.
Veremos.

On related news, I watched Roman Polanski's The Pianist...


You know, a year ago we had this teacher in the art course who taught art history. One day, she handed out this text about the sublime. See, we have a wrong notion of what is sublime. Most people seem to think it applies to things that are beautiful and yet fragile, subtle. The term was actualy coined to determine that which is so great and powerful that it strikes fear and respect.

What I can say about Polanski's film is that it was simply sublime. The sheer horror of the war parading in front of you for a couple of hours at the sound of Chopin, Bach, Strauss. Hats off to mister Polanski.

Obviously, in case he does get that Oscar, he won't be around to receive it personaly due to certain... affairs... with younger girls. But I won't be dwindling into this subject.

Schizotypal thoughts about the impending war:
Ok, this might sound like a bunch of conspiracy theories, but I found some interesting coincidences.

Circa 1920: First World War
Circa 1940: Second World War
Circa 1960: Vietnam
Circa 1980: The Persian Gulf
Circa 2000: War on terrorism?

Why is it that the US seeks war at intervals of around twenty years or so? Why does the US need war so badly?

On other coincidences, check out this picture:
A fascist country seeks war on another country using religion as an excuse but actually seeking control over territory. In order to succeed, this first country uses tactics that include ideological warfare, demoralizing the country they want to conquer. On the other side, nations from Europe gather around an international agreement against the fascist country. If one of these countries is attacked, all others will be forced to aid in it's defence.
Now you could easily say that the fascist country is Germany under the leadership of Hitler against the jews using Goebels' ideological propaganda and that the european countries gather around the peace treaty of Versailles

or

You could easily say that the fascist country is the US under the leadership of Bush against muslims using their own mass media (movie industry and news network) and that the european counties gather around the UN.

The gap in this chain of thought is that the muslims are not part of said international agreement, and if they are attacked, I guess most of what the UN countries will do will consist of economical attackes rather than military. One thing is for sure, if war ensues, just like Versailles, the UN will loose any credibility and cease to exist.

You know, Chamberlain said about Hitler: "let him be. He'll frighten the comunists. When he's ready for war, we'll stop him.". But they didn't stop him. Do I hear someone say the same about Bush?

I'd like the opinion of my foreign friends on this. Note that I don't intend to quarrel. I just want to take a peek at opinions straight from the horse's mouth.

Estratégias do jogo de cartas chamado Presidente aplicáveis à vida:

- Antes de dar os grandes golpes, as grandes cartadas, livre-se das cartas fracas. É muito mais fácil ganhar a rodada baixando a carta máxima por último. Save the best for last

- Trincas e quadras de cartas baixas são uma armadilha. Elas são tentadoras demais para serem consideradas fracas e usadas no começo, mas fracas demais para ganhar alguma coisa no final da rodada.

Já ouvi essa comparação antes...
Vivo a dor e a delícia de ter sido Anita. Mal comparando, é como Rita Hayworth e o papel de Gilda -- dito por Mel Lisboa (obviamente...).

E na festa de carnaval à qual fomos là na cidadezinha, experimentei lança pela primeira vez. Imagine: mais de vinte anos de idade e eu ainda não tinha passado por isso. Na verdade tinha, mas algo deu errado e aquilo acabou com a minha garganta e não deu barato nenhum. Dessa vez aparentemente deu tudo certo.
Nos primeiros segundos nada aconteceu. E eu estava quase crente que nada ia acontecer como da última vez. Mas então as escadas que eu estava subindo começaram a girar aos poucos. Tudo ficou um pouco mais lento enquanto eu subia as escadas. Senti como se eu estivesse saíndo do meu corpo. Ou melhor, como se tivesse crescido um pouco. Afinal, ainda sentia meus pés nos degraus mas o ponto de vista parecia estar mais alto. Minhas mãos formigavam deliciosamente. Fiquei atento para o som ilusório de uma sirene ao longe que, diz a lenda, todos ouvem ao consumir a droga. Intercalado com o ritmo da música, a tal sirene parecia sirene de polícia, modulando o tom em intervalos sempre iguais. Fiz mais uma experiência no meio da pista de dança, mas não achei muita graça. Estar na pista já é tamanho estímulo para os sentidos, que as ilusões da droga somem.

Tá, e agora como fica o post escrito lá atrás dizendo que eu tenho medo de drogas? Pois bem, como eu disse, tenho medo do efeito a longo prazo. Não diria que eu nunca mais volto a experimentar lança. Mas vou continuar tentando evitar. Essa experiência já foi. Próximo...

Carnival

It literally means festival of flesh. And according to what my atheist self can gather, the name is given to the days before ash wednesday. Days in which we are granted permission to enjoy the pleasures of flesh before that religious day of mourning. We allow ourselves to sin. Carnival in my country is among the most famous in the world. If applied to all the seven deadly sins crap, it would be a condemnable example of lust.

Speaking about religion, I could practically say we went through heaven, purgatory and hell this year.

Purgatory
After about a month or so working at Águia de Ouro, we finally got a chance to see our work on the parade. Better yet: we were actually on the parade! Me, my Tinkerbell, Methodless and a few other collegues from the art course. It was my first time on a carnival parade. And they say the one in my home town is the second biggest in all the country. The effort of carrying the huge costumes, the pain inflicted on the body and the action of carrying all that weight down the avenue reminded me of penitence and that's why I deemed this my purgatory. I mean, everything was so beautiful and lavishly decorated and we had been a part of this! But a series of small worries and discomforts made it all slightly annoying. For one thing, the decorations in our costume, put toghether with hot glue, kept falling appart. And we lose points in the parade for that. So we had to be extremely careful with everything. But those things are to huge to be careful! Plus, disorientation makes the whole ordeal a living hell (no, that part comes in later...). Last but not least, the costume itself inflicts a certain amount of damage to it's wielder. Tink got to the end of the parade with her shoulders mangled by the wieght of the piece on her back. She couldn't raise her arms the following day. I myself spent most of the parade with a head piece cruching my skull. But no lasting damage.
On the overal score, I'd say it was one of those experiences that everyone must have at least once in a lifetime. Once. Twice is too much for me. But who knows... maybe in the future...

Hell:
After the parade, all I wanted to do was sleep. Embrace my Fairy and sleep for at least eight hours. But after only thirty minutes of slumber, my dear brother woke us up. He insisted that we travel at the ungodly hour of six in the morning to avoid traffic. We were going to a place owned by the Comediant's family in a distant little town. The gang had been trying to fix this trip for quite a long time. Specially the Comediant and the Former Rebel. It seemed they wanted to check out the street parades in the little towns. Legend has it that those little parades rock. But everytime something came up, or they ran out of cash and the trip was cancelled. Anyway, after about four hours in traffic, barely awake (gladly, I wasn't driving...), we got to the place, a tiny house a few blocks away from the town itself. Let me hasten things up. All accounted for, we were fifteen young adults inside a tiny house (seems everyone who had been envited in the previous attempts decided to come...). No problem: we had a similar number at General Anarchy's. But nevertheles, hell would ensue when the house's water supply seemed to be cut off... We were soon unable to cook, unable to wash dishes, unable to bathe and above all having difficulties in simply going to the bathroom. Aside from all that, all I and Tink wanted to do was get some sleep. But the other thirteen kept right on playing techno at top volume in the porch and yelling at each other. Anyone who has watched reality shows can grasp what happens when fifteen people (some not all comfortable with certain presences...) are put toghether in a house with nothing to do: tension soon build up to the point where we were almost leaping at each other's throats for stupid reasons.
If I may say, I really didn't mind all that hell. Somehow, I seem to have fun in survival situations. Going to extremes only to bathe or eat. In fact, I would like to do this again some day, when not in a relationship. It would be a deeply introspective experience, like hell in To what dreams may come. But I was responsible for yet another soul. One who was growing much impatient and annoyed by the whole situation. And I was feeling very much responsible for dragging her into this.
And so, at dusk on the very first day, we gathered in one of the rooms to conspire. Me, Tinkerbell, Sis, my brother and Big Mama. All who had travelled toghether at my brother's ungodly hour. We decided to wait for a day and see if things got better. If not, we'd try alternatives. Tink's family had a place in a nearby town, but her grandma was staying there for carnival, so that kinda ruled this option out. Then Sis suggested her family's place about an hour and a half away. After an interesting night at a party (about which I'll write on another post...) though, the situation didn't improve.
The last image scorched in my memory of that place was that of the Comediant and Little Wonder standing at the gate. Those were the two people I felt most sorry for. Our little companion waved goodbye at us with a mocking sad expression. Deeply I knew she was in fact rather desperate. She wanted to go along but there was no room in the car. She remained there: the only girl in a house full of boys (read troglodites...). As for our comic friend, he was visibly feeling guilty for the situation. Walking out on him like we did felt like treason. It wasn't his fault that things went awry. But we couldn't be forced to stick around against our will.

Heaven
The last part of the trip felt like paradise. We spent the last couple of days at Sis'. Her family was there. They're all japanese with the exception of her father. So the food hada a tendency to be slightly exotic. And speaking of food, we were finally able to eat to our heart's content. And to our hungry tongues, food never tasted better. I slept with Tink all the sleep we lacked for the last two days. And when we were finally rested and fed, we played a small variety of games. From card games to ball games. The latest with a series of moves and chance events worthy of ESPN's plays of the week!! Wished I had caught those on tape! There was even enough room for me and Tink to train some of the stuff we learned at the circus. On our last night out there, we even thought about going to town for the parade. But things were so comfy in the house, that we soon gave up on that idea. No objections.

All I can say is that Yin would not seems as good without Yang.

I apologize in advance to any hard feelings this post might create in the future to anyone involved. This is merely an account of things.