Apathy
When all you desire is to have desires...
quarta-feira, abril 30, 2003
I recently dowloaded Bowie's I'm afraid of Americans. The video clip. Lyrics can be found here.
Just a brief summary.
In the clip, Bowie plays Johnny, apparently a foreigner who marvels at all the capitalist possibilities in America. The song's lyrics speak of Johnny's desires, all related to heavy capitalism and somewhat to the US culture. But then, on the clip, Johnny meets americans. And all the consumist violence in his desires seems materialized in their gestures and the way they seem to want to hurt and kill Johnny. The clip starts off with an american chasing Johnny from a magazine stand. All around him he sees people arguing, their gestures always alluding to guns and violence, as if they were shooting at each other instead of pointing at each other. The scenes flash quickly and although you can see there are no real guns displayed in the video, you get the clear impression that all the americans carry weapons. The impression of violence is very clear. Perhaps too clear. Finally, at the end of the whole deal, that first american who chased Johnny fires at the taxi he's in with one of hose imaginary guns, but the car actually blows up seconds after Johnny's excape. The final scene of the clip shows a procession of wacky figures crossing before him. While the lyrics say God is an american that same first american crosses Johnny's line of sight, carrying a cross like a satyre of Jesus.
Great clip!! It belongs to Bowie's 1997 album Earthling, along with other hits such as Little Wonder and Telling Lies. All viewing some edgewalker side of capitalism, teenage, and life itself. Definitely recommended!!
Just a brief summary.
In the clip, Bowie plays Johnny, apparently a foreigner who marvels at all the capitalist possibilities in America. The song's lyrics speak of Johnny's desires, all related to heavy capitalism and somewhat to the US culture. But then, on the clip, Johnny meets americans. And all the consumist violence in his desires seems materialized in their gestures and the way they seem to want to hurt and kill Johnny. The clip starts off with an american chasing Johnny from a magazine stand. All around him he sees people arguing, their gestures always alluding to guns and violence, as if they were shooting at each other instead of pointing at each other. The scenes flash quickly and although you can see there are no real guns displayed in the video, you get the clear impression that all the americans carry weapons. The impression of violence is very clear. Perhaps too clear. Finally, at the end of the whole deal, that first american who chased Johnny fires at the taxi he's in with one of hose imaginary guns, but the car actually blows up seconds after Johnny's excape. The final scene of the clip shows a procession of wacky figures crossing before him. While the lyrics say God is an american that same first american crosses Johnny's line of sight, carrying a cross like a satyre of Jesus.
Great clip!! It belongs to Bowie's 1997 album Earthling, along with other hits such as Little Wonder and Telling Lies. All viewing some edgewalker side of capitalism, teenage, and life itself. Definitely recommended!!
segunda-feira, abril 28, 2003
Último encontro com a Dora. E ela tentando me explicar o que eu havia conseguido ao pintar Taís.
Demorou algum tempo para que alguém me dissesse de forma clara e direta o que tinha acontecido alí. Dora falou-me da discrepância entre uma imagem feita em moldes tão clássicos, figurativos e claros, uma modelo que mais parecia uma simples criança sorridente, e as cores e fatura que pareciam aludir a contaminação, doença. Algo que me deprimiu um pouco. Porque isso relega toda a admiração dada àquele quadro a um erro. É claro que havia também o lance da tela colada por cima e todo o resto. Isso ela também gostou muito. Nosso primeiro encontro foi inteiro sobre isso. Mas voltemos ao erro...
Na pintura de um quadro, há sempre a figura e o fundo. Nos retratos anteriores, desenhava a figura direto na tela branca, pintava a figura e depois o fundo. Este método criava um problema óbvio: vez por outra o fundo invadia a figura ou vice-versa. E então havia o estorvo de ficar corrigindo a figura no final. Para evitar isso, pintei a tela inteira da cor de fundo antes de pintar a figura. Mas esqueci de um detalhe. Tinta a óleo é transparente. E não importava quantas camadas de tinta eu colocasse, aquele verde maldito continuava aparecendo através da pele. Aquela figura estava irremediavelmente contaminada.
Gostei muito de finalmente entender. Compreender o que era a característica misteriosa que ela tanto falava. E não só ela. Outros professores já haviam falado disso. Me deu vontade de lidar com outras contradições desse tipo. Como aquela bem conhecida de usar objetos que simbolizem o universo infantil para falar de terror, homicídio, perversão.
Mas o mais interessante de tudo isso é que notei uma ressonância entre o meu trabalho (ou pelo menos esta pintura em questão) e as pinturas de Lucian Freud, neto do conhecido Sigmund.
Lucian pintou pessoas a vida toda. Não exatamente retratos, mas pessoas de qualquer jeito. Mas ele tem um jeito de pintar e uma escolha de cores que deixa tudo tão sujo, hepático, contaminado. Ele exagera nas áreas coradas do corpo como as articulações e os rostos e suas cores são absurdamente brilhantes apesar da profusão de tons acinzentados que deixam a imagem imunda. Não bastasse isso, ele insiste no hiper realismo, ilustrando os corpos exatamente como eles são, sem idealizações, com seus detalhes feios e belos convivendo. Este à esquerda é Freddy, o filho de Lucian, que serviu como modelo em diversas pinturas.
Esse tipo de pintura tenta comunicar o tipo de noção que eu tive e que muita gente talvez tenha ao assistir a todo o seriado Evangelion.
Essa noção de corpos como carne, como algo tão físico que pode quase ser moldado, e que escorre entre os dedos como barro se apertado.
Diz-se de retratos que os bons conseguem captar a alma dos retratado. Nas pinturas de Lucian não há almas naquelas pessoas. São montes de carne em foma de gente. E o que é pior, carne podre. E isso capta perfeitamente toda a sensação que tive no ano passado com a depressão e a história dos pensamentos suicidas. Toda a angústia de estar confinado nesta máquina de carne.
Demorou algum tempo para que alguém me dissesse de forma clara e direta o que tinha acontecido alí. Dora falou-me da discrepância entre uma imagem feita em moldes tão clássicos, figurativos e claros, uma modelo que mais parecia uma simples criança sorridente, e as cores e fatura que pareciam aludir a contaminação, doença. Algo que me deprimiu um pouco. Porque isso relega toda a admiração dada àquele quadro a um erro. É claro que havia também o lance da tela colada por cima e todo o resto. Isso ela também gostou muito. Nosso primeiro encontro foi inteiro sobre isso. Mas voltemos ao erro...
Na pintura de um quadro, há sempre a figura e o fundo. Nos retratos anteriores, desenhava a figura direto na tela branca, pintava a figura e depois o fundo. Este método criava um problema óbvio: vez por outra o fundo invadia a figura ou vice-versa. E então havia o estorvo de ficar corrigindo a figura no final. Para evitar isso, pintei a tela inteira da cor de fundo antes de pintar a figura. Mas esqueci de um detalhe. Tinta a óleo é transparente. E não importava quantas camadas de tinta eu colocasse, aquele verde maldito continuava aparecendo através da pele. Aquela figura estava irremediavelmente contaminada.
Gostei muito de finalmente entender. Compreender o que era a característica misteriosa que ela tanto falava. E não só ela. Outros professores já haviam falado disso. Me deu vontade de lidar com outras contradições desse tipo. Como aquela bem conhecida de usar objetos que simbolizem o universo infantil para falar de terror, homicídio, perversão.
Mas o mais interessante de tudo isso é que notei uma ressonância entre o meu trabalho (ou pelo menos esta pintura em questão) e as pinturas de Lucian Freud, neto do conhecido Sigmund.
Lucian pintou pessoas a vida toda. Não exatamente retratos, mas pessoas de qualquer jeito. Mas ele tem um jeito de pintar e uma escolha de cores que deixa tudo tão sujo, hepático, contaminado. Ele exagera nas áreas coradas do corpo como as articulações e os rostos e suas cores são absurdamente brilhantes apesar da profusão de tons acinzentados que deixam a imagem imunda. Não bastasse isso, ele insiste no hiper realismo, ilustrando os corpos exatamente como eles são, sem idealizações, com seus detalhes feios e belos convivendo. Este à esquerda é Freddy, o filho de Lucian, que serviu como modelo em diversas pinturas.
Esse tipo de pintura tenta comunicar o tipo de noção que eu tive e que muita gente talvez tenha ao assistir a todo o seriado Evangelion.
Essa noção de corpos como carne, como algo tão físico que pode quase ser moldado, e que escorre entre os dedos como barro se apertado.
Diz-se de retratos que os bons conseguem captar a alma dos retratado. Nas pinturas de Lucian não há almas naquelas pessoas. São montes de carne em foma de gente. E o que é pior, carne podre. E isso capta perfeitamente toda a sensação que tive no ano passado com a depressão e a história dos pensamentos suicidas. Toda a angústia de estar confinado nesta máquina de carne.
sexta-feira, abril 25, 2003
E o blog da semana é...
Ovelha elétrica
Recomendo uma olhada nas fotomontagens na seção de quadrinhos
Ovelha elétrica
Recomendo uma olhada nas fotomontagens na seção de quadrinhos
quinta-feira, abril 24, 2003
Momento The things people say:
Quem tem fé não precisa de provas
Nenhuma prova serve para quem não tem fé -- "Frase monge do dia" da empresa júnior na universidade.
Viu... isso é um comunicado urgente que eu recebi por e-mail:
O Sindicato Único de Prostitutas, Meretrizes e Cafetinas - SINDIPROSTI - esclarece à opinião pública que apesar das afirmações da maioria dos manifestantes no mundo inteiro, o cidadão George W. Bush não é filho de nenhuma de nossas associadas -- tirado do blog da Fada dos Dentes.
Quem tem fé não precisa de provas
Nenhuma prova serve para quem não tem fé -- "Frase monge do dia" da empresa júnior na universidade.
Viu... isso é um comunicado urgente que eu recebi por e-mail:
O Sindicato Único de Prostitutas, Meretrizes e Cafetinas - SINDIPROSTI - esclarece à opinião pública que apesar das afirmações da maioria dos manifestantes no mundo inteiro, o cidadão George W. Bush não é filho de nenhuma de nossas associadas -- tirado do blog da Fada dos Dentes.
terça-feira, abril 22, 2003
E o filme do fim de semana é:
Bom, vou começar pelo ator principal, o doutor. Tá certo que ele pegou bem o tipo de roupa que o Dráuzio Varela usa, o jeitão e o rosto são parecidos. Mas ele provavelmente compôs o personagem usando o Varela que aparecia no Fantástico, todo sorridente tratando de coisas amenas. Pô, é um doutor que fica o filme inteiro sorrindo feito um idiota, mesmo quando os presidiários contam as histórias mais trágicas.
Tirando isso, acho que o filme vale a pena pra quem, como eu, gosta de filmes pesados.
O primeiro erro -- e o mais comum -- é compreender Carandiru como um documentário. Procurando a imagem acima, encontrei um site americano que chamava o filme de um ground-breaking portrayal of the largest penitentiary in Latin America. Não é bem assim. O filme mostra a parte dos detentos. Dificuldades de se viver em meio às regras da casa de detenção. Até aí, o filme é muito interessante. As filmagens são muito boas e, se você estiver psicologicamente preparado para cenas de violência, podera testemunhar algumas muito bem coreografadas. Porém não é possível considerá-lo um documentário porque falta muitos aspectos a serem aborados. Os policiais no filme agem como equipes de SWAT de filme americano, com uma brutalidade tamanha e uma maldade maior ainda -- maior até que de alguns detentos--, quando na verdade deviam estar apavorados ao entrar no presídio. Quem assistiu Notícias de uma guerra particular sabe que os dois lados são apenas crianças amedrontadas em uma situação insolúvel. E Carandiru esquece desse outro time. O filme desculpa-se no final, com uma citação de Varela dizendo que só ouviu mesmo o lado dos presos e não sabe da história inteira.
Na verdade, trata-se de uma colagem de vidas, uma novela onde os personagem são gente não muito confiável pagando seus pecados. Mas realmente, tudo que posso dizer é que vale a pena pela produção.
Bom, vou começar pelo ator principal, o doutor. Tá certo que ele pegou bem o tipo de roupa que o Dráuzio Varela usa, o jeitão e o rosto são parecidos. Mas ele provavelmente compôs o personagem usando o Varela que aparecia no Fantástico, todo sorridente tratando de coisas amenas. Pô, é um doutor que fica o filme inteiro sorrindo feito um idiota, mesmo quando os presidiários contam as histórias mais trágicas.
Tirando isso, acho que o filme vale a pena pra quem, como eu, gosta de filmes pesados.
O primeiro erro -- e o mais comum -- é compreender Carandiru como um documentário. Procurando a imagem acima, encontrei um site americano que chamava o filme de um ground-breaking portrayal of the largest penitentiary in Latin America. Não é bem assim. O filme mostra a parte dos detentos. Dificuldades de se viver em meio às regras da casa de detenção. Até aí, o filme é muito interessante. As filmagens são muito boas e, se você estiver psicologicamente preparado para cenas de violência, podera testemunhar algumas muito bem coreografadas. Porém não é possível considerá-lo um documentário porque falta muitos aspectos a serem aborados. Os policiais no filme agem como equipes de SWAT de filme americano, com uma brutalidade tamanha e uma maldade maior ainda -- maior até que de alguns detentos--, quando na verdade deviam estar apavorados ao entrar no presídio. Quem assistiu Notícias de uma guerra particular sabe que os dois lados são apenas crianças amedrontadas em uma situação insolúvel. E Carandiru esquece desse outro time. O filme desculpa-se no final, com uma citação de Varela dizendo que só ouviu mesmo o lado dos presos e não sabe da história inteira.
Na verdade, trata-se de uma colagem de vidas, uma novela onde os personagem são gente não muito confiável pagando seus pecados. Mas realmente, tudo que posso dizer é que vale a pena pela produção.
More on religion??
Yeah, well... I could rant about this for hours. But I promise this'll be the last one.
I've never had a spiritual experience. I guess that's why I don't believe in much. I guess most people nowadays neve had a spiritual experience. And don't tell me that venturing into some beautiful cathedral is a religious experience. People only link that to religion because that place is used for worshiping. If a comercial building had the same opulence, people would be equally marveled, but wouldn't say it was a religious experience. Nowadays, all the religious experience you can get comes from some intermediary. It's the priest lecturing a sermon, the preacher commanding you to recieve Jesus into your heart, the bible, and let's not forget the temples built by human hands all over the world for various gods. See, it's always someone telling you to believe. Some human telling you to believe. Has anyone ever had a real close encounter with divinity? Has anyone looked an avatar or a god in the eye? Or perhaps they simply lost interest in us after the biblical times...
If you never heard about the tale of the Emperor's new clothes, you should look that up.
My fellow portuguese-speakers can read about it here.
To me, all that lecture about faith has always sounded like the tale of the emperor's new clothes. Those who believe will be saved. So even if the discrepancies and lies are blatantly shown to you, you pretend to ignore it and continue believing there's acually some paternal higher power judging you.See, that's what faith is: you believe, no matter what. You believe even though you have no proof. You believe even if there's proof that you're wrong. Even in the emperor has no clothes on.
Yeah, well... I could rant about this for hours. But I promise this'll be the last one.
I've never had a spiritual experience. I guess that's why I don't believe in much. I guess most people nowadays neve had a spiritual experience. And don't tell me that venturing into some beautiful cathedral is a religious experience. People only link that to religion because that place is used for worshiping. If a comercial building had the same opulence, people would be equally marveled, but wouldn't say it was a religious experience. Nowadays, all the religious experience you can get comes from some intermediary. It's the priest lecturing a sermon, the preacher commanding you to recieve Jesus into your heart, the bible, and let's not forget the temples built by human hands all over the world for various gods. See, it's always someone telling you to believe. Some human telling you to believe. Has anyone ever had a real close encounter with divinity? Has anyone looked an avatar or a god in the eye? Or perhaps they simply lost interest in us after the biblical times...
If you never heard about the tale of the Emperor's new clothes, you should look that up.
My fellow portuguese-speakers can read about it here.
To me, all that lecture about faith has always sounded like the tale of the emperor's new clothes. Those who believe will be saved. So even if the discrepancies and lies are blatantly shown to you, you pretend to ignore it and continue believing there's acually some paternal higher power judging you.See, that's what faith is: you believe, no matter what. You believe even though you have no proof. You believe even if there's proof that you're wrong. Even in the emperor has no clothes on.
Surreal revelations VIII:
Once, when Makel's great grandmother died, I wrote something about death. Partly to ease her pain. It was a nice little metaphor. I told her that we were all inside this room, playing a video game. It was a multiplayer game that would allow an infinite number of players to play at the same time. Some, like her great granny, were in higher levels of the game, with huge scores and amazing items. Others, like me and her, were in the first few stages. Some were still joining the game, going through the practice modes. All of a sudden, her granny loses her last life. Game over. So granny, tired from all those bright TV lights, get up and walks out of the room to the adjacent bedroom. The lights are all off in that room and the shades are drawn. There are people in that room: everyone who played the game and is now resting. Makel sees her granny leave the room and for a moment decides to go with her, keep her company. But we plead for her to stay. There are so many amazing levels in the game waiting for her, such incredible items and weapons. Besides, her granny isn't really gone. She's in the next room. All she has to do is shout and her granny will listen. But she still has plenty of lives and continues to keep on playing.
There is much talk about an afterlife. About entire realms filled with beautiful sights and sounds or tortures beyond the cruellest of imaginations. But think about a few things. First of all, how can you experience any of this? How can you witness bliss or damnation, if all your senses were left in that body your soul left behind? You can't feel, see, hear, taste or smell anything without a body. And don't tell me that the soul has senses of it's own, because if it did, people wouldn't suffer the loss of their sensorial capabilities. No one would go blind or deaf with age. They'd go on seeing or hearing things "with their soul" despite the body's degradation.
So, you're stuck in an existence where you can't sense anything around you for all eternity. Boring, isn't it? Not quite. See, boredom deals with the passage of time. And, that I'm aware of, you can only experience the passage of time through memory. You know certain things happened in the past and you plan ahead for events in the future. But isn't memory a fuction of your physical brain (the one in the body your soul left behind)? One could argue that memory is stored in our souls, but what would that make of people with amnesia? Souless? This whole soul thing is rather complicated.
Anyway, this is how I picture it, you go into an existence (if it can actualy be called that way...) where you can't sense anything around you, nor yourself. You have no notion of space. Likewise, you have no notion of time without your body. So you just stay there, suspended in that limbo for all eternity. Sounds like oblivion, doesn't it? It's the closest to an eternal rest that I can fathom.
Kinda makes you want to live there "here and now", doesn't it?
Once, when Makel's great grandmother died, I wrote something about death. Partly to ease her pain. It was a nice little metaphor. I told her that we were all inside this room, playing a video game. It was a multiplayer game that would allow an infinite number of players to play at the same time. Some, like her great granny, were in higher levels of the game, with huge scores and amazing items. Others, like me and her, were in the first few stages. Some were still joining the game, going through the practice modes. All of a sudden, her granny loses her last life. Game over. So granny, tired from all those bright TV lights, get up and walks out of the room to the adjacent bedroom. The lights are all off in that room and the shades are drawn. There are people in that room: everyone who played the game and is now resting. Makel sees her granny leave the room and for a moment decides to go with her, keep her company. But we plead for her to stay. There are so many amazing levels in the game waiting for her, such incredible items and weapons. Besides, her granny isn't really gone. She's in the next room. All she has to do is shout and her granny will listen. But she still has plenty of lives and continues to keep on playing.
There is much talk about an afterlife. About entire realms filled with beautiful sights and sounds or tortures beyond the cruellest of imaginations. But think about a few things. First of all, how can you experience any of this? How can you witness bliss or damnation, if all your senses were left in that body your soul left behind? You can't feel, see, hear, taste or smell anything without a body. And don't tell me that the soul has senses of it's own, because if it did, people wouldn't suffer the loss of their sensorial capabilities. No one would go blind or deaf with age. They'd go on seeing or hearing things "with their soul" despite the body's degradation.
So, you're stuck in an existence where you can't sense anything around you for all eternity. Boring, isn't it? Not quite. See, boredom deals with the passage of time. And, that I'm aware of, you can only experience the passage of time through memory. You know certain things happened in the past and you plan ahead for events in the future. But isn't memory a fuction of your physical brain (the one in the body your soul left behind)? One could argue that memory is stored in our souls, but what would that make of people with amnesia? Souless? This whole soul thing is rather complicated.
Anyway, this is how I picture it, you go into an existence (if it can actualy be called that way...) where you can't sense anything around you, nor yourself. You have no notion of space. Likewise, you have no notion of time without your body. So you just stay there, suspended in that limbo for all eternity. Sounds like oblivion, doesn't it? It's the closest to an eternal rest that I can fathom.
Kinda makes you want to live there "here and now", doesn't it?
segunda-feira, abril 21, 2003
I never thought I'd make it this far...
Exactly a year ago, I came home from my first rave party. It hadn't gone quite like I expected and I was feeling a bit dissapointed. Not only with the party, but with people. I'ts hard to explain why. And come to think of it, I guess it doesn't even matter. The thing is, I came home thinking about turning on the computer and calling up one of my old WORD files, where I usually wrote about pointless little things. My safe place to bitch about life. And I had heard somewhere about these things called blogs on the internet, where you could write stuff and publish it on the net for people to read.
Why not?
It actually took a lot less willpower than usual for me to start a blog. I usually think three times before signing up to anything over the internet. But soon I was writting about everything. Not only the pointless little things. I was writting about my Lioness, about Tinkerbell risen from the dead, about my cousin's sudden death, the surreal and dadaist revelations and many of my little successes and failures. All sprinkled with a few quizzes here and there. It became an addiction.
Yep.. One year of Pan's-eye-view. And hopefully many more to come.
As part of the festivities, I'm making a few arrangements to get that new layout ready. Aerandir is helping!! Thanks, little one!
Exactly a year ago, I came home from my first rave party. It hadn't gone quite like I expected and I was feeling a bit dissapointed. Not only with the party, but with people. I'ts hard to explain why. And come to think of it, I guess it doesn't even matter. The thing is, I came home thinking about turning on the computer and calling up one of my old WORD files, where I usually wrote about pointless little things. My safe place to bitch about life. And I had heard somewhere about these things called blogs on the internet, where you could write stuff and publish it on the net for people to read.
Why not?
It actually took a lot less willpower than usual for me to start a blog. I usually think three times before signing up to anything over the internet. But soon I was writting about everything. Not only the pointless little things. I was writting about my Lioness, about Tinkerbell risen from the dead, about my cousin's sudden death, the surreal and dadaist revelations and many of my little successes and failures. All sprinkled with a few quizzes here and there. It became an addiction.
Yep.. One year of Pan's-eye-view. And hopefully many more to come.
As part of the festivities, I'm making a few arrangements to get that new layout ready. Aerandir is helping!! Thanks, little one!
sexta-feira, abril 18, 2003
quarta-feira, abril 16, 2003
segunda-feira, abril 14, 2003
I spent a day at home today (and I hate that...), writtting some stuff for the art course and making phone calls. Dull day. But it was cold outside anyway...
The thing is, when you stay indoors for that long, you start noticing a few little chronicle-like details. There's this picture among all the ones on the table in the hall that shows my dad giving me the family ring (remember the ring ceremony in the Timeless place posts -- starting 1/10/2003 and ending 1/11/2003?) It would be the perfect thing to paint. See, both me and my dad are dressed in similar clothes. No, we didn't plan that at the time, it just ended up that way. And you can see how we're related. In a way, it's like the older generation welcoming a younger, yet similar generation into power. Due to the camera flash, most of the background is a few tones darker, while both of us, the main characters, are highlighted. Picturesque lighting. On the lower right side of the picture, aunt Margot is also highlighted. She bleeds off of the picture, not appearing completely. But her face and her hands are there. She's applauding gleefully. Gosh, it's rare to see that woman in any "gleeful" state... But her appearence in this painting, er... photo... Sorry. Her appearence in this photo is nothing short of simbolic. Aunt Margot never bore children. So she's not exactly a matriarch. But she is one of the highest figures of the family's power. She runs the little town where she lives. Her joyous face, legitimizing the ring's succession and my place as the eldest of my generation, makes me feel as if something was expected from me. I know these old family traditions don't mean much anymore and the fact that I'm the eldest of my generation doesn't either. But I just can't excape that sensation.
'Tis truly an enticing composition...
The thing is, when you stay indoors for that long, you start noticing a few little chronicle-like details. There's this picture among all the ones on the table in the hall that shows my dad giving me the family ring (remember the ring ceremony in the Timeless place posts -- starting 1/10/2003 and ending 1/11/2003?) It would be the perfect thing to paint. See, both me and my dad are dressed in similar clothes. No, we didn't plan that at the time, it just ended up that way. And you can see how we're related. In a way, it's like the older generation welcoming a younger, yet similar generation into power. Due to the camera flash, most of the background is a few tones darker, while both of us, the main characters, are highlighted. Picturesque lighting. On the lower right side of the picture, aunt Margot is also highlighted. She bleeds off of the picture, not appearing completely. But her face and her hands are there. She's applauding gleefully. Gosh, it's rare to see that woman in any "gleeful" state... But her appearence in this painting, er... photo... Sorry. Her appearence in this photo is nothing short of simbolic. Aunt Margot never bore children. So she's not exactly a matriarch. But she is one of the highest figures of the family's power. She runs the little town where she lives. Her joyous face, legitimizing the ring's succession and my place as the eldest of my generation, makes me feel as if something was expected from me. I know these old family traditions don't mean much anymore and the fact that I'm the eldest of my generation doesn't either. But I just can't excape that sensation.
'Tis truly an enticing composition...
Waiting for that same streetlight from two posts ago to turn green, I had a little epifany.
I remembered something inneffable, a feeling. It wasn't a taste, a scent or a texture. No image nor sound. And it was not an idea either. At least not a concrete, expressible one. I would call it a notion. Along with it came a few memories of moments in my life that had been associated with that notion. And gradually I began to understand that it was the notion of reality. Of here and now. Of not wondering if this is all a dream. This might sound silly to some of you, or impossible to others, but I did run into a few situations in my life where The feeling of reality was so dense you could almost catch it in the other five senses. The air felt sharper, the bed you lay on had textured sheets under your fingers and the lighting was awesome. I think that's the kind of light I struggle to paint. But the most interesting thing of all was the sense of time. Strangely enough, the memories I have of this notion all take place in family trips, occasions where we'd step out of routine, more specifically on occasions where I had nothing to do. And when you have othing to do, time lingers. And I could feel it around me. Then a few seconds later I'd sink into this uncertainty, this dream. Again.
I miss that notion. Although I'm not complaining about my current dream, I miss that notion. It would sometimes hit me while I was with somebody. And I'd have the notion that I was actually in the presence of that special someone and that I had succeeded in those little challenges in life like getting a girlfriend. And she was there now.
I haven't had this notion for quite some time now. Can't remember exactly when was it I had it for the last time.
And I wa about to relate this to what the Lioness calls non-being in her blog. I thought I had finally understood this today. But I think this is actually the opposite. This is a feeling of being. I need to step out of routine again...
I remembered something inneffable, a feeling. It wasn't a taste, a scent or a texture. No image nor sound. And it was not an idea either. At least not a concrete, expressible one. I would call it a notion. Along with it came a few memories of moments in my life that had been associated with that notion. And gradually I began to understand that it was the notion of reality. Of here and now. Of not wondering if this is all a dream. This might sound silly to some of you, or impossible to others, but I did run into a few situations in my life where The feeling of reality was so dense you could almost catch it in the other five senses. The air felt sharper, the bed you lay on had textured sheets under your fingers and the lighting was awesome. I think that's the kind of light I struggle to paint. But the most interesting thing of all was the sense of time. Strangely enough, the memories I have of this notion all take place in family trips, occasions where we'd step out of routine, more specifically on occasions where I had nothing to do. And when you have othing to do, time lingers. And I could feel it around me. Then a few seconds later I'd sink into this uncertainty, this dream. Again.
I miss that notion. Although I'm not complaining about my current dream, I miss that notion. It would sometimes hit me while I was with somebody. And I'd have the notion that I was actually in the presence of that special someone and that I had succeeded in those little challenges in life like getting a girlfriend. And she was there now.
I haven't had this notion for quite some time now. Can't remember exactly when was it I had it for the last time.
And I wa about to relate this to what the Lioness calls non-being in her blog. I thought I had finally understood this today. But I think this is actually the opposite. This is a feeling of being. I need to step out of routine again...
sexta-feira, abril 11, 2003
quinta-feira, abril 10, 2003
Random literature:
She usually stayed a few blocks farther down the avenue. But this time the map girl was there, near the almost eternal streetlight, the one with the red light that halted traffic for two and a half minutes. It gave me time to look at her better, in one of those almost voyeuristic stares into common life. She wasn`t pretty nor ugly. Her bad hair pinned tightly on her head and tied in a tress to the back of her head. African origins on the tan and lips. She`d parade that crossing for the entire two and a half minutes, with three or four rolls of maps under one arm and an open one on the other hand. With the open map she`d tease the cars, like a bullfighter taking on a frozen stampede. And she fought those bulls under rain or havy sun, once with her arm broken, and at times aided by her sister, who didn`t have any resemblance to her except for that same pinned, tressed hair. I pittied her dismally, wondering who would buy maps at a busy crossing. I myself had once decided I needed a map to aid my poor sense of direction. But I never bought one of her`s. Always muttered some excuse to myself. The most peculiar thing of all is that after a time, the map girl began to recognize me. From so many returns home on my blue Volks. The same CDs blaring for whole weeks on the stereo. I was an equally bizarre stereotype.
She usually stayed a few blocks farther down the avenue. But this time the map girl was there, near the almost eternal streetlight, the one with the red light that halted traffic for two and a half minutes. It gave me time to look at her better, in one of those almost voyeuristic stares into common life. She wasn`t pretty nor ugly. Her bad hair pinned tightly on her head and tied in a tress to the back of her head. African origins on the tan and lips. She`d parade that crossing for the entire two and a half minutes, with three or four rolls of maps under one arm and an open one on the other hand. With the open map she`d tease the cars, like a bullfighter taking on a frozen stampede. And she fought those bulls under rain or havy sun, once with her arm broken, and at times aided by her sister, who didn`t have any resemblance to her except for that same pinned, tressed hair. I pittied her dismally, wondering who would buy maps at a busy crossing. I myself had once decided I needed a map to aid my poor sense of direction. But I never bought one of her`s. Always muttered some excuse to myself. The most peculiar thing of all is that after a time, the map girl began to recognize me. From so many returns home on my blue Volks. The same CDs blaring for whole weeks on the stereo. I was an equally bizarre stereotype.
Novamente a pedidos da Nana...
Ontem eu estava conversando com minha avó. Não a do ateliê, a outra, mãe do meu pai. Aliás, as conversas com ela são maravilhosas... E não lembro exatamente porque, mas conversamos sobre lembranças. Sabe, acho que na vida, tudo é criar lembranças. Acho que a Lioness concordaria. Lembranças dos bons momentos, para tentarmos retornar a eles de vez em quando. Dizia para minha avó que Makel passou, e que não voltarei a namorá-la. Tenho minhas razões. Mas que ela fica na minha cabeça, como uma lembrança de um tempo em que ela era diferente, mais wild, uma garota linda. Mas nunca mais.
Por que tudo isso? Acho que o casamento é meio assim. Se você se separa depois, você não jogou fora tudo aquilo. Vai ficar como lembrança da época feliz. Não sei se você acha isso muito triste. Algumas pessoas acham, mas eu não viveria sem isso. Lembranças. Quando chegarmos aos oitenta, possivelmente não tão à beira da morte e ainda com sanidade, mas com a vida vivida, tudo que vai restar são as lembranças boas e a tentativa de não prestar muita atenção nas ruins.
Esse é um ponto. Por outro lado, são tão poucas as situações na vida em que você pode mesmo viver um pequeno conto de fadas, mesmo que por alguns momentos... O casamento é como celebrar um príncipe e uma princesa. Personagens principais. Quando falo disso com a Tink, frenquentemente ela fala de uma idéia que ela tem de fazer uma cerimônia como uma peça. Bom, pense na idéia deste parágrafo assim: o casamento é como viver uma atmosfera de sonho na vida real.
Por último, e isto é a minha razão pessoal, sou muito obcecado com ritualística, formalidades, ritos de passagem. Gosto da organização. E isso marcaria um começo de uma fase na vida. Conhecendo-te um pouco, você provavelmente argumentaria que não muda nada entre o casal. Não sei. Não tive a experiência pra saber. Mas eu acho que muda um pouco sim. E, eu sei que você detesta este tipo de argumento, mas é inegável que muda algo perante a sociedade.
Bom... no mais, os parentes esperam que nos casemos, não é mesmo? Isso não é muito uma razão para casar, mas eu também não tenho motivos para discordar disso.
Não sei se isso responde a tudo, mas vamos conversando... E você? Pelo visto não pretende fazer cerimônia de casamento especificamente.
Beijôes!!
Ontem eu estava conversando com minha avó. Não a do ateliê, a outra, mãe do meu pai. Aliás, as conversas com ela são maravilhosas... E não lembro exatamente porque, mas conversamos sobre lembranças. Sabe, acho que na vida, tudo é criar lembranças. Acho que a Lioness concordaria. Lembranças dos bons momentos, para tentarmos retornar a eles de vez em quando. Dizia para minha avó que Makel passou, e que não voltarei a namorá-la. Tenho minhas razões. Mas que ela fica na minha cabeça, como uma lembrança de um tempo em que ela era diferente, mais wild, uma garota linda. Mas nunca mais.
Por que tudo isso? Acho que o casamento é meio assim. Se você se separa depois, você não jogou fora tudo aquilo. Vai ficar como lembrança da época feliz. Não sei se você acha isso muito triste. Algumas pessoas acham, mas eu não viveria sem isso. Lembranças. Quando chegarmos aos oitenta, possivelmente não tão à beira da morte e ainda com sanidade, mas com a vida vivida, tudo que vai restar são as lembranças boas e a tentativa de não prestar muita atenção nas ruins.
Esse é um ponto. Por outro lado, são tão poucas as situações na vida em que você pode mesmo viver um pequeno conto de fadas, mesmo que por alguns momentos... O casamento é como celebrar um príncipe e uma princesa. Personagens principais. Quando falo disso com a Tink, frenquentemente ela fala de uma idéia que ela tem de fazer uma cerimônia como uma peça. Bom, pense na idéia deste parágrafo assim: o casamento é como viver uma atmosfera de sonho na vida real.
Por último, e isto é a minha razão pessoal, sou muito obcecado com ritualística, formalidades, ritos de passagem. Gosto da organização. E isso marcaria um começo de uma fase na vida. Conhecendo-te um pouco, você provavelmente argumentaria que não muda nada entre o casal. Não sei. Não tive a experiência pra saber. Mas eu acho que muda um pouco sim. E, eu sei que você detesta este tipo de argumento, mas é inegável que muda algo perante a sociedade.
Bom... no mais, os parentes esperam que nos casemos, não é mesmo? Isso não é muito uma razão para casar, mas eu também não tenho motivos para discordar disso.
Não sei se isso responde a tudo, mas vamos conversando... E você? Pelo visto não pretende fazer cerimônia de casamento especificamente.
Beijôes!!
quarta-feira, abril 09, 2003
A pedidos da Nana-chan...
Nana escreveu um comentário no post sobre o casamento da minha prima. Perguntava se eu pretendo me casar.
Sim, eu pretendo me casar algum dia. Não entendi o porquê da pergunta. Será por ser dificil entender como um ateu tem pretensões de se casar? Se for por causa disso, suponho que devo algumas explicações. Ou será só para falar um pouco disso? Por que a pergunta, Nana?
Nana escreveu um comentário no post sobre o casamento da minha prima. Perguntava se eu pretendo me casar.
Sim, eu pretendo me casar algum dia. Não entendi o porquê da pergunta. Será por ser dificil entender como um ateu tem pretensões de se casar? Se for por causa disso, suponho que devo algumas explicações. Ou será só para falar um pouco disso? Por que a pergunta, Nana?
Bela?
Comentando sobre A vida é bela com a mãe da Tink. Estava eu apenas lembrando do filme, das cenas que mais gostei...
Aquilo é uma belíssima ode à mentira. Ele salva o menino com seu poder de mentir e enganar. Um belíssimo filme, que fiz questão de assistir mais de uma vez, mas ainda uma ode à mentira. Não vou esmiuçar o tema. Apenas uma constatação sem juízo...
Comentando sobre A vida é bela com a mãe da Tink. Estava eu apenas lembrando do filme, das cenas que mais gostei...
Aquilo é uma belíssima ode à mentira. Ele salva o menino com seu poder de mentir e enganar. Um belíssimo filme, que fiz questão de assistir mais de uma vez, mas ainda uma ode à mentira. Não vou esmiuçar o tema. Apenas uma constatação sem juízo...
Um dia, mamãe comentou sobre o excesso de gente na cidade. Estávamos procurando um vestido para ela ir ao casamento de minha prima. Comentou ainda que ficava estressada com o jeito como havia tanta gente atrapalhando, tanta gente entre você e o lugar que você quer chegar, ou o que você quer fazer. No dia, achei apenas uma idéia interessante, um tema para crônica. Mas nestes dias, tenho visto o trânsito de forma diferente, as multidões de forma diferente e até a burocracia. Antes era apenas o trânsito, a multidão, a burocracia. Agora são pessoas atrapalhando. São rivais, procurando fazer com que o seu caminho esteja livre, sendo o meu caminh totalmente irrelevante. Enquanto isso, eu estou tentando fazer o mesmo. Estamos todos nós...
Osmose humana, por favor!!!
Osmose humana, por favor!!!
I had spent the last three weeks completely sober... I was even paying attention to the advertising classes and establishing a calm and soothing routine. But then today, after lunch, I ventured into the atelier, and brandishing my brushes, drank from art until I was completely enebriated. I'm back. And filled with energy to fight.
segunda-feira, abril 07, 2003
I've been dreaming about flying these past few days...
Yesterday I woke up after a dream where I was exploring an old manor with Hermione (yes, from the Harry Potter movies...) and someone else. At some point, I ventured into a hole on the ceiling into an attic. The roof was broken and I could see the night sky. Without hesitating I lifted into the air and soared into the stars. But then I heard Hermione scream down below. Returning to the manor, she was standing upside-down on the beams on the ceiling along with the other person. She was terrified and kept telling me not to go outside so as not to be seen by the vampires. She hated vampires. I stood on the beams just like them, avoiding the windows. But just then a pack of vampires tackled down the door. The rest of the dream seems hazy. We were trapped and something happened. But I'm not all that sure.
Today, I dreamt of being in an old, worn-down place in an area that resembled one of the schools I studied once. I was in a dark room with bunk-beds. I walked out the door into the patio and ran to another house accross it. At some point I leaped into the air, kicked a few times as if I were swimming, and opened my arms in the finest Peter Pan fashion to take up speed and altitude. Felt really great... Along the dream I tried it again a couple more times. The rest was just images of a lazy afternoon with people I had never seen in real life but who strangely seemed very familiar.
Yesterday I woke up after a dream where I was exploring an old manor with Hermione (yes, from the Harry Potter movies...) and someone else. At some point, I ventured into a hole on the ceiling into an attic. The roof was broken and I could see the night sky. Without hesitating I lifted into the air and soared into the stars. But then I heard Hermione scream down below. Returning to the manor, she was standing upside-down on the beams on the ceiling along with the other person. She was terrified and kept telling me not to go outside so as not to be seen by the vampires. She hated vampires. I stood on the beams just like them, avoiding the windows. But just then a pack of vampires tackled down the door. The rest of the dream seems hazy. We were trapped and something happened. But I'm not all that sure.
Today, I dreamt of being in an old, worn-down place in an area that resembled one of the schools I studied once. I was in a dark room with bunk-beds. I walked out the door into the patio and ran to another house accross it. At some point I leaped into the air, kicked a few times as if I were swimming, and opened my arms in the finest Peter Pan fashion to take up speed and altitude. Felt really great... Along the dream I tried it again a couple more times. The rest was just images of a lazy afternoon with people I had never seen in real life but who strangely seemed very familiar.
More pointless ranting about the war...
Lately I attended a lecture about the war organized by the guys at Tink's university. They brought a handful of experts in economy, history, political science, philosophy, etc. I could say most of what the economist said matched my point of view. Two other things seemed very interesting to point out.
I believe it was the history expert who said the US was thinking about installing a temporary military regime after defeating Saddam. Only until a decent democratic government could be organized. That sounds weird, doesn't it? Overthrowing a military dictatorship to enpower another one... And by the looks of how Iraqis have been receiving the americans, it doesn't seem as if they actually want their military dictatorship overthrown...
On another interesting point by the history expert, he believes it wasn't in the UN's obligations to act on preventing this war. I couldn't understand much of what he said. Quite frankly, his pompous speech made me rather drowsy. I heard him say the UN's modus operandi does not include detecting and attacking a problem, as in a dictatorship. The UN plays a role of defense rather than attack. All this is questionable if you ask me. But I did agree when he said that, contrary to Versailles, the UN was not created to surpass it's members' will and sovereignty. So the US (and any of the other countries in the UN, for that matter...) is free to act against UN decisions. In Versailles, on the other hand, if any country of the treaty was attacked, the others were forced to act in it's defense. That's why it ceased to exist after a while. Countries would not tolerate a disrespect to their sovereignty. If the UN were to act to punish the US, any of it's members that did not feel at ease with this decision could back down and the UN's power would still remain intact. At least that's what I understood, anyway. Please correct me if I'm wrong...
Lately I attended a lecture about the war organized by the guys at Tink's university. They brought a handful of experts in economy, history, political science, philosophy, etc. I could say most of what the economist said matched my point of view. Two other things seemed very interesting to point out.
I believe it was the history expert who said the US was thinking about installing a temporary military regime after defeating Saddam. Only until a decent democratic government could be organized. That sounds weird, doesn't it? Overthrowing a military dictatorship to enpower another one... And by the looks of how Iraqis have been receiving the americans, it doesn't seem as if they actually want their military dictatorship overthrown...
On another interesting point by the history expert, he believes it wasn't in the UN's obligations to act on preventing this war. I couldn't understand much of what he said. Quite frankly, his pompous speech made me rather drowsy. I heard him say the UN's modus operandi does not include detecting and attacking a problem, as in a dictatorship. The UN plays a role of defense rather than attack. All this is questionable if you ask me. But I did agree when he said that, contrary to Versailles, the UN was not created to surpass it's members' will and sovereignty. So the US (and any of the other countries in the UN, for that matter...) is free to act against UN decisions. In Versailles, on the other hand, if any country of the treaty was attacked, the others were forced to act in it's defense. That's why it ceased to exist after a while. Countries would not tolerate a disrespect to their sovereignty. If the UN were to act to punish the US, any of it's members that did not feel at ease with this decision could back down and the UN's power would still remain intact. At least that's what I understood, anyway. Please correct me if I'm wrong...
domingo, abril 06, 2003
E então, a primeira da minha geração da família casou-se. Foi a irmã de meu falecido primo. Quando a Lioness soube disso, ela comentou que talvez fosse uma espécie de fuga da tristeza na vida desta menina que perdeu o pai e o irmão. Mas não tenho tanta certeza. Acho, como a maioria da família acha, que foi ótimo para ela. Este rapaz com quem ela casou parece ser um rapaz bom, cheio de humor e muito educado e gentil. E embora o ditado seja que as coisas nem sempre são o que parecem, isso também significa que, exceto pelo nem sempre , na maioria das vezes pode-se confiar nas aparências.
Tirando uma ou outra experiência muito breve e insignificante, este foi o primeiro casamento que assisti com afinco. Assim como o enterro de meu primo foi o primeiro que experienciei na vida. O quarteto de violinos me deu uma idéia maravilhosa para tocar no meu próprio casamento: uma ária de Bach. A mesma tocada em Evangelion que com o passar do tempo acabou por tornar-se minha favorita. Por ocasião do casamento ter acontecido na capela de São Paulo e São Pedro, foi lida uma epístola de São Paulo que fala de casamento. Francamente, qualquer aluna do curso de artes (feministas em maioria...) acharia aquilo um absurdo. Clamava para que as mulheres fossem submissas aos maridos. O padre que presidiu a cerimônia foi um padre da família. O mesmo que enterrou meu primo. O mesmo que batizou a todos nós desta geração. O mesmo que casou meus pais. E seu currículo continua até que eu não consiga mais segui-lo. Provavelmente este senhor estará casando-me. Minha prima entrou aos acordes do bolero de Ravel, praxe desta parte mais aristocrática e elegante da minha família. O vestido era simples mas maravilhoso. No fim da noite, a festa. Tirei minha mãe para dançar, vi meu pai dançando (hilário...) e conversei muito com uma parte da família que eu não via há muito tempo. Mas com um pouco de esforço isso irá mudar...
Em última nota, como adoro usar roupa social! Pena que escolhi justamente as duas carreiras que não fazem questão alguma dessa pompa toda. The clothes make the man. E sinto-me tão mais interessante vestido assim... Terno, gravata, o anel da família, um drink na mão e conversa pomposa com senhoras que juram que sou a cara de meu pai enquanto descolam detalhes de namoricos passados... e do meu pai.
Bom... In a nutshell, foi isso.
Tirando uma ou outra experiência muito breve e insignificante, este foi o primeiro casamento que assisti com afinco. Assim como o enterro de meu primo foi o primeiro que experienciei na vida. O quarteto de violinos me deu uma idéia maravilhosa para tocar no meu próprio casamento: uma ária de Bach. A mesma tocada em Evangelion que com o passar do tempo acabou por tornar-se minha favorita. Por ocasião do casamento ter acontecido na capela de São Paulo e São Pedro, foi lida uma epístola de São Paulo que fala de casamento. Francamente, qualquer aluna do curso de artes (feministas em maioria...) acharia aquilo um absurdo. Clamava para que as mulheres fossem submissas aos maridos. O padre que presidiu a cerimônia foi um padre da família. O mesmo que enterrou meu primo. O mesmo que batizou a todos nós desta geração. O mesmo que casou meus pais. E seu currículo continua até que eu não consiga mais segui-lo. Provavelmente este senhor estará casando-me. Minha prima entrou aos acordes do bolero de Ravel, praxe desta parte mais aristocrática e elegante da minha família. O vestido era simples mas maravilhoso. No fim da noite, a festa. Tirei minha mãe para dançar, vi meu pai dançando (hilário...) e conversei muito com uma parte da família que eu não via há muito tempo. Mas com um pouco de esforço isso irá mudar...
Em última nota, como adoro usar roupa social! Pena que escolhi justamente as duas carreiras que não fazem questão alguma dessa pompa toda. The clothes make the man. E sinto-me tão mais interessante vestido assim... Terno, gravata, o anel da família, um drink na mão e conversa pomposa com senhoras que juram que sou a cara de meu pai enquanto descolam detalhes de namoricos passados... e do meu pai.
Bom... In a nutshell, foi isso.
quarta-feira, abril 02, 2003
Spent some time chatting with a beautiful Orchid at the art course. I met her last year, in some informal conversation about artworks in the corridors. She is in the first years of the art course and devotes most of her time to creating jewelry. We talked much about technique and art in general. And it was strangely comforting to see in her the same kind of thought I had in my first years. That she'd concentrate on the midias she liked the most and the styles she liked the most to reach perfection and avoid the rest. Ah, I had been just like that. While telling me all of that, she came up with a metaphor of a garden. That she'd choose carefuly which seeds to sow and ignore others. And I told her that I too had chosen seeds. And that we choose them according to what beautiful flowers we are to have in our gardens. But sometimes, a plant's growth is a far better experience than the final flower. I had tried many midias I never dreamed of. Stuff that never interested me because the results would be easily attainable through other midias. But the process was so much fun!
In a more common metaphor, sometimes it's all about the journey, not the destination.
In a more common metaphor, sometimes it's all about the journey, not the destination.
What time is it? 12:40 pm
Name (as on birth certificate): You figure it out...
Nicknames: Pan, Leão, Pê.
Parent's names: Francisco & Sylvia
Number of candles that appeared on your last birthday cake: No candles, no cake. Unconventional party. But I can tell you there would've been over 20 candles.
Date you normally blow out those candles: November 15th
Pets: Once had a dog named Jack that I'll never forget. Got no pets nowadays, but I wish I had a cat...
Eye color: Hazel
Hair color: Raven black
Piercings: None whatsoever.
Tattoos: None yet, but plans to make my ID number in bar code.
Birthplace: The antisepticaly clean sheets of some hospital bed.
Hometown: Enough with the personal questions!!
You ever been in another country? Some... Colombia, Argentina, Caribean islands, USA...
Have you ever had the drink calypso breeze? Nope.
Been in love? In my own conception of the term, yes.
been in Africa? Nope
Been toilet papered? Not yet, but done a bit of toilet papering...
Been drunk? Hell yes! And vowed never to do it again the next morning. Although I gotta admit that drunk sex is definitely an enlightening experience...
Loved someone so much it made you cry? Not yet. But I'm hopeful...
Been in a car crash? Yep. My poor Civa has been in the workshop twice. Both my fault, I must say. But no casualties or injuries except for a bruise on Makel's knee.
Croutons or bacon bits? Bacon!! I know I'll die of a heart attack...
Two doors or four? Definitely four.
Mr. Pibb or Dr. Pepper? Eh?
Coffee or coffee ice cream? Both!
Blanket or stuffed animal? Blanket... The heavier the better.
Dumper or dumpee? Sadly (in my opinion...), I've always been a dumper. Although I think I would feel way better if I got to be the dumpee... No conscience to deal with later...
Salad dressing? Italian
Color of socks? Usually white. Hate it when people pay more attention to the wrong end of my body...
Favorite number: 10
Why: Because it's an exact, precise, round thing. Makes every math a lot easier.
Movie: Oh, too many to list them all. Top of mind: Interview with the vampire, To what dreams may come, The Crow and Bram Stoker's Dracula
Movie Quote: "I want some more" --Claudia, Interview with the Vampire
Favorite Holiday: Halloween
Food: SUSHI!!!! HELL YEAH!!
Things to collect: I don't do much collecting. I'd have to say CDs and good books.
Day of the week: Saturday. A day of possibilities, no responsibilities and open stores.
Favorite song: Again, too many to mention. Anything from Cowboy Bebop, and most 80's pop.
Favorite TV shows: Cowboy Bebop, Evangelion, Boogiepop Phantom and other similar anime.
Favorite Hotel: We spent a great time at a hotel in San Andres (colombian island). The buildings were build over the water, so you had to cross bridges to get anywhere. beautiful place! Aside from that, I've been in so many hotels, that all have begun to seem the same to me.
Favorite Word: Tough question for people who deal with words day in and day out. I don't have an answer. Depends on how any word is used in a phrase.
Least favorite word/phrase: Read last question for an answer.
Restaurant: Mariko (yes, a sushi house...)
Flower: Paper roses. If you MUST have a real one, violets. They last forever!
Favorite subject: I'd have to say our photography classes. But that's only because we had no decent painting classes...
Favorite alcoholic drink: Bailey's!!
Favorite sport to watch: Women's gymanstics.
What's the shape of ice: Whatever the shape of it's wielder when it solidified...
Favorite love song: Minha flor, meu bebê -- Cazuza
Favorite rap song: I don't listen to much rap. But I'd say That's the way it is, Tupac.
Favorite country song: Um...... I plead the 5th (This was Foreign Elf's answer. I laughed my ass off!!)
Favorite pokemon: Not sure... A Blastoise, I guess... Does Little Wonder count as a pokemon?
Favorite Disney character: Guess... Aside from him, I'd name Goofy on his sport-related cartoons and Ariel (I love reds...)
Fast Food: TGIF
Last Hospital visit: Almost a year ago to take blood samples.
Drink: Watermelon juice!!!
Carpet color? Grey
What do you think about ouija boards? Don't believe any of that is actualy true. Someone always moves the pointer.
Last person you got mail from before this: The Comediant
Convicted of a crime: Never! I like to keep away from trouble.
Store you could max out a credit card: Anyone that sold art materials. Or anima/manga stores.
What to do when bored: Been some time since that happened... I walk around searching for something to do (logical, isn't it?). I talk to a friend, take care of my art projects, write on my blog...
Overused words or phrases: Technique , and recently Gerhard Richter
Friend who lives furthest away: James, a penpal from Guam.
Most annoying things: Weekend drivers!!
Funniest thing: Anything with comedic timing...
Do you believe in God? Nope...
Best Friend: I could name a few. My Lioness, Alex, my Tinkerbell...
What time is it now? 1:44 pm
Name (as on birth certificate): You figure it out...
Nicknames: Pan, Leão, Pê.
Parent's names: Francisco & Sylvia
Number of candles that appeared on your last birthday cake: No candles, no cake. Unconventional party. But I can tell you there would've been over 20 candles.
Date you normally blow out those candles: November 15th
Pets: Once had a dog named Jack that I'll never forget. Got no pets nowadays, but I wish I had a cat...
Eye color: Hazel
Hair color: Raven black
Piercings: None whatsoever.
Tattoos: None yet, but plans to make my ID number in bar code.
Birthplace: The antisepticaly clean sheets of some hospital bed.
Hometown: Enough with the personal questions!!
You ever been in another country? Some... Colombia, Argentina, Caribean islands, USA...
Have you ever had the drink calypso breeze? Nope.
Been in love? In my own conception of the term, yes.
been in Africa? Nope
Been toilet papered? Not yet, but done a bit of toilet papering...
Been drunk? Hell yes! And vowed never to do it again the next morning. Although I gotta admit that drunk sex is definitely an enlightening experience...
Loved someone so much it made you cry? Not yet. But I'm hopeful...
Been in a car crash? Yep. My poor Civa has been in the workshop twice. Both my fault, I must say. But no casualties or injuries except for a bruise on Makel's knee.
Croutons or bacon bits? Bacon!! I know I'll die of a heart attack...
Two doors or four? Definitely four.
Mr. Pibb or Dr. Pepper? Eh?
Coffee or coffee ice cream? Both!
Blanket or stuffed animal? Blanket... The heavier the better.
Dumper or dumpee? Sadly (in my opinion...), I've always been a dumper. Although I think I would feel way better if I got to be the dumpee... No conscience to deal with later...
Salad dressing? Italian
Color of socks? Usually white. Hate it when people pay more attention to the wrong end of my body...
Favorite number: 10
Why: Because it's an exact, precise, round thing. Makes every math a lot easier.
Movie: Oh, too many to list them all. Top of mind: Interview with the vampire, To what dreams may come, The Crow and Bram Stoker's Dracula
Movie Quote: "I want some more" --Claudia, Interview with the Vampire
Favorite Holiday: Halloween
Food: SUSHI!!!! HELL YEAH!!
Things to collect: I don't do much collecting. I'd have to say CDs and good books.
Day of the week: Saturday. A day of possibilities, no responsibilities and open stores.
Favorite song: Again, too many to mention. Anything from Cowboy Bebop, and most 80's pop.
Favorite TV shows: Cowboy Bebop, Evangelion, Boogiepop Phantom and other similar anime.
Favorite Hotel: We spent a great time at a hotel in San Andres (colombian island). The buildings were build over the water, so you had to cross bridges to get anywhere. beautiful place! Aside from that, I've been in so many hotels, that all have begun to seem the same to me.
Favorite Word: Tough question for people who deal with words day in and day out. I don't have an answer. Depends on how any word is used in a phrase.
Least favorite word/phrase: Read last question for an answer.
Restaurant: Mariko (yes, a sushi house...)
Flower: Paper roses. If you MUST have a real one, violets. They last forever!
Favorite subject: I'd have to say our photography classes. But that's only because we had no decent painting classes...
Favorite alcoholic drink: Bailey's!!
Favorite sport to watch: Women's gymanstics.
What's the shape of ice: Whatever the shape of it's wielder when it solidified...
Favorite love song: Minha flor, meu bebê -- Cazuza
Favorite rap song: I don't listen to much rap. But I'd say That's the way it is, Tupac.
Favorite country song: Um...... I plead the 5th (This was Foreign Elf's answer. I laughed my ass off!!)
Favorite pokemon: Not sure... A Blastoise, I guess... Does Little Wonder count as a pokemon?
Favorite Disney character: Guess... Aside from him, I'd name Goofy on his sport-related cartoons and Ariel (I love reds...)
Fast Food: TGIF
Last Hospital visit: Almost a year ago to take blood samples.
Drink: Watermelon juice!!!
Carpet color? Grey
What do you think about ouija boards? Don't believe any of that is actualy true. Someone always moves the pointer.
Last person you got mail from before this: The Comediant
Convicted of a crime: Never! I like to keep away from trouble.
Store you could max out a credit card: Anyone that sold art materials. Or anima/manga stores.
What to do when bored: Been some time since that happened... I walk around searching for something to do (logical, isn't it?). I talk to a friend, take care of my art projects, write on my blog...
Overused words or phrases: Technique , and recently Gerhard Richter
Friend who lives furthest away: James, a penpal from Guam.
Most annoying things: Weekend drivers!!
Funniest thing: Anything with comedic timing...
Do you believe in God? Nope...
Best Friend: I could name a few. My Lioness, Alex, my Tinkerbell...
What time is it now? 1:44 pm
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