happy b’day, mandela!

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book, girl, conspiracy

from the upcoming book “Life: Attached or All the Content from my Adult Diapers”

A failed writer falls in love with a colleague student, the top dollar’s daughter… No, no. That sucks. A failed writer, unable to finish his movie script… Wait, that’s horrible! This world spills more writers than lawyers out of its excretory canal. The failed writer meets a model who in vain tries to guide him through his unfinished work. But he wants not to conclude it, that he does not! He wants her to keep by his side. That’s it! Most certainly it is. She would be played by Kate in a movie adaptation. They talk about the book while drinking beer, always deflecting away from the matter due to drunkenness and ending but sharing anecdotes and mutually opening up personal secrets. There, there, this is going somewhere. We just need a cut on the main line of trama, something as big as an alien invasion. Maybe he falls for her? No, that’s mushy too much. Or maybe he gets arrested after getting into a fight drunk at some random bar? Oh, silly me! She would have stopped him. Alright, maybe they can have a fight themselves, but over what would they? For the rights to a book that will never get published? Maybe she gets new and too many job offers and gets no free time anymore. Oh, terrible! Terrible! Trivial. Paranoia, then, maybe? He believes he’s being followed. Foes in the government perhaps? What about her? Could she be involved? No, not that. She, he can trust unexecpetionally. “Get away, girl, or they’ll drag you with me!”. But she doesn’t want to go. So its made ponctuary to make her want to go. He drinks, he gets her to drink, forces way to arguments. Tries to sound hurtful, barely making it. It takes time, but he does convincing her. Alright then, she takes off he no longer needs to worry. Away from him, she is no risk. It doesn’t matter to continue his writing or not, they will catch him. Sooner or later, they’ll catch him. And his words will never be read.

shoeless

Life: Attached or All the Content from my Adult Diapers

walking through one of the main avenues in town, he laughed. had his feet out of shoes and his pants dragging on the concrete as he went on, sometimes fast, hurrysome, sometimes slowed down by fatigue. and as he walked he thought of how he came to such point, no more than twenty cents in the shirt’s pocket, gladly satisfied for still having a few cigarettes in the fag box. and he rememered his past: the reasonably health co-living with the parents, the girlfriend who loved and pleasure him in coitus or through felatio when both felt like so. day after day driven to school by his mother, proteteced from morning chill by overlaid sweaters, skipping classes dispensable to him due to his above average academic potential. he thought of the money he got freely every weekend, no need for even aking, to spend on junk food, beer bottles and cigarettes. he thought of the plans he had then, the money he would make, university courses he might get into. walking shoeless, cigarette lit, his sneakers held in his cotton half-finger glove warmed-by hand, no one in the streets but few licensed vendors, prostitutes, drug dealers and he. and the laughter to himself. he thought of his past in its all as a promising young kid from a generally respect school and he knew he could not be better then as of now, walking shoeless through that ave, feeling the chill to his skin and smoking his fag.

post coitum

Life: Attached or All the Content from my Adult Diapers

This short story was first published in my debut book “A Vida em Anexo” (something like “Life: Attached”) and has only recently been translated to english. Translation still pending review.

Dawn presentes, my eyes turn left. Full nude body, back towards me.
Her arm in itsrest as I use my dorso to slide the no longer necessary
sheets off. I observe her, her hair, softy messy, made such in her
sleep, smooth and long they lay languidly on the pillow and on her
loose shoulder, She moves her head making way to face me. I drift to
sleep once more. Short time later I wake up to catch her eyes sighting
me. Caressing her hair, my smile opens wide and happily to her, and
she smiles back to me.

Fucking and sleeping. Why should people who fuck each other sleep
together? Because it`s sweet? Fuck off! It`s a bore. I wake up. Tired,
yet satisfeied. Eyes kept close, I try to get back to sleep. Relaxing
then sleep. I stretch, trying to spread my naked body all over the
bed. As I turn, I see the body laying by side and think: “Get outta
here, body!”– But the body stares at me and smiles. Cute. I smile
back as I think: “Fuckthatshit.”

That Long Sought Rhyme

a poem for Stoya

For years dwelt fellow
here a speaking
In long seeking fae
that far-way dream;

Shall this body perish
& this sould find it self
being no more

Without ever finding the
the rhyme all fine, the
rhyme utopic,

the one that rhymes
with ‘Stoya’?

I’ve seen Dystopia & fought
among’ya Yet still
no sign of that
rhyme Utopia!

on togetherness and a very special friendship

Wrote a letter to a dear and missed friend — I can only think of her
in tenderness, for we have cared for each other in so variant occasions.
Our first kiss. The night`s end in which she spotted me and invited me
into a bar and my head rested on her lap, french fries brought to my
mouth by her fingers… Our laughter over childish or silly thoughts
spoken out, both laid back to grass on that small plaza in a neighbor
town.
And the home hangouts of talking, sharing, drinking, singing, smoking,
being — wonderfully being!
How nice to care for one`s heart!

My dear friend, my dear friend
as my heart keeps its beat
and my sould dwells this earth
I shall be your dear friend!

2018 July 6

on meeting Stoya and bad jokes

This a short dialogue just to illustrate how bad my jokes are:

“There was an accident at the plant. We must evacuate all nearby cities!”
“Wait, let’s not panic: tell me, how bad is it, for real?”
“It’s like they took one of Coiote’s joke’s and turned it into a nuclear meltdown.”
Dear Lord!”

And when I met Stoya, I tried on of my funny introdutory lines, which obviously are no fun at all — and she laughed! That takes a lot of heart, so much kindness gets me smiling for the rest of the year.

photo of me and Stoya at brazilian festival "fantaspoa"

For anyone wondering, what I said was “I thought I’d present you with one of my books and sign it so I wouldn’t feel soembarassed about asking for your autograph”.

#fantaspoa #writing #stoya #ederlezirising

stella di plastica

stella and a white whine glass

I’ve been following performer dancer Stella di Plastica`s photowork a while, started on tumblr, but I never actually said that which is actually pretty obvious: her photos are simply amazing! I don’t know why I felt like saying this now, but I just did, and can’t quite put into words the feelings they bring out, but those are strong and good feelings on seeing and capturing such photos into someplace deep inside.

stella in movement with a dance partner

I bet Haruki Murakami would have some way of explaining it better than I do, but some things are better off not fully explained. These things of the soul, they tend to lose their greatness if we don’t succeed on finding all the right words for them. Anyway, I just thanked her and the photographers she works with for such beautiful artwork and thought that I should share it here as well.

stella on dark background

“I’m really glad to know this, words are not the exact way I’m good to explain what I need too…”

-Stella, in response to my regards on the photos, on instagram

stella blowing smoke

I took the liberty of saving some of her photos — all the ones above and below — from Stella’s Facebook Page. Hope you enjoy the photograpic work as much as I did. She sure photographs well, but there is much more to help understand why I see this on her instagram account and, the first I’ve seen, her tumblr profile.

stella at the window with the city in the background

Welcome to the Losers Club, asshole: 27 seven years later

Just like Pennywise the Dancing Clowns starves until the fear from scared children feeds him, I’m sure to starve for others to describe what an amazing experience watching Fukanaga’s, Palmer’s and Muschietti’s* vision of Stephen King’s “It” has been. For starters, you’ve got the Losers Club assembling and going through the epiphany of discovery what and how It works its way into people’s minds and actual lives: well, yes, it was made in sort of a rush, but it is all there. Not an use thing to put every detail in less than two hours, but if you want all the kids’ experience, there is no way of getting way unless you read the book. The movie made the job of a movie and got that well done, as far as this long time King’s fan is concerned.

The acting? You can’t get it better. And I mean all the cast: from the teenagers to the old lady ignoring that kid in yellow raincoat crouching to a sewer, which is a perfect opening to let us know how Derry folks behave in relation to It’s actions. That was an amazing moment, to me. The rain falls. Someone watches but sees nothing. A cat that shows more reaction than humans do in front of what happens so clsoe to them. That is one of the main points in It’s story: they let it happen because it’s part of what’s being happening long time before they were even born. And it’s all there. And we get to know about all that in that first initial hour, which, as said, is an accomplishment.

a scene from the movie with the whole teenage cast in the shot

And I was honest when I started this short fast review: I’m still cooking up the words for what has been, for me, to be back there through this all new production of a story that has been not so new for me but is still alive as it was almost three decades ago. The second part of the story is coming upp next year and, like the Losers Club children, I plan to be ready for It, yet I know I won’t. It is bound to be a whole new experience just like this first part has been. And I’m eager to live it.

* screeplayers: Chase Palmer and Cary Fukanaga; director: Andy Muschietti

“I had hopes, but I was snot prepared for how good it really was.”

Stephen King