That kiddy "i-just-stole-a-candy-bar-from-the-store" kind of high....!

I dove into the world today, head first. I gave all my energy; not expecting anything back.
I am waiting to be restored by you, fountain of youth.

Today when I was by the jazz festival, with the music playing, and all the Europeans standing still, I thought of you.
I thought of this
I thought, I need someone next to me dancing, right about now.

And then I thought….
That being multicultural means being able to appreciate music both while dancing and while standing still.

And I had all these amazing theories and analogies, but no paper to write them on,
No paper to write them on.
I could kiss you right now I would,
I would.

Because all these other boys are stupid. And I know that this post lacks a lot of content, but my mind is as empty as these words today. I am still. I am standing. I am peaceful. I am calm waters and no wind. Who says that excitement needs to be found in the new, in the novelty? Who says that knowledge must be found through the arduous path? Maybe we all just need to stop and appreciate everything around us; knowledge will come. The most beautiful souls are born out of peaceful quests. Liberate yourself from the need to experience something new, shiny, with no meaning. And embrace the old, rusty, beautiful knowledge that the past has to give you. Pretty, expensive machines won’t solve any problems. The men (and women) that came before us, way before us, had it right. You must wait for the land to give fruit, eat it, relax, and enjoy planting the next crop.

I Hear My Train a Comin'

In small, uptight places, you can find solace at train stations. The train will take you away to independence. There are many different souls behind many different faces, mingling and mixing all on the road to freedom. I think that’s why I like taking the bus in L.A., reminds me of the feeling of going nowhere; the feeling of being a mere flowing spirit.

I’m really hoping my 35mm camera starts working again, cause this is crappy and I can't control the shutter or the aperture in a camera phone. But here, one image and two songs to get you in the same mood as me. Have a blissful week.

Bike Culture

This is Bike Culture. Whole families biking on a Sunday afternoon in Enschede, Holland. No cars, just bikes.

Dutch people are smart; take your bike in the train! Here you can travel the whole country with your bike. Just imagine having the ability to go anywhere you want, without having to worry about gas prices. Roads are paved for bikes, and mainly bikes.

Not just paved, but also signaled. If you are on your bike you will know when to cross. The main feeling I get in this country; relax.

Ok, you can't always read signs. WTF does uitgezonderd even mean???

I confess, I got lost a couple of times yesterday biking around Holland. I had to ask many people for directions, and most didn't know a word in English. That's what you get for biking around very small provinces, I guess.

However, details aside, I like to stress that this is a very relaxed country, and even though I was lost, I never felt at risk. Could L.A. ever be this way? Let's talks some more about it another day.

Who The Fuck is Tom Ze?

Who the fuck is Tom Ze? Tom Ze? Tom Ze?
Chorus, bridge, repeat, repeat.
Who the fuck is Tom Ze?
Who the fuck is Tom Ze?
Bridge, chorus, repeat, repeat.



I know very little about him, Wikipedia told me just enough to conclude that like most musicians in Brazil (and the world), he is crazy. I love him.

His music speaks to me, profoundly, heavily. Not like Jimi, who almost makes me cringe, or Caetano and all his sadness. Tom is as Brazilian as Jorge Ben, but a crazier, folkier, kind of Brazilian. He is the common “Ze” of Brazil; the everyday working man, who has seen it all and done it all. The fool, the Shakespearean clown. His music carries theatre in it. Ze is humble, yet perseverant.

Repeats, repeats, repeats his message in song. All folks can understand him. People underestimate his intelligence. Tom Ze is insane. Tom Ze is Brazil.


(Can you recognize this from Black Orpheus?)




To download his music from another blog follow this link, and click "download".

Marina's List

Message I sent to my best friend in Brazil (translated):

I am writing you this because I don't want to send anything to (that boy), and that's the point of having a best friend, right?

1. My mom is insane, and consequently driving me insane.


2. I think I love (insert name here), because he is so goddamn smart and only now I am beginning to realize how dumb all the men in this world are. (And I know…I should have seen this a long time ago).


3. I am half drunk.


4. I don’t know if I can survive three weeks in Holland.


5. Sometimes I drink too much, eat too much, spend too much, talk too much, have too much sex, and I don’t want any of it anymore. I just want to lay by his side, smoke a joint and watch bad TV. I’m done.


6. I don’t know what I’m writing anymore…


7. I hate Facebook.


8. I get scared of being a terrible person, so most of the time I try to do what’s best to please others, but in this process I think I might end up losing myself.


9. (So much better to write in Portuguese than in English). Tao melhor escrever em Portugues do que em Ingles.


10. Thank you for always being there for me Marina, I love you.

Blurry Me

Until about a year ago, Photography to me was what I saw in magazines. Photographers only shot ads, and pictures in my head were sharp, colorful, detailed. My knowledged didn't go very far about this subject.

Then I learned about Nan Goldin. And, hey, wait a minute, why is everything so blurred? Why are people and things dramatically changed from what they look like in real life? Isn’t photography a mere mirror of our lives?

No, Photography doesn’t have to emulate reality. I mean, even the images we capture with our own eyes are flipped in our brains. So why is it that people insist that the images they capture with their cameras be the same as what they see in their heads?

These are just some fun and free shots. The first is a self portrait of me spinning with an open shutter in front of a mirror. The others are pictures from an old relationship. I had deleted all these originally, but yesterday I found them in my recycle bin, and since I am over my past now, I thought, why not?

I just felt like you people should listen to some music. Here it goes:



And maybe my favorite video on Youtube:


Another one from Cibelle:


I know this chick can sound a little bit "hipstery", but I think she is pretty creative and genuine. A true Brazilian raised in Europe. Give her a shot, and if you hate it, you can sock me, or haunt me in my dreams. Your choice. Good night.

A little about Religion and Loving

There are men who preach, and say that they hold the truth, and the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, in their hands.

But the way I see it, they are all lying.

And I’m not quite sure if they understand they are lying, or if they are lying to themselves, and in this circle of lies they just sink into even more lies.

But I know that the lies have to stop.

Let’s step back for a second and think of the possibilities that maybe Jesus was not resurrected from the cross.

That maybe he was just some crazy groovy dude, with a lot of crazy groovy ideas in his head, and some Romans, and some Jews, did not like what he had to share, so in the midst of their lies, they decide to kill the dude. Put him in a cross and make him suffer and what not.

I don’t think he died for my sins, or that he somehow came back as a weird Zombie dude proclaiming that the apocalypse would come if people didn’t follow his words. His exact, exact words.

Yes, I think we should, like Jesus, be more humble, and respect each other, and our elders, and live off the land without trying to make life so much about money, and more about love.

I don’t see anything wrong with that. It’s the whole lying thing that gets me off.

I mean, who started the lying in the first place? Who decided to make Jesus a saint, or a Zombie, or the Devil, or Almighty and all that jazz?

Who decided that he was perfect, better than all of us, and worthy of a place as the son of God?

And who the hell is God anyways?
Ok, maybe that’s a question for a different day.

My concern right now is asking, who made religion such a bad thing?
Who did not respect the principle that loving each other is the way to
enlightenment, and decided that hate, money, lying and sacrifice, not necessarily in that order, makes the world go round?

I am sure the person who invented this system did not die in a cross, with people behind them throwing rocks and yelling crazy things like “you’re a Jew and you should burn in hell” and blah blah blah.

I am sure the person who invented this system did not believe in God, or magic, or nature, or whatever you want to call it, and they were so mean that they decided that lying was the only way that men could reach freedom, or maybe a fake freedom, so let’s just fuck everything up and make everybody work for a load of hours, and not that much money, so that few people can be on the top, while those in the bottom don’t have the chance, or the ability, to see the light.

(I want to see the light!)

Let’s take all the knowledge away from men, because we know that knowledge leads to knowing, and knowing is bad, because those who know don’t want to deal with this bullshit we call society.

Let’s pretend that the way to happiness is work work work, and no play, no laughter, no love.

I mean, listen to yourself, does that even make any sense?

Does work make you happy? Or does dance? Music? Self Expression? Love? Kisses? Hugs from a far away friend?

What makes you happy? What sets you off? What makes you sing? Is it knowing that a guy named Jesus died in a cross, and supposedly came back to life ages ago?

Or is it life itself? And maybe the friends you make along the way? Maybe Jesus has nothing to do with it. It’s just the message, the loving.

Break out from the rituals, the ceremonies, the ideas that society has put in your head as right or wrong.

The people that put those ideas in your head are the same ones that go to war and spend our education money on missiles and bombs, instead of professors and books.

Find the truth within yourself, enlightenment within you.

Because you and only you know what’s best for you.

There has to be no Jesus, no Pope, no Buddha, no Muhammed, nobody that can tell you what’s right.

When you let life take its course, and let your instincts rule your path, there is no need for lying to others, or yourself.

Just be you, and all will resolve itself.



"A minha alma esta armada e apontada para a cara do sossego".

Some Scanning Fun

Pictures from Brazil, January 2011. Taken with a Canon AT-1 using Fujichrome film, and cross processed at a lab. The film itself was then put into a scanner, against a lit up blank screen from an iPod. After scanning, I inverse the colors using Photoshop and play around to see what I get. Sounds complicated, but it’s actually pretty simple and a lot of fun! Check it out, or do it yourself:

http://www.ehow.com/how_4727216_scan-negatives-cheap-scanners.html

For Portuguese speakers (em portugues):

http://www.lomography.com.br/magazine/tipster/2011/02/16/gambiarra-scan-de-negativos-com-scanner-normal

Re-Cycle
Velha Infancia

Coca-Cola
Rio de Janeiro 2

Fefa

Caetano - São Paulo - Los Angeles

"E que Narciso acha feio o que nao e espelho"

Some days I feel just like Caetano taking his first steps down Avenida Sao Joao. I hate it here. Maybe it's because "Narcissus thinks it's ugly that which is not a mirror?"

Who knows...I miss my home.



Los Angeles is hostile.

Los Angeles is aggresive
Los Angeles eats you up
And spits you out
In a matter of seconds,

Los Angeles is chaotic
With empty people in it
Empty shells
Navigating emptier freeways
And emptier personal hells,

The sidewalks are filled with
Emptier souls.

Los Angeles is grey
And dark
And damp
Filled with meaningless
Meaningless conversations,

Los Angeles is beautiful
Scary
Is hollow.
Los Angeles is a shadow of a city
That I might never become.

Los Angeles hates me.

Jorge Drexler - El Pianista Del Ghetto De Varsovia

I have Zweig’s blood running in my veins.

I have his spirit,
That fled from Petropolis down to the city, and the buildings of Rio de Janeiro,
And now I possess his soul.

Giving up scribbled down words to a vast and tropical world
Trying not to die from the heat of a summer in Rio.
While the sun hits harshly on my pale white skin
I hide in shadows
Scared of the genes that Zweig has left me with.

I might deny it.
But I am a Polaca
Mixed in with Italians, Blacks
And vira-latas.


Tan solo fechas.
They were only dates.
But if I had lived in a different decade
My story would have been warped.

If I had lived in a different decade
I would have died in the streets of Petropolis
I would have yelled to the whole world my origins
I would have wore it proudly on my skin
I would have said it loud and clear
That I am a survivor
That I am a warrior
Zweig died for me
Zweig yelled for my freedom
Zweig has left me to practice my sins
Zweig is my savior
And so far all I’ve done is denying my historia.

Chaos

Get out
Of my skin
Crawling
Young cockroach
Disgusting

Get out
Of my head
Of my body
Repulsive
Get Out

Take the scent out of my hair
and wash my body with the ocean
and the rotten flowers of Iemanjá.

You don't deserve me as much as I don't deserve you.

I lay naked, silent
With no home
Shaking my legs,
My hips
Waiting for a touch
To animate me
Like a little puppy
That you promised to rescue.

Oh, how foolish can I be?
Pretending to believe that you could have saved me....
Oh Baby.

I whisper
As if the night could get away
And the Moon could become the Sun
With no effort and no love.

Oh Baby,
As you suck all the life
and all the energy away from me.
Yes Baby.

Dirty, grimy Copacabana awaits us
Let’s stroll down the boulevard
Mingle with the cheap prostitutes and angry pimps
Let’s pretend this city is more than a piss fest
Because if I shut my eyes tight enough
You are not just a gringo
Who is trying to get into my pants,
And I am not just a girl
Looking for cheap romance.

And this
is more than a city
This
is my home.

This is where
the beach meets the slums
the soul meets the drums

This is Elza Soares. Gal Costa. Seu Jorge.

This
is rhythm
a heartbeat
Tum Tum
Tum Tum
Tum Tum
Baticatumbala
Baticatumbalaibe
Baticatumbatimba.

This city is Mautner. Cazuza. Gilberto Gil.

With his arms open
Waiving to Cristo Redentor
Waiting for me to embrace him.

This city is perfection
With all its flaws

This city is chaos.
This city is chaos.
This city is chaos.

But I rather
be lost.

Hear Me Out

Your tongue pushes itself against mine,
thick lips block my passage and
we smile, like
two young cats in love…

You speak my lengua
So I listen.
Words flying in like heavy spirits to my ears.

You talk to me in dreams
And
before I can even remember the path that has led me to this place
I think of you
And find an escape.

Solitude has nothing on this moment
Alienation is merely an illusion
Compared to the language you have taught me.

If only this country spoke with the same conviction as you
If only this world understood you like I do.

And in my life it's always been a question
Of where
Or rather
What to become

And even though I have no home,
In you
I find my own tongue.