Tuesday, May 30, 2006

POETRY TUESDAY


The threads that run through your life
Hang from your sleeve
Wind through your soul
The kind you can't control
The kind you can't conceive
The kind you can't believe
But wish you could break
Wish you could weave
I wish you could see
It ties you to me
And you fly in the face of the sun
And you float in the tides of the moon
The paths that run from your door
Climb through the trees
Wind like a snake
The kind you can't escape
The kind you can't conceive
The kind you can't believe
With prickly little thorns
Sharp tiny teeth
They're hungry for the threads
Hanging from your sleeve
Waiting on a path
The kind you can't conceive
But wish you could take
Wish you could leave
I wish you could see
It leads you to me

by Mercury Lev

Saturday, May 27, 2006

I want attention...

Since blogs are f****** stupid according to this essay and they exist only as an exhibitionist tool for its authors, as they were kids, I decided to publish the last shots I've just now snapped (this Saturday afternoon) randomly, for no purpose whatsoever, in order to gather some sort of ATTENTION.

And all this not just because I "want" attention, but because I "crave" attention!!! Yeah, every blogger wants that!!!

Here, you will see pictures of my and my students' All Star sneakers; Felipe and Anderson (both students of mine) logging on comedy junk on the web with Roberto; snaps of part of my "Hello Kitty" souvenir collection (including a pen which was gift from a sweet student called Camila); my real kitty sleeping on the rug; and our living room furniture which was my last Christmas gift from my mom.

Cold Saturday afternoon, after a holiday Friday, and I am having such a terrible FLU... I can only need attention... I want to go back in time and be a child forever...









Wednesday, May 24, 2006

O Rio de Janeiro continua lindo...

1

2

3

4

5

6

... and so does the entire country!!!
1- Iguaçu Waterfalls - Paraná State
2- Fernando de Noronha Island - Pernambuco State
3- Snow in Gramado - Rio Grande do Sul State
4- Guimarães Canyon - Goiás State
5- Pantanal Swamps - Mato Grosso do Sul State
6- Woods in Brotas - São Paulo State

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

...:::Poetry Tuesday:::...

Romance Sonambulo

Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
With the shade around her waist
she dreams on her balcony,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of cold silver.
Green, how I want you green.
Under the gypsy moon,
all things are watching her
and she cannot see them.

Green, how I want you green.
Big hoarfrost stars
come with the fish of shadow
that opens the road of dawn.
The fig tree rubs its wind
with the sandpaper of its branches,
and the forest, cunning cat,
bristles its brittle fibers.
But who will come? And from where?
She is still on her balcony
green flesh, her hair green,
dreaming in the bitter sea.

--My friend, I want to trade
my horse for her house,
my saddle for her mirror,
my knife for her blanket.
My friend, I come bleeding
from the gates of Cabra.
--If it were possible, my boy,
I'd help you fix that trade.
But now I am not I,
nor is my house now my house.
--My friend, I want to die
decently in my bed.
Of iron, if that's possible,
with blankets of fine chambray.
Don't you see the wound I have
from my chest up to my throat?
--Your white shirt has grown
thirsy dark brown roses.
Your blood oozes and flees a
round the corners of your sash.
But now I am not I,
nor is my house now my house.
--Let me climb up, at least,
up to the high balconies;
Let me climb up! Let me,
up to the green balconies.
Railings of the moon
through which the water rumbles.

Now the two friends climb up,
up to the high balconies.
Leaving a trail of blood.
Leaving a trail of teardrops.
Tin bell vines
were trembling on the roofs.
A thousand crystal tambourines
struck at the dawn light.

Green, how I want you green,
green wind, green branches.
The two friends climbed up.
The stiff wind left
in their mouths, a strange taste
of bile, of mint, and of basil
My friend, where is she--tell me--
where is your bitter girl?
How many times she waited for you!
How many times would she wait for you,
cool face, black hair,
on this green balcony!
Over the mouth of the cistern
the gypsy girl was swinging,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of cold silver.
An icicle of moon
holds her up above the water.
The night became intimate
like a little plaza.
Drunken "Guardias Civiles"
were pounding on the door.
Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea.
And the horse on the mountain.


by Federico Garcí­a Lorca

Saturday, May 20, 2006

An Ana Cristina César poem

Postscript

I am going to pass around in a minute some lovely, glossy blue picture postcards.
In a minute I'll hand out some beautiful glossy postcards.
This is the leather suitcase that keeps the famous collection.
Look at my hands, empty.
My pockets are also empty.
My hat is also empty. Look.
Nothing up my sleeves.
I'll show you my back, I turn around.
As all of you can see, there's no illusionism here,
no cheating behind your backs, no tricky games with light.
The suitcase rests on the chair here.
I open the suitcase with this master key in ceremonies of this type, if you forgive the joke.
The first thing we find in the suitcase, on top of everything else, is—guess—a pair of gloves.
Here they are.
Suede.
Fancy stuff.
I put them on—left hand… right hand…
a perfect fit.
This reminds me of…
A young artist wandering astray by himself in the elegant Berlin of the Belle Époque who in vain is looking for pleasure. A noisy group of skaters go by, and a woman in white lets her glove drop, a glove with six padded buttons, white, long, perfumed.
The young man runs, grabs the glove, but can't decide whether he should accept the challenge or not. In the end he decides to ignore it, puts the glove in his pocket and returns to his hotel walking down dimly lit streets.
But I'm drifting from the purpose of this evening.
If there's time left I'll let you know the end of this fantastic story in which even Neptune 's chariot, a gigantic grinning bat that always flees, and an ocean of foliage appear.
Who's to say that this isn't that same glove?
Yet we don't have only one here, but a pair; it is delicate and in sharp contrast with the black suit.
Does the leather suitcase keep any toiletries?
No, my friends.
As all of you can see now as I slightly rotate the chair where it rests, the suitcase contains nothing but paper… postcards… dozens, maybe even hundreds of postcards.
Strange suitcase!
And now, pay attention.
With my gloved hands—one moment, let me button one… now the other… gingerly… this is no scam… I adjust the cuffs, like this…—now, with these hands, at random, I take the first postcard, I contemplate it for a second under the light… there's a reflection… but I see here a drowned girl under the rush… I'm handing out the first postcard, please pass it around… second postcard: the Avenida Atlântica… pass it around… a Cadillac in Acapulco … Carmen… the Pompidou Center … a church in Alabama … a castle seen from the Orient… two cupids wearing sunglasses… the jewelry thief and the duchess… and this one here is Fred Astaire in Lady Be Good , or he won't make art, honey… nostalgic… and a Marilyn, and here the beach in Clacton with bingo and fish and chips… Air France 's Boeing… streetcars going up the hills of San Francisco … a polar bear in the Barcelona zoo… Salome… London … another Salome… pass them around, pass them around.
Dear friends, this is a suitcase, not a hat full of rabbits.
We have enough postcards to last all night.
Alexandria … Beirut … Prague … Be Mysterious... A picture by Paul… Gaugin, followed by What's the matter, you're jealous?
A naughty question in a sly tone, just like that, sunbathing at the beach.
And others of museums over here:
The eye like a strange balloon rising up to infinity;
On the horizon, the angel of certitudes, and in the somber sky, a questioning gaze;
Lady in despair;
The blood of Medusa;
The evil mothers;
I close the door on myself;
The kiss;
Another kiss;
Jealousy again;
and now the real Wuthering Heights,
followed by a curious sports race,
some pornography, and a godfather named Cicero.
Dear friends, I have no idea where this is going.
I'm passing these postcards around quickly.
Notice these pockets attached with an elastic band, oh I almost forgot to say that you can and should turn them around to check whether any words are scribbled there, take this one for instance “When might we have an esquisite time again?”, exquisite with an s, or this one here, “Post 6, where I spent my childhood and adolescence, how has it changed!”, or this other one, listen, “I'm still trying to send you a piece of where I am but it's always missing.” And another with tiny letters: “I've calmed down, I distracted myself, I don't think as much, penso a te.”
I think the end is in Italian.
Go on reading, go on, the most part might be blank.
Excuse me.
I have to go but I'll be right back.
I've got something in my eye, a little speck: when I return I'll keep pulling out postcards from the bag, and who knows, when the time comes, I might tell you the end of that true story, but before I leave I should take off my glove, leave it here on the back of the chair.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Current Brazilian situation...

São Paulo state, in Brazil, witnessed the worst attacks ever promoted by this sort of gang called PCC last weekend. PCC is an acronym that standards for Primeiro Comando da Capital - First Capital Command. The attacks broke out after 700 "important" inmates members of PCC had been transferred to a distant jail located in my hometown where my parents live, btw. Since PCC's routine got changed, they felt they had to retaliate. Through cellphones, PCC members got highly organized and ordered to start the attacks on Friday last week. The violence was triggered in and out of jails.

All jails in São Paulo and several others throughout the country had riots. Meantime, in the "outside world" -- all over São Paulo state -- masked men attacked bars, banks, subway and police stations with machine guns. A few stores were sacked. Gangs set over 60 mass transit buses on fire only in São Paulo city. And inmates at countless prisons took guards hostage in an unprecedented four-day wave of violence which left more than 80 dead by Monday.

The attacks have been apparently under control since last Monday just because the PCC has accepted to put and end on it. Only today, kids got back to school. And many of my friends didn't need and they whatsoever wouldn't go to work until today. Things here are more strange than ever. The organized gangs showed they have got the skills and the tools to control the situation.

The PCC power lies on its complex web of inmates' connections. Members of this group pay monthly fees to keep heavy weapons, munitions, lawyers, and also to infiltrate cellphones and drugs in jails. The PCC was founded in 1993 in São Paulo's Taubate Penitentiary supported by international terrorist organizations and became involved in drug and arms trafficking, kidnappings, bank robberies and extortion.

To me, this is a clear image of a failed law enforcement. There is no safety in this country. These folks from PCC can do whatever they want to. They can start a war if it is needed one. I could just state: "I'm glad I don't live in São Paulo anymore", but I acutally can't. My entire family still lives there. My best friends work in São Paulo city. I've got relatives in the city too. I don't want any harm happening to any of them. Besides, this criminal group leads outlaws around Brazil. Oh gosh! I wish It didn't end up being this CHAOTIC!

Monday, May 15, 2006

from BBC online...

Last Updated: Monday, 15 May 2006, 12:56 GMT 13:56 UK

Gang violence grips Brazil state

About half the state's jails are involved in rebellions

Attacks are continuing in the Brazilian state of São Paulo where a wave of co-ordinated violence since Friday has left more than 70 people dead.

Overnight, gangs torched buses, targeted banks and continued their attacks on police patrols and stations.

Reports said about 20 people had been killed in the latest fighting.

Authorities say the unrest is being directed from inside jail by a criminal gang after hundreds of its members were sent to maximum security prisons.

The authorities are also struggling to restore order in more than 40 jails across the state where thousands of inmates have rioted.

They have taken about 200 people hostage - some of them said to be visiting relatives.

Unrest has also been reported in some prisons in neighbouring states, including Mato Grosso do Sul and Parana.

Heavily armed gangs held up more than 60 buses during a third night of extreme violence in Sao Paulo, clearing the passengers off and then setting the vehicles alight.

Molotov cocktails were hurled into several bank branches and across Sao Paulo city, police stations again came under attack by gangs wielding machine guns, machetes and home-made bombs.

There were also several fatal shoot-outs.

The violence is an escalation of what many in Sao Paulo are calling a war between the state authorities and the First Command of the Capital (PCC) criminal faction, the BBC's Brazil correspondent Steve Kingstone says.

The attacks and riots began on Friday after 700 jailed PCC members were transferred to higher-security facilities.

Violence was reported in various parts of Greater Sao Paulo, as well as towns along the coast, including Guaruja, Santos and Cubatao, and towns in the interior of the state.

President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva is to call an emergency cabinet meeting to discuss the crisis.

Despite the violence, the governor of Sao Paulo state, Claudio Lembo, has said the situation is under control and has rejected an offer of help from the federal government to provide troops and extra policing.

Witnesses: Enio Lucciola, a spokesman for the São Paulo State Public Safety Department, told the Associated Press that authorities had been prepared for a PCC response to the jail transfers but "we never imagined it would be so big or ferocious... It caught us by surprise".

It has emerged that some of those involved in attacks on the police were inmates temporarily released over the weekend for Mothers' Day in Brazil.

Witnesses have been providing reports of some of the violence.

Those who saw the killing of one police officer said two men wearing masks had approached and shot him in the head as he dined with his wife.

Much of the violence is also in response to police violence - how can criminals have any respect for the law if it is not respected by the police?

In another incident, dynamite was placed at the entrance to a police station and the resulting explosion blew off doors and iron railings.

Among the dead are at least 35 police officers and prison guards.

Founded in 1993, the PCC has been involved in drugs and arms trafficking, kidnappings, bank robberies, and prison breaks and rebellions, police say.

In November 2003, the gang attacked more than 50 police stations, killing three police officers and wounding 12.

Those attacks were thought to have been orchestrated by PCC leaders in jail.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Panic Button

"My place is like PANIC ROOM and I do mean that. We have had alarms, cameras, and surveillance services installed and hired. All my moves can be watched on those little screens. If there is anyone trying to break into my school, I can hit a PANIC BUTTON - really called "panic" button - and police patrols must show up as quick as possible (at least, I should believe in that.) On one hand, I feel more comfortable having these devices working at our place, but on the other, I'd appreciate if they were not needed. Wherever I walk in the house, I am spotted with red lights flashing in each corner. My life seems like a reality show this way. It's crazy weird."

I wrote that paragraph above on my BUZZNET journal about a week or two ago. Since then, I've slept better since those devices give me a "maybe" impression of safety but violence is still out there. I have seen violence of all sorts on TV news: violence in soccer matches; violence in prisons; violence on Brazilian roads. About 42,000 people die a year in car wrecks. Another 40,000 die a year due to fire guns. 200 cellphones are stolen a day in São Paulo city. 13 cars were stolen just yesterday in this town where I live in. Even though, I have got to live under a so-called normality because otherwise I wouldn't have a life.

However I can't disguise the fact that I do not have an ordinary kind of life. I am never at ease. Early this morning, a student of mine had his car stolen by two demented crooks loaded with guns. The robbery happened at 10 in the morning on a busy street downtown. Luckily, he was not carjacked and he was insured. He is not the only person I know who had gone through that. Many relatives, friends, and acquaintances of mine have. And I have too.

I don't want to make this post a cry for help or turn Brazil's image into a warfare place. Yet, not many people can imagine small towns filled with fenced houses having 3 to 4 locks on front doors. Not many people know what means to have to check out if each window and door is locked before going to bed. Not many people know what it is to have rehearsed moves, like fire drills, every time you leave and arrive home so that it is clear that no strangers who may be around the place get you standing at the doorstep while locking or unlocking and they take you forcibly into your house with pointed weapons or guns. Then, those crooks steal everything from you. That is the most common way to have a house robbed or a car stolen down here. And it does happen often. Brazilian cops clearly don't do their jobs. So, we pay fortunes to have alarms and private surveillance services. Purchasing alternative ways to believe that we are safe is an out-of-question topic for Brazilian citizens.

When I walk downtown I watch my steps. I am always checking my back and I never talk to strangers - it is always a risk to take. We barely stop at red lights after midnight and don't get me started on answering machines that say:"We are not in town for the week, so leave a message after the tone..." You oughtta be stupid. When you come back home from a wonderful vacation trip, not even your walls will be upright sustaining the ceiling. It is so damn common to have houses broken into and all people's belongings are vanished - easily taken - and no one calls the police. No neighbors notice a thing. No noises are heard while the robbery is taking place.

It's a strange thing to live under these circumstances. It's not like experiencing COPS - the TV show. It's not actually like living in a reality show. It's way worse than that but I guess it might be really close to what Jodie Foster went through on that movie PANIC ROOM. I fear being on the streets. It frightens me if the doors aren't locked during the day. It used to scare me to sleep without alarms around the house. Now, I'm trying to convince Roberto to get a car insurance which covers stolen property... He's being a hard ass on that.


CURIOSITY FACT: While teaching a private class this morning, my student received a cellphone call with this message:"Your grandpa has killed himself with a shot gun..." Blame it on depression, I guess.

Sunday, May 7, 2006

Adriana Calcanhoto

Get to know a little about my Brazilian music icon: Adriana Calcanhoto.

Self-Portrait
08/20/2004

I am from Rio Grande so I’m fearless. I love Rio de Janeiro. I have a problem saying no. Narrow-minded people snub me. I have a bad memory for names. I barely like music. I’ve been wearing the same pair of black trousers for three years. I cook very well but I’m lazy. I hate pumpkin. I love Elizabeth Taylor. I have never had any collections. I love helping my friends if there is something I can do. I am slow to retaliate. I love colors. I can’t stand work associates to set low standards for themselves. I am punctual. I stop at red lights. I spend small fortunes on art books. I hate people with no sense of humor. Sometimes I give alms. I love Miles Davis. I complain a lot. I know how to say ‘I’m sorry’. I buy records for their covers. I don’t hold grudges. I love animals. I don’t care for money. I live in Jardim Botânico, in a small apartment painted yellow. I listen to all the tapes people send me. I love dancing. I love Balanchine. I can’t stand the retro syndrome. I hate knickknacks. I love Mondrian. I like washing dishes. I sometimes need to be alone. I like Botafogo. I support Grêmio. I don’t know how to play cards. I would love to do a cinema soundtrack. I would like to play golf. I love Tàpies. I drink too much coffee. I don’t like air conditioning. My mother says I change a lot. I’m gluttonous. I hate baby blue. I love João Cabral. I really don’t know how to play the guitar. I play the guitar beautifully. I have lovely arms. Iberê Camargo painted my portrait. I know and recognize people by their hands. I can’t stand wastefulness. I hate courant d’air. I love Lina Bo Bardi. I don’t like good taste. I hate pills. I am very hairy. I love the Queen of England. I love Brie. Tacky people snub me. I have never known what to do with my hands in the presence of celebrities. My friends say I change a lot. I have always been happy in Love. I love Marlon Brando. I love Gáveas Guimas. I can’t live without champagne. I have a Lygia Clark “animal”. I sleep less than I would like to. I hate mystifyng people. I love driving. I don’t like trivial mysteries. I despise phony people. I love reds and pinks. I give shelter to trespassers and outcasts. I’ve stopped smoking. I have no superstition. I love John Cage. I have never wanted to have children. The first word I read was "Mexico". I don’t like to perform on TV. I love my hands. I love laughing at myself. I have a soft spot for mad people. I love Issey Myake. I hate old rubbish. Journalists say I change a lot. I despise people who take themselves too seriously. I love aristocrats. I can’t live without fruits. I am very disciplined. I truly want to visit Egypt. I envy elephants. I love Augusto de Campos. I love Mediterranean colors. I love the food of the Provence. I can’t stand Free Shops and all that junk. I hate people fascinated exclusively by fame. I love Merce Cunningham. I want to compose very simple songs. I want to know what’s songs are for. I love Andy Warhol. I am slightly cross-eyed. I postpone very important decisions. My shoe size is 38. I have a “climber” by Lygia Clark. I love wine. I don’t know how to give interviews. I love Mangueira. I want the Dois Irmãos Mountain lighted. I love diving in Angra. I love Mário Peixoto. Uncultured people snub me. I love different shades of blue. I love Klein. I love Klee. I love Matisse. I always say yes. I love playing concerts. I love singing in Rio. I sleep on planes. I am much too generous. I love Gertrude Stein. I’m mad for orchids. I’ve been head over heels in love for seven years. I love Hélio Oiticica. I love Joaquim Pedro de Andrade. I hate aestheticization. I hate undue appraisal of folklore. I don’t like watching myself on video. I love Oswald de Andrade. I have a lithography by Miró. In winter, I never have breakfast without strawberries. In summer I never have breakfast without watermelon. One day I shall have a Calder mobile. I do barbaric things for a Swatch. People say I change a lot.

Published in ‘Jornal do Brasil’ / Caderno Mulher / on September 9, 1996
By Adriana Calcanhotto


CURIOSITY FACT:The links on this text were on me!!!

Friday, May 5, 2006

Counting Sheep


I've heard:"I'm counting sheep!"

Counting sheep?

Don't people count sheep when they can't sleep?

In a certain culture this expression

would work fine: "I wash my hands!"

That means - I rest my case.

I do... I really wash them now

because I can't get that.



What is happening here?

Who could understand it?

Who's making the rules?

Why is all that for?



Counting sheep?

Go count bodies

or even fetus!

Lorca said once:

"Yo veo en ti fetos de ciencias"



Muchas cosas pueden ser entendidas sobre esto

Yo veo en ti lo que yo no puedo decir

Yo veo en ti lo que yo quiero que tu seas

Yo veo en ti un hermano,

una praga, un corte de cuchillo

Yo veo en ti aquello que yo mas deseo

Pero tu traes todavia fetos de ciencia

algo que no se lo que es...

por eso, yo voy a contar carneros también.

Tuesday, May 2, 2006

Up there

She's so high
Her head is floating
Her feet are missing
She can touch the hours,
the departures, all exits, and voids...
She can touch lights, welcomings, and arrivals.


She can cut water in slices brought by liquefied bones
And squared deep red, yellow, and blue
pearl eyes arise
And the eyes watch her
Reflect the worst of her
She's so high that
her body trembles in moisture.
As her brain splits open,
a hand sticks a torch in her cranium.
Ashes are left and they do not bother her much
She seems to have better consciousness
but she's still up there
or down in the deep ocean bottom
watching sea snakes and
having salt water invading her nostrils
Her nails grow as she swims
and her teeth are loose
Little dots, slashes, and dashes
dive in this water zoo
Curvy dice does not work fine
on the control of this high.


by Laila Chris

Is it the end of it all?

A bit of imagination I can’t push the knife in I can’t make the cut I can’t turn the wheel I can’t step off the kerb I can’t take the p...