The Pawnshop Project

After having this chat with a dear friend on msn, I felt like posting some of my own poems that are being saved in a file called THE PAWNSHOP, because it all started from an idea of having this sort of poetry book... These are some of them that I hadn't showed to anyone, or I only read or e-mailed to close friends...

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Metro-man

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Perfect hair do
Whitened teeth
Hairless face
Nails manicured
Spotless shirt
Pressed pants
Shiny shoes
Fragrant individual

Facial skin deep cleaning
Worries about postures
Preoccupations with voice timbre
Articulated multi-lingual hand-picked vocabulary
Superficial slow motion uptight carrier pursuit

No inner-feelings
Heartless dates
Meaningless sex
Impeccable meeting presentations
Almost two Eye-brows
Self-help literature
MBA/CEO/MSN/NASDAQ
IBM/I-POD/business card
Corporate speak

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Metro-man (American-Psycho)

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What a Place

The world wasn’t reinvented
This place seems too wide to live in
…and just too small to dream of
Water, earth, fire, dirt, and blood
Poor human structures
Strong greedy perspectives
Natural born destroyers
Infected brains
Blocked noses
Dirty lungs
Rotten thoughts
Love human beings
Love being human
Wait!
Can’t say that.
How could I ever say that?

There is no room to everyone
There is no comfort in all places
There are no guarantees
Uncertainty there is.
Confused now?
What about purity?Sterling rhymes?
A big old nothing…
The world wasn’t reinvented
The senior planet in going to an end

We are sparkles of a second
A fraction of a snap
A sad consequence of a fruitless explosion
Randomly humans

Insane I’ll be getting
For not seeing reasons
Purposes
Explanations
Just confusions
No introductions
Forget conclusions
Only means
Only pain
Only in vain
Flavorful pity
Pity myself
Pity everyone else as well
A big old woolen ball

What a place!

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SYMBIOSIS


First of all
I’ve got to say sorry
For a I left the room

Secondly
I’d like to conclude
My last thought

We’re meant
To be connected
We’re meant to create
A fusion of aesthetics

Can’t say how
Can’t say when
Even if I could
It doesn’t really matter now
Because I can’t say it all alone

As in literature,
As in visual,
Or sound making process
The basis must be built
On hard soil
Structured with spotless walls

Independent, but co-related
Absurd and surreal,
Genial and marginal
Outrageous and magical
Post-modern after all

Clear, abstract
Nobel, symbiotic
Shocking and vicious
Serious and hilarious
Concrete and pernicious

Original and reinvented
Divine and demented

TRADITIONAL PARTIES CAN GET TOO IRRATIONAL

I never understood why there are jerks who travel all the way to Brazil to enjoy our CARNIVAL!!!

Carnival is a typical Brazilian thing when people are led to the streets to see out there parades, get wasted, and listen to live loud music performances. Everyone is supposed to dress up in costumes, put on masks if they will. They may wear wigs and even become androgenous figures if that suits them since the spirit of the party is to get out of control.

As I am not fond of these kinds of parties, when it gets to carnival season, I normally stay home having my hot herbal tea, sitting on my leather couch, glancing at the parades on TV filled with those naked tramps shaking their asses and showing their boobies hanging (I know someone who would strongly enjoy this.)

The fact that I don't like carnival and being a Brazilian citizen make me look weird among the folks down here. I don't really care about this in part because I am pretty much confident and also because I have got my personal reasons to dislike this so-called cultural event.

I remembered when I was first sent to a carnival ball (let me call that mess this way). My mom took me to this crowded place filled with so many idiots of all ages and races. Some of them seemed to be drunk, others seemed to suffer from epilepsy on their hips, and others looked like having cat allergy for rubbing their nose frenetically. To me, they were a bunch of imbecils dressed in funny clothes, dancing in circles as they were mice in a maze. That's how I saw them, taking into consideration that I was only 4 at that time.

My mom also got me a strange outfit which had a little kid's umbrella as an accessory. Besides looking just like the other idiots of that place, I had to carry that umbrella around wherever I went. That was a huge pain because I had trouble holding both the accessory and a cup of soda, and let me not forget, I was also carrying a munch that was bought from those suspicious club cafeterias. Mom had the wittiest idea, "hang your umbrella, sweety, onto this chair." Fine! The place was very stuffy, so the cold soda gave me a relief.

The music sounded insane. Those carnival marchs played by a poor-sounding orchestra started getting on my nerves. I was only 4, I insist, but I was old enough to distinguish between good musicians and crap asshole losers trying to make their living out of something it wasn't made for them. I was too young, too short, too embarassed to get in the mood for a hectic non-sense party: "what are these people so happy about?", I would ask myself that question many times.

I hadn't noticed that everything was going smoothly so far, until the moment my mom decided to push me to the crowd. She would say "Join them. Dance, honey. We are here to party, not to keep staring at them..." Gee, they were just like starving lions and I felt like a pound of fresh sirloin steak. I figured out:"nay-nay."I prayed so she wouldn't try again but then, a friend of mom grabbed me in the arm and dragged me to the crowd.

At the exact moment she did that, my hair got stuck in the wires of my little umbrella which was leaning against that empty chair mom had asked me to hang that stuff on, and not less ironically, the handle of the umbrella that had a hook-like shape embraced another chair. So picture that folks: a stupid middle-aged female human being had been pulling an innocent tot with non-well combed straight long hair stuck on a kid's umbrella hooked on those cheap plastic chairs for ten minutes going in circles in a crowd of hungry lions listening to horsecrap carnival music... yewf!

After that year, there were a few more intents to participate in such event, with some successful ventures I may say, but those were the years that I was reaching the youth times in my life. I had other purposes but being amused by freakos shaking their booties...

Curiosity fact - For those who may care, my scalp wound did not require any reconstruction surgery!

Why is that needed to be a secret???

While a student is taking his English test, I have decided to start my post on this cold damp Friday evening. Last Thursday was holiday in Brazil. It's a day when we remember a historical individual who was chopped off publicly by the Portuguese monarchy back in the 19Th century. His name was Tiradentes. He had envisioned Brazil as a free country, not a colony of Portugal. His ideas derivated from the French Revolution and they ignited a process that years later the entire country embraced.

Well, the holiday is officially over and I am back to teaching. I taught way too many classes for a day past holiday and touching the beginning of a weekend. At least, I am feeling a little less tired than I am usually in regular weeks. Having had Thursday off was a bless. Thanks Tiradentes for having been killed on an April 21st.

I seem to be dwelling and not getting to any point. What am I trying to reach with these words? Is my mind running on lameness today? I guess the answer is 'yes'. However, I haven't had those boring days lately. In fact, it's been the opposite of that. Let's take the Sunday before last as an example. That was a pretty intense day.

Maybe it wouldn't be a great idea to confess what it had happened to me then. Anyhow, I can say that I took the right decision not to argue over that. I took the right decision by not overreacting either. I took the wrong decision to let it happen. And that's all I can say. You may be questioning yourselves: "what is this chick talkin' about?" Well, this is where I was heading. I aim not give any more clues about this fateful event. I will leave it in the air because it was something too personal, too disastrous, too embarrassing, and not worthwhile sharing with everyone else on this spot of the web.

I may be acting in a contradictory standard now. If it is none of everyone else's business, why am I writing about it in here? The answer is quite simple. I have been having a lame day, with lame ideas, and lacking creativity in my words. Sorry readers! Forgive me up front! I will accept speculations about the event because that might spice up this post a bit. Perhaps, that's what I first intended with this entry. So... C'mon... Get started!

Mild Soap Opera

I am writing this entry sitting on the toilette of my bathroom. No, no, I do not own a laptop computer, and I don't even have those cute Apple notebooks. I just have this sweet writing pad in the shape of a binder wrapped with a green leather-like plastic that I bought at Office Depot(one of my favorite spots to shop when I used to live in the USA)in 2002.

I take this little green binder along wherever I go because being a writer, I understand that we never know when the greatest ideas may show up.

Right at this moment, I am forcing my brain to dump a load of words and make them look like cool sentences. I am not sure that I am getting there, however the silence and coldness of bathrooms can take me to distant realms and from there I can bring out fun topics, sometimes draw real characters with stinky features.

What had I never understood was the reason why there are people who don't consider writing as their main way to communicate. I have difficulties in expressing myself through spoken words. I don't enjoy much talking, especially after extra-busy weekdays (full-time classes and two tough translations). The words barely come out of my throat.

These days I have preferred to keep myself secluded in a bathroom, just like now, grabbing a pen and this magical green binder. Me, myself, and my intestinal contents, building blocks of ideas, or poems per se.

As I check out my surroundings, I see that in each corner of all rooms in my place, dust is being accumulated which I consider my errors. My faulty life being kept aside, never swept off, never squeegeed, and polluting my consciousness.

So, I have intended to clean up these spots today. Taking away my mistakes... They are now being washed with warm water and mild soap. Then I will bleach the stains so that they can be removed once and for all. My guilty feelings are going to come off like chewing gums stuck on jeans pants being rubbed by an ice cube.

Wipe it off, flush them down, and head to the computer (with washed and towel-dried hands!)

PS - No one has tried to touch my binder, I just wonder why!

DIMANCHE

Domingo - Sunday in my language: PORTUGUESE!!!

This has been the only day I can really relax and do nothing. Regardless, I hate Sundays though. That's the only day I can go out and have fun sometimes, but like in any other Christian country, every store and even restaurants close on this damn day. How can I like Sunday if that's the day that the entire world wants to stay home, meet their relatives and watch stupid TV???

I don't have anything against my relatives. But, let's face it, RELATIVES can be a real pain in the neck occasionally because you don't get to choose them. They come in a kit, in a surprise box - you are born and all of a sudden you encounter cousins, uncles, aunts, even brothers and sisters!!! Lucky me I am the oldest, so when I was born there were no weirdos in my bedroom, old strange folks telling me what to do and how to act... yew!!! HEHEHEHE!!!

Well, the point is that on Sundays we are to meet them. Most of everybody is expected at their in-laws' places to have lunch, sometimes even to go to church, or to attend those one-year birthday parties - DAMN!!! Why do those wealth rich moms set up those expensive and fancy parties to kids who can barely pronounce their names...??? They are not even sure whether they are humans or just pets. Well, well, well, strange human beings.

Here I am on a Sunday afternoon, sipping wine, listening to downloaded indie rock bands, correcting my students' posts for their blog (readers, check their writings there too: http://pinkandbluefreedom.blogspot.com/). I truly enjoyed this week's topic and I think they did too.

SUNDAY!!! DIMANCHE!!! DOMINGO!!! SONNTAG!!! No relatives around to visit. No cool TV shows to watch. Just a plain afternoon with a chilling atmosphere... wow! That's what I like it, although I HATE Sundays!!!

Laila loves Mondays, hates Sundays and thinks Saturdays are TOO DAMN short...

In the mood for red and true friendship

Hope everybody's fine. Don't even know if I have regular readers, anyway. I must start from somewhere, mustn't I?

My template had always had that solid black background. I kinda got tired of it and so it was an easy and quick decision to turn all out RED. "What a bloody colour"! - My british friends would say. Today I feel like talking about friendship, kindness, and things that help us, human beings, have some softer one-on-one socializing experiences.

As being a teacher, I have to deal with kid and adult students at all times. I try to place a sincere smile on my face while teaching or just conversing with them. I may not be in a great mood every day, however I don't think it's fair to them to show disrespect or look down on their failures and difficulties when they appear. That would be a way too easy job.

On the other hand, there is every now and then a chance of encoutering folks that are not that kind to me. Students that act a little stuck up, boring faces, and showing a fake smile typical from a two-faced person. The reasons are unknown and I, particularly, don't want to know them at all. What's to worry if there are other folks that fulfill in me the emptiness that distant friends left in my bloody heart.

The friends/students I am talking about are Vinícius and Katiane. These kids are just fun intelligent young buddies. I nowadays teach them only once a week, which is a pity, because I'd rather see them more times throughout the week. They respect me as a teacher and I care for them as friends. They are great and very understanding. This post is for them.

Hope you two read this text and enjoy it as much as I did writing it. What I say here is very true. I am darn happy to be teaching folks just like you guys are. Please, continue being these good people and filled with so good manners as you both have been. Besides, both are curious learners who care about getting the right information and really wish to be talking and understanding English perfectly. What else could I ask???

CURIOSITY FACT:
After the photo shoots, Vini had gotten strong cat allergy which promoted watery and itchy eyes. Promptly, we provided him eyedrops to make his eyes more clear. The red in the template background was to remind you about that too... hehehehe! SORRY DUDE [;)]

In honor to my occupation

Wow! How long has it been that I don't have a quiet second to myself? I might sound lame because I have worked, worked, and worked.

What else is new to my life? Dunno. Maybe the fact that I am about to walk on my own path using my own efforts, and most of all I will be soon choosing my own directions???

The thing is that financially I am doing much better off these days, and mostly all my worries will be soon away. Apparently, there is nothing to worry about and simultenously eveything is all about worries.

Since now we have gotten an excellent number of students in my school, now I must be more than careful in how to maintain them happy and in constant growing learning process.

How to achieve that? By being frequently aware and non-stoppingly curious so that I must be asking them all about their needs, disappointments, and satisfactions regarding our school and methodologies.

I am happy with my profession and I just wonder who couldn't be fulfilled by working with young people, fun folks who are still so filled with dreams, loveable stories, hopefulness, and touching smiles???

Love being a teacher and forever I will always feel complete because of my students.

I'M A BLACK HOLE

It’s been nothing else, but fear

Is there still some hope?

Is there any possibility of changes…

My heart, aching and my back, bouncing…

Scattered memories hold my fingers

A dark cloud with no silver lining

Pores, scars, dirt

Worm, veins, and rotten feelings

I’m a black hole

Filled with pus

I’m a cancer, a brain tumor

No words to describe

What and how worse can this get?

Focus on duty

Locus is nowhere

That’s a way to get over this.

Will I ever be free again?

Will I ever be me?