Cruzeiro do Sul

Cruzeiro do Sul
Eu sou Cruzeiro do Sul,
e sertao e misterio.
Meu lamento sertanejo,
meus desertos
e sonhos
e silencios.

transformative journey

Dance and Destiny.

Dance and Destiny.



Suddenly I wake up in the midle of cold dark night,

the wind sings a bossa.

I decide to meet my love,

have to run against the time.

have to run for my destiny.

I feel the blow of the wind,

the spinning of world.

Moving fast throughout the

deserts and mountains,

and harbor and hills,

I dance and dream.

And before the sunrise,

surprising the dawn,

I feel the whistle of her breath.



Hiroshima, spring 2010.

Body in movemenet.

moving fast throughout the land
throughout the winds, and crows and tempests.
the spinning of world.
-giramundus-
deserts and mountains and dreams,
and the same old memories and nightmares.
The harbor and the hills,
the truth is on the table,
like cards,
mistery.


and stone, and stick and the end of the road
"It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone
It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun
It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun
The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush
A knot in the wood, the song of a thrush
The wood of the wind, a cliff, a fall
A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all
It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of the slope
It's a beam it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of the strain
The joy in your heart
The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone
The beat of the road, a slingshot's stone
A fish, a flash, a silvery glow
A fight, a bet the fange of a bow
The bed of the well, the end of the line
The dismay in the face, it's a loss, it's a find
A spear, a spike, a point, a nail
A drip, a drop, the end of the tale
A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light
The sound of a shot in the dead of the night
A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump,
It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps
The plan of the house, the body in bed
And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud
A float, a drift, a flight, a wing
A hawk, a quail, the promise of spring
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart
A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone
A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe
It's a thorn in your hand and a cut in your toe
A point, a grain, a bee, a bite
A blink, a buzzard, a sudden stroke of night
A pin, a needle, a sting a pain
A snail, a riddle, a wasp, a stain
A pass in the mountains, a horse and a mule
In the distance the shelves rode three shadows of blue
And the river talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life in your heart
A stick, a stone, the end of the road
The rest of a stump, a lonesome road
A sliver of glass, a life, the sun
A knife, a death, the end of the run
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart"

Dialogue

You traveler!
This land is stone and cry and sand,
and torn and fire and mystery.
No traveler come here,
no soul, no happiness, no joy.

No allowance to smile,
no allowance to breath,
no allowance to fight,
no allowance to live.

I am thunder and lonely and light.
A solitaire traveller in this far land.
I dont have food, nor roof, nor rag.

For this bread to eat,
for this ground to sleep.
I can work, and read and write.

Voam pedras e paus e molotov.

Estacao dos Trovoes

E se afundam na noite escura.
Dos poroes, o batuque dos coracoes aflitos.
Da escuridao,do ar rarefeito,
do ventre escuro,
a gestacao.

Nas sombras dos trovoes,
nas noites longas do inverno,
sob as luas tristes,
encerradas pelo girar do mundo.

E no compasso das tentacoes,
conspiram. E conspiram
encerrados em lama encarnada,
sob os ventos de marco,
a brisa do mar, as vidas, os sons.

Hiroshima, Jan 2010.

Estacao dos Ventos

memorias de vidas
gostos dos sonhos
vitoria e redencao.
a estacao dos ventos.

memories of lifes,
taste for dreams
victory and redemption.
the season of winds.

...e no berco da mais incrivel manifestacao democratica da america latina verifica-se uma manifestacao brutal de barbaridade...

Trenzinho Caipira - Villa Lobos

Dicha e Quebranto

Archaic Romantic

Dreaming in the morning,
falling in the afternoon
surviving in the night,
elevating in the Dawn.

In the Friday,
I live.
In the Saturday,
I cry
In the Sunday,
I dye.

In the East,
silence,
In to west
freedom.
In the south
redemption.


In the heart,
revolution
and dreams
and mystery.

In the frontiers of soul,
an archaic romantic,
the rings of Saturn,
a sociedade de anonimos,
blue eyes,
burning sky.

Hiroshima, October 2009.

================================

Sonhando na manha,
caindo na tarde,
sobrevivendo na noite,
elevando na madrugada.

Na sexta,
eu vivo.
No sabado,
eu choro.
No domingo,
eu morro.

No oeste,
silencio.
No leste,
liberdade.
No sul,
redencao.


No coracao,
a revolucao,
os sonhos
misterio.

Nas fronteiras da alma,
um arcaico romantico,
os aneis de saturno,
a sociedade de anonimos,
os olhos azuis,
e o ceu em chamas.

Mercedes Sosa - Solo le Pido a Dios

Tributo a Mercedes Sosa (2)

Solo Le Pido A Dios
Mercedes Sosa
plus "several poems"


Sólo le pido a Dios
Que el dolor no me sea indiferente,
Que la reseca muerte no me encuentre
Vacío y solo sin haber hecho lo suficiente.

“Sou filho dessa terra,
terra tao seca,
berco de um povo corajoso,
que tudo sabe sobre os misterios do coracao e do ceu.
Sou espinho e poeira e silencio,
o levante das primeveras,
um selvagem anonimo,
meio pedra,
meio vida.”

Sólo le pido a Dios
Que lo injusto no me sea indiferente,
Que no me abofeteen la otra mejilla
Después que una garra me arañó esta suerte.

“Sujos pes e maos e faces,
capitaes de barro.
susurrando sem forca,
cochichando meias palavras.
No topo o mesmo sol inclemente de julho,
consumindo trapos e chapeis de palha.”


Sólo le pido a Dios
Que la guerra no me sea indiferente,
Es un monstruo grande y pisa fuerte
Toda la pobre inocencia de la gente.

“A solidariedade dos urubus,
voando em circulos.
De um lado zombies prontos para sucumbir na lama,
do outro a zabumba fulnebre de tambores.
Aqui cegos e leprosos e aleijados,
La elegantes soldados.
Por um lado a busca por uma esperanca imaginaria,
do outro silencio e estrategia.”

Sólo le pido a Dios
Que el engaño no me sea indiferente
Si un traidor puede más que unos cuantos,
Que esos cuantos no lo olviden fácilmente.

“Eles amavelmente explicaram sobre as regras,
Eu gentilmente expliquei o sentido da liberdade.
Eles explicaram todos os manuais e formularios,
Eu mostrei minhas cartas e poemas.
Eles me mostraram a foto do presidente,
uma imagem de Bolivar veio a minha mente.
Eles me mostraram bandeiras e armas e uniformes,
Eu tirei meu chapeu de palha.
Eles gritaram,
Eu olhei para o ceu.
Eles atiraram,
Eu me perdi em sonhos de liberdade ate sucumbir em agonia.”

Sólo le pido a Dios
Que el futuro no me sea indiferente,
Desahuciado está el que tiene que marchar
A vivir una cultura diferente.

Brasilia, Sao Paulo, Chiba, Hayama, Outono 2009
==============================================

All I ask of God
Is that the pain not make me indifferent
that parched death not find me
empty and alone, not having done enough

"I am son of this land,
land so arid,
cradle of courageous people.
that know all about misteries from the heart and sky.
I am torn and dust and silence,
the levanter of springs,
anonimous savage,
half-stone,
half-life."

All I ask of God
Is that injustice not make me indifferent
That I’m not struck on the other cheek
After a claw has torn my destiny


"Dirty foot and hands and faces
captains of clay.
susurrating without strenght,
wispering half words.
In the top the inclement sun of july,
consuming rags and litter heats."

All I ask of God
Is that the war not make me indifferent
It’s a beast whose heavy steps grind
All that’s poor and innocent in people

"The solidarity of the vultures,
flying in circles.
By one side zoombies ready to succumb in the mud,
By the other the funebrial booming of drums.
Here blinders and lepers and handicappeds.
There elegant soldiers.
By one side the search of an imaginary hope,
by the other silence and strategy."


All I ask of God
Is that deception not make me indifferent
If a single traitor can do more than many
May the many not forget easily

"They lovelly explained about the rules,
I kindly replied with the meaning of freedom,
They explained all the manuals and forms,
I showed my letters and poems.
They showed me a photo of the president,
an image of Bolivar came to my mind.
They showed me flags and weapons and uniforms,
I took out my litter hat.
They shouted,
I looked up to the Sky.
They shot,
I lost myself in dreams of liberty until collapse in agony."



All I ask of God
Is that the future not make me indifferent
Helpless is the person who must flee
to live in a different culture

Back to the Andes

Back to the Andes, in the origin of the most important memories of my life I could revisit the scenarios under the modern atmosphere. Ernesto was not there, his family become legendary but as one of many misteries surrounding their history all left without leaving any footprint to become wind. The constant freshness of october pushed me back to the old times, now I was an old man with slow movements interrupted by deep breaths.

Eu, Kanto.

O Canto
Sucumbida em pranto,
que cala seu canto.
Tufão desolador,
raios e ventos e tempestades
que se deslocam em bandos,
para todo o Canto,
devastar.
Impiedosas ondas do outono,
e ventanias e sons.
que desaguam
inclemente,
para depois do espanto
limpos céu e folhas e mar,
inaugurando no Canto
o inverno que tanto
nos encantar.

Hayama, October 2009.

Pout-Pourri of life and silence.

Pout-Pourri of sweat and life,
silence, mer.
Body suspended two feets above the ground,
The maximum the rationality permits.
Pout-Pourri of drama and dreams,
and bossa and brumes.
Insomnia and divagations obscures,
peculiar taste for the complex,
Sole of eternal search for a new academia olympia,
or a new bar.
Pout-pourri of light and spirit,
and torn and silence.
All winds of Sertao,
All auroras from Quebec.
Pout-pouri without end.

Adeste Fidelis.

le Zephyr

J'ai circule en tous les bars de la ville,
entre une et autre
j'ai metre un roi,
mendiante avec un drapeau rouge et blanche,
un artiste embibie,
avec ses ovres d'art - imitacion de Matisse.
un alchimistes en colere- fruste pour le eternel doute.
Avec mon delire alcolique,
je marche solitaire,
subtilement une sombre impitoyable me trouve et
me faire pleure
sur le son d'une bossa,
sur le son du mer.
Mas un vient rasant m'encontre,
et tout change.
Un zephyr extraordinaire,
d'un printampe distante,
qu'aportant un billet de 1968,
ecrite en portugues,
avec le mot de liberte,
avec l'encre fresh,
signe pour une amie Argentine.
Le nuit froi arrive,
je me recluse a mon chambre,
avec ma lettre,
avec mes reves libertaires
mes memoires du sud.

Hayama, september 2009.

O Zefir

Circulei em todos os bares da vila,
entre um e outro,
encontrei um rei -
mendigando com uma bandeira vermelha e branca;
um artistia embriagado -
com suas obras de arte, imitacoes de Matisse;
um alquimista em colera -
frustado pela duvida eterna.
Com meu delirio etilico
continuo minha marcha solitaria
e subtamente uma sombra impiedosa me encontra
e me faz chorar,
sob o som de uma bossa,
sob o som do mar.
Mas um vento me encontra
e tudo muda.
Um zefir extraordinario
de uma primavera distante
que traz um bilhete de 68
escrito em portugues
com tinta fresca
assinado por uma amiga Argentina.
A noite fria chega,
me recluso em meu quarto,
com minha carta,
meus sonhos libertarios,
minhas memorias do sul.

The arrival of Autumn

Orchestra of sounds and silence,
oaks and bushes, blackbirds.
My memories of far lands and friends,
the best memories of the north,
red maples, muffins.
the best momories of the south
red earth, red sky, always blue sea.
My sin of being happy only in the falls,
it is enought.
A power uncontrolable that pushes me toward the uncertainty,
running in the wind,
flying in dreams.
Unbeatable wind of freedom,
blowing so high
supreme.
Without order, I float in all directions,
For one second I am able of doing anything,
For one second I am in straight conection with the cosmos.
For one second I am only light and spirit.

Hayama, 30, August 2009.

Orquestra de som e silencio,
Oaks e arbustos, passaros negros.
Minhas memorias das terras distantes e dos amigos,
as melhores recordacoes do Norte,
maples vermelhos, muffins;
as melhores recordacoes do sul,
terra vermelha, ceu vermelo, mar sempre azul.
Minha sina de ser feliz somente nos outonos,
eh o bastante.
Um poder incontrolavel que me empurra para a incerteza,
correndo no vento,
voando em sonhos.
Imbativel vento da liberdade,
soprando tao alto,
supremo.
Sem ordem, eu flutuo em todas as direcoes.
Por um segundo eu sou capaz de fazer qualquer coisa,
Por um segundo estou em conexao direta com o cosmo,
Por um segundo sou somente luz e espirito.

Now is true.
The fireworks have announced.
Blackbirds are flying free,
and fire buterflies.
The bloom,
secadas,
stars.
I feel the brise of autumn,
It is comming from England
or the north,
maybe.

Boulogne-sur-mer, August 2009.

Agora eh verdade.
Os fogos anunciaram.
Passaros negros estao voando livres,
e borboletas de fogo.
O desabrochar,
cigarras,
estrelas.
Sinto a brisa do outono,
esta vindo da Inglaterra,
ou mais ou norte,
talvez.

War and peace.

Vague memories of the perfumed parties, the young ladies in clean dresses, patisses and hypocretical intelectuals all so superficial, smooth, pleasant. The contrast with the reality of hard improvised bed, the putrified essence of cadavers, susurrous of open sores, flys and the wet murmous of restless parasites. Ernesto in the corner, resting his elbows on his knees.

Arrastão

Universe humiliating with its immensity.....

From that darkness blown a flash of light,
the universe operating in its full magnitude,
humiliating with its immensity,
conspiring toward a caotic equilibrium of all things.
Sun and son and enlighment,
the spirutus mundi rising from the mud.
The ephemerous character of life,
multiplying in millions.
The extraordinary strenght of people,
making conection with the cosmos.
The resistance born to succumb,
unberable lifes, born and reborn.
Histories that move in circles,
a power that can't be measured.


Daquela escuridao nasce um feixe de luz,
o universo operando em sua maxima magnitude,
humilhando com sua imensidade,
conspirando a favor do equilibrio caotico de todas as coisas.
Sol e filhos e iluminacao,
o spiritus mundi surgindo da lama.
O carater efemero da vida,
multiplicada em milhoes.
A extraordinaria forca das pessoas,
fazendo conexao com o cosmo.
A resistencia nascida para sucumbir,
insuportaveis vidas, nascidas e renascidas.
Historias que movem em circulos,
um poder que nao eh possivel de ser mensurado.


Hiroshima Jun 2009

About weapons and poems.........

They lovelly explained about the rules,
I kindly replied with the meaning of freedom,
They explained all the manuals and forms,
I showed my letters and poems.
They showed me a photo of the president,
an image of Bolivar came to my mind.
They showed me flags and weapons and uniforms,
I took out my litter hat.
They shouted,
I looked up to the Sky.
They shot,
I lost myself in dreams of liberty until collapse in agony.

Eles amavelmente explicaram sobre as regras,

Eu gentilmente expliquei o sentido da liberdade.

Eles explicaram todos os manuais e formularios,

Eu mostrei minhas cartas e poemas.

Eles me mostraram a foto do presidente,

uma imagem de Bolivar veio a minha mente.

Eles me mostraram bandeiras e armas e uniformes,

Eu tirei meu chapeu de palha.

Eles gritaram,

Eu olhei para o ceu.

Eles atiraram,

Eu me perdi em sonhos de liberdade ate sucumbir em agonia.

Hiroshima,
May 2009

All Mays...

The oppression from the middle.
Booming in my chest.
Constraints, crosses and dismail.
the unpredictable season,
the freshness of april or the warmness of june?!
all the mays are like this.
uncertain,
severe,
squeezed.

Hiroshima, may 2009.

the third act ....

That events found me disarmed and stilly occupied my thoughts. The drama gained air of opera, still dramatic but rhyming in the progress of written words and gestures. The recent rumors of the judment of the prisoner turned in sure - death. No drama in the cell, the join of living every minute was untouchble.
(...)
At this land we are used with farewells.
Sons and simbilings, mothers,
are temporary memories
of short lifes.
Here the time goes round,
as the brumes in the air,
the stars in movement,
the faces of the moon.
With the short horizon of things,
all is ephemerous.
The revolution rises on the wish
of changing the temporary circunstances of all things.

Nessa terra nos estamos acostumados com despedidas.
Filhos e irmaos, maes,
sao todos memorias temporarias
de vidas curtas.
Aqui o tempo passa ligeiro,
como as brumas no ar,
as estrelas em movimento,
as faces da lua.
Com o curto horizonte das coisas,
tudo e efemero.
A revolucao surge do desejo
de mudanca das circunstancias temporarias de todas as coisas.

(...)
Hard but so sensible,
the brutality living with the sensibility.
the hands that dig and push and hold
and fondle.

(...)

That history was about the limits of men. The dismail and overcome, courage, tranformation, remorse, prejudice and guilty. In the end it was all like a dream blended in hallucinations and infinity of doubts.



Days with
Spring 2009

The battle in field........

Dirty foot and hands and faces
captains of clay.
susurrating without strenght,
wispering half words.
In the top the inclement sun of july,
consuming rags and litter heats.

The solidarity of the vultures,
flying in circles.
By one side zoombies ready to succumb in the mud,
By the other the funebrial booming of drums.
Here blinders and lepers and handicappeds.
There elegant soldiers.
By one side the search of an imaginary hope,
by the other silence and strategy.


Sujos pes e maos e faces,
capitaes de barro.
susurrando sem forca,
cochichando meias palavras.
No topo o mesmo sol inclemente de julho,
consumindo trapos e chapeis de palha.
A solidariedade dos urubus,
voando em circulos.
De um lado zombies prontos para sucumbir na lama,
do outro a zabumba fulnebre de tambores.
Aqui cegos e leprosos e aleijados,
La elegantes soldados.
Por um lado a busca por uma esperanca imaginaria,
do outro silencio e estrategia.


memories
Spring 2009

Reflections

Those letters opened new perspectives, answers and understandings. Would that all be a mistake? The darkeness I was inside would not allow me to take conclusions but momentaneously I felt cornered by doubts, shame and inaction. Since long time I had not thought about the misteries surrounding all that war and the letters made me reflect about the rage that rises from the oppression and the reaction it causes - barbarous and disproportional.

(...)
When we choose a path we have to pay its price.

Days with the dictator.
spring, 2009

Who am I ....

I am son of this land,

land so arid,

cradle of courageous people.

that know all about misteries from the heart and sky.

I am torn and dust and silence,

the levanter of springs,

anonimous savage,

half-stone,

half-life.

..

Sou filho dessa terra,

terra tao seca,

berco de um povo corajoso,

que tudo sabe sobre os misterios do coracao e do ceu.

Sou espinho e poeira e silencio,

o levante das primeveras,

um selvagem anonimo,

meio pedra,

meio vida.

Days with...
Hiro-Spring 2009.

Hamilton Farewell.

Hamilton was between those who would be back home. Proud of his achievement but hesitating in leaving behing his recent fame. At that time over the Hamilton version the dictator prison had become an epic blooding combat with uncountable number of deaths and bloody combats. His fantasious version of things used to bring some freshness to the front.

Those last days together were accompanied by an increasing feeling of sorrow. In a war like that having friends was the best reminder of our humanity. Hamilton left in a windy dry afternoon of August. His legacy was lot of nostalgia, some drops of (lagrimas) and a sad impression that I would never meet him again.

Days with.......

HiroSPRING2009

confusion

Sowing sunflowers,
reaping Opium.
In the fields

the dance of headless horses
with revolutioners atop.
All saints
flying free
between the Ostro and Tremonte.
The solitaire sowers,
melting down in the land.
The night -
a huge crow!
devouring the horizont,
and the black earth,
and the sowers,
and the revolutioners
opium.

hiro--------------spring2009

Letter - The first...

After two days the man manifested some movement. Still brutally damaged he found energy to sit down in his bed for some minutes until collapse again in deep sleep. Some relief came to my heart as that scene would repeated along the days until we could finally walk in his cell. Then a fixed idea occupied all the leftovers of lucidity I still had - claim for forgiveness. It came sudenly in the wave of the last improvement done by the prisoner. The idea impregnated my mind puttin me in a constant awaraness. Somehow I convinced myself it would be the best I could do to alleviate the feeling of guilty that had been devastating me for long time. I had nothing to offer and talking with that man even one single word would create a sort of distrust with similar destroying power of the guilty I was strugling with. That night I searched all my pertences and the Cuban cigar Hamilton gave me in his farewell appeared brightenning in my shelf. I didnt hesitate to put it in my pocket and start a mental strategy to give it to the prisoner without being perceived.

The next day was full of inquietude. The cigar was heavy in my pocket. Willing conflicting with restrain to finally, in a breath of courage, be given to the dictator. Before the cell I extended my hand with the cigar to the sitted man who took it without before looking into my eyes with his hard but impressivelly confident sight.

He smoked the cigar slowly, amid the dance of smoke, incensing the corridor all over the afternoon, enjoying it so carefully until teh cigar fully desapear in ashes leaving no evidences of my delict.

After months I had a peacefull night of sleep.

Days with the dictator.
Hiroshima Spring 2009

Probation

That man didn't make any transformation on me. He provoked it. And he did it in a way that only few people can do, by showing his own examples. I have followed each and any of his steps since his capture and then, after witnessing and understanding his impressive journey I could not find other words but the constation that I had endured the most incredible probation in my life. All without one single talk but with an intensity that transcendend the terrain plain to become spiritual.

Hiroshima, Spring 2009.

Ostro

The voice lost in the persistent Ostro.

Warm,

wet,

constant.

memories

Hiroshima, spring 2009

AC001 - A flash love.

to meet
and
to say farewell.
To smile
and
To cry
All in one blink
All in one flight.

Somewhere between the earth and my heart....
Spring 2009

About the darken behaviour all men are susceptible to commit.

The light and the fresh of brise of dawns had became a far memory. Without any change to take place hope was lost in the darkness. My friends had gone and now I was silenced by an indescriptible loneliness. That environment embedded in my soul making me passible of practicing terrible acts.

(...)

Working on the prisioner gave me extraordinary pleasure. His silence was to me an act of scorn that fueled my rage. That man was the best conection between the recent atacks that killed XXX and I was commited to dedicated my best to extract any information from him. After months in that macabre waltz all was in vain. No words, no testemonies.

Days with... sociedadeanonimos

hiroshima 2009

inflection

His death caused the first withdraw in my optimism inaugurating inside me a time of anger and incredulity that would be intensified along the following months. The tortures sessions that had already turned in a routine were then made with an inexplicable obsessive pleasure. Each session was made with thirsty to dig up the last groan of the dictator and would end only when he entirely lose his conscience to restart the following day, more bloody and cruel. The shaking lips, the terrorized eyes, all feeding my anger and revolt. Screens answered with loudly laughs, to be repeated over and over along hours.
(...)
Since that time I had been aloof of old buddies. The torturers were always together - respected and (temido) even amongst the other soldiers. One night although when returning to the dormitory I heard steps over me and when I looked back I saw XXX. I haven't seen him for months and over the light I recognized a pale, skinny and far from the vitality of other times XXX. With a quite voice, almost whispering he put his hand on my shoulder and said looking at the ground "I shoot an indefensible child. I put fire on a family house. This war is a lye my friend!". And before any (suspiro) left in hurry, followed by his shadow until disappear in the dark lobby.
(...)
I reestablished my way until collapse in my bed to one more night of dark dreams.
(...)
The following day the torture was suspended. No rebels had stand still in the day before offensive. The prisoner would came back to his confinement and I to my keeper duties. That same day I presenced the transportation of the dictator to his cell. The man was a desgraced soul, his body (curvado) was conjunct of countable bones, a shrinked body dressed in rags was transported to his cell, terrified eyes occupied all his face. Looking that man over the light of the corridor I felt panic. The words of XZXX became an ininterrupted funeral march echoing eternely.
S.A.B1.
Ott-Winter, 2009.

What will it be.

Knowing the journey and the history of that man, his pain and drama, his motivations, his losts and fragilities my feeling of guilty drove me to the edge of craziness. "What it is that happens to me. That rottens me inside. That blossom from underneath my skin and ascend my face and makes me blush. And jump into my eyes betraying me. And push my chest and makes me confess. What there is no way of hide anymore. And what is not right someone to refuse. And what makes me a begger, makes me supplicate. What have no size, and will never have. What have no heal, and never will have. That have no recipe and never will have. That disobey us. That is like an spirit that not satiate. That even the 10 god laws will not conciliate nor all the medicines, potions, magics will relief. Not all the spells, all the alchemy. That not even all the saints. What have no rest and will never have. What have no limit. What it is that happens to me that burns me inside, may that happen to me. That disturbs my sleep, may it happen to me that all the shivers come agitate. That all the burnings come stir up. That make me sweat to almost drown. That make all my nervous praying until collapse. What all my organs are claiming and a terrible fear makes me implore. What have no control. That has no judge."

Days with

Hiro, Spring 2009

The revolt developed primarily out of the daily fight to survive.

memories

"Only fools try to make revolutions,
Wise men conform to them."
William A. Pritchard, 1919.

XXXX - middle

With the bravery and determination of his father and the knowledge thirsty of his mother, XXX was undoubtedly a rare stone invisible in the immensity of the surrounding nature.
(...)
Even though he would never have the chance of advancing much in conventional studies, the writing and reading skills he got during that months would be strongly practiced and improved along his life.

The devotion of the child towards the study was exemplar. When not assisting his mother and sisters in the house maintenance or accompanying his father in the field work or social mobilizations he was practicing and reviewing the lessons until fully master it.


memories
Ot.Wint.2009

Realization.

While the dictator was flourishing, I was languishing, desperate in my thoughts, dived in anxiety. The late letter exerted such powerful reflections on me and even weeks after it I was only thoughts. For the first time I realized we were sharing the same conditions, locked in the dark, breathing the same air the tormentor and the tormented. We were both prisoners.

SociedaDEanonimoS, Ot, hiver, 2009

the end

that afternoon I left the prison. There was no more reason after the recent episodes to be in that place, a relief lingered for so long and finally turned true. Outsides the fresh blowing wind of a cloudy day of October. The terrible sense of lost alleviated by deep breathing under the open sky. I was free again, appreciating each and every detail of the nature around me. The next day I would start my way home, anonymous as in the beginning of the journey but so full of feelings and sentiments. The life would never be the same - in the back new troops of anonymous, cheering before the certainly unexpected world ahead.
S.A.B1, winter 2009

process of becoming invisible

isolated,
waiting in the dark.
warring against my expectations,
trusting only on my instincts.
living over strong drama,
refusing to accept what was unacceptable.
fighting against my convictions,
witnessing transformations.

displaced of my own body,
I was only soul and light.

S.A. B1. Ottawa
Winter, 2009

Isolado,
aguardando no escuro.
Em guerra contra minhas proprias expectativas,
so me resta confiar nos meus instintos.
Vivendo sob forte drama,
me recuso aceitar o inaceitavel,
luto contra minhas conviccoes,
testemunho transformacoes.

fora no meu proprio corpo,
eu era so espirito e luz.

Nausea

a silenced anger that starts in the deepest caves of intestines
and lodges in the right part of brain
consuming expectations
destroying hope
blinding, silencing, atrophying the beauty of diversity
each sight - a harmful stab,
full of scorn,
full of mepris,
full of desprezo
old hags,
etrange vieilles,
cynic megeras
and those bearded demons,
all cruel monsters
with empty life.

Ottawa Winter 2009

The prison and the prisioneer

Being in the prison has paradoxically become the most long time of freedom the dictator had since his infancy. Thinking about that I imagined that years over the pressure of being constantly contested and still keeping his fight, and the recent years living a hidden life in inhospitable conditions the prison turned into a place far from the aggressiveness of the external world representing an neat environment to his intellectual liberty that apparently had flourished. This man has then passed through lot of transformation, deep and intense transformation.

Canada, winter 2009

ernesto

Ernesto has never been bitter in any sense even if all looked to be against him. The hard work in the field, the harmful pressure of discrimination and exclusion, the daily concern about how to feed his family. Every single smile was to me an evidence of his extraordinary quality, an ability so incredible and lot far from what I have experienced before. In Ernesto I found an unique intelligence, rare and venerable.
memories, Ottawa 2009

hamilton

the thirsty to prove his importance was an intrinsic part of his daily efforts. He was also moved by the action of the war but it looked to be a momentousness pleasure instead of being an obsession target. Once he confessed his entire dismal against the way people treaty foreigners and descendants in the country, the harming feeling of exclusion and a life built on the shadow of general sense that he was condemned to have a secondary importance in the society.

Hiro...

from the rustic fights of other times to modern fights of nowdays

rustic fights between equals or almost equals had given place to battles between presumed winners with power and capacity and certain losers with dreams and untiring hope. By one side technology and strategy, by the other side fear and despair and the conviction that it was some divine test.

Memories

Ottawa, winter 2009

...

In the worse of his dismal he remembered more than never his father, his ability of turning disgrace into acts toward the comforting of souls.

Days with the dictator

Ottawa winter 2009

Parijo

SociedadeanonimoS

Book2

Memories

The dog followed me moved by the distinctive courage of that people. His limped leg dictating the rhythm of movements, firm and with an impressive canine confidence. We were moving together, like old friends. As the distance increased I realized Parijo was the best connection between me and Ernesto’s family and at that time I noticed the strong similarities between Parijo and Ernesto himself, the vigilant confidence of the mountaineers and sharp sense of freedom renewed my energy.

While the clouds announced the upcoming rain, the smell from the forest and the humid wind blowing on my face made me tight the walk and then I noticed Parijo was not anymore with me, I was alone then.

I couldn't retain the tears that came together with the first drops of rain.

Ottawa, Hiver 2009

..the psychology of war...

*there is no war without people supporting... == lessons from 2 world war..
*the belief of a soldier in a batle is based on his faith on his good action.. == lessons from israeli palestinian war..
*a soldier that doenst want to fight is the one that would be recognized== lessons from Carnation revolution
*people in non democratic societies are in constant war against their feelings == lessons from China Democracy
*Poets and artists are the best political analists in a war == lessons from Picasso, Yeats, ....
*A destructive war reboot nations and it is up to the people the new way they wish to follow=============

a war is made with anonimous..

sa

How is it going

How is it going

My friend I will tell you something

it is about how the things are going

and going

From my bed I see fishermen

and the coordinated dance of waves and gulls

and the hard men are singing beautiful songs

for the blue green sea

green sea

and it is beautiful

My friend I will tell you something

and it is about how the things are going

and going

From my bed I see fishermen

and the uncoordinated dance of waves and gulls

and the hard men are silenced by the blowing wind

blowing from the dark cold sea

and its frightning

My friend I will tell you something
and it is about how the things are going
and going

From my bed I see Gods and marmeids

arguing about when the new spring will come.

Hiroshima

winter

2008/2009

... The revolutionary potential of the indigenous people...

memories of extraordinary days.....

..in a escaped glance I saw destruction,

anger.

The revolution had exploded,

natives versus the world,

souls so desperate versus steel and uniforms.

The bravery melting down in the land.

The irregular dance of bared feet.

Blame from toothless mouth,

answered with silence and scorn.

People in fever,

falling one by one.

The fight until the last stone and Molotov,

the last screen.

Sociedade de Anonimos - Book 2

=====

Memórias de dias extraordinários

.. numa olhada escapada, vi destruição,
raiva.
A revolução havía explodido,
nativos versus o mundo,
almas desesperadas versus aço e uniformes.
A bravura se derretendo no chão.
A dança irregular de pés descalços.
Amaldiçoamentos de bocas desdentadas,
respondidas com silêncio e desprezo.
Pessoas em febre,
caindo um a um.
A luta até a última pedra e Molotov,
o último grito.

....about the limits of men......

Canto de Ossanha - Baden Powell, Kolosko-Dimow Duo

Black eyed Susie

sitted in the balcony,
I watch the snow falling down.
In the back an apalachain folk in the radio,
in the front the same busy city.
Listening 'Black eyed Susie' and 'Shady Grove'
seeying the beacon of stop and go,
over the balcony's table I find the book I read last autumn,
in the radio only
Doc Watson, David Holt and Bassie Jones and Cas Walling and Dellie Norton
in the bottom the intense stupidity of the war between cars and people,
and the dark turns white to imediatly turns dark again,
the steal guitar amuses me,
"I love my wife, I love my baby
Love my biscuits sopped in gravy..."

I close the window,
and start my await for the spring.

Ottawa, Winter 2009.

her melacholic smile and the promess of being strong....

the smile that starts small,
melancholic,
famine
and then
enlarge throughout the face.
vivid, eloquent and full of expression
is there anything more beautiful in the human expression?
People make this world a wonderful place.

HH, Winter 2008

.... the hate that becomes tolerance, the tolerance that becomes friendship....

days with the dictator. SA Book 1...

..... il y a un sole dans moi, un ete invencible...........

Terre en transe

metamorphosis.................

10.000 revolutions per second

....the autumn that triggered deep transformation in people's life....

the summer is over
and now the autumn is evoking
emotions that is triggering revolutions
in people's mind
and witnessing the rise of reflections
about who we are
and
what we want.

sociedadeanonimos

Hiroshima, 2k8.

.................high blood pressure.............. and increasing...

...diazepam cures people from their humanity..

anxiety, insomnia, seizure, alcohol withdrawal, muscle spasms, amnesia, bipolar behavior, flatulance, suicidal tendency, compulsion .... humanity..........................................................

Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio

"É à África que quero incessantemente voltar, à minha memória de criança. À fonte de meus sentimentos e de minhas determinações. O mundo muda, é certo, e aquele que lá está, em pé no meio do alto capinzal da planície, no sopro quente do vento que traz os cheiros da savana, o rumor penetrante da floresta, sentindo nos lábios a umidade das nuvens e do céu, aquele lá está tão longe de mim que não há história ou viagem que me permita alcançá-lo."

Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio , Nobel Prize Winner 2008

....insolitus....

like irrigating flower in the desert,

it is a waste of time what is going on,

couz feeding is not the only necessary carry needed

what about the sun burn causing pain and the dry wind evaporating each hope of progress

now only psych prisions are created

mocking confuse minds.

HH 2k8

Longa Jornada

As luzes da cidade brilham na escuridao do porto,
A noite ainda nao chegou na cidade mas a movimentacao das trevas avanca inclemente, apressada
Em minutos as sombras sumirao perdidas na escuridao
E entao comeco minha longa jornada noite adentro.
Tomo estradas que cruzam vales,
e pontes que vencem rios
pelos tuneis corto as mais impressionantes montanhas
seguindo pelo ceu e mar
em todos os lugares e em lugar algum
mas sem tristeza
por que um coracao nao pode ser triste
por estar voltando para casa.

Hiroshima, outono 2008

..relatos sobre dias magnificos..

sociedaDEanonimos - Livro 2

...spirit conspires, inspires, transpires .... spiritus mundi...

certain choses

les Plaines d'Abraham sont le meilleur memoire du Canada Fracaise,
la brise doux qui brush le graminee, transportant les feuilles secs du automne
le orchestre de fer, brilliante et en assidu dance, nuit et jour, infatigable
praticant le dernier music avant l'hiver.

Hiroshima, automne 2008

one hundred years, one hundred dreams

the social democracy is still alive, one hundred years after Allendes birthday and 40 years after the death of this extraordinary man.

...courage to enact changes that will push the society toward a new cultural revolution...

developing a good thick skin............

the old that becomes new

looking back to 1998 I realize that a small old city where I had been is a fundamental part of my own history. Many scenes I will not forget but two special are part of my best memories. Some of those things we keep forever and rescue time to time as a secure source of inspiration.

-

there I was, in a cold day of the ending winter.

following a track to nowhere, discovering the meaning of explore alone for the first time,

each short waved road, the stone made streets, the breeze running rush like the train of 6 o'clock, the still strong presence of revolutionaries souls.

The sounds of a orchestra misguiding me to nowhere.

the humidity of the raining season,

the always imminent slipper under the used shoes.

a mid cup coffee, the same size of my budget

and a smile to the accented speech of a lonely drunker passing through,

10 steps ladder,

and loosing myself in memories and tiers.

...

going up the mounts, I start to leave the place,

full of passion, full of feelings and love and peace

in a blink between tears I see the landscape,

that orchestra comes to my mind

the sun rays winning the clouds of coming night,

winning the dark,

announcing the unforgettable.

memories of Ouro Preto

HH, autumn 2008

walking in the night

walking in the night I see neons and whores

and flashs of trams power lines

echoeing, roaring, exploding

and asiatics bells playing in the rithm of the wind

and whispers of drunk beggars,

and taxi horns

the jazzman whistle

so many different songs

make me try a dance step

over the sights of whores

over the spot of neon

over the claps of trams flashs

and step after step

I make my dance through the night

my walk to life.

Hiroshima, autumn 2008.

the power individuals have to inflect the course of things and change it forever....

The Art of Suffering

"For what is the point of training but making pain seem routine? You work the body, yes, but the real point of training is to accustom the mind to endure discomfort: to know it, tolerate it and even, finally, to like it."
Matt Seaton in Rouleur magazine

to the one who is feeling the dream is dying........

The mirror of one's humanity was shown.

and it reflects one's brutality before the wrong believe of enjoying life.

Now the night is falling and one cannot find the light.

The dream is dying and the ground is becoming the roof,

the reality is crude and the ghost of pain is paring around.

hands are being extended, full of compassion,

and good hearts blow one's pain.

for how long it will be like this? maybe too long...

hh, 2k8

L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux

Zoomanity. Zoomanite. Zoomanidade..

. the system keeps the people calm..in the land of hypocrisy...

..le système garde le peuple calme... .dans le terre de l'hypocrisie…

be aware