Showing posts with label Brasilia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brasilia. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Depois do Carnaval





Uma saudade descompassada das ruas e das praias. Das pernas, das gentes e seus sorrisos.
Depois dos dias de festa, ruas lambuzadas de cerveja e de saudades, um sol faiscando amanheceres, outras promessas e novos perigos. Depois disso eu vim te procurar.
E perguntar baixinho onde andas, Joana?

Tu tao francesa e tao brasileira, toda cantada e recantada em chicos e jobins, vem e mata-me de rir, dizia ele, fala-me de amor. Vem Joana, e geme de loucura e de torpor..

Onde andas, Marina? Que daqui distante olhei as passistas na rua. Que daqui tao distante vi no vidro do televisor e por um segundo te imaginei mais bonita, sonhando na tela de silicio voce, toda favorita, ali onde disfarçado eu impossivelmente mestre-sala.

No meio da noite ouvi sinos repicando de um Recife que já quase desconheco, vi a areia de uma praia repisada, toda Rio e toda festa. E no meio da noite Marina me dizendo que já não sabe mais dancar, enquanto outra vez eu a repetir baixinho assim que nessas horas tudo que eu posso te dar é afinal solidão com vista pro mar... Pouco Caetano e Joaozinho Trinta. Algum Alceu. Mas tantos verões passados, eu passando também.

Depois do carnaval que aqui não houve o dia nascia outra vez, tranquilo e suave e frio.
E enquanto o sinal e as passistas e as mulatas e os folioes e as aguas da baía desapareciam num zap, lembrei de voce uma ultima vez, impossivelmente dizendo algo assim como que as vezes eu quero chorar mas o dia nasce e eu esqueco..

Fui eu, descubro o que já sabia, fui eu quem a muito tempo zarpou.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Shaky Brazilian Congress, at night



Camera shaking, no tripod available. It was lightly raining.
t was about 10pm. There was yet lots of rain to come, that night.

Friday, November 27, 2009

More storms. And trees.



It did rain, after all..

[During the last two years I've lived in the white building on the back, in a small apartment with lightly gray walls - except for the kitchen, with white tiles and terracotta floor. The day of the accident I followed my usual routine: woke up at 7, coffee, went out for a run - Bonny was with me, juice, shower, heard the news, kissed Bonny, said goodbye and left. On my bike.

I was at work when the news arrived the plant had just spilled all of its contents in the air. It was a rush, people got crazy. I did not expect that, the accident, neither the choice of who would get in the buses going out of town. Some people I worked with managed to get a place. I could not leave Bonny behind. I liked the way the sunlight hit the living room wall and made it appear to sparkle softly. So did Bonny, I know. We would just sit side by side, sometimes, watching that quiet color mutation, the last direct hits only lightly touching the upper levels of the wall right below the ceiling. We had a clear view in front of us. The open field extended for miles, sparingly dotted with trees that bloom beautifully early May, but that by late November, and especially with this cold arriving sooner, had only a few remaining leaves, and were mostly asleep, it seemed, waiting for a colder winter to come and go, before they shine once more.

So we could see far away. And the plant was not under our view. Its white clouds would usually come from behind, sometimes in large patches, dotting the usually blue sky with softly white patterns. Cotton like.

After the spill the clouds kept coming, mostly dark. I could not reach Bonny. Could not make it to the apartment, they sealed the area. The ravine was mostly poisonous, they said. Everything everywhere probably had become, I thought. I could not make it there. And have not seen Bonny, since.

I kept coming back, for weeks. My hope falling along with my hair, my nails, oh, such pain! I miss my living room, that soft sparkle on the wall, the scent of fresh grass, coming from the ravine in front of us. Bonny. I miss Bonny so much.]

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Playing ahead of the storm



...but the place was newly done.
A year? Two?
Maybe that storm should just really fall.. and hard, on us..

 [The construction started a few years earlier, and had never been finished. The green mossy lawn initially projected was left undone and weeds took over the unpaved area, growing wild during the raining season, stalks as high as five feet suffocating the lower shrubs and almost hid the court behind their leaves.

During the summer months, still punctuated with sudden storms that darken the sky and in just a few minutes pour incomprehensible amounts of water, the court was used more often, kids playing soccer or skateboarding on the neglected cement, a lighter patch of half-hidden terrain.

The abandoned court was in disarray. The cement tint mostly washed out and faded, the low metal fence surrounding the court was broken in patches, wires untied and rusting in the air, the net behind the goalposts torn and shredded, fraying out and mostly gone. The backboard was reduced to a group of disarranged, swollen sheets, its basket sacked, and yet shone absurdly half-covered with spray marks.

I kept going back each afternoon, making my way through the risen-again shrubs, and deliriously sitting at its center, waiting for the roaring storm, madly waiting for the half-naked tree to make its swift move, two steps to the right.]

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Hammocks for sale.





Under the shade, on a sunny day.
Hammocks and an almost cool breeze.
An a view of vast horizons..

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Reading on the bus. for free.







Livros nas parades de ônibus. Você pega pra ler, devolve noutra parada.
Ou tras um para doar.


Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Trees at the avenue. Árvores no eixo



You would expect fancy views...
Sometimes, I all see (of all I looked at the entire day) is not much after all.
Perhaps, that's how we live most of the time: blindly looking and seeing so little

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Cidade de amplos horizontes.




Grande arquitetura. Vastos horizontes.
Por outro lado, pouco calor humano.
A distância física entre as coisas se imiscuindo entre as gentes..

Monday, November 16, 2009

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Zen e o cerrado



Ela gostava de ver o reluzido polido do cromo.
O barulho que dilatava tímpanos.
A vibração do motor sob o assento.
O roçar proximo do asfalto, as irregularidades do terreno.
Gostava de imaginar o calor do seu corpo em contato ao dela, num abraço que era também uma promessa de permanência, uma repetição de estórias tantas vezes recontadas.

Ele gastava horas polindo o metal brilhante.
Se imaginava limpando impossíveis carburadores, trocando pistões,
acertando o bater de válvulas invisíveis, o cheiro da gasolina impregnando
seus dedos.
Pensava em estradas de uma California mítica, o calor do deserto, o ruído de muitas
máquinas em viagem, as paredes do Canyon, sendo assim como um cowboy reinventado,
de uma tribo que ainda não existia quando lobos ainda corriam em grandes grupos por aquelas montanhas.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

A visão do ministro: Três, quatro, dois poderes ?




Pleno dia de sol. Todo o cerrado desse país em construção...
[From the Highest Court, you check Legislative and Executive, on a clear sky]

Friday, November 13, 2009

Árvore ou Caminho? Albero o un percorso?





 
Essas vontades conflitantes..
Diferente daquele caminho que "diverged on a yellow wood," a questão é se páro ou continuo em direção a um outro lugar...

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Subúrbios no centro da capital.



Essas duas horas da tarde, sem sesta...
Saudade de um Goiás que nunca conheci.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Dia de relógios na parede




Um dia de chuva.
Aqui dentro, alguma saudade. E uma vontade de outros licores

Monday, November 9, 2009

Doppo la pioggia



Segunda a tarde. Quase três. Certos silêncios.
Depois da chuva, e antes do céu azul de nuvens brancas: molhado.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Sol e céu azul: um dia de pleno cerrado





Uma cidade de horizontes enormes, esses espaços.
O contraste das cores enchendo os olhos.
Aqueles pastos, um dia, careceram de fechos...