Sing

All the birds were singing about me, so I allowed myself to relax and I cracked a handful of fresh macadamia nuts.

- 2009

Lesbians

Today my instant messenger keeps warning me: "THE LESBIANS ARE COMING", written in big black capital letters at the bottom of every conversation window I open, with no visible commercial branding. I wonder if their intentions are good and whether I should make preparations or at least tidy up the house.

- 2009 (now)

A Walk

When I saw my breath coming out of my mouth like steam from simmering rice I knew that it was time for a walk. I left the house, turned a few corners staying on the left side of the pavement and came close to bumping into haughty businessmen carrying serious briefcases and cheerful young men with beer crates on their shoulders. Cars slowed down while I crossed the streets and I gave half smiles and raised my left hand clumsily to show my gratitude, while trying to solve the mystery behind the dream I had the previous night about a stubborn bra and its warm and enigmatic owner. I wiped my nose with an old tissue at least once on every street and deliberately stepped on dry leaves which crunched like eggshells. I avoided eye contact with women. Seeing the black and green outer walls of the pub looming like a tacky oversized second hand carpet on the horizon, I decided to stop for a pint. A sweaty drunk man with a grey moustache sat next to me as if I was an old mate he hadn't seen since yesterday and started to babble endlessly about his arrival from Poland two decades ago, swinging his chubby fingers like pink toy swords to emphasize every full stop in his discourse. For no apparent reason he took me for a lecturer at the university and spoke in a mixture of Polish and German, which I somehow understood. His soliloquy ended when he abruptly stood up and went to the loo to unburden his share of beer and vodka shots. His pack of cigarettes was still on the table, next to his stained scarf and half a glass of his beer, with ashes and torn coasters scattered on the wooden surface like the remains of a shipwreck between the liquid circles which proved that many glasses had visited the table in the last hour. I helped myself to a few cigarettes and left the pub before he came back. After turning another corner and trying to take the tissue out of my pocket again, I dropped the cigarettes in the gutter where the immaculate whiteness of their bodies instantly turned to a translucent brown because of the rain which had started to fall. By the time I was on the other side of the road my feet were already wet and I imagined walking on an empty beach, sticking my toes in the sand with each step. From the Asian market I bought a pink box of biscuits which tasted like salted strawberries. Then I came back and curled under a freezing blanket.

- 2009 (now)

Corners of My Room

There are six corners in my room, each one more interesting than the other. I see them everyday and this is how they look:


- 2009 (now)

There and Back Again

I knew that macadamia chocolote would work. So he came back and I took a photo of him while he was climbing up the wall back to his web.

This is getting quite geeky.

- 2009 (now)

Shafts of Light

Spiders have been visiting me regularly since the day I moved in here. First day, first spider. She was a cool little one, looking at me from between my bedsheets. When I carried her out she reluctantly stepped out of the sheets onto the porch and never came back.

Then came the second one, a daddy-longlegs building his web in the corner between the door and the built-in wardrobe. Somehow I liked this one and decided to give him some space so that he could hunt flies and do other stuff that spiders do in his corner of the room. I checked him out several times a day to see if he had caught anything, but although he seemed to grow bigger he did never hunt or eat in front of me.

Three days later I was sitting on the computer doing the stuff I do and eating chocolate with macadamia nuts when I noticed a black shadow to my right. I turned my head and almost fell off my chair when I saw him a few centimeteres away from my face. He was hanging upside down playfully from his web, observing me. I was surprised to see such curiosity from a spider and I felt a tiny drop of respect growing inside of me. After all his web stretched all the way from the ceiling down to my eye level, and considering my relative size and my relative hospitality I would not expect his movement to be an aggressive one. Maybe he simply wanted to say hi. I'm embarrassed to say that suddenly my fear overcame my respect and I put him on the porch, too.

With my exaggerated fear disappearing in a few minutes, I started to feel guilty for having shut him out of his beloved home. I left the windows and the door open hoping that he might get the message and come back. I also thought of catching a fly and leaving it on his web as a present, but decided against it. He did not come back that day.

It was the next day when he appeared again. Not near any webs or preys, but simply in the middle of the ceiling, far from every wall and corner and right above me. It didn't come down, it didn't move, it didn't even go to his web in the corner of the room.

That night I went to sleep looking at him and he moved a little to turn his back to me, still in the middle of the ceiling. When I woke up the next morning he was gone. I couldn't find him in the room although the windows and the door were closed and he couldn't have gone under the door and all these urban legends about humans swallowing spiders don't seem very plausible to me. Why would a predator evolved from ancient spiders of hundreds of millions of years back walk naively into people's mouths looking for food?

Maybe I should play some spider music to get his attention or maybe I should put some spider books on the shelf so that he would come back to have a look. Also I shouldn't forget to buy some more macadamia chocolate.

- 2009 (now)

Plus

You sealed the cap with a plus so that my clothes would travel safely to foreign lands. I still have not found the courage to take it off.

- 2009 (now)

I'm Back

1.19 Evil music of the crickets.
1.20 Pppppp ppp pp p p p ppp pp p p p p pqs
1.25 Wambling wambling wambling in the wing
1.41 Do insect machines feel pain?

Yes.

- 2009 (now)

Kids

- Do you have any kids?
- No, we have cats.

- 2008

Fiction

After 5 days without talking to anyone, the first thing you say is, "Have you been avoiding me?" Shot.

- 2008 (now)

Family

"I'm a family kind of guy, you know," I said.
"Yeah, they are stuck to a wall," he said.

- 2008 (now)

Common

I think I talked to you a few minutes ago (now it's 3:44). You told me about a dream that you forget each time we talk. I saw your skin like snow and I saw a sun and your eyes and your nose and your back.

- 2007

The Bed

Lost my way out of the bed.

- 2008

Banana

An old-new mixtape came out after a short trip around our little island. Rolling hills, synthetic beats, bananas, beer and giant trees. Please listen here. Porque es total!

- 2008 (now)

Possession Lost

He wrote "possess" with one "s"; "posess". It was a relatively important piece of writing and he felt terribly embarrassed afterwards. He had even doubted it when he wrote the word down, "One or two s? Damn..." he had thought. The other languages he knew hadn't helped much either. Possuir, posséder, poseer: 2 to 1. Would he join the majority and make it 3 to 1, or help the weak and create an equilibrium, making it 2 to 2?

Ironically, the poem he was writing on was about losing, mastering this precious art. So at the end of the day he took a deep breath, as he had painfully learnt to do in moments of panic, reviewed the ideas floating around in his head, took another deep breath, read the poem again and acknowledged that it is indeed natural to lose letters, just as it is natural to lose objects, time, places, people and thoughts. He would let the one s disappear in the tortuous corridors of knowledge. Losing an s is not a disaster, once it is the art of losing that you intend to master.

- 2008 (now)

Mundo Psiquitito

While life flows comfortably busy on this side of the world, a new mixtape of half an hour of mellow tunes came out, about another world where everybody walks on the other side of the pavement. Please listen here.

- 2008 (now)

Ahora Mejor

Phone, phone, phone, talk, talk, talk, kiss, kiss, kiss, hug, hug, hug.

- 2007

Bimbo

While savage sheep hide in the bushes awaiting their next prey on the distant hills in the countryside, there's a new mixtape out in the city where everybody is safe and sound. You can listen to it by clicking here.

- 2008 (now)

An Island

An island in an island is still an island.

- 2008 (now)

Dia de Miojo

Dia de miojo é muito triste.

- 2007

#47

A tiny mixtape came out after a few hours at the park and a little bit of inspiration.

Please click here to listen.

- 2008 (now)

Back Home

Each time I come back home I find a little lonely black hair in the bathroom sink and I thank you for that.

- 2007

Comfort

It's as if sometimes this comfort discomforts us, so we behave in funny, clumsy ways just to feel warmly uncomfortable.

- 2007

8136000479

After four years of hard work, sweating under the scorching sun, getting soaked under the rain, walking around with me on the same streets, staring at the same walls over and over, always being obedient, my sweet camera decided to have its own way. Now we only take the photos it wants. Now it likes low light situations, gets depressed beneath bright clouds and shows this by washing everything pale, like a nuclear wave. Now it believes we should learn to love grainy photos that resemble amateur paintings we see on the walls of cheap coffee shops. At first I was a bit disappointed. I thought maybe a few days off would help it reconsider the situation. But it assured me that this is not temporary, that it prefers to see the world like it pleases, that it feels good, that people would pay to have such an uncommon sight, so I gave in and now it seems happy.

- 2008 (now)

A Beach Trip

A beautiful day for a beach trip. He felt close to the nature. He talked. He stepped in the ocean to get his feet wet. He then stepped on sand to get his feet covered in sand. He talked and talked. He drank beer. He took a break to think. He stepped in the ocean once again to get the sand off his feet. He saw sheep. He saw clouds.

- 2008 (now)

Just Like That

"Just like that," she said, "just like that."

- 2007

My Eyes

I looked in my eyes and thought they are darker than they were.

- 2006

Bono Bug Report

Dear Sir/Madam,

Sometimes the biscuits come out sandwiched on the wrong side.

Sincerely,
ei

- 2006

The Double

You were here when the doorman called in to inform that you were at the entrance of the building. When I told him, "Flávia's already here," he said, "Well, there's another one here," with a smiling voice.

- 2007

Cemetery

Outside my window, past the big green tree, across the road, on the other side of the bridge lies a cemetery. Its once white tombstones are now covered with moss. Tombstones to prove the existence of people born in a further century and deceased in a closer one. Just a few steps away from the passing buses, from the hungover homeless, from the solemn Asian woman nibbling a sandwich under the shadow of a willow, rest the dry bones and empty skulls of Susan and Margaret and William and George, now smiling in their favourite dresses and suits with their teeth white and yellow and gold.

- 2008 (now)

O Duplicado

The phone rang today. I let the answering machine take the call. Somebody was wanting for me to pay for the call. I thought that it was Luma so I picked up the receiver. It was a man. And not the voice of anyone I know. I asked who he is. He asked me if my wife's here. I asked who he is again. He replied, I am her husband. I hung up the phone. Better be careful, we might have another double man case here.

- 2006

White Bugs

Today corn turned into white bugs in my mouth and I chewed faster.

- 2006

Cuddles

Traditional cuddle, bear cuddle, high cuddle, cul-de-sac cuddle, 50s cuddle, in the mood for love cuddle, squirrel cuddle, rainy day cuddle, snowy day cuddle, hope for a snowy day cuddle, dreamy cuddle, oriental cuddle, porno cuddle, pushy cuddle, leglock cuddle, Egyptian cuddle, Russian cuddle, Indian cuddle, cupcake cuddle, virgin cuddle, spider cuddle, quicky cuddle, slimy cuddle, coffee cuddle, Sultan's cuddle.

- 2007

Tropics 100

Yesterday I bought a little bucket of yogurt with mango & passion fruit flavour, to remind me of the tropics. It was branded as "Mango Passion Punch," which easily won over the other brand on the same shelf. When I opened it I saw that it not only contained the flavour, but also pieces of real fruit. Then I felt the "Punch", maybe on my face and definitely on my tongue. The black seeds of passion fruit reminded me of a woman I know, who eats passion fruit with a spoon, all sour and sticky. The fleshy and elegant taste of mango reminded me of a woman I know, for whom I already peeled a few mangoes.

- 2008 (now)

A Dream

I dreamt of an overtly sexy and equally disgusting, big-tits young girl. She had a green tattoo on the inner upper side of her right tit. She was leaning forward to show her vast cleavage which was supposed to be wildly attractive for most men, but I thought it looked like a sewer tunnel. And her tattoo looked like a horsefly.

- 2007

New Year's Eve

I took a photo of my New Year's Eve dinner: on the left, a chilled bottle of beer with flakes of ice still hanging on its body; in the middle, my plate with two stylish hot dogs (one slightly damaged), waiting for me like two discarded submarines; on the right, a jar of pickles, home tempered. The photo which was shot at f2.8, 1/30, 400 ASA documents the humble desperation of a young man from a distance of 33 cm.

- 2006 [almost 2007]

A Personal History of Banana Mash (or A Personal Banana Mash History)

It was dear beautiful Goldie who introduced me to the world famous banana mash. I was in the tropics that hot summer, having escaped from my old haunts and new, and all that they brought along. It was the very same summer that I met Goldie.

She was sitting at a table under palm trees when I saw her. There were a bunch of friends around her, each one smiling more with every second passing as they sheepishly waited for their turn to talk to her. Everybody loved her.

Later that night, while we were sharing a smoke in her bed, watching the gigantic ceiling fan rotate endlessly, she told me about the banana mash. "You know," she said, "it's a very simple dessert, from my childhood."

I tried to imagine her childhood. New old cars, people with strange but comfortable looking clothes, laughing families having big dinners with big smiles on their faces.

"Two bananas," she said. "You can use even the oldest ones." Her hands were softly spanking the air in front of her breasts as she talked. She made me feel like I was discovering the reality of a mythological treasure. "Just mash them with a fork. Then sprinkle some milk powder, some enriched flour, some chocolate powder and there you are." She always made simple things look simpler.

I was on the couch playing with the cat when she brought me my first banana mash. It was in a nice clay bowl. The mash was a mixture of yellow cream, brown and white powder and an occasional wet and darker part of the layer of powder. I dug my spoon into the creamy mixture and asked Goldie how I should eat it. Was I supposed to mix everyhing together even more? "Every person has a way to eat banana mash," she said. "You should have a particular way to eat it, too. You'll discover it in time." Sounded great to me. So I took my spoon out of the bowl, without mixing anymore, and tasted the cream. It was sweet, cool and exotic. I could feel every powder doing its job; they were almost melting into my tongue. Every bit of dry powder was growing with the mashed banana's humidity and my saliva. "When you do it with only one banana, it's too few," she said. "And when you use three, it's too much." But I had fallen in such a hasty love with the banana mash that I could easily devour dozens of bowls and ask her for more, and she happily would make more each time I asked.

Innocent little Goldie with a heart golden as her name. She made every bowl of banana mash with such love, such affection that I'd have sweet, wild dreams after eating them.

I always tried to solve how she could turn the simplest and most common ingredients into such a noble and magical dessert. Her layers seemed like parallel universes of joy. When I spooned the mixture there always came a tiny mouthful of mash with four perfect layers: a thick layer of fork-mashed banana topped with very subtly seperated layers of milk powder, enriched flour and a generous sprinkle of chocolate powder. This was the secret of her banana mash. The secret of making me carve the bowls delightedly, until I saw the flower or fish patterns of the bowls. (A secret unearthed but never achieved by me.)

That's why, during lonely long nights of cold hands and auto-conversations, an hour before I'd make myself a tea, I'd put old bananas and the three powders in a bowl, trying to create layers, not perfect, but with good intentions, and I'd swallow a spoonful of the mixture only to realise that it tastes nothing close to her banana mash. So I'd dig my spoon deep into the bowl and mix everything, full of deception and yearning. Then I'd eat it all up and wash the bowl and the spoon quickly, like a criminal cleaning up the crime scene, not to leave any evidence behind.

- 2007