French Spirit

I’d like to reassure Mom : Neither have I lost weight, nor have I gotten out of hand. - a.m.a.

Life has become threateningly expensive. As I suppose, I’m realizing my plans might have a long break. However, it would be a mistake to assume that all the months I’ve spent here have been wasted time. There is indeed, an abundance of things that demands one’s attention here, particularly for a person like me, who’s intrigued by every particle of this living monster, its outside, its inside, the way it breathes, lives and moves. The monuments, pictures, sounds, will not pass without a trace, nor will the characters who pass before me, for a moment, be forgotten. I want go to Paris. I want to live there. For years...maybe many years. My french is getting suitable. I’ve been practicing with my mother’s friend back home. She is wonderful and a good speaker of any kind. Particularly especial.
Americans are nice to me. Gringolandia is nice to me. One especially. Who knows what’s my time here. I’ll feel it when it’s over.

Why Paris? It’s obviously only in Paris that the French spirit can be observed in its thousand manifestations. Political perspectives, and thoughts are as narrow and close as the flats, as random and momentary as life, decorated with a thousand pleasures, with art dragged down to the earth, beautiful and indolent. Now I’m like a cat in shop windows slumbering in the sunshine or prettifying myself complacently, I lap up life with a carefree, bohemian, and oblivious smile, giving all the beauty to the eye, the stomach, and the other senses - and my perspective ends here. I cannot free myself from the thought that all I see is autumn sunshine - without denying my empathy. I proclaim that I love. But I proclaim that I need to enjoy life once again...the last drop, gild it with sauce, wine and love. I’m fearless to start over again.

I have never paid such meticulous attention to my hair, hands or face. I shave almost everyday indeed, I’m invited to do so by the new good soap I got and the hot water running. As long as I live I’ll try to do so.

Letter to Bella XI - diary

Hi my friend,

I realized how much I owe you from my days. Angered by the negative response I apologize and here are some entries from my diary to your enjoyment and laugh. Things like this are written only by hopeless arctic explorers.

Good Friday - April 21st
up to the castle with a pound of bread. I also buy an orange. Breakfast. Post office. Stare at photos. Slaving to Starbucks and myself. In the evening I meet Franz Hals on books. He takes off. I get in the car heading to Nova Yorque (NY) and get there hungry, with a place by the fireplace and meeting with a boyfriend's ex girlfriend. Mood: far from perfect, but good enough to stay sane and smoke a sweet cigar.
I put on my new skirt with suspenders that I made in class. I don't eat anything all day for no reason. It will be several more days before I receive any money. Nothing from you.What is going to happen? (My soap ran out). In the car I think about the beautiful russian woman. The boy from Vienna. I wish they could be there, sharing their wine (Energy for this!!!) By the way, today is good Friday. The idea, however ridiculous, calms me down. I miss my mom and call her.

Easter - Sunday 23rd
Bright sunshine. I sleep feverishly. I'm tormented by a dream. My dream: I've purchased the wrong train ticket but I'm sure the cashier is at fault. I'm so angry that i go back to the station and make a row. Cars are honking terribly. I assure it's already noon but it's only ten. I don't dare to draw. Post office. I take a walk and want to draw. I draw a gentleman. I step up and show it to him. He laughs and goes away. End of a dream.
Church goes well. Beautiful and makes me cry. I haven't eaten. This i Lent. Easter eggs...what' hell happened with my chocolate eggs? No chocolate. No coffee. But eggs. I'm surprised that I can endure so much. I watch soccer with Lindo. I can't stop thinking about the internship I just got. I watch Six Feet Under all afternoon. Gosh...it's so f... depressing!!! It's getting dark. My mood is good.

Easter Monday - 24th
I drew a big question mark in my diary this day. I forgot to buy me soap. Instead of being thrown out... an invitation to a splendid dinner. Can't make it. I have already written about that. I wanted to draw a woman at the subway....she was splendid. But stumbled. I pack this diary. May it rest in peace.


Sorry I don't have much Bellacita. Please, read them with as much indifference as I am now. All this is memory by now. And thanks to heaven, everything, even the worst things, lose their sting when they migrate to our memories.

lov

Virgin

I was born in 1986. I'm not bragging about the times I lived through. I'm simply trying to convey what it felt like living through that age, and the fact that there was something special about it.
I strikes me now that most of the girls of my generation - the moderates, you might designate them - whether virgins or not, agonized over the whole issue of sex. They didn't insist that virginity was such a precious thing, nor denounce it as some stupid relic of the past. So what actually happened? What is this all about?
And I'm not just talking about virginity...but what I'm saying applies to many issues I have with people. Like every generation, there were all kinds of people, all kinds of values. Like every country, all kinds of people, all kinds of values. Like every family, all kinds of people, all kinds of values.

She's so tired. Tired of being sick. Tired of values. Tired of behavior. Tired of her paintings. Tired of trying so hard. She's so sorry to write this pure moldy blog in such circunstances.

Last night it was my day to ask a old friend about her life, whether she had children, where she lived. I had no idea if her e-mail address was the same. She's moving from London to Swiss. So that's what we talked about, changes. Sometimes I felt a bit awkward, but enjoyed talking with her again. We chatted like two old friends who'd said goodbye long ago and who were now walking two separate lives (we shared the same classroom for 10 years). Once we said everything there was to say, silence. A very deep silence. The kind of silence where, if you close your eyes, all sorts of images start to pop up in your mind like you're high or something. It had been a long time since I'd spoken so openly, so honestly, to anybody...and it made me feel old.

I feel old. Old in terms of understanding. Understanding this world. Why do people think a sign will come and save us? Sorry to tell you but ain't no sign. No sign to tell you what to do. To tell you that virgins are more right or wrong. To tell you that you're a natural-born leader. That you're natural born artist. Or a natural-born perfect. I suppose I have to listen elder people, cause I suppose they know more about life. More about living life. I've been trying to do very well for myself. I'm out in this world. Not waiting for a sign...but throwing myself in it. I'm easily seen as a kid to many people. Because easily nobody listens to a kid.

She should pray more. She should listen more.

I'm staring at my own coffee cup and thinking how things changed. Even my coffee, no longer with sugar.

La Influenza

"Of course I miss masses, because nobody's got a life that can do all this".brassai

When a kid I was influenced by people like Frida Kahlo. I surrounded her on books. I surrounded her on prayers. I still do. She was talking with honesty and trying to get all the truth. And now I got a Bob Dylan's speech saying "You don't have to be like your parents". It's true. I don't.

We are made by influences right? We get our actual shape by external influences. This sum up with our truly selves. It's like a cake, we're the flour, but who can eat flour by itself? Like I'm one little creature now, but in five years another someone will come out of myself and show her face, and maybe in ten more years I'll get the shape I want. Maybe.

I met a little boy when I was ten, playing soccer. He and his friends lived in the ghetto where you're supposed to listen to gangster rap and pose in a certain way. They were trying different identities and being kids. Which they had to fight to do.
I came home after that game singing hip hop. Never again. My dad almost collapsed.

I go through fases. I'm in really good behavior at this moment, besides a hangover from last night. But nerveless my moments of dandysh time-traveling protagonist of a gay adventure novel is about to happen. I read about these painters in Nova Iorque (NY) that susteined me a camping fascination with series of painted television sets. I have to see it this time. The name is marvelous "Because of him". Oh yeah, because of him I do stupid things. So, here's another influence...him. And the same duo of painters had a exhibition called " A true story based on lies"....now I truly want meet these guys.

So, I'm trying to learn how to play Regina Spektor on piano. I've been watching these videos on youtube (great by the way) called "how to play". I have no idea what's in my mind...but guess I can't stop singing her songs, so learning I'd stop sing along and just shut up. And maybe just forget a childhood trauma with keyboards. Another influence in my life, when two guys robbed my house back in Brazil and stole my keyboards. I was thirteen. Never played again. I didn't want new keyboards. I wanted mine. I wanted my room untouched. I also slept between my parents for the next 3 months.

Sometimes I buy things because it looks nice. Like the title of an exhibition captured me for a name. I may not even like the art "per se"...but well, who cares. Or even cheap wines that come to a brilliant label. Usually spanish labels are the best. I happen to like them too. Cause this time I care. My palate is very influential. That's why I want kiss my Lindo all the time...I know it bothers him sometimes...but who told him to date a latin?

In general, I'm visually influenced

But learned from a little one.