domingo, 1 de janeiro de 2012
Waiting to enter the dressing room
I was there in the dressing room. In fact, it was on the dressing room, dressing room simply because I cannot stand. I was in the room adjoining the dressing room, lying on a couch while waiting for the moment I would have to enter the dressing room and change clothes to do the part. Just go into the dressing room for it and get out of there as fast as possible. Before I wanted to say here how much I admire some discerning.
When I was a kid, liked to sit in the last book in the classroom. He did not like to talk to anyone and do not notice me like that. Still am. I'm a little ashamed of myself on nights when drunk, I usually talk a blue streak, making me notice and grossly pop scholarship (the only scholarship that can burn).
On those nights I'm naughty, exaggerated, even a slut bag. The next day I'm ashamed of me. I really like is people who do not discrete point out why and maybe even call me a lot more attention. And he went there. I was lying on the couch. The writer. I knew who he was.We were not presented, fortunately, since I do not feel comfortable with it. So I was awarded the opportunity to remain anonymous and I was given the right to just observe. Quiet, cool, in a remarkable way.
He sat there, and the bags appeared, of course. And asked for autographs, and he asked to take pictures with them. Damn phones. Today, every case has a phone with a camera and he always wants to take a picture with you. And he had no real idea of who you are exactly. But he thinks you should be important and then fucked. And he patiently autographed books and took pictures and shook his head and smiled patiently as a monk. And his wife was also extremely kind to everyone. And I was there, lying there, just watching and somehow, trying to remain supportive. Then the second bell rang and I had to go to the play.And during the time I was listening on my MP3 Blues before going on stage, I thought the writer discreet, patient guy who does not seem to be accustomed to any kind of hype, but at the same time is gentle and try to be pleasant with people who require your attention.
I realized then that there are still people out there like him.Guys who just want to do their job and they know that the trailer has a bunch of boring he will have to endure. I felt a little stronger, somehow, a friend of a guy who will never be truly my friend. But I went there to make the play, feeling less alone. And I could understand a bunch of things just to look into the writer. There, sitting on the couch, accompanied by his wife, so understanding about it, but a little more comfortable (at least I thought) with all the harassment and inconvenience.
I spent the rest of the night thinking of the writer, in his behavior, his way cool, which I have long admired and who now only confirmed the impression. I went back to the hotel, with a little more peace, thanks to him. I enjoyed lying on the couch, watching, admiring and learning from Luis Fernando Verissimo. Discreet as it is, should not even have an understanding of how sometimes it is important for some desperate souls like mine.
When I was a kid, liked to sit in the last book in the classroom. He did not like to talk to anyone and do not notice me like that. Still am. I'm a little ashamed of myself on nights when drunk, I usually talk a blue streak, making me notice and grossly pop scholarship (the only scholarship that can burn).
On those nights I'm naughty, exaggerated, even a slut bag. The next day I'm ashamed of me. I really like is people who do not discrete point out why and maybe even call me a lot more attention. And he went there. I was lying on the couch. The writer. I knew who he was.We were not presented, fortunately, since I do not feel comfortable with it. So I was awarded the opportunity to remain anonymous and I was given the right to just observe. Quiet, cool, in a remarkable way.
He sat there, and the bags appeared, of course. And asked for autographs, and he asked to take pictures with them. Damn phones. Today, every case has a phone with a camera and he always wants to take a picture with you. And he had no real idea of who you are exactly. But he thinks you should be important and then fucked. And he patiently autographed books and took pictures and shook his head and smiled patiently as a monk. And his wife was also extremely kind to everyone. And I was there, lying there, just watching and somehow, trying to remain supportive. Then the second bell rang and I had to go to the play.And during the time I was listening on my MP3 Blues before going on stage, I thought the writer discreet, patient guy who does not seem to be accustomed to any kind of hype, but at the same time is gentle and try to be pleasant with people who require your attention.
I realized then that there are still people out there like him.Guys who just want to do their job and they know that the trailer has a bunch of boring he will have to endure. I felt a little stronger, somehow, a friend of a guy who will never be truly my friend. But I went there to make the play, feeling less alone. And I could understand a bunch of things just to look into the writer. There, sitting on the couch, accompanied by his wife, so understanding about it, but a little more comfortable (at least I thought) with all the harassment and inconvenience.
I spent the rest of the night thinking of the writer, in his behavior, his way cool, which I have long admired and who now only confirmed the impression. I went back to the hotel, with a little more peace, thanks to him. I enjoyed lying on the couch, watching, admiring and learning from Luis Fernando Verissimo. Discreet as it is, should not even have an understanding of how sometimes it is important for some desperate souls like mine.
sexta-feira, 30 de dezembro de 2011
At the bar...
I think I had gone to the bathroom. I don’t not remember. I just remember that the lines was big. The bar lines at the bathrooms are always big, even four or five people are inside. There are five others wanting to get in here. All that time I took because sometimes when I went to the bathroom, invariably touched the wall there was a time out and watching people going in and out, all astonished, a bohemian kind of tingling.
When I returned to my beer and my world is strictly private to my world in a safe corner of the counter, I noticed the look frightened and embarrassed by my friend. Just that I followed his gaze to understand why. His wife outta onstage rubbing the guitarist. I think I felt even more embarrassed than he. She looked to where her husband was and smiled luxuriously as women when they want to provoke the demons in his men. The guitarist was also embarrassed, but he chose not miss the opportunity. The other guitarist was also approached and kissed his neck. I wanted to say something, something like "this crap're never cold beer, right?" But I could not say anything. I could even get near him. I was by far the sidelines, praying pro coach there and do not forget my request entry into the field.
People in the bar seemed to enjoy the performance of my friend who was drunk as, being applauded and encouraged, seemed to grow more comfortable. People tend to applaud that kind of attitude. Must be some kind of revenge, I can never understand. Some friends came to him on a Tuscan or to show solidarity as they usually do some "friends", mocked even more bad luck the guy without him noticing it's happening, of course. And he really talked to them as if nothing had happened. Out of the corner of the eye still peering into the stage. The band struck up a sexy blues, which made my friend opened a smile out of this world. She is now tacking in front of everyone (just popped into my ming that I have work to do, I have to convert pdf to excel, now continuing…)
My friend bowed his head and left. I was holding my glass of beer in hand. At that time the beer was already hot as hell. When my friend noticed that her husband had left, his face was full of sorrow more true. It's as if nothing had meaning in life. She bent down and sat on the edge of the stage. The band kept playing. I went to the door of the bar. Outside, my friend talked to some people trying to hide her sadness. Inside my friend could no longer hide shit.
Contrary to what they say, the night does not usually accept people more sad and lonely.
When I returned to my beer and my world is strictly private to my world in a safe corner of the counter, I noticed the look frightened and embarrassed by my friend. Just that I followed his gaze to understand why. His wife outta onstage rubbing the guitarist. I think I felt even more embarrassed than he. She looked to where her husband was and smiled luxuriously as women when they want to provoke the demons in his men. The guitarist was also embarrassed, but he chose not miss the opportunity. The other guitarist was also approached and kissed his neck. I wanted to say something, something like "this crap're never cold beer, right?" But I could not say anything. I could even get near him. I was by far the sidelines, praying pro coach there and do not forget my request entry into the field.
People in the bar seemed to enjoy the performance of my friend who was drunk as, being applauded and encouraged, seemed to grow more comfortable. People tend to applaud that kind of attitude. Must be some kind of revenge, I can never understand. Some friends came to him on a Tuscan or to show solidarity as they usually do some "friends", mocked even more bad luck the guy without him noticing it's happening, of course. And he really talked to them as if nothing had happened. Out of the corner of the eye still peering into the stage. The band struck up a sexy blues, which made my friend opened a smile out of this world. She is now tacking in front of everyone (just popped into my ming that I have work to do, I have to convert pdf to excel, now continuing…)
My friend bowed his head and left. I was holding my glass of beer in hand. At that time the beer was already hot as hell. When my friend noticed that her husband had left, his face was full of sorrow more true. It's as if nothing had meaning in life. She bent down and sat on the edge of the stage. The band kept playing. I went to the door of the bar. Outside, my friend talked to some people trying to hide her sadness. Inside my friend could no longer hide shit.
Contrary to what they say, the night does not usually accept people more sad and lonely.
quinta-feira, 29 de dezembro de 2011
quarta-feira, 28 de dezembro de 2011
Random toughts
So I thought on the best way to avoid having sleepless nights despite of all my troubles. The technique is to pretend that it somehow is part of life such as fish or cats getting tangled in the legs when they feel the smell of fish or when we go out on the street and all the taxis and all the hours waiting for taxis and all taxis down Augusta and we do not collect because we are always on the wrong side of the street and all will simply not exist and all the big fish and small and all the pictures and all that brings us back to that feeling of nostalgia and that meets all shouts desperate people out there that like fish in the boat and all the whores and sad that does not look sad at first contact but are short-lived fish such as these whores and whores.
All I know is only a heaven for them all whores and all the news I get the Internet via the phone by his friends certainly hate me and pretend to care about or love me until there is a peculiar kind of cynicism the enemies but I never thought about having enemies but they exist and wave when I pass in their cars listening to loud music in the car and they cannot see that I am doomed so I protect her and all the pizza and all movies and all the projects go to Buenos Aires but I know I'm the last in the queue of those who still have some kind of hope.
I force myself to trick me to pretend I'm a guy can someone worthy of memories and a well written verse or a miserable footnote someone who is still able to light all the lights in Augusta with a sincere smile to someone who killed 23 because he wanted to disprove all the predictions and horoscopes and witches Street Right someone who is still trying to find a way to prove useful to someone deserving and in fact these sleepless nights and that life always fish pie and fish as symbols of exhaustion delivery of surrender and I see her go after I give up all hope and all the purest feeling and all the sex and all the strangeness and allthe sky and open arms as a sign of what is best of all you want and return home alone and pro whiskey and movies pros and pros and plans for last slice of cold pizza and Coke for night and for that I witness to the window and soulful ballad that merges the sounds of bells notes agree that the fish and make me feel the most lonely guys who believe in fish and ponds that reflect my face fish sentenced to escape the tank and I remember your scattered hairs on the pillow and then suddenly I decide the top of my incompetence of not knowing how to swim with the fish it is time to do more boys not men's work.
All I know is only a heaven for them all whores and all the news I get the Internet via the phone by his friends certainly hate me and pretend to care about or love me until there is a peculiar kind of cynicism the enemies but I never thought about having enemies but they exist and wave when I pass in their cars listening to loud music in the car and they cannot see that I am doomed so I protect her and all the pizza and all movies and all the projects go to Buenos Aires but I know I'm the last in the queue of those who still have some kind of hope.
I force myself to trick me to pretend I'm a guy can someone worthy of memories and a well written verse or a miserable footnote someone who is still able to light all the lights in Augusta with a sincere smile to someone who killed 23 because he wanted to disprove all the predictions and horoscopes and witches Street Right someone who is still trying to find a way to prove useful to someone deserving and in fact these sleepless nights and that life always fish pie and fish as symbols of exhaustion delivery of surrender and I see her go after I give up all hope and all the purest feeling and all the sex and all the strangeness and allthe sky and open arms as a sign of what is best of all you want and return home alone and pro whiskey and movies pros and pros and plans for last slice of cold pizza and Coke for night and for that I witness to the window and soulful ballad that merges the sounds of bells notes agree that the fish and make me feel the most lonely guys who believe in fish and ponds that reflect my face fish sentenced to escape the tank and I remember your scattered hairs on the pillow and then suddenly I decide the top of my incompetence of not knowing how to swim with the fish it is time to do more boys not men's work.
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