Sunday, February 26, 2006

Brokeback Mountain

I finally went to see it yesterday. What can I say about a film of that importance? It was epoch-making. Naïve as it may sound of me, the world is never gonna be the same after that film. Okay, it was a small step, but it was an irreversible step forward, and there is no coming back now. Ang Lee the wizard filmed two Hollywood hunks kissing each other, and having sex, like all gay men (and straight as well) do. There was no fear to show affection between them, to show body against body, face against face, the two cowboys burning with desire for each other, having tender moments and emotional turmoils together. Absolutely no fear. From now, in the collective unconscious, we gay men will be less aliens and more included in 'ordinary' life.

I took a long time to see the film, and all of my friends, gay or otherwise, had already seen it before me. I was especially affected by a skeptic remark a (straight but tad cute) office colleague of mine made: 'The story has nothing special to it', and Thiago frowned and shook his head firmly. 'If it weren't for gay protagonists, it would have been just another sugary USA romantic film'. I'm sorry Thiago. The protagonists of Brokeback Mountain ARE gay. And they aren't gays from the SoHo, or Avenida Paulista, or West Hollywood or la Chueca of the 21st century. They were impoverished cowboys in Wyoming in the 60s, a place and a time when Homosexuality was punished with humiliation and a painful outlaw Death Penalty. In many places, far from where Thiago and I live, homosexuals are still condemned to death and humiliation all the time. Just a couple of years ago, an effeminate teenager in Rio de Janeiro was forced by a gang of bullies to jump from the train. And the train was moving at top speed. Because he was gay. The film DOES have a merit for showing a love story between two guys, sugary or not. For countless years, we've had meaningful homosexual stories in books and underground cinema, but this time we made it to Cinemark. All over the planet, people are united, watching two butch, honest men kiss, caress and penetrate each other.

This is recognition. This is respect. This is dignity before society.

I have already commented on the story itself here on the blog, back in January when I read the short story written by Annie Proulx. I read the story about seven times, and yesterday it was as breathtaking as the first time. Ang Lee is definetely impressive. I simply cannot think of another word for him that would do enough justice. I knew some of the dialogues by heart, and repeated them whispering with the actors sometimes, but the way the story was told, especially with the magical Asian way of doing photography and the realistic sceneries, was SO insightful that I think the story now will deserve an eighth reading. I love this tale.

I remember when my boyfriend watched this film last month in Madrid with his North American friend, Angela. The message between the lines (which is naturally different for each of us, however universal the feeling is) brought us much more together. We awakened to the reality that love is rare, beautiful and should not be denied. Until now, everything indicates that 'Brokeback Mountain' has changed our lives forevermore.

In conclusion, I reccomend 'Brokeback Mountain' to every human being on Earth. This film is an achievement of the whole Humankind, and surrendering to the amazing power of this story will change anyone's life for the better and forever. Lose your mind. Do not criticize. Just go and watch it.

If you are tough enough for that, naturally.

Friday, February 24, 2006


That is my worst poison. Every little bad thing that happens will stress me out real bad, and I will, as the portuguese saying goes, 'start a storm on a glass of water'. Every bright thing that happens to me will make me crave for more of that and stalk it more and more. Every dull and neutral day will make me create another Holy Grail just to fill the existential vacancy.

Right now, my greatest source of anxiety is finding a way to move abroad legally, because I cannot stand being far from my boyfriend much longer. He lives across the Atlantic, and even though I have a right to European citizenship, it's gonna take forever. And I cannot afford forever to be with him. I love him and I want him right now and forevermore.

Also, my anxiety always raises when I sit on the piano. I thought my biggest block was having this boring electronic keyboard to study only, no real piano with heavy keys for dynamic interpretation. But I discovered on Wednesday a piano available to use in a club I am part of near my house. I can book an hour a day from Tuesday to Sunday if I want, and that is what I am doing, but as soon as I sit on it, I get all anxious with the exercises, scales, arpeggios and studies. That just drives me crazy, because I want to just sit and play along.

Julia Cameron teaches to use the Anxiety for something, but I have been failing to learn this Alchemy...

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Some people just insist on being arseholes

Here are the office, where once was a paradise of fun, clever remarks and boundless creativity, we have an instant messaging programme, and this morning I assembled a couple of brilliant quotes, specifically: "The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool", by Shakespeare; and by the stupendous GB Shaw, "Reasonable people adapt themselves to the world. Unreasonable people attempt to adapt the world to themselves. All progress, therefore, depends on unreasonable people." Those are so in tune with my core being wisdom that I went immediately enthusiasted about them (Enthusiasm comes from Ancient Greek, meaning 'with God in Self') and I used the IM software to share with everybody...

But naturally not everybody have God within them awake. And almost all of them are Xtians. And this Xtian termagant responsible for changing the office from Shangri-la to a barren, gray wasteland replied to all that beautiful wisdom from Shaw and Shakespeare. She saw a 'naughty word' in my presentation of the comments. And replied to the Wisdom commenting on the 'naughty word' and how 'unpleasant' it was. I wish I had the choice to say how unpleasant her deformed face, her awful clothes, her irritating voice, her stupid remarks and her whole unidimensional being was for me.

Death to the Wet-Blankets! Let's murder their poisonous arses before they murder our creativity! A painful, slow and cruel death to all of them!! One by one!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

No Second Fiddle

Wow, I had my first fiddle lesson yesterday. I actually PLAYED the fiddle for some short minutes together with the rest of the group, and it DID feel good to play it! It was not with the bow yet, we did pizzicatto (plucked strings), and it was just a short semi-rythmic phrase. Delightful!!

I'm on my way to becoming a fiddler. Woo-hoo!!

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

A Day Thrice Incredible

Today I'm happy for three very specific reasons: First and foremost, it's St Valentine's Day, and while we don't celebrate it in São Paulo, they do in Madrid and my boyfriend and I decided to take this as a special occasion, because there's always enough reason to celebrate having found the love of your life, even if he lives way over the Atlantic.

Second, tonight I have my first fiddle class, and that is SO lovely, because even if I don't become a great fiddler, I will develop more of my ear and my sensitivity for melodies, which are at the heart of the music style I want to make.

Third, today is my first anniversary living in São Paulo. On February 14th 2004 I moved from Rio and the occasion was so important that it became like a second birthday to me. I am a happier, freer and more fulfilled person now, because even if I don't own everything I want, here I will always be able to look for them, and as my favourite quote from the Tao Te King has it, it's not achieving the goal that matters, but simply the joy of pursuing it. The glory of the journey itself.

Many times over the past couple of months people have asked the story of the move. I have considered many ways to tell it, and incredibly revealing ways to summarize it, but I will just sit here and tell it as it comes back to me, letting it flow, as it was the Flow that brought me over here.

The story starts like Andersen's 'the Ugly Duckling' (and probably would end like that, if I had arrived to the end already). I was this incredibly talented, charismatic, extravagant and creative lad, full of stuff to say and really no space to say it. Many awful consequences derived from this, and I managed to survive through them, and I started to believe life was being an ugly duckling forever: being actually rejected in what I called home, having people (especially my parents and all kinds of doctors and counsellors) tell me all the time how inconvenient (to be euphemistic really) I was. What they meant, and they were indeed right, is that I didn't fit. And they kept inventing ways to make me fit. All kinds of shit, that would take forever to enumerate here, but my Morning Pages have everything pretty well-documented, and nothing of that worked. It was pretty simple to solve the problem: drama school, or guitar or dance lessons, or even a few crayons and watercolour--anything that would help me channel my immense emotional energy would have done, but sincerely it was beyond the adults I unfortunately had around me back then, and I had only learnt anger, frustration and repression from people around me. Not their fault, really, but still I have the right to admit their arseholeness to myself and exorcize the poison I had distilled on me for twenty four years.

(Outro: if you think I am being the crybaby, stop reading and move on to another blog. There's actually no point in reading this if you don't resonate with my medicine)

Then graduation came. I left college having done everything the shrew I have for a mother expected me to, even the major she chose for me to take. And then I very happily didn't succeed at anything I had tried so hard, and ended up poor, unemployed and left along the road by the useless, fake 'friends' I had piled up around me. The duckling dropped off the cat and the hen. You can shove your 'if you don't make the same sounds we do, you suck' attitude up your arse, thanks. I enjoy being a lyric tenor. :)

Also, at that time, I also had a severe heartbreak with my Spiritual Path. Then, at the bottom of the Pit, surrounded by a deep healing solitude and an eerie silent peace, you inevitably discover your real strength. I woke up to the fact that I was denying everything I was feeling, and denying everything I was, period. I went back to writing, pathworking, vision quests, the Wheel Year and Soul Retrieve, and my guide the Butterfly worked Its Medicine on me. I cocooned. I undertook Julia Cameron's 'the Artist's Way' and focused all my vast Passion into it, I invested every resource and all of the time I had on my Creative Recovery, and had an amazing time. I discovered who I actually was, and decided that it, who I was, was my true treasure, the only thing I had through fowl and fair, hell or high water. The only asset and superpower I owned and needed was me. Amazing Awen. Awen the Shining. So I let go of people, of routines, of titles, of degrees, of many, many garbage I had packed and was carrying in my back, like Atlas carries Gaia. Then, as one throws a fit, as one takes over the whole Universe, I kicked the whole shit up, and decided I had nothing to lose. Boy, I had myself. I could see now I had talents, I had willpower, I had charms and Magic, I had sex-appeal, I had Creativity. I had everything someone really needs. And none of those you can really lose, nor can someone take them from you. So, free of fear, I needed to change my surroundings to match my newborn Self.

The fire of a Supernova burns real hot. Rio was having a burnout with my Blue Fire. I instinctively (hell, yeah, I even had instincts TOO, now!!!) knew Sampa, the largest city in the Sourthern Hemisphere could take it. And I moved over, with no relatives or friends, no place to stay, free of rotten prejudices and naked from ill influences. It was a real adventure, but I knew Synchronicity would take care of things, as it took. And here is the moment of the story when the so-called duckling, after seeing his reflection on the Waters, looks up and sees the other White Swans. He discovers real community. Beautiful, big hearted people, with artistic skills and shining personalities now hang out with me, visit me, have me visit them and as a clan we go down on awesome endeavours.

I love my life now, because well, I have a life to love. I mean, a LIFE, not some twisted view of what my mother sees on the soap operas and tries to shove down my throat by means of force and emotional blackmail. Those days are over. They existed, and I won't deny them or pretend they don't have effects today: I still stammer, and I still have a colossal inability to deal with termagants. I'm sorry for you cats and hens and ducks reading me right now. I won't make your sounds, I won't look like you. Nevermore. I have more money, more freedom, more songs, more poetry, more tales and much, much more ground to roam on now that I fly with my white swan wings.

And now that I have me, that I have seen my swan complexion on the Waters, I know my own strength. I can overcome anything. I am amazing indeed.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Poem by Someone Else

I am very glad I read this poem today. It was a rare flight my Spirit enjoyed in this barren, dull Wednesday in the office. Poetry, comic strips and my Internet buddies are what make my workdronedays a little more bearable.


A Familiar Letter

YES, write, if you want to, there's nothing like trying;
Who knows what a treasure your casket may hold?
I'll show you that rhyming's as easy as lying,
If you'll listen to me while the art I unfold.

Here's a book full of words; one can choose as he fancies,
As a painter his tint, as a workman his tool;
Just think! all the poems and plays and romances
Were drawn out of this, like the fish from a pool!

You can wander at will through its syllabled mazes,
And take all you want, not a copper they cost,--
What is there to hinder your picking out phrases
For an epic as clever as "Paradise Lost"?

Don't mind if the index of sense is at zero,
Use words that run smoothly, whatever they mean;
Leander and Lilian and Lillibullero
Are much the same thing in the rhyming machine.

There are words so delicious their sweetness will smother
That boarding-school flavor of which we're afraid,
There is "lush"is a good one, and "swirl" is another,--
Put both in one stanza, its fortune is made.

With musical murmurs and rhythmical closes
You can cheat us of smiles when you've nothing to tell
You hand us a nosegay of milliner's roses,
And we cry with delight, "Oh, how sweet they do smell!"

Perhaps you will answer all needful conditions
For winning the laurels to which you aspire,
By docking the tails of the two prepositions
I' the style o' the bards you so greatly admire.

As for subjects of verse, they are only too plenty
For ringing the changes on metrical chimes;
A maiden, a moonbeam, a lover of twenty
Have filled that great basket with bushels of rhymes.

Let me show you a picture--'t is far from irrelevant--
By a famous old hand in the arts of design;
'T is only a photographed sketch of an elephant,--
The name of the draughtsman was Rembrandt of Rhine.

How easy! no troublesome colors to lay on,
It can't have fatigued him,-- no, not in the least,--
A dash here and there with a haphazard crayon,
And there stands the wrinkled-skinned, baggy-limbed beast.

Just so with your verse,-- 't is as easy as sketching,--
You can reel off a song without knitting your brow,
As lightly as Rembrandt a drawing or etching;
It is nothing at all, if you only know how.

Well; imagine you've printed your volume of verses:
Your forehead is wreathed with the garland of fame,
Your poems the eloquent school-boy rehearses,
Her album the school-girl presents for your name;

Each morning the post brings you autograph letters;
You'll answer them promptly,-- an hour isn't much
For the honor of sharing a page with your betters,
With magistrates, members of Congress, and such.

Of course you're delighted to serve the committees
That come with requests from the country all round,
You would grace the occasion with poems and ditties
When they've got a new schoolhouse, or poorhouse, or pound.

With a hymn for the saints and a song for the sinners,
You go and are welcome wherever you please;
You're a privileged guest at all manner of dinners,
You've a seat on the platform among the grandees.

At length your mere presence becomes a sensation,
Your cup of enjoyment is filled to its brim
With the pleasure Horatian of digitmonstration,
As the whisper runs round of "That's he!" or "That's him!"

But remember, O dealer in phrases sonorous,
So daintily chosen, so tunefully matched,
Though you soar with the wings of the cherubim o'er us,
The ovum was human from which you were hatched.

No will of your own with its puny compulsion
Can summon the spirit that quickens the lyre;
It comes, if at all, like the Sibyl's convulsion
And touches the brain with a finger of fire.

So perhaps, after all, it's as well to he quiet
If you've nothing you think is worth saying in prose,
As to furnish a meal of their cannibal diet
To the critics, by publishing, as you propose.

But it's all of no use, and I'm sorry I've written,--
I shall see your thin volume some day on my shelf;
For the rhyming tarantula surely has bitten,
And music must cure you, so pipe it yourself.

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Friday, February 03, 2006

Now is all that really matters






(E.B. White)

Also, the great Tao Te King says that 'A good traveller has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving'.

Great wisdom.