Hi

You changed the melody every time

Tekinão

Um amor
profundo,
verdadeiro,
sincero
e puro
chamado
Technobloco.

Correr nas ruas, dançar na chuva, levar amigos, fazer amigos, tropeçar em amigos, ouvir a música, deitar na grama, esperar o sol, iluminar a cabeça, exorcizar o ano que passou, abrir as portas pro ano que começa. Mais uma noite do melhor que há neste carnaval de caos e brutalidade, que a gente combate com cuidado, amor e muito suor. Que coisa mais linda.

Voei nas asas de um passarinho

• 
• 

Be bowie

Sopro

Hoje é dia 17 de janeiro de 2020.

Ano após ano, adiciono frases à minha longa lista de “coisas que ninguém te avisa”. “Ninguém te avisa que vai doer pro resto da vida”. Essa eu descobri bem cedo. “Ninguém te avisa que vai piorar em alguns momentos, com a mudança no mundo, com a mudança do vento”. Essa eu descobri com o passar do tempo. “Ninguém te avisa que às vezes o luto vem vestido de choro desenfreado, mas às vezes resolve se fantasiar de arrepio, e que machuca do mesmo jeito, só que devagar e sem nenhum alívio”. Essa eu descobri hoje mesmo.

O luto é uma coisa engraçada porque tem vida própria, por maior que seja a ironia. Ele existe alheio aos meus desejos, ignorando qualquer indisposição minha, passeando pelos dias sem a menor pressa de ir embora. Ele existe, e eu existo com ele, para ele e por ele. Não sei quem eu sou sem o buraco que ficou, porque até agora ainda não descobri quem deveria ser sem a pessoa que antes o preenchia. “Ninguém te avisa que vai ser desse jeito, meio sem propósito, meio sem motivo”. Porque ninguém sabe como vai ser. Ninguém sabe de nada, e eu sinto que ando sabendo menos a cada dia.

Hoje fazem doze anos que o meu pai morreu, e os dois últimos foram de um peso que teimou em beirar o insuportável com enorme frequência. Às vezes me pergunto como ainda suporto. E lá se vai uma semana. E cá me aparece uma distração. E mais cinquenta minutos com o meu analista. E uma conversa com alguém que talvez me entenda, talvez não. Quando a Terra gira em definitivo, respiro fundo sem saber como ainda consigo. Porque o meu pai, por muita sorte, também era o meu espelho, o meu mentor, o meu melhor amigo, e eu nunca soube onde colocar todo o amor que sentia por ele quando ele deixou de estar comigo.

Guardei esse amor em mim, por um tempo. Trancado e muito bem escondido, longe de olhares invejosos. E então aprendi a dar esse amor aos outros, ainda que aos poucos, ainda que não fosse o mesmo. Olho para esse tempo como se tivesse passado há milênios, porque nos últimos muitos meses o meu amor tem estado perdido no vazio, solto no silêncio. Não sei o que fazer com ele, então o aperto dentro do peito. Não sei o que fazer sem ele, e isso só me aperta o peito.

O meu pai vai ter sempre trinta e cinco, quase trinta e seis, anos. Eu é que estou envelhecendo. Eu é que fiquei aqui, vivendo, vendo um mundo que tira, corrói, abusa. Me agarrando aos meus enquanto ainda posso, chorando porque ainda há sofrimento. Tem horas que só há sofrimento. Então busco perspectiva e vejo que há muito mais do que isso, mas talvez todo o resto esteja, assim como o meu luto, vivendo uma fase de disfarce, andando por aí fantasiado de algo triste. Uma hora o resto volta a me trazer alegria. Eu acredito. Tenho que acreditar em muita coisa, já não me permito mais viver confortavelmente no vazio.

Exceto hoje.

Hoje o dia foi inteiramente poético. Acordei com a chuva e vou dormir com um sopro. Fazem doze anos. Que absurdo.

So long, and thanks for all the fish

And so I went into the ocean
for the first time in fourteen years
to wash away a year
that lasted a lifetime,
brought back the pain of a lifetime
and made space inside me
for the rest of my life.

Goodbye, 2010s,
how I managed to survive you
I shall never understand.

The Irishman

Together we stand, divided we fall

Hey you,
Out there in the cold,
getting lonely, getting old,
can you feel me?
Hey you,
Standing in the aisles with itchy feet and fading smiles,
can you feel me?
Hey you,
don’t help them to bury the light,
don’t give in
without a fight.
Hey you,
out there on your own, sitting naked by the phone,
would you touch me?
Hey you,
with your ear against the wall,
waiting for someone to call out,
could you touch me?
Hey you,
would you help me to carry the stone?
Open your heart,
I’m coming home.

But it was only fantasy,
the wall was too high, as you can see.
No matter how he tried, he could not break free
and the worms ate into his brain.

Yakuza (is born)

Three cheers to one of those projects that makes you change your address, change your perspective, dive head first into a new culture, take a look at other people, take a look at yourself, take a look at art as a whole and be reminded that you do what you do for the big picture, and that love makes all the chaos less chaotic and friends make life a lot lighter and easier.

Oh, Yakuza, it hasn’t been a full month since we wrapped and you’re already making me sound like a broken record, because you’ve opened such a huge window into my soul — through the work itself and the genius contained in our good old crew, but also through the choice of surrounding myself with an incredible group of people — that I can’t let you go just yet… Eventually, sure, some of it will fade, as everything does in this industry of impermanence. But not all of it. What is gold will always stay, safely ingrained in my brain, resurfacing every now and again to let me know how powerful it really was.

It was a force of nature.

We were a force of nature.

I’m just glad I can’t explain

Oh, Blondie…

She moves like she don’t care,
smooth as silk, cool as air,
oh, it makes you wanna cry.
She doesn’t know your name
and your heart beats like a subway train,
oh, it makes you wanna die.
Oh, don’t you wanna take her?
Wanna make her all your own?
Maria, you’ve gotta see her,
go insane and out of your mind.
Latina, Ave Maria,
a million and one candle lights.
I’ve seen this thing before
in my best friend and the boy next door,
fool for love and fool on fire.
Won’t come in from the rain,
she’s oceans running down the drain,
blue as ice and desire.
Don’t you wanna make her?
Oh, don’t you wanna take her home?
Maria, you’ve gotta see her,
go insane and out of your mind.
Latina, Ave Maria,
a million and one candle lights.
Oh, don’t you wanna break her?
Oh, don’t you wanna take her home?

Arigatou Yakuza

E assim acabam quinze semanas de katanas, luzes coloridas, xícaras de chá e noites não dormidas. Me encontrei em São Paulo, fiquei mais velha em São Paulo, desapareci em São Paulo e ri em São Paulo o suficiente para as próximas sete vidas.

Dividir esta vida (e a casa e cada segundo do dia) com amigos antigos e dividir o coração com amigos novos restaurou em mim certezas e saudades que não acreditava que ainda existiam. É tanta lembrança boa que não cabe em um bilhete, não cabe em um texto, não cabe em um abraço de despedida.

Obrigada, Yakuza. Te levo comigo sabendo que não podia ter feito escolha mais bonita.

On location

When you’re filming on location
in the middle of absolute nowhere,
and the houses are abandoned,
and the windows are broken,
and the sun’s not your enemy,
and you hear the sound of fresh water,
and hummingbirds dance around you,
and you get just a little bit bored
waiting for the magic word…
Cut!
This is what you do.

When you’re filming on location
in the middle of absolute nowhere,
and the houses are abandoned,
and the windows are broken,
and the sun’s not your enemy,
and you hear the sound of fresh water,
and hummingbirds dance around you,
and you get just a little bit bored
waiting for the magic word…
Cut!
This is what you do.

The art dept.

Até logo

I am easy to find

It only takes a camera to change her mind

Peixe voraz

Happy birthday, dad.

Ecoa, em algum lugar do universo, uma sequência de palavras.

Em meio a tudo,
tudo o que alegra
e tudo o que machuca,
tudo o que me cerca,
tudo o que não muda,
tudo o que completa,
tudo o que silencia,
tudo o que distrai
e o que traz agonia,
tudo o que há de pequeno,
que carrega nostalgia
e leva consigo afeto
e me faz atravessar o dia,
tudo o que eu desconheço,
mas achei que conhecia;
o som do silêncio,
a calma da melodia.
A escuridão do oceano
ao nascer do sol irradia
tons de verde, azul e ouro
e não me apavora mais,
quem diria?
Que o tempo seguiria passando
e eu aqui ficaria,
em meio ao que despedaça
e a tudo o que me esvazia,
costurando novos laços,
refazendo harmonias,
descobrindo os meu espaços
e os ocupando como podia,
em meio a tudo o que há
e ao que deixou de haver,
eu diria,
que em meio a tudo
e em meio ao todo,
em meio a mim mesma
e em meio ao outro,
eu sinto a tua falta
todo dia.

I didn’t understand then, I don’t understand now

In celebration of The National’s new album, which, in itself, has blown my mind to even exist so soon after Sleep Well Beast, here’s the goosebump-inducing, simultaneously heartshattering and heartwarming masterpiece that is Pink Rabbits, a song from my absolute favorite album of theirs, the very glue to hold me together through the horrors of 2013. This (and witnessing that european tour) was my gift, as with every single thing they’ve ever put out, always on time, always on point, always so very well crafted to hit that spot in my mind that needs a hug and a written permission to shed a tear. All I need to do is think it, and Matt Berninger will promptly convert it into a song. It’s shocking. It’s fascinating. It’s beautiful.

Am I the one you think about
when you’re sitting in your fainting chair
drinking pink rabbits?
Am I the one you think about
when you’re sitting in your fainting chair
drinking pink rabbits?
And everybody was gone,
I was standing in the street cause I was trying not to crack…
I was solid gold,
I was in the fight,
I was coming back
from what seemed like a ruin.
I couldn’t see you coming so far,
I just turn around
and there you are.
I’m so surprised you wanna dance with me now,
I was just getting used to living life without you around.
I’m so surprised you wanna dance with me now,
You always said I held you way too high off the ground.
You didn’t see me, I was falling apart,
I was a white girl in a crowd of white girls in the park.
You didn’t see me, I was falling apart,
I was a television version of a person with a broken heart.
You didn’t see me, I was falling apart,
I was a white girl in a crowd of white girls in the park.
You didn’t see me, I was falling apart,
I was a television version of a person with a broken heart.

7:30

“If you’re not in complete panic, you’re not paying attention”, I tell myself and other people virtually every single day. Today, I have more to add. ‘Cause if you’re not in complete panic, in shock or borderline depressed, or perhaps in a state of full blown confusion, hopelessness and fear, or even starting to consider taking that one-way trip to Mars sooner rather than later, then you can’t possibly be paying attention. You simply can’t. Otherwise you’d know the world is on a fast track straight to hell, and hell, as it turns out, is far from the flaming ball of horror christians have painted it out to be. It’s worse. It’s everyday life, only with a pinch of insanity, a tad of pure evil, a dash of incomprehensible disgrace. It’s not the place you go to when your life on this plane comes to an end and your existencial scale happens to be tipping just slightly towards the bad place; it’s right here, in this crazy universe where you’re stuck watching good, important people cease to exist in just a matter of seconds, while hoping for the actual devil to come and finally take you away.

I’m in disarray. As someone who deeply values the few brilliant people who are still surprisingly lucid these days, I get thrown for a loop (one of sorrow and disbelief) whenever one of them dies. It’s like the very fabric of reality instantly weakens, for now there’s one less voice of reason whispering in its ear to stay put and stay safe. I feel a terrible sense of grief, for those who’ve lost someone they held close and will have an uphill battle back to a healthy state of mind, and for the rest of us, who are left behind without yet another layer of hope in a world that is quickly losing its mind in an almost collective way.

Today was a horrible day. In a horrible month. And a horrible year. And though no sane person could ever anticipate anything different coming from the disaster that was 2018, speaking for myself, at least, I could’ve never conceived it being so goddamn worse.

What a tragedy.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Comecei a escrever sobre hoje em 28 de dezembro. Não sei quando conseguirei parar de fazê-lo.

Então, por ora, que fique o curto registro do movimento completamente não-linear do meu luto. Eu, que nunca soube seguir estágios pré-determinados em nada nesta vida, me encontro hoje, onze anos mais tarde, indo de trás para frente e de um lado para o outro entre a saudade esmagadora e a capacidade de encontrar conforto dentro de mim de vez em quando.

Eu já estive mais infeliz do que hoje. Também já estive mais feliz, é certo. Agora, ao menos consigo respeitar o processo. Talvez vá doer assim por algum tempo. Talvez vá me apavorar assim por muito mais. Talvez eu consiga reflorestar a minha mente com todos os fatos inegáveis que me fazem agradecer por ter te tido aqui pelos anos que tive. Neste exato momento, só consigo pensar que não te vejo há mais de uma década, e não te verei nunca mais. E este fato inegável, em especial, me devasta pedaço a pedaço a cada segundo.

Mas é tudo cíclico. E há de melhorar. Até lá, pai, como tu me faz falta. E como eu preciso da tua ajuda. Não tenho ideia do que estou fazendo na maior parte do tempo, mas como queria poder te contar… Dos livros que li, músicas que descobri, questões do universo que não resolvi, lugares que visitei. De quem cruzou o meu caminho e ficou, de quem jamais reencontrei. Tem tanto de mim que pede pra ser compartilhado, e nada me destrói tanto quanto não poder partilhar contigo. Então partilho comigo. Partilho com o luto. Partilho com a tua foto e recrio o som da tua voz em retorno. Partilho com o vazio. Respeito o peso da tua falta. Respeito a abertura e cicatrização das minhas mágoas. Respeito o meu tempo.

Porque vai ficar tudo bem.

Não hoje.

Mas em algum momento.

E até lá, eu te amo.

Last Christmas I gave you my heart

Didn’t I tell you to hide all things you find?

I wish I would’ve known,
wish I would’ve seen,
I wish I had some lines to read between.

(a.k.a.: the magic ability to suddenly start singing a song I haven’t heard in over a decade and immediately realize how much I’ve missed it, and the entire One Tree Hill soundtrack, and the subtle way those characters shaped me into the human being I am. Time to rewatch it again…)

I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon

In a world of beautiful albums, not a single one holds as much meaning and heartwarming nostalgia as this one. It makes me feel like a child again, a child in space, a child in a place of darkness that is disrupted by a beam of light. It makes me feel like myself.

Seeing Roger Waters live yesterday, like seeing David Gilmour a few years ago, was as much of a grounding experience as it was a liberating one. I’ve always felt like a kite, with a mind that floats around being held by a single line that does its very best to contain my urge to leave the Earth. This line is made of childhood memories, silly plans for the future, the idea that I exist so I can create and that the meaning of life lies in how much of myself I can give to other people through my hands and my words. It’s made of all that is dark and all that is constantly exploding like a star; made of space, and how very small we are. The line that holds my mind in place is also the line that allows it to wander around. And music, but more specifically Pink Floyd’s music, is the wind that tells it where to go.

“All that you touch and all that you see, all that you taste, all you feel. And all that you love, and all that you hate, all you distrust, all you save. And all that you give, and all that you deal, and all that you buy, beg, borrow or steal. And all you create and all you destroy, and all that you do and all that you say. And all that you eat and everyone you meet, and all that you slight and everyone you fight. And all that is now, and all that is gone and all that’s to come. And everything under the sun is in tune, but the sun is eclipsed by the moon.”

What a beautiful night to be right here, on this tiny blue spot in the middle of the universe. Thank you for guiding me through existence, my loves.

I am the one thing in life I can control

My mother was a genius,
my father commanded respect,
when they died they left no instructions,
just a legacy to protect.
Death doesn’t discriminate
between the sinners
and the saints,
it takes,
and it takes,
and it takes.
And we keep living anyway,
we rise and we fall,
and we break
and we make our mistakes.
And if there’s a reason
I’m still alive
when everyone who loves me has died,
I’m willing to wait for it.
I’m willing to wait for it.

It’s been such a long time, I almost forgot…

I’m letting go
to see if you’ll hold on to me.
I’m in doubt
of what is thought
and what is real.
In our room,
between the shapes I thought I knew,
a guillotine, a pillow with feathers like snow.
I’ve come to a listening post beyond your lines,
I’m all ears
to gather clues and look for signs,
but I can’t hear
the song you sing while you try to soothe.
Why are you whispering
while the bombs
are
falling?
Go easy on me,
I can’t help what I’m doing.
Go easy on me,
Oh, I can’t help what I’m doing.

Hello again,
I buried you,
where have you been?
My renegade,
you came back from the labyrinth.
Unlike me, you’ve looked for things that could be found,
and the thread
that guides through
black times.
Go easy on me,
I can’t help what I’m doing.
Go easy on me,
Oh, I can’t help what I’m doing.

When thoughts
had outnumbered spoken words
in the early hours, we failed
to establish
who was hurt
most.

Lumière

Acordar com os pássaros e dormir com Marte na janela. Encontrar o rio depois de vinte passos, colocar a cara no sol e o pé na água gelada da serra. Começar e terminar um bordado sentada em uma pedra na cachoeira. Contar um montão de estrelas. Perder as contas de todo o resto. Rabiscar um pouco, escrever um pouco, fotografar dois rolos e meio. Ler muito, porque cinco dias de solidão pedem um bom companheiro. Atrair borboleta. Atrair bem-te-vi. Atrair toda a luz do universo.

A minha semana em Lumiar poderia ser uma vida inteira. Depois de tanto tempo longe do mato e da água, foi como reencontrar uma parte de mim que carregava no peito sem imaginar a falta que fazia. Que saudade. E que alegria.

Select this option to show your contacts what you’re listening to.

And it is true what you said,
that I live like a hermit
in my own head.
But when the sun shines again,
I’ll pull the curtains and blinds
to let the light in.

Sorrow drips into your heart
through a
pin
hole,
just like a faucet that leaks
and there is comfort
in the sound
But while you debate
“half
empty
or
half
full?”,
it slowly rises,
your love is gonna drown.

From Argentina with love

Here’s what happens when the crew goes to Argentina and I’m left behind (to wrap things up, go on a much needed vacation and then start pre-production on another project, but still):

Me costura mais uma ruga

Coloca teu calor na estante,
vem,
se deita tranquila
e dorme.
Em que sonho
eu sonho
o meu sonho
igual ao teu?
Que linha liga o teu coração ao meu?
Em que tronco
encontro
talhado o meu nome e o teu?
Em que sonho
eu sonho
o meu sonho
igual ao teu?
O meu coração ao teu,
teu nome talhado
e o meu.
Meu sonho,
meu sonho…

Do you care?

Sometimes, I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.

I find it refreshing.

“You have a Spotify playlist for everything, huh?”

I time every journey
to bump into you
accidentally, I
charm you and tell you
of the boys I hate,
all the girls I hate,
all the words I hate,
all the clothes I hate,
how I’ll never be
anything I hate;
you smile, mention something that you like,
oh, how you’d have a happy life
if you did the things you like.

Find me and follow me
through corridors, refectories
and files, you must follow,
leave
this academic factory.
You will find me in the matinée,
the dark of the matinée,
it’s better in the matinée,
the
dark of the matinée is mine.
Yes, it’s mine.