Magazines lying open all over the flat, Moby playing softly on the background, projects left unfinished. Way too much television. Overestimulation of the senses. Feelings disconnected. Smoke on the room. Love as a virtual experience, your partners scattered over the globe. Empty bottles. Dusty gadgets. Modern life.
Why does my heart feels so bad, asks Moby.


“ We live our lives distanced and distracted.” John Naisbitt.

Late night. Tom Waits on the Late Show. First he sings the most piercing music in the world, some unbelieavable sad story as always, over cello, guitar and vibraphone. Then, sitting with Dave, he is just hilarious, in the way you see he expects nothing from that and would be just as happy drinking somewhere. Mumbles something, looks around, answer questions tottally unconcerned. An amazing state of being desireless, as in the buddhist theory, minus the crap. Beautiful. Living as art.

Random Beauty

It never fails to bring a smile to my face open one of these random random blogs that are listed in Recently Updated in Blogger.

I mean, the lamest, the dumber, the prettier, the funnier sort of sites. Some are barely standing in one piece, while other are beautifully crafted and cared for. But the things is - is such a peek into the unknow. So sudden, so unexplained. Its amazing.

Its just as if you could, walking into any street, suddenly open the door's front house and take a good quite look inside, no questions asked. You would walk right through the family's dinner and maybe someone would smile at you while you inspect the food or take a look at the little girl's room, count the little bears and stars on the ceiling. Then you would say a quiet bye and leave, smiling.

Its how I feel with that. You walk in, read how the girl feels about her friend and or boyfriend, smile at the wit ot frown at the dumbness and leave. No bookmark, no reading the whole thing. After all, there is a world out there.

**********

Reminds me of that amazing video EBTG made for The Future of The Future. A couple walks through the streets and when one of them sees someone interesting, just leaves the partner and engage in a hot kiss with the stranger while the ex-partner keeps walking, not even a turning head, already meeting and kissing someone new and so on all over the world. No atachments, no regrets, no guilt.

Could be the most beautiful or frightening thing. Depends on how you see things, I guess.

I think I finally understood Sinatra. By chance, you know. I was working at the web, like now, with the tv like one inch from me, when the old face with the grey hair showed up. I turned up the sound. He was singing Send in the clowns. Maybe singing isn't the right word. He did it so easily. So so easily. He was talking, really. Then, the thing itself I never got about him turned out to be the real deal - the way he sounded no-musical, the way he looked uninspired and cold about the songs.This thing moved me. Here we have a guy so matter-of-fact about things, so down-to-earth and yet....

I fail to explain, I know.

Maybe over time you just get tired of "artistic types", full of intentions and pretention. And you get in awe of this guys, to whom art comes as naturally as sex. I wonder.

The Moviegoer

“When she was sick for the first time”. That’s the sort of passing reference they use when talking about Kate. And you don’t know if should worry more or less because of that. The book has a peculiar way of saying important things with a careless voice. You never see a big speech coming, the sort that make actors inflate their chest and modulate their voices. All is said in a passing manner, as if it doesn’t matter, as if it is circunstancial. I recognize that voice. I have a friend very much like that, who would be tottaly embarassed on making things seem bigger than they are, who has to sound casual about everything.
Talking about Kate’s sickness, it says, for example: “When she was a child and her mother was alive, it used to seem to her that people laughed and talked in an easy and familiar way and stood on solid ground, but now it seemed that they (not just she but everybody) has become aware of the abyss that yawned at their feet even on the most ordinary occasions – especially on the most ordinary ocasions. Thus she would a thousand times rather find herself in the middle of no man’s land than at a family or luncheon club.”
Even that I would say I never felt like it was easy and familiar, I’m very much aware of the abyss. Actually, this little passage explain much of my present isolation. Without a sweat. And so goes the book. Its called The Moviegoer, and that must be one more point of identification for me. We, moviegoers, are one particular tribe, I suppose.

A brief explanation would be nice here.
I'm a brasilian guy writing in english, so I could sound as a japonese playing samba, of course. Not tottaly fair with the japanese guys, actually. They're damn serious about samba. But what I mean is: I see the risk. But I'd rather take it. I have been involved with the english language for so long. I learned with no method, out of curiosity and love for the books.
I quite remember the turning point: I was working at a comic books shop, selling american comics, (so I had some notion) and then this guy, almost a stranger to me, gave me three or four second-hand pocket books. Most Stephen King, for whom I still feel in debt. I opened the first one, Different Seasons, and looked the very first phrase: "I'm the guy who can get it. " And I couldn't get it. Right there, on the first line. So I started to keep a dictionary on the store and I would read every day with the book and the dictionary open. Line by line. Pretty much Tarzan's story, if you forget the apes.
Well, enough of that, I see tears in your eyes. Of boredom, probably.
I intend to write here, that's it. You'll enjoy it or not. And come back or not. We'll see. That's all, folks.