30th April 2010

The day started finishing…

Painful time… burning time

And just like this… I was boiling…

Afternoon finished…. And I stayed.


3rd May 2010

Tuesday 23 of March 2010

In the day that the sun came out, I was remembering the chapters of my life…

I remembered as well of the men I loved and admired…

That is why is a good day of sun:

Every.  Men, all of them,

That I admired…

Weren’t more than shadows…

That I loved… transparent

They didn’t exist.

http://butecobh.blogspot.com : blog about bars, beers, politics, night and samba.

Today I walked around the city of BH with another eyes…

looking up… from the top of the buildings and the tube stations,

I’ve seen a lot of ugly things…. Ugly people…. A lot of garbage…

But from the top, the very top, when I closed my eyes…

I’ve seen the sky… the sun…. it was very big…

6th May 2010


The yellow boy

I will every day add more pages to this story

(in this short story the story of the always, yellow boy)

Some will say that he was yellow, but in reality he was ochre… a mixture of people from dark skin, colour of earth. He grew up and all his life has lived in a slum. Since a little boy he believed that he was a little more than what people used to think he was.

It was like that: born in the end of the 60s, around 69, hard times, especially because of the military undertake. His mum was from the north of Minas, she came to work as a maid in BH. She used to like to go out and dance, and as soon as she arrives, she was pregnant of his first sister. She wasn’t anymore accepted in the house she was working for and had to find job somewhere else. She went to live in a squat, in the Marmiterios village, next to Via Expressa, that it wasn’t a Via… His mum was leaving very early to work and would leave her daughter together with a group of her cousin’s sons. Until then it was fine, if it wasn’t for one more tentative to love that his mum wanted for herself.

Everything happened on a Saturday night. Everything was good, he was hansom… He used army clothes, they met at the bakery, next to the military’s quarter at Prado. Almerinda was very pretty. She was pretty, inside her northern features, skin burnt from the sun, yellow dress and a very well fixed hair, with a bun over her head.

They drunk juices together, the conversation lasted for one, two weeks. Almerinda and Beto were falling in love. But she was hiding the story about her daughter, “who knows now love will happen for good” , she used to think. She arrived late at home, looked at her little daughter and smiled, dreaming awaken in between the mould of the walls with a better life, and after this, after she was married she would be able to go back to her home town telling the wonders of matrimonial, the family would feel very proud, as they were treating her very badly for being a single mother. Not only her, but in that time it wasn’t a common thing, but there was a lot of ladies just like her, who came from a small village, domesticated and betrayed who carried the fruits of disgrace disillusion around the streets, begging for any job available, that would pay very little and that they would give them the left over’s so they wouldn’t die of hunger. But everything was better than the dryness of the North. She didn’t want to go back.

Beto was a soldier in the army for about one year. He wanted to carry on with this career to impress the family. He was living well, had a house, big family and a studied a bit. He was a bit rebellious, he knew exactly what was social inequality, racism and was chocked with stories of injustice he used to hear. But he always aimed for more, wanted to study, to travel and carry on with his career. For him, Almerinda was pretty and pleasant. That’s it! He thought she was funny in the way she used to behave, talking in the wrong way, trying to behave as the ladies portrayed on those magazines, he didn’t see anything else in the friendship between them both.

It was Friday and as used to they met at the bakery to drink their juice, he got to know of dancing afternoons that was happening in the Carlos Prates Airport. And he wanted to impress the new gang with a new girl, he looked at Almerinda and invited her to come. She accepted prontly, she wanted to go to that place and to have something new to tell the others…

Sunday arrived and she was very pretty, Beto came closer and her hands were sweating. In the bottom of her heart she knew that the night would be different. They dance a lot, Beto introduced her to his friends, she felt like his official girlfriend. He wanted only to enjoy another Saturday night. The clock was ticking, the hours passed, as well as the couples…

Almerinda saw a great opportunity to take that sensation of security with Beto through all her life, and it was like that that a kiss happened, and another one, a caring moment which transformed in sexual excitement and then she gave herself away to him in a mixture of passion, guilt and cruelty, in this way she would have a man and a place to live. They were then dating like this, for one, two, three months. She asked him to be introduced to his family, he was just delaying not to happen. She told about the daughter she has and the encounters between them both were getting cooler.

One. Two weeks and they didn’t see each other, beto blamed on the army and on the Coup d'état: I need to hunt for students and Communists, he would say. Almerinda felt something different, but denied her intuition, she didn’t wanted to accept that perhaps Beto was only having fun with her.

A month later and they stop seeing each other, officially Beto settled a day for them to talk. It would have been a simple talk, she was believing, he would give an excuse as always and they would go to the bakery. But Beto finished what had never really started.

For him the weight and the responsibility of his carrier was too heavy, he wouldn’t involve himself with a woman with a daughter and no food on her table. What would his father think of him: Now the son who was his proud was involved with a maid with a dark skin, who came from the end of the world with a daughter. Beto didn’t want that, he didn’t have the boldness to fight his family because of such a small cause, he was preparing himself to the big causes, he used to think. In the end of the day, he had the army to look forward to , and his studies. He was thinking about going to University.

They sat down in the park, it was the beginning of an evening, there was a lot of people in the streets, she was thinking a bit about the daughter she had left at her cousin’s house with fever and in the lack of money she had to come back home by bus. Beto arrived, he looked hansom, he was wearing army clothes. He sat down, there was no kiss. He didn’t look to Almerinda, who sat down noticed everything. He mention his day of army graduation, and in the difficulties that he was going through, of the communists prisons that he was making and that he particularly didn’t enjoy.

That conversation didn’t matter much to Almerinda who had a yellow smile (personal expression for ##). Finally he said that they wouldn’t be able to meet each other anymore. In this moment, she felt her heart tight. Her voice wouldn’t leave her throat, her legs were shaking. She pressed her lips and her hands were holding with strength the corner of her red skirt.

She felt a knot in her throat, but she tried to say anything. And the voice left shaking, she hold her tears and asked why. Not even her believed that she had strength to ask. She saw her miserable life pass before her eyes. Beto explained a lie... that’s right. He explained a lie, because he didn’t have the courage to tell the truth: Aklmerinda weren’t the woman for him! He felt ashamed, he saw the weakness of that woman, her generous misery, left for her luck, exploited, semi-illiterate and single mum. She was a manual for charity. From that catholic charity type developed by the church, so they get released from all those sins committed through the fights to take the Americas, from a long time ago.

Beto talked, Almerinda’s life collapsed, she understood now that she was being left behind. She understood only now, under the pain, that the men would come close to her in order to use her body and to destroy her soul. She saw in that moment that she had dreamed for too long. She didn’t and would never again have the opportunity of having a place to live, a family, a man that would respect her. She was there, to be used. Just like the other times that she placed her dream in front of her reason and risked to fall in love, he was always betrayed, nothing else. Beto talked, she pretended to listen, she hold her tears, she didn’t wanted to cry over there, in front of that man that she dared to dream that he could he hers. They stood up, he hold her hand, he was saying things like good luck, may God help us, it was nice to meet you...she didn’t know what to do. She was silent, looking to find any answer. She wanted to swear, to scream, to beat that man who was in front of her. Slap her hand over his face. How dare he used her like this? But nothing happened.

He left, she walked away. The cars were passing by, she would have to walk a lot to come home, her tears were now autorized to fall. She was far away from him. She felt used! How could have I been so stupid? How she could let herself to believe that she would have grow old with that man? She was crying and blaming herself. Another hour later she arrived home, her shoe had broken, she didn’t mind. Her cousing was sleeping in the floor and the daughter was together with the other children in the only bed of the house. There was nothing to eat. She was tired, she drank water to try to fool her stomach and she cried. She cried a lot.

She barely lay down her head and the alarm clock started to ring, she had to go to work. Arriving at her madam’s house she pretended to be ok, she needed the job, if she showed she was upset she might lose her job. In her lunch break she went to speak to her friend, and then she had a nervous breakdown. She cried everything once again, feeling again the dishonour, the humiliation of being left behind. The friend listened patiently while she was plucking her eyebrows. She said out loud “I told you so Almerinda, a son of a rich family once mix with poor people is only to have fun...” She wanted to speak up but she knew her friend was right. She swallow her tears, looked at a small mirror, with orange framer and promised that she would never cry again or let her being exploited by any other man. She would build her life with her daughter, that had no blame on anything, but it was paying the price of rejection. Time passed by, and her period disappeared. She felt her chest tight and a pain in her soul. She knew she would have another child... Son of Beto, a result from the after parties of the clubs. She cried again the whole world. The cousin and her friend gave her all support. This kind of support who appear from the people who have nothing to offer besides a shoulder and a bit of warmness. A support that only women know how to give once there is a new baby coming, in getting together that transcends the good moral and ethics of centuries ago.


7th  May 2010

I access the msn whenever I can, but I am always invisible

I think in the in between of things… sometimes I don’t want to talk

I speak to whom I want… I feel sorry to delete who doesn’t compensate anymore

And have no impact in my life

But some contacts are already gone… I deleted them without remorse

In the facebook I access as well

I avoid seeing the photos of the ones who upset me

But I confess that every tine I can I see them

My heart hurts … a lot

8th  May 2010

The last photography

I see the photos of my ghosts from the past… men or from the man that I loved, or I thought I did.

Actually, I think that I mostly admired him than loved him… as I said, the admiration was only an illusion…of a shadow… covered of soot

Covered of stupidity I think that I shouldn’t show the photo…. The image. I should talk only about the pain… it hurts because I didn’t see the soot. I’ve always looked through it and thought that the soot was the sun… but it was only a deadlight… almost nothing.

I always revise the image of the man… like a portrait in black and white; that face, that smile, I know that they are there, and are for me a lie.

They exist there, I don’t have them anymore.

May 13th, 2010


I always face the past with a yellow smile (personal way of expressing)… today I see that everything was just a phase… things come and go…I knew that life would pass, but I didn’t knew that to look into the past would give me the sensation of pain and pleasure…

May 21st, 2010

Today is today

I was thinking about what I should do for now on. I don’t know… I’m unemployed with a child to raise… and the whole world ahead.

So come on… the road is long and the short smile appears all the time…

The sun too.

June 4th, 2010


One of those days I was listening to the song: “I keep my memories in a safe place…”. I thought a lot about that and I started to remember: I keep my memories in a computer and in some CDs and I realise that yes, they are really there, these are safe places, almost never get exposed, just like in portraits, when I want I go there in the “saved”, in the virtual gaps, I consult them, see the pictures, look at the places, the characters and there they are… just like I let them, but for me, in the virtual pictures, changed; In some pictures I grow up, in others I died, just like in a mausoleum… I’m there, just the mummified shell. Just a face, some images that I don’t recognise and others that I make a point to forget. When I turn and look all over again… everything has changed. Only silence… I shut down the computer.

June 15th, 2010

The third shore

Today I have breastfeeding my son and I got lost in time.

Last year, already in the past, I felt that I was there, in a corner of a lost story.

I saw your face...your black skin... your smile... your sadness and the cruelty deep inside his eyes.

I closed my eyes. I woke up in darkness.

I looked once again... it was still past...

I turned my face and saw the reality: two little vivid eyes, full of forgiveness and joy.

The lost and sad history remained there: in the past, lost!


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