Fresh Noons Blooming

All right, I've rolled up my sleeves and I'm cleaning house. Mentally, of course, and socially. I take out the spiderwebs, the spider veins that spread below, the pests. I weed the unnecessary creatures out, the pesky ghosts. My mind is a repository of bad sediment sometimes, the words and deeds of others stay with me - angry ghosts.
It takes a lot of courage to let go of a ghost, even an angry one. We are used to his voice, we think we need it. All along it was my own mind that fathomed you that fashioned you into significance. In the end, perception is almost everything it seems, at least when it comes to the power of reality and dreams.
The truth is, there's nothing wrong with anything that has happened. My only issue is moving on, moving forward and into the fresh light of a new day. I was held back a bit this summer by obligations and spoiled love like spoiled coconut milk in the Bahian sun. Sometimes are own obligations tether us to the wrong coconut. But that's ok....
I keep meeting little princes along the way and they are not the polite one fashioned by Exupery but the real whinging ones that are forever glued to the nipple. Oh Puer Aeternus, go find another temporary mommy to suckle. Ok? Ok.
In the meantime I'll go enjoy this Latin city properly with its European houses and mysterious ports.
"Follow your own star!" - Dante Alighieri

Clones and Buenos Aires

Should I get this haircut? That's my doppelganger right there. I'm wearing that same red shade of lipstick right now and it goes with all of the Audrey Hepburns and Marilyn Monroes that hang on the walls of hostels and restaurants in this city. Little kitschy items with their faces in the markets, old magazines with movie stars and fresh babes advertising cars. There is a repository here from the 30's-70's, a collection of odds and ends. Old children's toys, terrifying and dirty in their market stalls, the most fascinating little personalized postcards that parents used to send between countries of their children dressed up in the latest fashionable getup...I found most of this in the Feria de San Telmo.

My heart is heavy light at the moment. Flavored with Brahma Chopp bought at the corner store, unrefrigerated. I'm weighed down only by my own penchant for roller coaster boyfriends. Audrey how did you wear your love? And you Marilyn? Two opposite ends of the feminine spectrum it seems...both adored and salivated after to this day. Phantoms.
Are we stronger in flesh or in after-flesh? Sometimes the answer is less obvious than it seems.

I am not the woman of your dreams. I seem to wish to make that very clear very quickly. Maybe because fantasy is terrifying? I overdo it. Fantasy is what we need to survive. We need Audrey and we certainly need Marilyn. Buenos Aires has a point.

Grey sky calls for writing

Although actually I'm starving. How wonderful that I trained all over the campus of Rio Grande do Sul today, on a gray warmish Saturday when most people were out and I practiced capoeira kicks in the windows of the buildings and did cartwheels across the lawns and did pushups on random cement blocks that lay on the grounds.

I had my palm read after the Batizado in Rio. It was a spontaneous thing, there was a sweet old woman sitting there, taking palms and telling their stories.
Mine seemed to cause a lot of emotion in the woman. My tiny soft hand had her exclaiming that I was feminine and delicate. At another point she kissed it saying I was very spiritualized. It was a sweet reading all in all.

I'm running away from Porto Alegre for a week on a beautiful trip to the Argentinian border...and at the moment I'm running away to the supermercado because my new amiga and I concur that food is pretty damn important.